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

[Loomis]

The feeling of Charlotte's muscles tense underneath his grasp please Cassius, still a scared child I see. A cruel smile cracked his lips behind the golden mask as flashes from their contentious past danced in his mind. As he watched the young Vampire struggle to ground herself he couldn’t help but admire her beauty; forever frozen in a state of immortal grace. Time held no power over complexion, but her eyes held every ounce of her extended life. Removing his hand from her frail shoulder he pushed some stray strands of her hair back into place.

“You look lovely tonight, the rabbit mask is an interesting choice,” The amusement in his voice contrasting his stoic mask. Extending his hand once again towards the blonde he flicked one of the rabbit ears and chuckled. Always playing the innocent, naïve role, even now as a blood hungry creature of the night.

“Not long enough? Are you not delighted to see me, my dear?” Cassius questioned in a mocking tone. Of course the little Vampire wasn’t leaping for joy at the sight of him, their last encounter was not a joyous one; at least not for Charlotte. He could stay here all night and just poke at her unease, but something in the air caught his attention. Shifting his gaze briefly back down the staircase he scanned the crowd to try and pinpoint the scent. No one in the crowd seemed to be struggling from the Blood Moon effects, so where were they? Another wave flooded his senses, adrenaline, blood, someone was about to send this elegant affair into turmoil.

"Raison d'être"

The smooth French accent danced in his ears, the meaning in her toast not lost on him, bringing back to their little dance. Raising his glass he softly clinked the rim of his glass against hers, “à notre réussite” he nodded his head at the bunny before lifting his mask to expose his lips, taking a long sip from his amber tinted champagne. Just as he was about to make his leave another Vampire inserted himself into their intimate conversation. He appeared to be taking on the role of knight in shining armor, it was quite obvious he was coming to the aid of the helpless. How pathetic. Charlotte had all these years to improve herself and she was still the same drug obsessed, useless, excuse for existence. Forever relying on others to come to her defense. She had so much potential, if she put as much energy into perfecting herself as she did for finding her fix she could be amazing. She could’ve been the perfect partner for her sister, they could’ve taken over Saint Haddock in the blink of an eye if she wasn’t weighing down her sister's ambitions. Filthy fucking lap dogs.

“Yes it is, they never fail to make these events absolutely enchanting.” Cassius pulled his mask back into place and turned his attention to Virgil. “And you are?” He tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice, but failed. The fact that such a young Vampire would insert themselves without a proper introduction was simply rude, little prick. His body flushed with irritation, he was in no mood to be challenged, and judging Virgil's body language that’s exactly what he wanted. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed another Werewolf lingering about the group of Vampires, he wrinkled his nose up in disgust. Filthy

“Actually, I don’t have time for introductions. I just wanted to see to it that my dear friend wasn’t left alone for the evening. If you don’t mind, I must excuse myself, bigger fish to fry as they say.” And with that Cassius turned on his heels, placing his half empty glass on a passing waiter's tray. As he descended the stairs his crimson eyes scanned the warmly lit ballroom as he tried to identify the creature filling his senses. Pausing at the bottom of the staircase he took a deep breath to focus his senses, every hair on his body standing up on high alert. There you are.

Pushing through the crowd he kept his pace steady so as to not bring attention to his movements. The scent leading him through the sea of people and down a secluded hallway. As he drew closer to the door at the end of the hallway the scent was overwhelming, intoxicating. He took the door knob in his hand swiftly, opened the door and shut it behind him as he entered the bathroom.

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

Interactions: Loxely & Eldarkon | Mentions: RedLeftHand36 & Sepokku ​

 

[DarkKitsune]

SILVERMIST CEAROS
INTERACTION: Loomis Anaxileah [mention) zlexis RedLeftHand36 Maverick Six
LOCATION: BLOODMOON BALL
OUTFIT:

