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

[zlexis]

Riaan Joseph

Location: The Regency
Interactions: Loxely | Loomis | Eldarkon | @SidTheSkid ​

At Dante's words, Riaan's blood went cold, catching him off guard when the vampire echoed Riaan's thoughts, revealing his ability to read the minds of others. While he knew that the ticks possessed unique skills, seeing the power nonchalantly flaunted in front of him threw the wolf for a loop. As he observed the trio, Riaan couldn't help but notice the dynamic between them. Dante, with his confident demeanor and mocking tone, seemed to revel in his ability to manipulate and control others. His lackeys, on the other hand, appeared subservient and eager to please, walking in the ringleader's shadow like two eager pups.

The realization that Dante could read his thoughts meant that he had to be careful about what he allowed his mind to dwell on. He took a deep breath and locked eyes with the vampire. In his mind, a wolf stalks through the brush, a plump rat squirming between its drooling teeth. The wolf clamps down, and as the warm blood gushes down its throat, the rat goes slack, a mutilated husk of what it once was. Riaan smiled a toothy grin and nodded in the vampire's direction. "Yeah, it seems like we find ourselves in agreement, for the most part. I scratch your back; you scratch mine. And in the meantime, we take care of some rodents." He stressed the last word through his teeth, narrowing his eyes in Dante's direction.

He turned back to Sabine and gave a sheepish smile, brushing the back of his neck with his palm. He took her extended hand and gave it a firm shake, her slender fingers wrapped delicately around his calloused hand. "Sure, we could set up a time and place. Don't want to rain on your parade or anything."

A pause, then he continued: "Though I'll need to touch base with the pack leader. Shame she couldn't make it tonight…" As he trailed off, he realized he still held Sabine's hand in his for an unreasonable amount of time. He tensed and, as if he'd been burnt, swiftly drew it away and not-so-subtly wiped his hand on the back of his pants. If she noticed, he didn't particularly care. His mind couldn't help but wander back to the leader, who seemed so much more adept at handling social niceties.

At Sabine's introduction of the newcomer, Riaan turned to the warlock, the man who seemed to be held in such high esteem by questionable company. He arched an eyebrow, regarding the man before him with suspicion. He couldn't claim to be too familiar with those of the coven or anyone attuned with magic, and considering the number of mages that aligned with the Deo Velonte, he felt such suspicion was warranted. Still, he gave a polite nod and greeted him nonetheless.

"It's good to meet you, Magnus." Brave or foolish, indeed, this man.

Instinct, a warning, an itch in the back of his head, told him to check back on his pack. As the two vampires whispered to each other, he swiveled his head back to the bar. First, there was a sigh of relief as Dani seemed to be safe, just as he had left the young woman: self-assured and reliable in her work. He didn’t know why he’d been worried—the redhead could care for herself. All seemed to be well… except for the distinct lack of the sea dog. Where the hell had the old man run off to?

coded by archangel_

 

[zlexis]

Thomas Barrett​

Location: The Regency; The Bar
Mood: Gratitude. Regret.
Interactions: Anaxileah | RedLeftHand36

"If I thought you owed me something, I would already have it at this point."

Rendered speechless, there was no response to give as the two fell into a momentary, yet familiar, silence. He could find no logic in the stranger's words, yet they held no contempt that he could discern. Stated as if they were fact. While Tom was taken aback by the cryptic response, the man continued to serve the others at the bar. From providing water as requested to preparing a drink suitable for the girl with the heterochromatic eyes, he moved with both fluidity and purpose that Tom could not comprehend, yet he understood it as being true to the man's unfathomable character at this point.

As the stranger addressed the others at the bar without turning his head or altering his posture, Tom spared a glance in his place—the man he had addressed, the other Deo Velonte: Mr. Kenway, better known as Richter. The informant. No magic, no mysticism. Just a human with exceptional marksmanship and a penchant for killing monsters. Someone to be admired, but also someone to be wary of. While Thomas’ flames made him unnatural, at least the mage could be of use, a weapon for the Deo Velonte. Something less than human, perhaps. However, there was no denying that Richter would switch targets to his own if she commanded it. And if she authorized his demise, well, there was also no question that Thomas would accept it.

Which made his current situation all the more critical.

The vampire’s acknowledgment of his present company snapped Tom back into reality. He hadn’t meant to ignore Cordelia for that brief moment, a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, so he shot her the most apologetic look he could muster and turned his body to face her once again.

“Cordelia, this is…” As no title came to mind, he settled for the next best phrase, emphasizing the last word through his teeth. “An acquaintance.” Under his breath, he whispered, “And there's nothing wrong with my aftershave.” He stroked his cheek, feeling the consequences of neglecting his grooming for nearly a week rubbing against his palm as he stared ahead plainly. Tom's mind raced with conflicting thoughts and emotions, and the more he explored his mind, the less sure he was of anything, as if a mold had been cultivated in his brain, seeding unwanted thoughts. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

As the grey cat nuzzled with the witch, Thomas looked back at the vampire, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Why do you care so much about my well-being? I have killed countless of your kind and will not hesitate to do so again. Any cooperation between us is unlikely.”

He paused briefly, his gaze holding a profound sadness, then continued with a bitter, hushed tone.

“I don’t know what you were hoping for, but you would have been better off leaving me dead.” He had already failed, after all. At this point, he was simply grasping at straws, engaging in a pathetic endeavor. It would have been simpler if the man with the thrice-faced mask had not intervened. An unspoken part, deep down, was still glad that he did.

coded by archangel_

 

[Eldarkon]

Dante's crimson eyes met Riaan's with an intensity that seemed to penetrate beyond the surface, delving into the very depths of his thoughts. He could sense the wolf's caution and realization of his mind-reading ability. It amused Dante to see the flicker of surprise in Riaan's expression, a flicker quickly replaced by a wolf's cunning resolve.

The wolf's mental imagery was vivid, a testament to the cunning and resourcefulness that lay beneath his rugged exterior. A flicker of respect danced across Dante's features, appreciating Riaan's willingness to play the game and match wits. The wolf's mental imagery of a predator hunting its prey resonated with Dante. He appreciated the subtle display of dominance, and a faint, knowing smile played at the corners of his lips. "Ah, the dance of predators and prey," Dante replied, his voice smooth and velvety. "It seems we share a mutual understanding of how things work in our world." Dante's words were laced with an air of amusement, his confidence unwavering. He had dealt with many formidable adversaries over the centuries, and Riaan's display of mental prowess piqued his interest. He could sense the wolf's caution, aware that his thoughts were being scrutinized. He paused, the atmosphere charged with unspoken implications. "You may consider this ball the beginning of our alliance"

"As for the dynamics between us," Dante continued, "I believe you've noticed my companions, Virgil and Charon. They are more than just lackeys; they are my trusted allies, each possessing skills that complement my own." He motioned towards Virgil, the ever-observant and strategic one. "Virgil here is attuned to the subtle currents of information, a valuable asset when navigating the complex tapestry of the supernatural world." "And Charon," Dante continued, gesturing towards the steadfast figure, "is a reliable force, ensuring that order is maintained amidst the chaos that occasionally befalls us." Dante's explanation was matter-of-fact, as though he were presenting a strategic dossier. He knew that his sons, like him, were skilled in their own right, and he valued their loyalty and unwavering dedication. "As for reading minds," Dante added, "it is but one thread in the tapestry of my abilities. My true strength lies in my adaptability and the knowledge I've amassed over the centuries."

With that, Dante's gaze shifted back to Riaan, a glint of challenge in his eyes. He respected the wolf's cunning and knew that Riaan's mind was a well-guarded fortress, a challenge that intrigued him. "We each have our strengths, my dear beast" Dante said, his tone warm but laden with an undercurrent of warning. "And our cooperation will undoubtedly lead to mutual benefits. But remember, the dance we engage in is a delicate one. Be mindful of your steps, for I am not as amenable to comprimise as most." He offered a nod of acknowledgment, acknowledging the balance between mutual gain and potential consequences. Dante knew that in the world of the supernatural, alliances were both a powerful asset and a precarious tightrope to walk.

Dante felt Sabine's arm slide around his own, her touch sending a subtle shiver down his spine. As she moved to his side, he felt a sense of possessiveness wash over him, the vampire's territorial instincts subtly asserting themselves. But he remained composed, allowing her to take the lead in their conversation with Riaan. He welcomed her proximity, appreciating her calculated charm and the allure of her cunning nature. He could sense the undercurrents of disdain in her thoughts, a stark contrast to the façade she presented to Riaan.
As she spoke, Dante observed the interaction between Sabine and the wolf, Riaan. He admired her skill in diplomacy, knowing that beneath her composed exterior, she was a skilled manipulator. Her words were laced with honey, offering an enticing vision of unity and cooperation between their factions.

Dante remained silent, observing the exchange with keen interest. He knew Sabine well enough to recognize her true intentions, even as she extended an olive branch to the wolf. While peace might be the façade, the underlying power play intrigued him. Her invitation for a private meeting was not lost on him, and he mentally noted it for future consideration. Sabine introduced Riaan and Magnus, and Dante watched the exchange between the two leaders with keen interest. As they exchanged pleasantries, Sabine's lips grazed his ear, sending a tantalizing shiver through him. He leaned in slightly, his own lips brushing against her ear as he replied in a low voice, "I would be delighted to accompany you, my dear. Whatever business awaits, I'm at your service."

As she pulled away, Dante allowed a playful glint to enter his eyes. He was intrigued by the complexity of the evening, the dance of power and alliances that played out under the Blood Moon's watchful eye. When Sabine inquired about drinks, Dante raised an eyebrow and gestured towards the nearby waiter, who had been discreetly observing the conversation. "I believe our friend Riaan might appreciate a drink," he said with a subtle smirk. "And as for myself, I'll savor whatever you have to offer, Sabine." He then turned his attention back to Riaan, studying the wolf's reaction to the ongoing proceedings. Dante remained alert, knowing that amidst the festivities and camaraderie, subtle shifts in alliances and power dynamics could shape the course of the night and the future of their intertwined worlds. The Blood Moon Ball had only just begun, and the real games were just starting to unfold.

zlexis Loomis

 

[Sepokku]

Dani gave a polite smile to Edward as he was escorted to the washroom, 'Honestly, what was Elu thinking keeping that mutt around.' Half senile old dogs were best suited for euthanasia, retirement, or directed like cannon fodder. She shook her head slightly, in an attempt to dispel the notion; especially considering it was one reminiscent of her parents.

The genii from her mask flew around Richter, their gentle glow bathing him in an intoxicating light. Contrails of numen flowed past his hands as he methodically demonstrated the tools of the trade that he had on him. She thought the shotgun was overkill, honestly how had he smuggled something that size in? Perhaps one of the security guards had just assumed he was happy to see them. She dismissed the thought as readily as it had appeared. At least his sidearm had been less showy.

"Voila."

"Voici," She corrected while smirking under her mask. "Voila has the subtext that the thing which you are referring to is away from your person. Since that is not the case, you would say, ‘Voici.’" She bit back the need to also point out that those who hadn't been properly searched were probably the ones with the most eyes on them, at least as far as their “Hosts” were concerned.

Part of her was tempted to simply walk away. His demonstration had given her a rough estimate of the sort of firepower he was packing, there was no law of reciprocity in effect that required her to respond in kind. Her wording had been vague enough, who was to say what she had really meant when she propositioned him. The Genii hung about him expectantly; they were, that's who.

"Tch," Her fingers idly drummed against the bar while she thought it over. "Gah, fare is fair." She gave the Genii a pointed look as she spoke. Downing her drink, her nimble fingers reached into her inner vest pocket and produced a rubber bullet. Holding it between her index finger and thumb, she presented it to Richter, "Barium sulfate, silicon, and rubber mixed into a composite; more commonly known as a Rubber Bullet. These ones are called Skippers, because they were designed to be aimed at the ground, and 'skip-fired' off it, into their target." She put the bullet away before continuing, "As a result, they can still be quite lethal. Exploded eyeballs are common in countries that use them."

Reaching around to the small of her back, she moved her vest slightly and retrieved the firearm that was tucked into her belt. "GLOCK brand smart gun; modified to be fully automatic. Quite powerful for its size. I imagine a full clip would generate more kinetic force than even your sawed-off." Her shoulders moved up slowly in a supple shrug, "Didn't bother to bring much of anything else. Even left my sword at home. Which is saying a lot for a gal like me." Tilting her head back slightly, she gave him another look, if she hadn't been masked, she would have been looking down her nose at him. "Saw no reason to bring a knife, since sharp implements are so readily available already." As a habit, she double checked the clip on the gun before putting it back.
Maverick Six

 

[Maverick Six]

Blood Moon Ball​

---

Interaction: Athanas RedLeftHand36 Sepokku

Mentions: Numerous

What are you looking at?

The Hunter evidently genuinely curious. It prompted Richter to look about a little as well. As though he was searching for some sort of fly. Yet he didn't see nor hear anything. When he watched the wolf woman, he saw subtle motions in her head that alluded to there being something around him. No.., it wasn't a fly she almost seemed like she was shooting a look at something. What it was, he could only guess. And slowly begin to put together pieces to a puzzle. He couldn't even see her face. Only the way her head had moved.

He took to looking at the bathroom as well. Some part of him wordlessly telling him to keep an eye on it. And to keep it in his peripherals.

"Voici" The She Wolf said, correcting him technically. Likely, she was the smartest he'd met. Not that he'd really done much talking to supernaturals when it came to it. It was a task that needed to be done. But usually was something delegated to people different from he. His duty was to guard, escort, enforce and tail.

"You must be fun at parties." Richter says jabbing at her. "Reminds me of myself a little bit." It was a strange thing to say to a werewolf. But it was true. He was one who's crashed more parties than he's ever been invited to. Come to think of it, this was probably the first party he'd ever really been invited to. It was a funny joke to think about. "I can't say you're wrong though. But at the same token, to say "there it is" conveys would convey my meaning well enough."

He'd waited for her to do the same. And one might wonder as to why he would show his weapons to one such as her. But it showed a practical purpose. It was an opportunity to put his weapons in places he was used to, so that he could quickly draw them. And at the same token, it may have conveyed some strange measure of "trust" to the she wolf. She seemed hesitant to show him his own. Understandably so. Showing off his own weapons brought with it risks.

But how was one to get ahead without taking risks. Without taking that first step? He noticed one thing about her judging from her movements.

You aren't drunk. Yet anyway.

As she produced a bullet, he leaned over to look at it, inspecting it. Admittedly, he didn't know what sort it was. But as she explained -- thought matched with concept. "Rubber." Non-lethal would be inaccurate indeed. "Less lethal would be accurate." He said. "It makes you seem more merciful than I."

The gazes onto the gun she had. And he recalls her mentioning it being made of wholly plastic. Along with the weapons. "And that's all plastic hmm? I'm not sure I could get my hands onto something like that. Not on my own anyway. Though it could deliver as much energy, I can only wonder how much of it will transfer with it bouncing around as it does." Though, in perhaps the Deo Volente could have such a thing arranged. What was surprising was to see a wolf with access to with such resources. When the wolves did bother to use weapons against him versus their own claws and teeth, they tended to be civilian models.

Richter raised his hand to about chest level in a closed fist. He opened three of his fingers. And clasping a shotgun shell with his pinky. The back of his hand shielding it from view. "Double ought buck." He said, before he dropped one crucial word.

"Silver." He said, looking not at the round but right at her. Then he would continue.

"If I intended to use it on you, or any of your kind, I wouldn't have told you that. And I'd have just left that part out or showed you a ranger SXT." He put the shotgun shell away into the shadows of his thick, trenchcoat. He seemed to spare her the explanation. And he presumed that she'd known what he was talking about.

"You're pretty smart for a wolf, admittedly. I suspect by now, you understand who I'm with." He said.

He shakes his head. "For the tasks I face, a normal knife will often...just not do. Mine is the alleged weapon of Quincy Morris. Suited somewhat to taste and use." He said. When he thought of it -- only a Kukri seemed as though it'd suit his needs.

A part of him wondered as to whether or not she would continue to speak to him further. Usually when he revealed, he'd be met with an all too familiar reviled reaction. Or outright violence. And in which violence from himself followed suit. But for whatever reason, he chose no such thing here.

He might have said something else, but he heard the sound of glass moving across a smooth, hardwood surface.

"If you simply must shoot up the place, one would simply ask you to refrain from aiming at the bar, Mr. Kenway." Said the many face masked man, some distance away.

Instinctively, Richter looked directly over to his side at the man as he slid his cup of water over.

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to hear my name from the man who was eye-fucking me earlier.

Still, it was at least a little impressive, he had to admit. He'd met many beings who had raw power. But intelligence was something else. He'd remember this man's voice.

Unlike the three faced man, Richter stared directly at who he was talking to. Even the sliding glass wasn't enough to tear away gaze, as Richter reached out towards it and halted it's momentum before it could arrive at it's carefully calculated point.

"Thank you." Richter said first, oddly polite. Loud enough for just about anyone to hear. His raised his mask ever so slightly. And one could see a smile plastered on his face which seemed almost sinister. Mischievous. It beared meticulously maintained, pearly white teeth. He took a drink before he would begin to speak.

"What I want to do and what I will do are not inherently mutual. I like to think separates me from your ilk at large is discipline." He said. It was one of the things instilled within him to some degree by the Deo Volente. Only god knows where he would be and what what he would be doing other.

His eyes washed over the place as people indulged in what he saw as simply self destructive hedonism. He could see the crowd around them from his peripherals. Many frightened by those who seemed to be here before. Was it the Technomancer with his shuddering the chairs? The wolf with his shattering of the glass? Was it Richter with his brazen threats? Really, who was to know? Those who were here were here with a reason.

"As much enjoyable as such a thought is, if I wanted wanton destruction, I would have suggested they send someone in to plant a bomb or something." He said to the man, his voice eloquent in a way that seemed less born of charisma and more born of habitual reading. Perhaps his words would be shorter and far more concise in the midst of a more dire situation. But he enjoyed speaking like this. Just like he oddly enjoyed speaking to this man that he could have easily been attempting to kill under different circumstances.

Richter began began to lean back into the chair dramatically. The back of his hand rested upon his head as though some great tragedy had befallen him. But his voice dripped soon with obvious sarcasm, clad in venomous mockery that he did enjoy whenever he got the chance to actually talk to one such as him. "But do forgive me. I should be more empathetic. More sensitive to your plight." He motioned to his heart, leaning forward as if now to bow apologetically.

"Who am I to bring weapons to a party, filled with hungry bloodsuckers such as yourself. All of whom sit powerful beneath the blood red moon. In a city you and people like you have brought closer to the maggot riddled soil from whence your ilk rose. With laws more suggestions than anything else. I may as well be living in the wild west. But, do find in your heart to forgive me, stranger." He said to the many faced man, egging him on more. Perhaps in part showing him why he wasn't sent on many missions like this before. Though sometimes, he himself knew some were quick to temper. The anger Richter tended to instill did at times lead to the more arrogant having much loser lips. Gloating. Corrections. An aggressive and risky approach to be sure. But among the Deo-Volente, Richter had the record to survive such situations as to get such information.

Richter clasped his hands together and he leaned a forward. While the mask his face, his body was more expressive. Almost earnest.

"I can't promise I won't shoot at the bar. However, at this moment, I have no such reason to. My suggestion to you would be...that if something rather dire were to happen, that you simply run." Evidence of mockery in his tone no longer. It was a genuine suggestion.

He reclined back a little.

A brief look around however, and there was a larger story at play. In reality, the two near him were in quite questionable condition. Jacques was wounded. Angry. Motivated. But wound. Thomas? The loss of his arm was the most blaringly honest. But the second was the loss of his will. He was nervous and he had doubt writ all upon his face. Richter could see it as plain as day, as his eyes observed the motions he made and how he made them. His posture. His face. He hid it well but to one such as Richter, he may as well have limped in.

All the while, he cast a gaze to those who'd gathered quite literally and fittingly, above all of them. Sabine. Lottie. Dante. Vergil. Charon. From the night prior, they'd all shown no signs of the attack Richter had read about. He'd never know that Sabine had been at the very lease grazed by an anti-material rifle after. Almost any one of them could present some measure of threat even alone. Save for perhaps one. Though the psychological effect appeared to be there. All surrounded by numerous vampiric body guards whom he could only presume were armed.

To add to that everyone else was practically a wild card. Including the she wolf sitting next to him. And the vampires were coddling up to the mages, securing alliances and playing to their strengths. And if what he overheard from Thomas of the Coven was correct, they seemed stalwart in becoming the ever-enlightened centrists. Even if they might eventually find themselves seduced. To make matters even more complicated, Richter did not understand the affiliation of the many faced man. If he truly helped Thomas, it seemed apt to be for an as of yet unknown reason.

What a shit show.

All of this while everyone was empowered under the Blood. Red. Moon. Save for a mortal like him.

"Though, I must say, you'd have to be a fool to attack this place so brazenly." Indeed, even in an optimal scenario -- Richter anticipated to have severe casualties going up against those present, even if they put a significant dent into them. It'd be much more surgical than bomb. But then the thought of a worst case scenario came. And it was enough for him to discard the notion entirely. Not like that.

Yet he peered on, watching the way things unfolded with a keen eye. His eyes focused on Dante and Sabine, as she whispered sweet nothings into his ear.

Leaving so soon?

And then his eyes landed on the bathroom. Something which had never left his peripherals. The big wolf never left the bathroom.

Quite the long piss he's taking.

Didn't he see someone else walk in to the restroom, in such a hurry. But they've yet to come out all this time. Richter raised his mask once more, drinking half the water himself with a rather odd smile considering where he finds himself.

At this rate -- he too...will need to take a piss.

 

[Loomis]

Electricity ran through her as the low hum of Dante’s words tickled her skin. “Perfect,” She turned her chin slightly to look up at him, a mischievous smile spreading across her face. Sabine pushed herself off Dante and lifted her hand, wiggling her fingers to motion over the waiter that stood on the edge of the group. The young man approached quickly, eager to take their drink order. “Please see to it that everyone gets the refreshment of their choosing right away.” Sabine’s eyes traveled from the human’s eyes, to their supple lips, down to their neck. Her gaze lingered longer than she would have liked to admit, but with the influence of the Blood Moon it was drastically increasing her lust for blood. The rhythmic thump of his heartbeat was singing out to her, inviting her in like a siren to a ship full of men at sea. The conversation and music around her faded away as the sound of his heart beat grew louder with each pulsating movement in his chest. The young man was completely oblivious to the fact that he was active prey and his predator was losing their grasp on control. As the man descended down the stairs to retrieve their drinks his heartbeat began to fade, Sabine’s mental clarity swiftly returning to her as the sweet melody of his heart left her.

"Sure, we could set up a time and place. Don't want to rain on your parade or anything."

Riaan’s voice snatched Sabine’s attention from the staircase and back to the conversation at hand. Ah yes, Elu Tainn, a native resident to Saint Haddock and the Werewolf pack leader. As far as pack leaders went Elu was quite underwhelming to Sabine. Her passive behavior towards the movements Sabine and her kind had made was quite odd for their species, but it definitely made moving in on Saint Haddock easier. Push back from the Wolves upon arrival to town would’ve made things a lot harder, so Sabine was grateful in that sense.

“Oh, she’s not in attendance this evening?” Sabine glanced back down the staircase and to the crowd below them, scanning quickly for the Wolf in question. “I was looking forward to meeting her tonight. Send her my regards when you see her again.” At least that was one last person on Sabine’s checklist for tonight, but would definitely need to meet with Elu at some point. Securing the Wolves was going to be tricky but if she could get their leader under her thumb the rest of her plans would take care of themselves. Silently the waiter reappeared with a tray full of drinks just as Sabine was running out of conversation topics with the Wolf.

“Perfect timing,” Sabine cooed and took the new champagne glass, wasting no time in drinking from it. The blood instantly satisfying the gnawing itch at the back of her mind. As she drank from her glass her gaze wandered once again and landed on the bar below the staircase. She could see several other pack members engaging in conversation, but what truly caught her attention, or rather who, was the Deo Velonte members.

“I see some of your other pack members down at the bar, shall we join them?” Even though it was a question Sabine did not wait for an answer from the Wolf. Sabine made sure to lock eyes with Dante before nodding towards the bar so he could also make note of the Deo Velonte members. Using her free hand she fluffed out the chiffon trail of her dress as she descended the stairs. Stopping about halfway down the stairs she looked over her shoulder at Dante’s two sons and her sister.

“You two watch her for me now, make sure she behaves!” Her tone was light and playful but the look she shot Lottie was the exact opposite. Sabine had been keeping track of how many cocktails her sister was enjoying and it wouldn’t be long before Lottie would become an issue. Part of me wonders if I should have left Charlotte at home. Hopefully she proves me wrong tonight. As she continued down the stairs she couldn’t help but imagine all the different ways she wanted to rip into the Deo Velonte members. Smashing their heads into one another so hard they explode, ripping their throats out and feasting on their blood, the beautiful sounds of their pained screams. A pleasant chill of goosebumps flooded her body as her mind raced, but tonight was not for violence. Taking in a deep breath she reined in her murderous thoughts as she approached the group at the bar.

“Good evening everyone,” She lifted her glass as a hello. Her eyes bounced from each masked person before her, though her stare lingered on a set of familiar eyes. Oh, things are about to get interesting.

Interactions: zlexis , Eldarkon & Loxely | Mentions: Sepokku , Maverick Six , Athanas , Anaxileah , RedLeftHand36 & DarkKitsune ​

 

[Loxely]

Madame Moretti
Deo Volente Captain​

---

Murmurs of feminine tones echoed off the cold, stone walls of the open office. The layout being rather large and open, almost as if overcompensating for a unspoken insecurities. Planted in the center, giving a foreboding welcoming, sat a desk - lit tiresomely under the dull fluorescents above. The breathy whispers indulging in one another raised and lowered their hushed pitches. A leg draped carelessly over the backrest of the leather bound office chair, while the other spread along it's armrest. Trembling with affection as toes curled beneath the thin layer of pantyhose. The sound of a knock at the steel doors broke the vocal engagement, followed by the loud creaking and heel taps of another body entering the eerie room. Judith, a feeble framed, yet diligent employee approached the desk. Her eyes dancing around the bare walls and unforgiving concrete floors, awaiting acknowledgement.

Judith's employer, retreated from the embrace of the perched legs. Reclining back in her chair, she raised her gaze to match that of a flustered Claudine who retracted her arch along the desk and sat straight - though her grip along the lip of her sturdy seat remained. The room felt silent as the Madame herself drew the tip of her thumb along the corners of her lips, wiping away the residual pleasures that glistened her mouth. Judith bent hesitantly at the waist and pressed a gentle peck against the cheek of the employer before speaking sheepishly, "Collins, line one, Madame." With a pivot, she tip toed swiftly back out of the office.

The Madame allowed a hefty sigh to escape her as her glare fixated on the blinking red light on her land line. Claudine took that sigh as a tell tale to reach into the top drawer of the desk and remove a clove from it's carton. Lighting the cigarette and holding it before the disgruntled woman, awaiting for her lips to part and place it carefully between them. Taking in a long drag, the exhale emerged lazily from her nostrils. She reached for the phone, removing it from the receiver, "Collins, I'm sure you're aware that you're interrupting my evening sermon." With the wave of her free hand, Claudine opened the laptop resting at the corner of the desk to a paused video of a pre recorded mass. Tapping the spacebar to enable the video to play and another tap to turn on the audio, loud enough to be heard on the receiving end of the call. There, she remained splayed along the desk with legs adorning the arm rests of the chair, silently waiting for the end of the call.

Upon the hang up, the Madame pinched at the bridge of her nose with annoyance. Taking a moment to ponder over the information relayed to her. Another threat to Paradise City, another blood sucking leach. The wave of her hand, a silent command to dismiss Claudine. She understood it well and slid off the desk, pulling up her stockings and adjusting the rest of her attire. She gathered her heels, gave a tender peck to the cheek of the Madame and exited the office. Once the doors shut, Madame slid the laptop to the center of the desk, closing out the video and opening an encrypted program. Entering her information and revealing a list of contacts and messages, there she began highlighting her current unit and formed a new message to the group.

"Shall I go too?" Chimed a soft voice from beneath the desk. The Madame peered down, giving a reassuringly smirk to a doe eyed woman settled into the bowels of the desk. She reached down and ran a finger through the thickly curled locks, "No, continue." She affirmed in a soothing tone, wheeling her chair close to the desk.

________________________________________________

Good Evening Gentlemen,

It has come to my attention that we are faced with a greater threat than our previous targets. We've been informed this new threat is distributing a power substance that is causing primal behavior to our supernatural enemies.
His name is
Cassius Amadeus Marinelli

We know little of the true nature of his plans, but we speculate his power is greater than those who currently reside in Saint Haddock. Though he is now our highest priority, proceed with caution.

Whichever one of you dogs brings him down first, will be thrown a special treat.

-Madame Moretti
​

interactions: Athanas zlexis Maverick Six

 

[Loomis]

After dumping the pack leader's body riverside Cassius and his lackey made their way to the illustrious Blood Moon Ball. The streets of Saint Haddock were ghost-like with the majority of the populace in attendance allowing the luxury car to rip through the streets as it pleased. Cassius and his driver rode in silence, the Vampire deep in thought. My little song bird…Closing his eyes the image of Sabine’s face fluttered through his mind, a small smile cracking his cold features. The night was still young and there would be plenty of time to catch up with her later, his first priority was to stir up some chaos.

“Sir?” Luca’s voice snapped through the Vampires thoughts, bringing him back into the present. “We have arrived.”

“Wonderful. Keep the car nearby and be ready to leave at a moment's notice,” Cassius patted the back of the driver’s seat before letting himself out. Stepping onto the red carpet that led up to The Regency he inhaled deeply, taking a moment to bask underneath the red glow of the moon. Adjusting his suit to make sure there were no wrinkles from sitting he gave himself one last look over in the reflection of the tinted window. Shifting his gaze to the entrance of the Ball he noticed two humans standing outside, each of them holding a tray of drinks ready to serve whoever entered. Licking his lips hungrily he approached the two at an inhuman pace, the startled looks in their eyes only fueling the hunger in him.

“Good evening,” Cassius greeted the both of them as he reached out and took a champagne glass with the amber tint to it. “You both look delicious,” his eyes locked in on their necks, his smile hidden behind the Greek inspired mask. They muttered something of a thanks to him, but the Vampire wasn’t listening to their words, only their heartbeats increasing out of nervousness.

“While I would love to stay here and snack, I have other matters to attend to.” Lifting his mask to expose only his mouth he brought the glass to his lips and drained it. Placing the empty glass on the tray he slipped his mask back in place and made his way into the ball. The masked faces before him were all blissfully unaware of the trouble that had just joined them for the evening. Cassius stood by the door for a brief moment while he surveyed the crowd, a mix of Humans, Vampires, Werewolves and Warlocks. They all seemed to be coexisting well for the time being, I should change that.

Suddenly his senses were flooded by a familiar scent, searching the masked groups desperately to lock in on the scent. There she is, intoxicating as ever, his eyes danced along her figure as he watched her engage with the group at the bar. He noticed another Vampire standing close, too close, to her and he narrowed his eyes. Cassius’s anger began to grow as he watched her wrap her arm in his, the lustful little looks she shot at him. He forced his eyes off the two and onto a waiter that was passing through, snatching them by their wrists he pulled them closer so he could take a drink from the tray. The human didn’t protest the forceful grip, but he noticed the panic on their face. Usually that would excite the Vampire, the game of cat and mouse, intimidation, but he was far too agitated to relish in their reaction. Moving through the crowd he listened in on the passing conversations as he tried to decide what his first move should be when movement at the top of the stairs caught his attention.

As he climbed the carpeted staircase he intensely stared at the back of the platinum blonde head. Charlotte DeLormè, the more annoying of the two sisters to him, but she was always fun to rile up. As he drew closer to the Vampire he extended his large hand out and roughly placed it on her shoulder.

“Charlotte, it’s been far too long.” Turning her body towards him so they could come face to face he squeezed her shoulder. “Do introduce me to your little friends,” He nodded his chin towards the other two Vampires she stood with.

Interactions: Loxely ​

 

[RedLeftHand36]

Thaumus

Under a different name
Interactions with zlexis & Maverick Six

The difference between dogs and wolves...

"Though, I must say, you'd have to be a fool to attack this place so brazenly."

One might have felt pity if they had not been so painfully aware of the gestalt nature of anything human in nature. Or perhaps it was a misplaced hope built up through centuries of constant somnolence. Were it not for disproportionately acute sensory organs, tobacco would have seemed a more appealing relief from the world. Alas, every single entity in the building reeked. That was why hygienic practices were so revered, and why the only odour that ever clung was that faint scent of petrichor. Ironic, then, that in his ability to distinguish minutia through such senses, did all these hominids blend together. Had that particular primate with the mocking tone been reformed into the ranks of the regional revenants, he’d have been almost indistinguishable from any of the Wolfbanes.

“You wound me, Mr. Kenway,” the stranger responded in turn. “I am the acting host of this parlour, and as host, it is my duty to ensure the well-being of my clientele.”

Matter-of-factness. As if it were the most natural response in the world. Then for the briefest of moments, those unnatural eyes, seemingly glowing from behind the three-faced mask, set a proper gaze on the healthier Deo Volente agent.

“Including yourself. Please… have a moment to relax. I will enact my hostly duties without fail.”

There it was, as the visage turned back to the one-armed man. That familiar pause of unnatural silence, as if the man in white was acting as a… something. Something like a black hole. A void, where all sound was condensed and consumed into a silent nothingness. Of course, there was still the chatter of the crowd, the clanking of glass and dishes, music and all the noise you’d expect from an upper-class festivity. But despite the din of the bourgeoisie in all its various forms, this stranger acted like an unnoticeable tear in reality. Truthfully, ‘quiet’ wasn’t even the right word. It seemed more like the world, reality at large even, was constantly forgetting the man, like how a texture in a graphics engine took strangely long to load after you began looking its way. Like God kept forgetting this figure. Compared to the other night, however, it was all so much heavier.

Suffering was a temporary state of existence that conjoined the states of abstraction and corporealism. And despite one’s composure, there was a certain displeasure in the monotony. Everything blurred. A hundred years, a thousand, sleepless, thankless, with nothing to show but centuries of exasperation. War. Strife. Conflict. One was of the quiet places. The lost places. The forgotten places. Soon enough, everyone would forget again, and all that work would be for naught. For most vampires, the blood moon meant frenzy. But this one was far too tired for such a thing. To this one, temptation was not a war cry. It was a lullaby. And how one longed for sleep. But he had a role to play. What was the saying again? No rest for the wicked. If they would just take him at face value, he would be able to rest, finally. But he had to work for it all. And if he had to work for it, so would they.

“I don’t know what you were hoping for, but you would have been better off leaving me dead.”

There was that word: Hope. What an excruciatingly foolish term for it. ‘Hope’ didn’t convey the right emotions. ‘Hope’ wasn’t calculating. ‘Hope’ wasn’t ruthless. ‘Hope’ wasn’t inevitable. One could go on and on about how everything was exactly as designed. Exactly as planned. Exactly as intended and thought out. When the cards would fall, it would be not out of expectations and prayer, but the forces of gravity and time. Would they ever come to that realisation? Would they not come to see the grand, intelligent design? No, they would not. Everyone believed in the assurance of their free will would be the light to guide the vessels of fate. But the moons and the stars were infallible. This was not merely interactions out of expectations. Everyone was some kind of stitch in the weave. They would come to realise it soon enough.

“Humans are a social creature, Mr. Barrett,” Came that ethereal voice. “Cooperation is required to survive. You should certainly come to grasp that concept by now.”

That momentary pause.

“Despite what anyone likes to claim, everyone in this room is, ultimately, human. Arguably not so much physically, but most certainly psychologically. Perhaps spiritually. And yet the foolish nature of many risks the entire city collapsing down on all our heads. Perhaps that is the will of God. Yet I would defy it.”

The stranger then seemed to look in a vague direction, a first glance merely into a wall, but it was not overly difficult to tell that he was peering beyond it with those otherworldly eyes. His face was obscured, but there was a certain wistfulness to his pose. Longing and regret, blurred by innumerable solar cycles of desensitisation. The understanding of the enormity of the world sculpted a stern and stoic figure, and all the hymns in the world could offer no solace to a dead man in an overgrown and abandoned chapel. The stars have moved since then, but they were still infallible.

“In the coming days, you will come to doubt everything, Mr. Barrett. As you should. And that is all I require. Ash will bring no closure. You will kill the one you wish to kill, most certainly. But you will feel nothing. You will still see them both, in the corners of your dreams. And you will see the truth at last.”

‘One’. ‘Them’. In the most knowing of tones. Thomas Barrett would understand. Thomas Barrett would be the only one to understand. The tapestry will be laid out for all to see. Then, and only then, would the gold be gained at last.

 

[Loxely]

Whispers shared between Lottie and Magnus seemed like a rather genuine exchange from the outside looking in. Her lithe arm still entangled around his figure, pressing her small frame rather generously against his. The body language she displayed could easily be misconstrued as more than just a friendly interaction. Smiling cheerfully as she swayed her hips to and fro to the slow rhythm of baroque in an attempt to entice him for her long awaited dance. Though, he proceeded to pull away gently, excusing himself and disappearing into the crowd.

Lottie's feigned smile faded as Magnus departed. Momentarily preening her long locks of hair, adjusting her mask and scoping out the next cocktail waiter for a refill. Downing her current flute of infused champagne, to eagerly dispose of it and snatch another. A vibrant tingle skittered under her skin, feeling the effects of intoxication. But the irritable voice of conscious rattled away, reminding her to stay true to her promise with Sabine. Pouting her plump bottom lip while she glared at the glass in her hand. Giving it an unamused swirl, recognizing she's reached a point of inebriation that will only plummet further if she continued. A sigh escaped her, taking note to take calculated sips for the duration of the night.

“Charlotte, it’s been far too long.”

Her body language betrays her uneasiness. Shoulders hunch inward, and her posture becomes defensive, as if subconsciously trying to make herself smaller, less noticeable. Her hands began tremble subtly, betraying the inner turmoil that she fights to suppress. Her heart quickens it's pace, each beat a drum of unease that reverberates through her chest. A cold shiver courses down her spine, causing her to involuntarily tense her muscles. As she is pivoted to face the voice, her eyes, usually bright and expressive, now dart about nervously. Struggling to maintain eye contact, she searches the room for the presence of her sister or other companions. To her dismay, Sabine and Dante have retreated down the stairs while the brothers remain yet too far to call out without causing a scene. She becomes acutely aware of her vulnerability and the sense of powerlessness weighs heavily on her. She swallows hard, attempting to regain composure, but the lump persists.

"Cassius, my dear. You are correct, it has been far too long. Perhaps not long enough." She coos with the façade of pleasantries. Stepping closer towards him, bringing their conversation to a more private murmur among the chattering camaraderie around them. But every word and gesture feels calculated, attempting to avoid provoking any unwanted attention or reaction from the monster who instills fear in her. "Shall we toast to your long awaited return?" Raising her glass to his in their little social bubble of two, a harrowing gesture to stall the otherwise inevitable.
"Raison d'être"

interactions // Loomis

 

[zlexis]

Thomas Barrett​

Location: The Regency; The Bar
Interactions: Maverick Six | RedLeftHand36 | Loomis | Eldarkon | Anaxileah | DarkKitsune

"Though, I must say, you'd have to be a fool to attack this place so brazenly."

Understatement of the century. However, the mage failed to see the irony of his previous attempt at Lazarus days before. Instead, he glanced between the two as the vampire spoke in his usual pragmatic tone that Tom had grown accustomed to. It was interesting to watch another on the cryptic vampire's receiving end. Then the self-proclaimed host turned back to him, and when he spoke, Tom froze in place and grasped every word, and time itself stood still, as if waiting patiently for the moment to end.

"...You will still see them both, in the corners of your dreams. And you will see the truth at last."

He wanted to scoff, or cry, or start laughing maniacally. A torrent of emotions swirled inside Thomas, but in reality, he was stunned, speechless, his face a passive mirror against the three-faced man. The memory of his past wasn’t something he brought up willingly. If he closed his eyes, he knew he would see it: the stains, the massacre, and a glimpse of the killer's face. The same face that haunted him. The same face that fueled him. One that was crumpled into his jacket pocket. And the flames grew hot, caressed lovingly by the red moon above until he felt a spark light up in his mouth involuntarily. He quickly quelled it before it caused a scene.

For the first time since he’d sat down, he took a drink. The whiskey burned his damaged throat, but it did well to calm his nerves. Then he slammed it on the counter, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and looked up at his stranger. No doubt he could see through his facade - to see a man barely holding it together.

“I need to leave.” He turned and gave a regretful look to the red-haired witch by his side. “Excuse me.”

It was sudden, yes, but he was tired of games. Tired of being scrutinized. More than anything, he was exhausted, the kind of tiredness that you cannot sleep away and permeates your entire being. For the first time in his life, he actually missed his meager living quarters at HQ, and though the idea of reporting to her left an anxious twinge in his gut, he couldn’t put it off forever. It was inevitable. And, let’s face it, he was useless in his current state, he thought bitterly. He stood, not-so-gracefully, in preparation to retreat.

“Good evening, everyone,” the unmistakable voice of Sabine cut through the air like knives behind him, sending a chill down Thomas’ spine. His body went rigid, then whipped around to see not just the parasite, but the puppeteer as well. Dante... His throat tightened, and he reflexively reached for his missing sword, only to grasp at nothing. Instead, he clasped the side of his jacket and pulled it closer around his shoulders.

So much for leaving this vampire-infested nightmare. Instead, he did something somewhat uncharacteristic. He stepped between the newcomers and the witches, glancing back at Cordelia and the young girl before turning to face the vampires again, acting cordial with raised glasses. It made him sick. His eyes trailed down her dress, taking in her extravagance, and stayed lowered. He took care not to look Sabine in her eyes, lest he fall for her same tricks. He had already learned that lesson once.

"You have some nerve," he spat, his voice still strained. It took every fiber of his being not to burn them both to a crisp, but not here, not now. There were too many bystanders, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to control himself. Still, he made little effort to mask the venom behind his words. "What the fuck do you want?"

coded by archangel_

 

[AlphaBlueWolf]

Cora Undermoore and Declan Martin
The Blood Moon Ball
Interactions: Open​

Cordova Undermoore nursed a modest glass, worrying away at the plant stuck in for flavoring. These types of things weren't really her style. The elitist social gatherings weren't her taste, or any social gatherings really. Growing up in the woods a majority of her life with only her family keeping her company meant she had no idea how to function at these things. She likely would've ditched the idea of coming had it not proved advantageous to her jobs, or had it not involved a little fun. She'd slipped in when the party first started yet disappeared to the shadows with the same glass full since and stuck to one corner, watching folks' pair and group off, determining the state of the room. After getting her bearings and watching the goings on as if it were a wildlife documentary, she peeled herself off the wall and joined the mingling crowds. She likely would've stayed in her position longer, but she found a familiar head of black hair that rushed her along.

The witch herself was dressed along with the theme, wearing an eloquent mask of what looked like wooden make, with silvery outlines extended into a crown of antlers. Summer leaves and yellow flowers were strewn up in her hair and pinned behind an ear held two decorative feathers. Her eyes had been shifted to show their full effect of strange cat-like blue, though many participates had been playing a guessing game of whether it was Cora's doing or the Blood Moon's. It's appearance certainly turned some heads. Her outfit looked like a mix of a tuxedo and a dress. She wore a red dress shirt that transitioned down to a dark blue as the back and sides extended to flow down around black stockings zigzagged with branch designs, the extensions looking like long coattails. The dark blue portion of her dress was dotted with a white star-like pattern. Cora held her hair up in its usual position, but in a more extravagant bun that fit the evening air.

Declan smiled upon seeing her, and when he finally met up with her, and the two entered into their own pair that she'd seen so many others skillfully perform, he said, "Well, you went all out for this pretentious thing."

Declan wore a plainer outfit. He looked as if he had fun with it, more fun than some of the other Deo Volente here, but still not as extravagant as Cora's outfit ended up. He wore a white dress shirt under a blue vest with white spirals around the edges. He hid the designs with a more typical black blazer and lighter black pants. His face was obscured with a black mask with white and gold diamonds and trimmings.

Cora performed a pleased twirl for him. "Well, of course I did. I don't get to dress up like this often. Not since the Taylor's cocktail party back home."

"Hey, this place makes those deep pocketed dopes look like a bunch of saints."

"You don't look so bad yourself. Where'd you pull that from?" She gestured to his outfit.

"It's a rental. You wouldn't think a place like this would have a rental shop full of masquerade stuff. The owner is either supernatural or got tipped off a lot of people would need masquerade outfits and fast. So, here I am." He said, straightening out his blazer. He looked around at the groups around them, handfuls of all species balanced around them, and even a few members of the Deo Volente like him. He was surprised to find an invitation at his door, it made sense for his witch doctor friend to receive one, but him not so much. She explained soon enough that people of status often received them, and though Declan may not have been of notable rank in the Deo Volente, he was still the one who always advised them to slow down for an investigation, so that maybe they didn't have to go on the hunt. In the years they'd been here, maybe the rumors of Declan being a supernatural hugger had made its way out of the Deo Volente and into the supernatural circles that Cora frequented. Thus, giving the planner of this event the idea of allowing him entry. Now they got to enjoy the evening together if no one else needed them and could pull the other out of awkward situations. Though, his eyes kept wandering to his Deo Volente allies, trying to spot them in the crowd to see if they were having trouble. He'd heard of things getting tense recently, and Declan was finally around to help sort things out. But this grouping of people that hated each other might do that for him. Cora pushed him in the arm to get his attention back to her after it had settled on a defensive Thomas Barrett, wondering briefly if his lieutenant needed help before the thought got pushed to the back of his mind.

"Wow, is the big bad detective DV scared of the other attendees all of a sudden?" She mocked in a playful, but caring tone, gesturing around them to the dozens of supernaturals who milled around them. The fur in the air could kill an allergenic, and pointed pearly whites flashed with every accented laughter that echoed through the room. Even the witches and warlocks were having a primal side brought out to them. She'd done her own reveling in the air, dosing a cocktail glass with a little bit extra of what an unsuspecting werewolf was looking for. But it was all in good fun. That was the nature of the Blood Moon Ball. Reveling in each other's oddities without causing unnecessary conflict and mending otherwise burned bridges that those oddities had torched in the first place. At least that's how she perceived this whole thing. And she intended to have fun tonight. She held up a hand to reveal a shroom in her palm. "I could help you relax."

Declan practically chocked on air, coughing out an answer with a sick look on his face, "Uh, no thanks. You know I'm not interested in that kind of stuff."

"I know, I know. It's just a bit of fun, Denny. Relax, there's nothing to worry about." She said with a grin, "I know we occult folk can be very scarwy to you DV, but this whole thing is supposed to be about having fun and mending relationships. Besides, I'm sure I can find someone else who is interested." She pocketed the shroom with a look that could set a house ablaze from a mile away. She saw the way Declan looked at her and amended, "I won't do anything too bad, don't worry."

"What did the Deo Volente do to you anyways? You used to live for this stuff. The infiltration of the Taylor's cocktail party was your idea, and it paid off, didn't it? Look, no one's gonna try anything here. Just try to have fun tonight. If you're really not feeling it, we can get some fresh air later and I'll take you home." Cora stopped with her playful remarks, fixing Declan with a look of genuine concern.

"Thanks, but it's fine. It's just the whole concept of this thing that's putting me off. Yes, let's put a bunch of supernatural and professionally trained killing machines who all hate each other into one room, give them access to a bar, and tell them to get along as if they were kids fighting over a toy. It just feels off to me."

"You see it your way, I see it mine. No one's killed each other yet, so maybe this approach is working. Maybe I should invest in throwing some parties at my clinic to loosen everyone up."

"'Clinic'? It's just your house." Denny scrutinized in the familiar way he did when details didn't match what he already knew. He cracked a smile once he saw Cora's grin beneath her mask.

 

[a z u l a]

Iva Villalobos
Interactions: Charon Eldarkon

The full moon had already begun to sing its savage melody in Iva's veins as she left the bar behind her pack, the tension of the meeting only serving to further her unrest. Not even the tomb-like silence of her apartment was enough to quell the spreading wildfire in her blood as she got ready for the Blood Moon Ball, the adrenaline coursing through her muscles causing her to nearly rip the delicate fabric of the shimmering dress between her fingers as she slipped into the form fitting piece. It hugged her body like a second-skin and would require a miracle to survive the night, there was barely a semblance of a chance that she would make it through the next hour without shifting, let alone the entire evening.

The only thing that put her mind at ease was the fact that she had valuable information to give Charon tonight after tempers had run high at the pack meeting, an assurance that no matter what happened at this intermingling of species she would be protected. Or at least she hoped. There was a fine line between being useful and being a liability to the CrimsonTears, a tight-rope as thin as spidersilk that she had walked every day for the last year.

No matter the danger it presented, Iva couldn't go back on her bargain with Charon now, and even if the opportunity presented itself she wasn't quite sure she would take it. The once docile she-wolf had known nothing but a thirst for blood and violence since the slaughter of her pack, the rabid beast within her would never be at peace until she'd shredded every last Deo Volente into tasteful ribbons. Even then, she wasn't sure any amount of blood would be enough to fulfill her version of justice.

Always a hair's breadth away from having her neck snapped, Iva had become an expert at reading those around her to remain under the radar but still valuable. Her healing abilities made her valuable to the pack, and it was easier than she would've liked to grow fond of her newfound kin. Acclimating to the pack had been one thing, but the growing tension between the creatures dwelling within Saint Haddock made her deception even harder. The leader of the Crimson Tears despised her, and though she avoided him as best she could when dealing with Charon there were times such as tonight when the encounter couldn't be avoided.

It was for precisely that reason that Iva circled the venue twice to assess the current emotional state of the vampires before approaching. Gods, she needed a drink. The bar was swarming with bodies, enough so that Iva could down two drinks without her pack mates at the bar noticing her slipping back into the crowd without a word. The liquid seemed to satiate the wolf itching to pry its way out of her skin, enough that she could face the vampires speaking with the Deo Volente and not want to rip their throats out any more than normal.

Her nose scrunched up at the overwhelming scent of so many vampires in one area, shaking off the agitation building inside her as she readjusted the silver mask adorning her face. It seemed everyone was mingling, some more pleasantly than others, so conversing with a vampire wouldn't make her seem any more suspicious than anyone else.

"You know, perhaps if you smiled more the Deo Volente might want to kill you less." Iva remarked, tone lit with amusement as she came to stand at Charon's side with a sly smile. Her mouth practically watered at the nearby sight of the Deo Volente leader getting so worked up over the vampire woman's speech, she could almost taste his flesh between her jaws, could vividly imagine the satisfaction of tearing him limb from miserable limb.

Returning her attention to her purpose for being here in the first place, Iva glanced away from the scene Thomas was making and back to the vampire beside her. "I assume the body everyone is up in arms about belongs to one of you, but the pack is at one another's throats over it." She mused, eyes returning to the crescendo of tension in the room. If blood was spilt tonight, Iva wasn't sure she could control herself from getting lost in the frenzy, wasn't sure she would even try to resist the temptation. Even without the effect of the full blood moon, Iva had been yearning for a fight lately, the violence in her soul howling for her to indulge.

"I don't think anyone would mind if I ended all of our problems and slaughtered him here and now to celebrate the ball, do you?" It was awfully bold of the warlock to accost their host at her own party. Bolder still to do it in a room full of people who already wanted his head on a pike. It only further reminded her why she was selling out the pack, betraying her own kind to achieve her sick need for revenge. "Our pack leader isn't here." She noted with a deep frown, partially to herself as she scanned the crowd for any sign of Elu but found no trace of her. Certainly she'd been one of the last to arrive at the ball, there was no reason Elu shouldn't already be here.

"I don't think this feigned civility is going to last much longer." The skin-tight dress seemed like even more of a mistake as Iva gently ran her hand over the delicately hidden dagger beneath her dress, eyes darting to mark each member of her pack and their proximity to the door should things rapidly go south. The air had slowly shifted, unease just on the tip of her tongue but too subtle for her to pinpoint exactly what it was that had her muscles tensing.​

 

[Ghostiiys]

Location: Blood Moon Ball

Otsana Raya

Interactions: Open

Otsana woke up with a start, her head pounding and her mouth felt like it was stuffed full of cotton. She was lying on the cold, hard ground, and she could feel the grit of the dirt beneath her cheek. She sat up and looked around, trying to figure out where she was. She was in an alleyway surrounded by trash and some graffiti she must of done while absolutely blasted earlier. It was hard to make sense of her surroundings as the only light came from the moon. She stood up and brushed herself off. She was still drunk, and she felt like she was going to be sick.

''These fuckers really ditched me." Otsana hissed. She rubbed her eyes hoping it would get rid of the fatigue until she began to dig in her pockets. Maybe some Blow would help pick up her mood long enough to find something fatty to eat and help with the hangover. After about a solid thirty seconds of rummaging through her duffel bag and pockets, she realized those homeless dudes whom she got drunk with had taken her stash and the few dollars she had. Otsana didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She started to walk out of the alleyway but stopped when she saw her reflection in a puddle. She looked like hell. Her hair was a mess, her clothes were dirty, and her makeup was smudged to hell. She could see the bags under her eyes, and her lips were chapped.

Ever since living in Saint Haddock Otsana felt like her life was just going more downhill. Everyone was so guarded, crime was off the charts, it was like the smog that covered this place made everyone even more hostile. How was a girl supposed to make a living stealing when everyone was so vigilant? She wandered aimlessly through the streets of Saint Haddock, her mind elsewhere, not realizing her nose was following the smell of booze, food, and a shit ton of cologne. She bumped into some attendants and muttered an apology before stopping in her tracks.

A huge venue with bright lights and a line of extravagant vehicles with even more extravagant people walking out of them. She had never seen anything like it before. She couldn't help but stare, her mouth agape. What was this place? And what were all these people doing here? She slowly started to walk towards the entrance, drawn by the lights and the music. As she got closer, she could see that it was a ball. A very fancy ball. Nearing the entrance she was stopped by security and another attendee asking for her name and invitation. However, the way she was being eyed down, they obviously weren't serious.

"My bad" Otsana put her hands up and walked far away for them to stop paying attention to her.

But now she wanted in. She was starving, and this place looked like it had a lot of food and drink. She decided to try a different approach. She went around to the back of the venue and found a door that was slightly ajar must have been one of the employees who forgot to close it fully. Peeking inside she saw that it was a service hallway. She slipped in and quietly made her way towards the ballroom. But not before As she got closer, she could hear the music and the laughter.

She could smell the delicious food and drink. She was so close, she could taste it. As she rounded a corner, she saw a group of workers coming towards her. They were carrying trays of food and drink, and they were talking and laughing. Otsana quickly ducked into a closet, closing the door quickly but quietly, and held her breath. The workers walked past the closet, oblivious to Otsana's presence. Turning on the light switch she looked around the closet. It was full of uniforms. There were uniforms for waiters, and waitresses, all with plain masks to fit in with the theme. She stuffed some extra clothes in her bag, who knew she would be getting a clothing haul?

Otsana picked out a waiter's uniform and put it on. She looked in the mirror and was surprised at how different she looked. With the uniform on, she could easily blend in with the other workers. She was no longer a vagrant, she was just another employee. She stepped out into the hallway and started walking towards the ballroom. As she walked, she passed by several other workers. They didn't even look at her twice. She was just another face in the crowd. She couldn't help but feel giddy at her deception, How stupid were they? Right before she headed to where the event was being held was stopped by someone. Another attendant, Otsana froze before turning around slowly.

"Thank god man, I need to take a piss, cover for me until I get back will you?" Said the man before handing her a pile of coats and pushing her to the racks. Otsana had no time to react before the man left.

The silence was deafening, She didn't know whether to be confused or relieved she hadn't been caught. But when life gives lemons make lemonade. Dropping the coats to the floor she began to rummage through the rest. Each coat had a ticket, it probably was so that these rich-ass folks could get their coat as soon as the party was over. The quality of these was off the charts, with minx fur, and high-quality leather to name a few. Otsana put one on after stuffing her duffel bag with credit cards, cash, and loose jewelry.

Enough fucking around. Otsana thought to herself. She was hungry and there was food on the other side of the hallway. Opening the towering double doors Otsana was greeted with exquisite scents. The hairs on her neck began to stand. She could only thank god for blessing her with the opportunity to make money and eat to her heart's content on one night. The ballroom was full of people. They were all dressed in their finest gowns and suits, and they were all talking and laughing and having a good time.

Otsana walked through the crowd, making her way toward servants with finger food and drinks on trays. She was starving, and she couldn't wait to eat. She pushed past the guests who began to glare her down. But she didn't give a damn, she would only be here for an hour tops anyhow, Maybe after she took some other coats with her to sell.

She was so busy enjoying herself that she didn't realize how tense the atmosphere truly was. Or how she felt like she was going to jump out of her own skin and shift at any moment.

coded by Serobliss

 

[Maverick Six]

Interaction: zlexis RedLeftHand36 Sepokku Loomis Eldarkon

Mentions: Numerous

Optional Track: Silver Lights

Bloodmoon Ball ​

---

Richter watched as two new individuals entered the Ball. One was an agent whom he recognized. The other, a close associate who was skilled in medicine. Good. They were likely to need them -- given how both of them appeared to be in good condition. That was more than what he could say for those agents nearest him.

Left to his own devices -- with no handler to restrain him nor anyone else to do the talking, Richter was quite happy to poke and prod. The masks could make it a little bit less fun. It was impossible to read the expressions. Some would ignore. But the sweet sting of a verbal lashing would writ upon their face. Sometimes the fists would tense. Maybe, there would be certain tell they would show. A part of their body that they would scratch. There was none of that from this one.

But from the man there was basically nothing. Half of him felt bored of the apparent lack of reaction. The other was intrigued that the man didn't have the temperament of child with toys too big for their britches.

"Disciplined aren't you? If not as a vampire, then as a host. Not even a normal host would have taken half of what I said." He said. It was an occasion to meet a vampire who didn't seem so impulsive. It gave off the air of someone who was older. That discipline would have likely carried. Many of the people Richter had slain were obviously fledglings. Above a human. But young, very stupid and very inclined to tip off the likes of he and his faction.

"Very well stranger, I'll remember what a good host you are." knowing what to call the man. Given the way he was, something told him that if he asked his name that he wasn't going to tell him. This time -- Richter didn't have much mind to say anything else. He'd leave them man to talk to Thomas, while keeping a close eye on his surroundings.

A vibration of his phone. For the first time in the night, the Hunter pulls out his phone to look at it. The shine of it's light reflects off the lenses of his mask for a moment...before he simply shut it off after a few moments.

Another named, marked for death.

This name was a very old name. And it was name Richter knew well to trace back to the Roman empire. The name particularly reminded him of an unrelated figure from which Richter drew inspiration. If he was to guess, he'd ballpark this vampire as one thousand nine hundred to a little bit over two thousand years old. Ancient indeed. While powerful, there was little else to go off. No personality traits. No habits. No history. Nor any accounts to indicate how was physically.

The man existed as practically a dot. And that just wouldn't do.

The man was far too big of a dot for him to simply remain that. There was simply not enough for anything which resembled a face-to-face confrontation. Though others were certainly possible, to poke and prod at the man's defenses. He'd just have to see. There was no plan which formulated in Richter's mind. To put it simply, he needed to know more before the man was to be killed. Threads had to be woven to see who and what he was connected to. And how.

Thought that didn't mean that he couldn't be poked and prodded, under certain circumstances. At this rate, only time would tell if such circumstances arose.

For now, his minded rested on the here and the now. Prominently on the She-Wolf sitting just next to him and how she would respond to the new insight given. One that might make one wonder as to why someone like Richter would have been talking to her at all. And have been so open with her. Not only this, but the utter lack of anything said which was comparable to the long tirade he had against the bloodsucker.

And to the conversation which happened in ear shot. A particularly interesting one that for a time Richter did not seek to interrupt. Indeed, it seemed to reveal a lot about the so called "Host" who seemed to carry an odd air of benevolence towards them all. Every word he spoke to Thomas peeling away at the puzzle of the man. His expression was hidden and he did not face the man. But in truth, he felt like he could hardly restrain himself.

He turned to the She-Wolf. "Excuse me for a moment." He said, as soon he would get up. And he would begin to walk. And in just a few short steps -- he'd be standing right next to Thomas. Though not seated, he'd lean over and give his own response. Mostly to the many faced man whom he'd simply call "The Host."

"Well said. You have such a way with words!"

Richter would shrug his shoulders. As if to feign defeat. "Why, really I couldn't find a single piece of what you said disagreeable! The part about closure admittedly went over my head. However, the part of us being all humans. Simply beautiful."

He raised a single index finger.

"Except for the fact, that this aspect is the crux of the problem." His placed his finger down on the bar's table.

"I wouldn't trust even a quarter of the people I'd met with the type of power you have. And I'd trust even less with that hunger of yours. Man can do terrible things. Power is merely a test of character. I believe most would fail this test. Unlike most forms of power, yours is simply writ unto your very flesh. And I do very much believe that the way to the soul is through the flesh. Even drugs have great affect on people. To say nothing of being simply another species who is innately drawn to humanity. A condition which there was no cure." He raised his hands, clasping them together earnest in front of himself.

History tended to provide answers that the Deo Volente itself would not. He found solace in it. But alas, it did nothing to steer him away for removing heads from bodies. From kicking down doors and plastering the walls with gore. He'd sleep well at night. In truth -- the fact that only cure that existed for a supernatural affliction was the removal of heads and plastering of innards sat well within him. It almost seemed to explain to Richter why he was the way he was.

What he was put on this earth to do.

"But you've disciplined yourself. You're an exception! Wonderful. Yet I can wonder how far those pretty words go in a society as socially Darwinist and corrupt to it's core as a drug cartel! Really, at this point, this might not be too far off the mark from what describes your lot at the moment. I can't help but wonder how many lives will get trampled before these reforms of yours come to fruition."

He could go on and on. About how he knew well of the evils and perils of humanity. Of how in truth there were so many parts of the world that were so very rotten. He could go on about warlords, corrupt politicians, cutthroat corpos and any number of other entities. But he simply could not bring himself to care. He was but one man in the world. Paradise City would be his problem.

"We can continue this another time, however. If we're both still alive, that is." He said. For as many supernaturals as he'd killed, the Hunter had seen many of his own comrades die. Sometimes horribly. Some were lucky enough to grow old. Or retire early. Death was typically close by. It was only a matter of time before it came for him as well. Those who lived by the sword tended to die by it. Such was a fact he'd accepted some time ago.

When "The Host" peered off into the distance at seemingly nothing at all, he couldn't help but wonder what he was peering it. Between him and the She Wolf -- it was becoming more and more evident that some could see things that he could not with his own mortal eyes.

-----

And speaking of problems. Richter's eyes turned to Thomas as he began to storm off to do god knows what. Oh well. More than likely, Octavia would gather information on him. More than likely, there wouldn't be a place that she couldn't see -- if what they said about the Captain's Information gathering skills was true. Richter would have been content to simply let Thomas go if it hadn't been for one singular thing.

“Good evening everyone,”

"Fuck." He muttered crudely. Richter was just about to sit down. And yet body nearly froze in place as he heard Thomas' voice strain as he growled at Sabine Delorme. An audible sigh left the Deo Volente's lips. He didn't even turn backwards. He simply picked up his water. And gulped. And gulped. And gulped. Until the glass that was just filled was done. A flash of steel occurred within the confines of his coat. For a split second -- one with swift enough eyes at the proper angle might have noticed his knife sliding down the thick sleeves of his coat.

The glass clacked as he put it down. And then he sighed -- his gaze turning to Dani.

"You'll have to excuse me again. And I don't know if I'll be back. This time." With that, he left the glass on the counter and pushed it closer -- so that the host could take it.

Richter simply appeared. To Sabine -- it was as though he'd appeared out of a blind spot. Richter's arm had been raised to that ma n for a moment in a way strange. Almost as though he was about to strike him. Quite similar to what happened when the Technomancer nearly fought that Blind Behemoth. Though this one had at least the restraint to not manifest his powers. Despite the fact that he'd clearly been through hell. Yet still, he was their leader. And this seemed to be all that his personality had shown him. The file alluded to more.

The targets were ever appealing. The temple? One of his carotid arteries? The human body had many off switches to press. But the man merely yelled -- containing the fire within that seemed to manifest in his personality as well.

Are all mages this spoiled and impulsive?

To Thomas, the Enforcer's approach was as quiet as a grave to another human being. To say nothing of the crowd. Thomas' perception of him was likely to manifest first as he would feel the man's hand on his shoulder. His arm would wrap around Thomas' form as though they were brothers. As though that they'd known each other for a long time.

"Thomas." Richter said, as monotone as a poker player. "You should relax." He gave the man a squeeze so tight that one might have expected that Thomas might wonder if he'd dislocate him his shoulder. Honestly, the man was trying too hard. He could respect banter. He'd practically been at that all night. But that didn't sound like mere banter. "Not enough to let your guard down. But just a tiny bit." He said, pinching his index finger and thumb.

"After all." He abruptly shifted Thomas backwards -- and Richter's embrace would slither away from Thomas. "Tonight is a night where the one who stands before us, has come here with an open mind and heart...to try and build friendships between us all." He said, mimicking the words Sabine had said to kick off the beginning of the ball. Though, judging by the way Richter seemed to snicker half way through it -- one might be able to tell he couldn't say that with a straight face. Walking in front of Thomas, putting himself between him and Sabine.

"She's even been chatting up a wolf up there." He said, speaking just loud enough that Dani might hear him. Richter's head turned -- looking directly at Riaan. Who was still there and had yet to be dragged off to some room to be quietly disposed of.

And he stuck out his hand for her to shake.

His sleeve would roll up ever so slightly. And any who had a small attention to detail would show numerous scars. One might almost think they came from knives if not for the fact that they often had a pattern indicative of five finger claw marks. And once it started, it didn't seem to stop as far as the eye could see. One could speculate it covered the entire back of his forearms. Yellowed calluses dotted the palms of his hand, the tips of his fingers and along the bones of his knuckles. It all lent his hand and parts of his arm to a very rough texture in spite of it's cleanliness.

It well complimented the segmented, metal like mask he wore. Shaped like a human skull, which encased the entirety of head. Cloth wrapped around his hair and skin. And only two beady lenses would stare at Sabine and Wolfsbane. It made it somewhat hard to tell the position of his pupils.

"If you see fit to use my name, you may call me Richter." He said. In truth, some part of him wondered if such a socialite as she was going to even remember his name. After all, this Deo Volente agent was only human, as far as the papers went.

The positioning of himself and Thomas was not without thought. He was often relegated to simply guessing the might of his foes -- such was the nature of his job. But he suspected that he would be better off taking a hit than Thomas would be. The hothead was worse for wear. And perhaps in one of the worst places to be like that. Indeed, Thomas was battered. Jacques himself practically limped in. The thought of removing either Dante or Sabine's arms was an appealing one. However...one older vampire was dangerous. Two that were this old were too much. Though who knows?

Yet he did not exist in a vacuum. As much as his mind craved the rush...he could not give way to impulse. And he'd have to be more methodical. Slowly, Richter leaned to the side, to peer over Sabine's shoulder as something caught his eye.

The strange figure clad in gold hid his face very well. A decadent outfit that reminded of what Dante and his twins were wearing in some ways. He might not have recognized Cassius if not for the fact that the so called "Host" had glanced in the man's direction before he'd even appeared. The noise of the ball and conversations near by faded into background noise for a moment. And he listened in. Plucking out bits of their conversation in spite of the crowd's presence. A selective listening technique he'd learned in tailing.

Now that's a vampire.

The Arrogance. The stink of corruption similar to the two standing squarely in front of him. The unabashed treatment of two. Yet something else seemed to catch the man's eyes in particular. The way he seemed to be leering with lust at his eyes. The vampire have added to the already abundant disgust that welled up within Richter had it not been for the interesting anger as he looked at Dante and Sabine.

He couldn't help but continue to watch as the man continued to walk up the stairs and out of earshot. And then proceeded to manhandle Lottie DeLorme of all people. Interesting indeed. It only made sense to him that Cassius would be the only one who would be able to get away with that in full view of everyone. He was out of earshot. The message was clear enough in their bodies alone. That had to be Cassius.

Richter's unabashed stare returned to the pair. As abruptly he began to speak. His senses returning to the two at hand. "You know, I must say I hate small talk -- but you two make a great couple." He said, simply injecting the topic into the conversation out of thin air. The thread that binds would be revealed however with a single motion.

He raised his hand -- motioning casually towards Lottie with four fingers as she was within Cassius' clutches.

"It seems Ms. DeLorme has found someone to keep her company tonight. Poor Magnus however, the two seemed to go well together. But it seems that it wasn't meant to be."
He said, shrugging innocently. The man couldn't claim charisma. But words seemed to flow out of his mouth easily. For better or worse. In this case, some part of him was curious as to how Ms. DeLorme may react to this new revelation. One might say Dante read minds. Richter read bodies. When he focused on the two -- he did so with the intent of anticipating any malevolent motions. Potentially before they themselves knew it. But at the same time, this was a good time to gauge reactions. He sensed a weakness here. Papers, files and documents had their place. But they only did so much. This was perhaps one of the only times he'd get to get a feel for them in person.

Practically resting in the back of his mind -- he kept the bathroom in his peripherals. Part of him wanted to walk to it then and there. But he had to keep tabs on this situation before he attempted that. There was so many ways things could go so very wrong. And even he could not precisely anticipate the flow the night's events.

 

[DarkKitsune]

SILVERMIST CEAROS
INTERACTION: Loomis Anaxileah (mention) zlexis RedLeftHand36
LOCATION: BLOODMOON BALL
OUTFIT:

Spoiler: Mask and dress for the ball

Silvermist looked at the drink made for her by the bartender. She was familiar with the herbs that she could see inside, having experience with such when she ran a shop that sold them, she was also her own supplier. However, a number of things caught her attention that didn't make her feel anymore at ease. How this man knew her last name. For starters, they had, far as she could tell, never spoken before. Even then, she always purposefully neglects to use her last name in introductions, even with customers. Another thing was that she didn't order the drink. The only thing she did order was a cup of water earlier in the night which she currently held in her left hand. She would also note internally his specifications of it being non-alcoholic, but that could just be an age estimate based on appearance, a very accurate one. Overall, it kind of made her feel more uncomfortable, especially when Cordelia's companion started talking about the killing of the bartenders kind. It seemed like she was sucked into something.However,

"Thank you for the drink."

She says awkwardly while she can see some identifiable herbs in the drink. He made it with very swift movements. It would've been a chance to put some sort of drug or worse into it. More likely a drug, considering it seems Silvermist has made some...particularly odd acquaintances here. Even then, there were other reasons one would drug someone they don't know who didn't particularly have much of a name. She felt like she was psyching herself out at this point. It could've been paranoia, but something just wasn't settling right with her. She didn't pick up the drink, however she also did put her cup of water down. Suddenly, the vampire who made her speech when the ball first began appeared at the bar. At this point, Silvermist opted to keep her wooden broom in hand. Not even in a threatening fashion she'd swallow her nerves like she did with Cordelia, even if all she could muster was a small wave to the woman she didn't know. She held a tight grip onto her broom just incase anything went down, the moon at the end of her broom stick had pointy ends she could stab someone with a hard head she could hit someone upside the head with and a source of nearby water she could use even if her skills with water magic were mediocre she could only hope she had a good defense if things did go that wrong.

​

 

[Eldarkon]

Dante's eyes met Sabine's mischievous gaze as she turned her chin to look up at him. The thrill of anticipation coursed through him, ignited by her playful smile. Her reaction to his words thrilled him, and he found himself drawn deeper into the intrigue of the night. Dante couldn't help but match her expression with one of his own, a silent understanding passing between them that transcended words. Her confidence and allure were a deadly combination, and he was more than willing to play along. The proximity of the Blood Moon, the charged atmosphere of the event, it all heightened their connection, intensifying every unspoken exchange.

As Sabine pushed herself away from him and beckoned the waiter, Dante followed her gaze, his eyes trained on the young man approaching them. He noted the way Sabine's eyes lingered on the human, her gaze hungry and alluring. The primal instincts of the Blood Moon seemed to awaken within her. The allure of fresh blood was always potent for vampires, but tonight, under the influence of the Blood Moon, it seemed to stir an even deeper longing within her and Dante couldn't help but feel a flicker of admiration for her predatory nature. Even for a vampire of Dante's age and experience, it was hard to deny the draw of such potent desires.

Dante's attention was then brought back to Riaan's voice, as the wolf addressed them once again. He observed the exchange between Sabine and the wolf with a hint of amusement, recognizing the nuances of power dynamics at play. Sabine's smooth demeanor masked her true intentions, her words a carefully woven tapestry of goodwill and intrigue. He marveled at her ability to navigate through the complex web of supernatural politics. He didn’t need to use his powers to know that Riaan felt skeptical, as such feelings were well-matched to the situation.

The mention of Elu Tainn caught his attention. He had heard of Elu before, a leader who had taken a somewhat passive stance in their dealings with the vampires. Dante couldn't help but appreciate the strategic advantage this presented, making their presence in Saint Haddock much smoother. It seemed that Sabine had an interest in meeting her. Sabine’s response was measured, her curiosity about Elu's absence palpable. Dante knew the game that was being played. He was well aware of the fragility of such arrangements, but he also knew the power of calculated cooperation. It was a dance of power and manipulation that he had mastered over the centuries.

The arrival of the drinks marked a convenient pause in the conversation, allowing everyone to momentarily focus on the physical world rather than the underlying undercurrents of power. Sabine's delight in the timing of the drinks brought a subtle chuckle to Dante's lips. Her charisma was undeniable, drawing others into her orbit effortlessly. He took his glass from the tray and watched as she indulged in the crimson liquid, her thirst momentarily sated.

As Sabine suggested joining some of the pack members at the bar, Dante caught the subtle glance she directed toward him. He nodded in acknowledgment, his eyes glinting with understanding. Dante's sons exchanged knowing glances with him, a silent understanding passing between them. Dante remained on the landing for a moment, watching Sabine with a mixture of admiration and calculation as she descended down the stairs with the grace of a predator on the prowl, her chiffon dress billowing behind her like a shadowy cloud.

Dante turned his attention to Virgil and Charon, his sons, and Sabine's sister, Lottie. The brief exchange of words between Sabine and Lottie was laden with tension, but Dante knew that they all had their roles to play tonight. The fleeting thought of Charlotte's behavior crossed his mind, a testament to Sabine's familial obligations even in the midst of strategic maneuvering. As Sabine addressed her sister, Dante exchanged a brief look with his sons, their expressions hinting at their shared amusement. They both understood the balance between familial loyalty and the broader goals they pursued. "Behave, my dear" Dante thought sternly, watching in amusement as the thought echoed through Lottie’s mind. He knew that Sabine's watchful gaze was a force to be reckoned with.

With Sabine now headed to the bar, Dante descended the stairs gracefully, his presence commanding attention as he joined her side. Her greeting to the others was elegant and poised, and he followed her lead, lifting his glass in a suave acknowledgment. "Good evening," Dante's deep voice resonated. his eyes keenly observed their reactions to Sabine's entrance. The subtle interplay of power dynamics fascinated him, each faction navigating their own interests beneath the veneer of civility. His attention was attuned to the unspoken exchanges, to the currents of intrigue and danger that swirled around the gathering. Yet, the abrupt change in atmosphere was palpable, like an electric charge in the air. Dante sensed it before he turned, his instincts sharpening as the weight of a familiar presence bore down upon him.

The shift in energy was unmistakable, a sensation that sent ripples of tension down his spine. As his gaze locked onto the figure before him, he recognized the stance, the aura of restrained hostility. Thomas Barrett. Dante's lips curved into a half-smile, the intensity in his dark eyes unyielding. "What an unexpected surprise" Dante thought to himself. It was truly remarkable that Thomas had survived his injuries and the fall into the alley. He noted Thomas' reflexive motion, the subconscious reach for a weapon that was no longer at his side. It was a testament to the man's unease, his recognition of the danger that the vampires represented. But what caught Dante's attention even more was the protective stance Thomas assumed, placing himself between Dante and his companions.

A flicker of amusement danced in Dante's eyes as he observed the scene before him. Thomas Barrett, once a formidable foe, now standing as a shield for the witches he once sought to eradicate. The irony was not lost on Dante, and it was a testament to the twists of fate that life often presented. Thomas' words carried a mixture of tension and defiance, his voice laced with a strained hostility that mirrored the deep-seated animosity between their two factions. Dante's smile remained enigmatic, his composure unbroken. He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment, the gesture almost courtly. "Ah, Mr. Barrett," Dante purred, his voice a velvety rasp. "A pleasure, as always. To see that you survived our last encounter brings warm feelings to my cold heart" His tone held a touch of sarcasm, a recognition of the loaded history between them. "What do I want? Well, that's a loaded question, isn't it?" Dante's gaze wandered from Thomas to Cordelia and the young girl, his eyes assessing and calculating. "The Blood Moon Ball is about unity, isn't it? A time for factions to set aside their quarrels and embrace the spirit of the evening. As for me, I'm merely here to enjoy the festivities," Dante replied smoothly, his words carrying an undercurrent of amusement. "But let's not dwell on the past, shall we? After all, we're all guests here, attempting to find some semblance of harmony under the watchful eye of the Blood Moon." Dante's voice held a sly edge, his eyes locking onto Thomas'. In that moment, beneath the elegant veneer of the event, a subtle power struggle played out between the two figures. A clash of wills, a battle for dominance, all concealed within the semblance of civility that the Blood Moon Ball demanded.

Loomis zlexis Loxely Anaxileah

 

[Loomis]

Sabine had expected Thomas’s response, but was still amused by his attempt at presenting himself as intimidating. She noticed the subtle move for his missing weapon and had to force herself from laughing out loud, how pathetic. Even though she was relishing in the man's panic she did give him some credit for still being alive. Going against a Vampire of Dante’s caliber was not a feat many could walk away from, she wouldn’t say she was impressed, but it was something worth taking note of. As much as she wanted to filet Thomas for spitting venom in their direction she kept a cool demeanor on the outside. She didn’t flinch at his sharp words or the disgusted look on his face, just simply continued to smile and play nice. There would be a time and place for Sabine to handle this annoying little fire starter and she very much looked forward to it.

“Mr. Barrett, such hostility is truly not needed,” Sabine cooed in his direction. She tried making eye contact with the mage, but he was actively avoiding her stare. The urge to snatch his face in her claws and force his eyes onto hers was building, the irritation of his blatant disrespect getting to her.

The deep vibrations of Dante’s voice sent pleasant shivers throughout her body, she always was a sucker for a man with an accent. Her eyes danced with satisfaction as Dante followed her lead on wanting civility and peace in Saint Haddock. He played his part well in this tense, political dance they were in. She knew the Vampire had a temper that outmatched her own so to watch him keep his composure and manipulate the narrative in their favor was a delight. If Sabine was honest with herself she was beginning to enjoy his presence more than she should in a business partner. He was not only well accomplished in the world of business and a valuable asset, but she found herself noticing other things about him as well. Catching herself in those thoughts she quickly brushed them aside and focused on the conversation at hand.

“Dante said it perfectly,” She purred and slightly leaned into her counterpart. “I promise you, we are not here to stir up trouble, quite the opposite actually. I believe apologies are in order, from everyone.” She put a little more emphasis on ‘everyone’ than she had intended to, so she took a sip from her drink to help calm herself.

“I know our presence in Saint Haddock has ruffled a few feathers and tensions have been high, but I truly do think there is a way for all of us to coexist. That is my ultimate goal, in my eyes I don’t see why that can’t be accomplished. It will take time, of course, but if we all work towards the same goal it can most certainly be achieved.” She tapped her champagne glass as she took a pause to let her words sink in. She was growing tired of repeating the same bullshit over and over, she was starting to sound like a broken record. It would be so much easier if everyone would just roll over and let the higher species run things, but alas the lower trash would always fight back at change.

“I know our last encounter was not a pleasant one, Mr. Barrett, and I do apologize for how things transpired. I am hoping that we can move forward and start fresh.” Sabine flashed him a fangy, sincere smile. Hopefully with Dante’s olive branch and her apology it would settle the man child.

Ah, someone with some sense to them. The metal masked man appeared beside Thomas, instructing him to relax. Interesting that the Deo Velonte Lieutenant needed someone to tell him how to act.

“You’re an observant one,” Sabine laughed lightly as she extended her arm and took his hand in hers. Her eyes quickly fluttered about the man, noting the scars on the skin peeking out from his sleeve. He was roughly the same height as her, athletic build and appeared to be a simple human, but Sabine knew if he was Deo Velonte that simple was not the word to describe the man.

“Richter, it’s lovely to meet you, I’m Sabine. I do hope you’re enjoying yourself tonight.” In some part that statement was true. Alcohol was flowing and she was hopeful that they were indulging, dulling their senses and not on edge. It was obvious Thomas was not taking the chance to relax tonight, but she had suspicions the man never did. She needed all of them to be blind to her movements, one little tiff would throw off everything she was working towards tonight. So far the Vampire was succeeding, everyone was seeing her mingling with all species, laughing, smiling, shaking hands and overall appearing peaceful. It must remain that way.

“A couple?” Sabine chuckled and cast a quick glance at Dante. “This is Dante, my business partner.” Richter’s comment slightly caught her off guard, but it wasn’t the worst idea.

“Ah yes, Charon and Virgil,” Sabine nodded at the mention of the company with her sister, “Dante’s boys are lovely conversationalists and perfect eye candy, she is in good hands.” Sabine didn’t bother to follow Richter’s gaze to the top of the stairs where her sister was currently under the forceful grasp of the past.

“It is a shame Magnus had to excuse himself, he is always a good time. I am curious though, how do you know him?” What Sabine really wanted to ask is why he was keeping tabs on her sister and who she was with. His attention to detail was slightly annoying and if he knew what was good for him, he would mind his own business. Her eyes slightly wandered over the rest of the group and she noticed one of them standing awkwardly, clutching a broom? What an odd thing to bring to a function like this...

"I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met before," Sabine turned her body towards the witch and gave her a soft smile, "I'm Sabine, and you are?" She extended her hand towards her in hopes it would ease her odd behavior.

Interactions: Eldarkon , zlexis , Maverick Six & DarkKitsune | Mentions: Loxely ​

 

[RedLeftHand36]

Thaumus

Under a different name
Interactions with zlexis Maverick Six Loomis Eldarkon DarkKitsune

Forgotten by existence...

"I'm Sabine, and you are?"

“A guest.”

An interruption. A distortion. Something where it wasn’t supposed to be. And yet, it seemed like it was always there. Like a dream, or a movie, or something strange within the pages of a book, and white like them, too. White like snow. White like static. White like a different kind of abyss. When the strange man had stepped between the lion and the fawn, it was wrong. The host was no longer at the table. Why wasn’t the host at the table? The host knew why. But it seemed to disfigure the pattern of reality. A dissonant movement. As if one were never behind the bar counter in the first place. As if one were beside them all, all along. Another step to intercept. To place one’s self between. That was where they belonged. Somewhere within the alabaster void were intrusions of inky blackness. Further within were luminous halos of moonlight. Watching. Knowing. Seeing. Intrusive. They lacked all emotions, yet the one they lacked the least was satisfaction. These were no windows. These were lights. They cut into the dark, and they revealed what was hidden.

“All patrons.”

A voice like satin, yet laced with the steel of exegesis. The implication that they were one’s and not theirs. The implication of old ways, when the gods would walk through doors. The ancient art of hospitality. To enact theoxeny. A knowing voice, a voice of many, and a voice of one. A single statement. A thousand implications. All the same, he was that eerie silence that devoured noise. To one who would gaze into their soul, they would find only cryptic patterns and sequential repetitions of not just thought to fill one mind, but many. Innumerable hushed whispers of arcane nature. It would not be pleasant. The stranger knew much. A cacophony of processing, loud like the void of space, with nothing to protect.

Three faces. One two the youngest of them all. Another two the sanguinaires. The last, the middle, facing the Deo Volente agents. To the young alchemist, there was little to be made out. To the Deo Volente, it was disappointment. To the other vampires, a polite manner of telling them to fuck off. One should have known better. Inward reflection. Introspection. To trust the tiles to fall so neatly by themselves was foolish. It was unfortunate how much he needed his hands to reinforce the pattern. The shape. The logic. What a laughable amount of self-preservation. Frustration. Indignation.

“A thousand pardons, mademoiselle DeLormè,” came that voice like the shade of a tree on a grassy hill. “I may have accidentally offered too many intoxicants to some of our attendees. An oversight I shall rectify post-haste.”

The middle face turned to gaze at the two Deo Volente, specifically that of Thomas, and soon enough a hint of emotion was made from those strange eyes: Anger. Like a flaming sword pointed into the pupils of the least healthy of the group. A pale hand gestured back to the bar area, moving far more mechanically than before. It was not a suggestion. It was a demand.

Elsewhere…

Dark, grey, mottled fur. Perhaps the least presentable of the handful of felines that had been stalking about, this one more literally. Slim and mangy, well-worn by the years, the type of cat that had seen plenty of fights and learned from them all. And here it was now, with its ghostly eyes, the same eyes as far too many cats according to some. Not a disease. It could see just fine. Maybe too well. Otsana Raya was far too easy to pick out amongst the crowd, though perhaps not quite as easy as some might think. There were, after all, people around without a hand to spare. Others indeed, lacking due diligence just the same. Admittedly, it was mostly just those who weren’t vampiric in nature. When the rugged cat brushed up against her, it was no loving shunt.

And so the spiders watched from above...

 

[Sybela]

Odette

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  Slim white dress, conservative where it matters. Sporting a mask made from flowers and bark, intricately woven.
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Blood Moon Ball
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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Reconciliation. A dream, her purpose.

Odette had managed to talk her way in on the arm of an attende; plying the poor sod with ego boosting compliments only to excuse herself when inside.

Odette had a job to do and hanging onto a man's arm wasn't going to solve her problems.

When she left home, bundled in the clothes of man, Odette swore to herself she wouldn't done another dress that made her remember the cage. Yet, here she was.

Stood with a gown of white and ivory, lace details to boot. Too similar, way too familiar. Barely hiding her face, just obscuring this and that, sat a pretty little mask of willow and flowers. Courtesy of her sister, albeit missing. They'd laugh it off later though, surely. The moment the sisters would find each other, it would be a right ol' giggle between them.

This was her best lead, though. A ball with countless people attending? Odette would be stupid not to go- and it worked out in her favour, did it not?

"Excuse me, pardon me, coming through."

Odette murmured as she pushed her way through the throng of people, careful not to step on toes or, God forbid, spill any of their drinks.

She'd been brought up her entire life with elegance and eloquence. Taught how to move with regal grace and how to play cat and mouse with just the eyes. Coquettish smiles were her forte and, Odette, knew how to use that to her advantage.

Despite living with her sister for so long, she was always astounded at the people she saw. Some were slightly...hairier than others. Tangled hair, bulky builds and, sometimes, an earthy scent, rustic in a sense, reminded her of the soil back at her place. Others were cold at touch, several times she thought her bandaging skills were being used on someone that was dead.

Odette could almost picture her sisters laughing face, the one that crinkled her nose and chortled a snort. It was the most realest one she'd ever heard and it was all because Odette had asked;

"Is it permanently Halloween here?"

"What? Heck no! What are you talking about Dov- Oh, Ohhh." Her sister had responded, pausing their walk. "There's a few things you gotta' learn about this place."

"Uh-huh, like why people are wearing those plastic teeth? Or maybe you want to explain why some guy was sniffing you back at the ferry"

She tossed her thumb over her shoulder, jabbing it in the direction they had come from.

Boy was her sister right, they did have a lot to discuss but Odette was no fool, her sister placated her with fairytales and fables. Got lots of people in on it too but Odette was clever, she'd never fall for the fibs. None of it made sense, surely it couldn't be that dangerous.

She'd listen this time though, at the moment of their reunion, Odette would be ready to learn everything and anything. Her mind was set.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry to bother you,"

She found her first victim.

"I was wondering if you had seen this woman at all? Ive lost sight of her and I can't seem to find her"

Almost dropping the photo, Odette begrudgingly offered it up to the laced fingers that reached forward.

"You've got her eyes," The lady in red commented, turned the photograph over and then returned it with a shrug. "But no. Why not head to the bar, sweetheart? That's where most people go." Fingers wove their way through her hair and picked out a petal that had tangled itself there. "Delicate little things, don't you think?"

"Ah-ha"

Odette laughed nervously, taking an instinctive step back.

"Thank you for your time, but if you'll excuse me."

Curtesying came natural to her and, once she had bid her farewells to the strange woman of red, Odette extracted herself from the conversation and headed in the direction of the bar, photograph clutched tightly in both hands.

Who could she ask next.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[AlphaBlueWolf]

Cora Undermoore and Declan Martin
The Blood Moon Ball
Interactions: Sybela ​

Cora and Declan migrated their way to the bar, the witch assuring her friend that he probably just needed the buzz of alcohol to take his mind off of his nervousness over the evening. Declan didn't like to drink much, wrinkling his nose at the thought only a little less than he had when Cora pulled out the shroom, but he conceded to one drink to make his witch friend happy. He knew what one drink could turn into too often for retired cops, having seen it before from some of the retired service men and women who drunk themself to an early grave. He knew he didn't have a problem with it, but just the thought turned him off to it more often than not. Suffice it to say he was more likely to OD on caffeine rather than alcohol any day of the week. And while Declan thought Cora was insane for consuming her fair share of wines, the witch thought her human friend was a little too caffeinated for her likes, which much preferred tea to coffee for a wake up.

But Declan knew his trigger finger was a little too itchy right now, so drinks it was. He didn't have a wide range of taste for alcohol, just a plain beer did him fine, but he doubted a place like this would have Lucky Dave's selection of Bud Light or Corona. "Alright, you get to pick my drink." He told Cora, watching a mischievous smile grow on her face. "Nothing too fancy. And if you put a shroom in it, Undermoore, I swear-"

"Yeah, yeah. The big scary Deo Volente will hunt me down to the ends of the earth and make me pay." She recited with a bored but mocking expression. "Or do you have some kind of other creed these days."

"I- Do you want to pick for me or not?" Declan asked, in a tone that said he might take back the offer for Cora to open his palate if she didn't stop mocking him. Though it was all in good fun between the two of them.

Cora rushed off before he could retract the offer, wandering to the bar and placing an order with the bartender. Declan, for his part, did some people watching as he waited, again scanning the crowds for any Deo Volente members. He was closer to Lieutenant Barett's ever-expanding group, giving him some peace of mind that he could dash over to help his allies should there be a need. He could see the tension brewing in the way his Lieutenant's limbs seemed to stiffen, learning signs like that early on in his career. Other members of his party seemed to be having a much better time, even enjoying the festivities in a way that he could not. The only point of worry had to be that one group that swelled in mass every so often, adding to the tension. Feeling satisfied for now that the other members of Thomas' party seemed to only be interested in pleasantries rather than swapping blood, his gaze continued to meander through the crowd as he waited for his lifeline to return to him. He felt as awkward as Cora did when coming to some of these things, which was an odd feeling for him. He'd actually been raised in society, unlike his witch friend, and boasted an outgoingness that helped him greatly in social situations. Yet, the tension he'd been building in his shoulders seemed to ease as his eyes spotted a peculiar young woman.

Mysteries were relaxation to him. Despite retiring from the force for a different kind of job, his mind still worked like a cop. He could still see the patterns of normalcy, and what was not normal for the current room. A blonde head of cascading curls came into his view, talking to a woman in a red dress. He narrowed his eyes to see what was traded off between them. Who knows, maybe someone else was trying to sell something like Cora's shrooms to the partygoers, although he knew Cora was joking around about all that. He was gonna hope she was joking around. Upon closer inspection, he saw it was a square card, a photograph of some kind.

Cora came back over and interrupted his thoughts. "Oh, you're gonna love this." She said, handing him a cocktail with a paper umbrella, a mischievous smirk dancing on her lips, clearly proud at herself about something.

"Really?" He said, picking the umbrella out.

"What, it's your favorite." Cora pointed out, either referencing his outfit or his past occupation, "Blue for the boy in blue."

Declan glanced back towards the girl, not paying much attention to what he was supposed to be trying as he absentmindedly stirred the strange concoction of alcohol with the blue umbrella. "Ok, the point of a drink is to, y'know, drink it." Cora pointed out.

"Twelve o'clock, don't be obvious." Declan replied, not paying much attention to what Cora said, as he looked back to the drink so as to not garner the girl's attention. Cora leaned her whole body out to the side, absolutely being suspicious. The man suspected she did that purely to be a little prick about him playing detective again. Declan grabbed her by the arm, sloshing around her full drink. They were both incredibly bad at this alcohol thing, for them to be having full glasses without even sipping them once. "I said don't be obvious."

"Blonde, cute, looks like a lost puppy trying to find her way back to her mansion's backyard?" With confirmation from Declan, she continued, "What about her?"

"Doesn't she look.. odd?"

"Denny, this is a party full of witches, vampires, and werewolves. Plus, a sprinkling of the people who usually hunt them down. Everyone here is at least a little odd. Even you mister retired cop turned supernatural killer. I'm pretty sure being odd is a prerequisite for being allowed into this thing. And if Ms. Lost Puppy is odd, I must be freakish." She joked, pointing to her eyes, so unnatural looking they might've looked like a part of her mask from a far, that illusion broken when you got up close and noticed they functioned like normal eyes.

"Ok, yeah, but she's odd for this type of crowd. She doesn't look like any occult being, possibly a witch but even then, there should be some signs with the Blood Moon in affect. And if she's human, well I've never seen her in the Deo Volente. And all of us know each other. If we got a new member to the branch, we'd be alerted. Same if a member of another branch was coming for a visit. She doesn't look the type either and I don't know how many regular old humans were invited to this thing that aren't DV." He said, another glance towards her telling him that the photograph had been handed back to its owner and the girl was now starting to peel away from the lady in red. "She just showed a photo to that woman too. Weird behavior for a ball, even a supernatural one."

"Y'know, the Blood Moon Ball isn't about you getting your detective fix. We're supposed to be having fun. Dancing, totally not using our powers to make things fun, getting drunk off our asses. Not trying to solve problems that aren't there." She placated.

"You're telling me you don't want to see what her deal is?"

"Don't put words in my mouth, Martin." Cora said, putting the drink down on some poor waitress' tray that passed by. Taking the chance, he followed suit and discarded his own, following the redhead as she moved forward to intercept the girl heading for the bar. Successfully getting in her way, Cora gave a soft smile that would've been polite and kind in any other circumstance, but with her eyes being the way they were it ended up being quite unnerving. As Declan moved to stand next to her, he looked over to see the way it came off. The hair on his arms didn't budge now, after seeing it so many times, but they likely would have if he'd only recently met Cora, especially if it had been after he enlisted in the Deo Volente. He remembered the day they'd met; how unnerving teen Cora had been as she grew plants that would help his wound, and how his hairs raised once more when she'd woken up in the station, knowing then that her strange appearance had been fact and not just a trick of his then dying mind. "Hello there. Me and my.. associate noticed you from across the room."

Getting an elbow from his friend that told him he was taking the lead, for he had been the one to drag them down into his world of investigations, he continued on, "Right. You look a little lost. Are you alright?" He asked, genuine concern written on his face.

 

[zlexis]

Thomas Barrett

Location: The Regency
Interactions: Loomis | Eldarkon | Maverick Six | DarkKitsune | Anaxileah | RedLeftHand36 ​

“Mr. Barrett, such hostility is truly not needed.”

Not needed? Not needed? As she continued to speak, her words only served to intensify his desire to silence her. If he had his sword, he would have sliced her deceitful tongue and delighted in watching her writhe in pain. Instead, he clenched his fist tightly, his nails digging into his palm, as Dante continued to drivel on about 'unity' and 'harmony.' What a load of shit. His eyes locked onto Dante's, expressing all his resentment and animosity through his gaze. Surely, no one else here would be deceived by these smoke and mirrors.

Before he could open his mouth to retort, an arm wrapped around his shoulders, and his head swiveled, eyes wide at Richter, who had snuck up from behind. From this close, he could almost make out his image in the metal of the mask that enveloped the human’s face, a mask that gave no hint of humanity. A cold, calculating representation. His entire body tensed at the unexpected contact and stiffened further as he pulled Tom behind him. It was a mockery, perhaps. A mirror of his movements from before with the witches. A spark of indignation rose through Tom, provoked further when Richter squeezed his shoulder tighter, and he felt that twinge of lingering pain, that constant reminder of his current state.

As Richter's arm slipped from his shoulders, the Lieutenant whispered in a sharp, hushed tone into Richter's ear, "What are you doing?" He stared down the Enforcer, though he did not expect a response. The man continued his conversation with the vampires, even going as far as shaking their hands. Resting his back against the bar, the Lieutenant watched this exchange with clenched teeth. If someone were paying very close attention, they would notice hot smoke seeping from the underside of Thomas’ mask, the rising temper matching the swelling warmth in the room. Something stirred inside the mage, though for now, he did not recognize it. He simply stood back and seethed.

He looked to his left, cursing the situation in its entirety as he remembered his original goal upon seeing Cordelia’s face: impressions and control. He wanted to gain rapport with the coven so that the Deo Velonte could secure the upper hand. Her features were inscrutable, making it impossible for the warlock to discern how Cordelia sided. Ideally, he had not squandered any attempts at alliance, though knowing his luck so far, he’d be lucky if she continued speaking to him. Then his eyes wandered to her side, and he almost let out a chuckle. The little witch seemed prepped for a fight with, what, a stick? How amusing.

“You’d do better to run,” he spoke, leaning to his left to be closer to the two women. “This isn’t the place for you, and, to be truthful,” he gesticulated with a wave of his hand, “it’d be preferable if both of you left while you still can.”

Whether they heeded his warning or not was of no consequence to him, so he meant to leave it at that and return to Richter, asserting his position as one not to be pushed aside. The fire within him bristled once again. He was still capable, he could still-

Their gazes met, and Tom's chest tightened. The stranger's ire pierced through the darkness of the three-faced mask as if holding some hypnotic power over the mage. Could it be that the vampire possessed similar mind-control abilities to that of the parasite? He thought back to the feeling of being under the control of Sabine, the loss of self, being held under murky water. Yet, as much as he tried to reason that it was some supernatural power that held him in place, the less he believed it to be true, as this moment felt different. The stranger was far different from his kin. Rather, it felt as if he had failed. Failed some kind of test or - or had lost some conviction.

Begrudgingly, his feet betrayed him, and when the stranger beckoned, he approached.

“You did not have to apologize on my behalf,” Tom said with a faint voice. As he continued, he felt the fire subside ever slightly. “Though, I commend your attempt to ease tensions.”

Thomas's eyes narrowed, his gaze unwavering. Once again, he found himself having to look up, even when standing face-to-face with the unfathomable stranger. Ever since he’d dragged him from death's door, the mage had never been able to get a reading on him, like deciphering text within a dream. Perhaps this nature was becoming too familiar.

“You mentioned earlier something about cooperation.” He lowered his voice even further, surprising himself with his reprehensible words. “Perhaps, after tonight, under different circumstances, we could speak again.”

But as the words left his lips, Thomas couldn't help but wonder if he was making a mistake. After all, this was a vampire he was speaking to, one of the very creatures that the Deo Velonte had sworn to eradicate. Surely, this would not go unnoticed. But he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The atmosphere was thick with animosity and distrust. He could feel the eyes of the other guests in the regency on him, their curiosity and suspicion palpable. It was clear that his outburst had not gone unnoticed, and he could only imagine what they were thinking of him now. Once again, he couldn't bring himself to care.

“And so spins the wheel.”

 

[Sepokku]

"Less lethal would be accurate. It makes you seem more merciful than I... And that's all plastic... I can only wonder how much of it will transfer with it bouncing around as it does."

"Mercy has nothing to do with it," She mused quietly for a moment before continuing, "Oh, the energy transfer isn't the issue, it's the fact that the polymer can only hold up to so much force. Most thermoplastics the average person would use to manufacture such a device would foul after only eight or so shots. In a fully automatic handgun like this, you'd be apt to blow your fucking hand off before the clip was empty. Though..." Her voice grew quiet, a subtle purr as she acknowledged the fact that, "It would hardly be an issue for someone with my constitution."

"You're pretty smart for a wolf, admittedly. I suspect by now; you understand who I'm with... Mine is the alleged weapon of Quincy Morris..."

Dani snorted, "You do know how Quincy's story ends, right? Or is that part of the appeal for you zealot types?" Rolling her eyes, she rested her arm on the bar and her chin on the fist of that hand, her eyes evaluating her conversational partner. "That's the problem with you humans, always trying to divide things into black or white, wolf or not wolf, dead or living, hunter or prey, Quincy or Mr. De Ville ." Her eyes sparkled with serene disappointment behind her mask, a frown hidden behind the alabaster white visage.

"If you simply must shoot up the place, one would simply ask you to refrain from aiming at the bar, Mr. Kenway. I suppose that goes for you as well, Monseigneur Pere."

She shot a look at the man who had started speaking, her fingers drumming against the table as she fought back the need to inform him that one could be Monseigneur, or Pere, but not both. Honestly, if someone was going to live for hundreds of years as an apostate of the night, the least they could do was learn proper titling. Then the weight of what exactly he had said dawned on her, 'Mr. Kenway? Richter Kenway?'

She buried her face in her hand as Richter took the bait and launched into a verbal tirade against his provocateur. Honestly, did no one else appreciate a little subtlety? In the Underworld, you should treat every conversation like you were talking to the cops. Don't volunteer information, don't speak more than necessary, and definitely don't let them goad you into acting rashly. The two continued for some time, long enough that she started to tune them out, surely she hadn't been demanded to attend solely to listen to gossip like a socialite.

“Despite what anyone likes to claim, everyone in this room is, ultimately, human."

She stopped drumming her fingers, perking up as she clapped her hands together excitedly, "Exactly! This guy gets it."

The two continued talking as if she hadn't spoken. Dani was not accustomed to being ignored, not that she could accurately call the Lord Protector's actions intentional disregard; for some reason that made it irk her even more. The annoyance passed as Richter checked his phone, something in his demeanor saying it hadn't been just a message from a friend.

"Excuse me for a moment."

She watched with idle bemusement as Richter made his way over to the other man and continued their spat. No wonder the Hunters had fallen behind as of late; too many pissing contests. They exchanged words for a bit longer before he returned.

"You'll have to excuse me again. And I don't know if I'll be back. This time."

With a look of not quite nonchalance, she waved him away, "As you were, far be it from me to stand between a Hound and its fox."

As he walked away, she couldn't help but notice he was inadvertently doing most of her work for him; following his line of sight even clued her into what to do next. Perhaps that was why the genii had coalesced around him as they had. Was she to treat him as a kindred spirit for the night, then, or simply be there to watch him fall, "Like an Angel of Death." Her words spilled as softly into the room as the drinks she'd spilled earlier.

A pang of pity crossed her heart as the Lord Protector brought attention to Riaan's predicament. Not that it was any of her business what her packmates got up to, but with Elu as temperamental as she was, could the pack really afford to lose their second-in-command? Probably not, too bad she wasn't here as a member of Saint Haddock's. "Shame..."

Standing up, she turned to the bartender, "Hand me that bottle of Grande Absinthe? No, the unopened one."

He gave her an indignant look, "I'm afraid I can't, that bottle is worth over four hundred dollars."

"Oh, don't be a dick, it's an open bar." Her eyes met his expectantly, practically begging for his acquiescence, like a puppy dog.

"I'm sorry but I'd lose my job. I can make you what-"

"NOW." The pleading look on her face was immediately replaced with a snarl, her animalistic nature bleeding out of every pore. The bartender stifled a yelp as he dropped a glass in his hurry to obey. Bottle in her off-hand, she hurried after her new target. Climbing to the top of the staircase, she found herself standing amongst three living dead. "I hope I'm not intruding, but I was also hoping for an introduction de la petite lapine." Her head tilted quizzically, a warm smile behind her mask as the liquid in the bottle swayed to match her motion.

Interactions: Loomis Maverick Six RedLeftHand36 Loxely

 

[Eldarkon]

Virgil Charon Amid the vibrant tapestry of sound and movement that enveloped the Blood Moon Ball, Charon maintained his reserved stance, his attention alternating between his surroundings and his brother's interactions. Virgil's easy charm was on full display, a counterpoint to Charon's more enigmatic demeanor. He observed Lottie's reactions closely, the subtle shifts in her expressions and the glint in her eyes as she engaged in their banter. Virgil's lips curved into a knowing smile at Lottie's response to their names, her wit a pleasant surprise. Her observation about their names being mythological, especially in the context of Christianity, showcased a certain intellect that he found captivating. Her coquettish glance in his direction revealed her awareness of his involvement in their introduction, a silent communication that elicited a matching grin from Virgil.

The clink of her glass and her comment about supplying headaches to her sister drew a hearty chuckle from Virgil. Her playful demeanor resonated with him, a reflection of his own affinity for lighthearted exchanges. "Ah, the complexities of sibling dynamics, truly a testament to the endurance of familial bonds," he remarked with a wink. Charon, ever the observer, noted the exchange with a quiet amusement, his dark eyes flickering between the trio. He appreciated the balance between Virgil's playful nature and Lottie's equally engaging presence. Her seamless transition from one interaction to another showcased a social finesse that was intriguing. As Sabine's voice cut through the air, Virgil's attention shifted to her briefly before returning to Lottie. The mention of another glass prompted a subtle nod from him, a silent agreement to her request. The dynamics of this interaction fascinated him; beneath the charm and frivolity, there seemed to be an undercurrent of complexity that piqued his curiosity.

Virgil's attention flickered to Dante and Sabine as Lottie commented on their pairing, his gaze lingering for a moment before returning to Lottie. "You and I are both in agreement" he replied with a playful grin. "Though, I must say, the true measure of a dance partner's prowess lies in the act itself. Perhaps we shall have the opportunity to put that to the test later." Charon's eyes, hidden behind his mask, followed Lottie's gaze to Magnus's approaching figure. He stood with a reserved yet present air, the ballroom's ambiance enveloping him. Lottie's interaction with Magnus intrigued Charon, her boldness and familiarity standing in contrast to the delicate nuances of the event. As Lottie moved towards Magnus, Virgil's attention remained with her for a moment before turning back to Charon. "It seems our enchanting new friend is well-connected," he noted, his words a murmur intended for Charon's ears alone. Charon inclined his head slightly in agreement, his gaze returning to Lottie and Magnus. The evening was unfolding with unexpected twists, each moment revealing more layers to the intricate tapestry of this supernatural gathering.


Virgil's gaze followed Sabine's graceful descent down the stairs, his expression unreadable. He understood the subtle dynamics at play, the unspoken messages conveyed through glances and gestures. As Sabine's attention shifted to her sister, Lottie, Virgil's curiosity deepened. It was evident that there was more to their relationship than met the eye, a complexity that added another layer to the evening's intrigue. "Don't worry mistress. She will be safe with us" The interaction between the sisters carried an undercurrent of tension and concern, and Virgil couldn't help but wonder about the history between them. He exchanged a knowing glance with Charon, their shared understanding of family dynamics woven into that look. Virgil's gaze lingered on Lottie briefly, an unspoken acknowledgment that her behavior might indeed be a factor tonight.

Charon's stoic demeanor remained unchanged as he observed the interactions unfold. He had always been an astute observer, attuned to the nuances of human emotions and intentions. Lottie's slightly rebellious demeanor and Sabine's guarded watchfulness were pieces of a puzzle he was still trying to piece together. Dante's presence on the landing, his gaze fixed on Sabine's descent, did not escape Virgil's attention. The unspoken connection between them was palpable, a blend of mutual respect and shared purpose. Virgil's attention shifted to his father as Dante's thoughts resonated with his own, their silent communication a testament to their familial bond. As Sabine's footsteps brought her closer to the group at the bar, Virgil's attention refocused on the scene before him. The mingling of various supernatural factions, each with their hidden agendas, was a testament to the delicate balance that had been achieved for this night. Virgil found himself analyzing the body language, the unspoken alliances, and the carefully chosen words exchanged between individuals.

Charon's analytical mind was at work, his focus on the subtleties that often held more meaning than the overt actions. He observed the interactions with a keen eye, noting the undercurrents of tension and the façades that were so meticulously constructed. He shared a brief glance with Virgil, a silent acknowledgment of their shared observations and the roles they played within this intricate realm. Dante's sons, raised and groomed within this world of intrigue, knew that their role was as much about perception as it was about action. With a shared understanding, they remained watchful, aware that every choice and interaction could have far-reaching consequences. The complex dance of power and alliances continued, and they were both fully committed players in this game.


Virgil's gaze swept over the crowd, his observant eyes catching the intricate dance of power and intrigue unfolding around him. His watchful eyes had not missed the interaction between Lottie and Magnus, even though the crowd had briefly obscured his view. He observed as Magnus excused himself and vanished into the gathering, leaving Lottie alone with her thoughts. Her demeanor, though expertly masked, held an air of discomfort that didn't escape Virgil's keen perception. As the tension began to manifest in Lottie's body language, Virgil's attention sharpened. He had been keeping a subtle eye on her throughout the event, his protective instincts never too far from the surface. It was as if his senses were attuned to the shift in her demeanor, an internal alarm that urged him to intervene.

When the figure of Cassius, a powerful and unnerving vampire, approached Lottie, Virgil's intuition went into overdrive. He had seen enough of Cassius to know that his intentions were rarely benign. A sense of foreboding settled over Virgil as he observed their conversation, noticing the way Lottie's body language shifted from confident to defensive. As the conversation escalated, and Lottie's voice took on a tone that was almost too saccharine to be genuine, Virgil's decision was clear. It was time to intervene, to safeguard Lottie from the potential dangers that Cassius presented. With a quick glance exchanged between him and Charon, the unspoken understanding passed between the brothers. Virgil excused himself from the group he was conversing with and discreetly made his way towards Lottie and Cassius.

As he approached, Virgil slipped into the role of a concerned acquaintance, a friendly face in the midst of the festivities. "Lottie, there you are," he chimed in, his voice warm and familiar. He positioned himself subtly between Lottie and Cassius, creating a physical barrier that was also a protective gesture. His eyes, though veiled by the mask, held a quiet intensity as they studied Cassius. "Lovely evening, isn't it?" Virgil continued, his tone casual as he raised his glass, almost inviting Cassius to join in a toast. The tension in the air was palpable, but Virgil's façade remained unwavering. He was there to ensure Lottie's safety, to provide her an escape route from the conversation if needed. And if Cassius dared to cross any lines, Virgil was prepared to react swiftly, the grace of a dancer concealing the swiftness of a predator.

Charon, standing at a distance but equally aware of the unfolding situation, maintained his composed stance. His watchful gaze flickered between Lottie, Virgil, and Cassius. Every movement, every shift in body language was cataloged in his perceptive mind. He knew when to intervene, when to step forward, and when to remain at a distance. His role in this intricate dance was that of an observer and protector, a silent presence ready to act if the situation escalated.

Iva's presence near Charon was unmissable, a subtle shift in the energy around him. Her scent, a potent blend of earthiness and the untamed wild, cut through the ambient perfume of the room. He had sensed her approach before she even spoke, a testament to his heightened awareness. He turned to her, his own gaze behind the mask both knowing and unreadable. Charon's eyes, a blend of sharpness and gentleness, briefly locked onto Iva's before he nodded in acknowledgment. Charon had observed her transformation from a docile wolf to a fiercely controlled operative within the pack. He knew the precarious nature of her existence, the fine line she tread between survival and discovery. He recognized the bravery it took for her to play her part in this intricate dance, her actions potentially dictating the balance of power between their kind and the wolves.

He offered her a faint smile as she quipped about smiling more to avoid the Deo Volente's ire. "Ah, but my dear, there's an art to keeping your enemies both intrigued and cautious. Too much friendliness, and they will start to think you have lost your edge." His tone held a wry amusement, a subtle acknowledgment of the delicate balance he, too, maintained. Iva's presence was a reminder of the ongoing alliance between their two species. She stood here not only as a lone wolf but as a representative of her pack, seeking to share information that could influence the course of their actions. Charon's eyes briefly scanned the crowd, his attention flitting between the various interactions. He nodded in agreement as Iva pointed out the brewing tensions and the object of their shared concern, the body that had become a focal point of contention.

As Iva expressed her willingness to take drastic measures, Charon's gaze remained steady, his voice calm. "While such a spectacle would undoubtedly make for a memorable ball, we should tread carefully. The political landscape is intricate, and each move we make could set off a chain reaction." His words were measured, his thoughts always a few steps ahead. The absence of Elu, the wolf pack's leader, didn't go unnoticed by Charon. He understood the significance of her presence or absence at this gathering. It was another piece of the puzzle, another layer of complexity to navigate. "You're perceptive, Iva," Charon acknowledged her assessment of the situation "Indeed, the veneer of civility is fragile at best. We must be prepared for any eventuality." Charon's gaze lingered on Iva for a moment, a silent acknowledgment of her readiness.

In the midst of their conversation, the tension in the room continued to mount. Charon's senses were attuned to the shifting energies, the undercurrents of unease. He placed a reassuring hand on Iva's arm, a gesture that was both a form of support and a signal of their alliance. "For now, let us continue to observe. Our actions tonight may ripple far beyond this ballroom." As he spoke, his eyes remained fixed on the unfolding drama, ready to step in if circumstances demanded it. The ballroom was a battlefield of hidden intentions and unspoken desires, and Charon was prepared to play his role with finesse and strategic insight.

Mentions: Loomis Loxely zlexis a z u l a

 

[zlexis]

Riaan Joseph

“I see some of your other pack members down at the bar, shall we join them?”

Riaan's nose scrunched up as her grating voice intruded into his thoughts. He had been lost in the room, the senses, and the noise. Constant noise. It was no wonder he never strayed far from the little trailer he called home - dense woods, wildflowers, sunlight breaking through the cracks. This place... it was stifling. The scent of expensive perfumes and colognes mingled with the heavy air, making it difficult for him to breathe. People stuffed the room, their laughter and conversations blending into one indistinguishable cacophony of displeasure. He imagined, for a moment, snuffing it all out - like cutting a candle at the wick. Then he took one sip of the glass offered to him, and the static inside him settled.

Yet the taste on his tongue - it was bitter. His eyebrows furrowed, and the wolf put the glass back on the serving tray as the drink settled into his stomach next to the unease.

"Yes, I'll, um... join y'all in a moment," he said. But when he turned to address the vampires, they had already made their way down the stairs. He must have been lost in thought for longer than intended. He opted to watch instead of following, knowing that if he were required to play nice in another insincere conversation, someone would lose their intestines.

He smiled inwardly and shook his head. No, of course, no one would be disemboweled tonight; he just needed to get out of this overwhelming environment. The bright lights were enough to give him a headache, let alone the artificial scents.

He was about to leave, to find some dark corner to sulk away from the crowd when another vampire approached the sister. A vampire with an air of regality, his presence commanding attention even amidst the crowded room. Though he stayed far back, Riaan could sense the danger that lurked behind the facade - a hunter, such as himself. And the doe, frozen in fear. How odd, to see a vampire cower. She revealed her weakness, and even he could smell it.

Yet there was something else there. Something familiar. The last crackling of embers around a campfire, the smoke in a crowded bar dispersing softly into the air.

It clicked, and his eyes widened.

Elu had been with him. Unmistakably so. Though to what extent, he was not sure of. Not yet.

The hunter was already moving, his large frame pushing past crowds of people. Strangers shot him dirty looks and gave hushed whispers, but the noise and commotion of the room faded as he only had the leader on his mind. Her curls, her stern, but affable smile. But he was at an impasse. Every fiber in his being wanted to ensure that the pack leader was safe, yet…

He looked back and saw Dani sway up the stairs, flaunting a bottle in her hand, closer to the devil in disguise. Nearby her, the healer, the newer member of their pack, yet still one of his to protect. This whole place was fraught with danger. He should have listened to his initial instincts and never have come. Damn this place, damn these vampires, and to rot with every so-called peacemaker among them. The wolf beckoned, yet remained silenced.

Riaan stepped out into the cool night air, the sounds of chatter fading into the background. He walked briskly towards his truck, basking in the glow of the moonlight. As he reached the vehicle, he opened the door and retrieved the rifle from the backseat compartment. It was a familiar weight in his hands, a comforting presence. If something were going to go down, at least he came prepared.