Spoiler: Dress

Suddenly, it felt like a lot and more was happening at once. The vampire Sabine introduces herself to Silvermist, offering a shake of her hand. The Bartender interrupted this interaction for seemingly her own safety, though she was sure he was the only one who knew her name without asking for it. Thomas made the suggestion that the two woman witches leave, concluding it's not the place for her or Ms.Hawthorne apparently. While she couldn't say anything on the matter of Cordelia, he was right about her. All these people had a history, Sabine and her 'business partner' played the facade of peace quite well. She wasn't as stupid as she came across. You'd have to truly be an idiot to not see the fact that her, her partner, Thomas, the person behind Thomas, everyone at that moment, was trying to play each other for fools. 'Peace' was a temporary facade and she didn't know how long that would last. Within that moment, she decided to do something which was probably a stupid thing to do in hindsight. With the wooden bristle end of her imitation broomstick against his head. Not even with the pokey part of it that was carved to look like bristles and did this in a gentle and playful fashion so as to not cause harm. With that, her own facade was born. As she pulled the broom away, dramatically spinning it and tapping the bristle end onto the floor with a resounding thump that would probably give away what it actually was. She'd play the part she needed to play, she'd act like she was confident, she'd act like she wasn't awkward, she'd act like she wasn't so out of place in a event like this, an event she didn't know how she got invited to in the first place. She took Sabine's hand and shook it once with a false energetic demeanor.

"Nice to meet you Ms.Sabine my name is Silvermist I own a shop on saint haddock"


She didn't feel like it was the place to name off her place of business, as her goal was to try and remove the tension these people somehow managed to create with false words of security. Besides anyone with a brain would piece together where her shop was if they saw the name. Her nickname was in it's name even. She moved her hand away and grabbed the drink the bartender made for her, determined to play a act through her previous inhibitions as if they were non-existent. Putting the glass down she tells the bartender. She counts everyone speaking in the section of the bar.

"You're right that does taste good Mr.Bartender. Also nice to meet all six of you"

​

 

[Loxely]

Despite the seemingly normal conversation, Lottie felt the weight of Cassius' disdain for her. Feeling as though she was being crushed like a small, vulnerable creature under his boot. The words escaping from her lips with tinges of bated breath. She struggled to find a response to his question as the longer he stood in her proximity, the faster she fell from grace. The flick to her mask seemed harmless, but a powerful blow to her confidence in standing her ground to the beastly man. Well aware of his expectations for her once she was turned, and acutely tormented by the fact that she failed him. Truthfully, by choice.

"Lottie, there you are,"

Pierced through the tension slick as a knife. The chime of the familiar tone had Lottie's tightened chest to slacken with a sigh of relief. Her gaze breaking eye from Cassius' contemptuous stare and searched the marbled flooring for sanctuary. As Virgil tactfully wedged himself between the two, she sheepishly leaned into his center of gravity.

"Quite regal, indeed." She chimed in to Virgil's inquiry from behind her raised glass, sipping down her fear with the aid of alcohol. To her surprise, Cassius exited their trio. Though momentarily relieved, she feared the worst had yet to come. Lottie knew Cassius enough that she was not the subject of his evening. Only Sabine, it was always Sabine. Some part of her felt a tinge of jealousy for her sister's captivating attention of suitors and others. But she'd never want Cassius infatuation instilled on herself, or anyone for that matter.

Immediately turning on a heel to face Virgil, she pressed tightly against him with her narrow figure. Her cobalt orbs swimming within the stained red sclera danced along the edges of his mask, searching to match his gaze. Her trepidation exposed from behind the hardened plastic of her own mask. Lottie raised free hand to grasp the his firm upper arm, giving it a concerned squeeze.

"He's dangerous..." She stated sternly, hopeful that it conveyed a warning to the brother. Another squeeze, "and he's here for Sabine. I have to warn her, Virgil." That same hand that gripped his arm as if it was her lifeline trickled down his forearm and interlaced her fingers between his. Finding some comfort in the innocently intimate gesture. Pulling at him gently, she couldn't help but crave his presence at her side for the remainder of the evening - if not, furthermore had they been given more opportunities. Rising to her tip toes, Lottie placed a thoughtful peck at the smallest glimpse of his bare cheek. "Thank you." She coquettishly whispered with a lingering stare that traced along his jawline, noting the tiniest details in his complexion. Once she retracted and regained her typical elegant posture, Lottie lead their way down the steps, Virgil tethered to her with the grasp of her hand still intertwined in his.

Snaking through the crowd, her footwork was as if her performing a dance among the throng. Finding small openings and slipping through almost effortlessly, but the weight of Virgil being tugged behind was between a burden and a blessing. Most not thinking twice of Lottie's maneuverers and to only step aside as she threaded through. While the larger man being a firm ball and chain was an inconvenienced to closely knit and conversing groups. Once approaching the menagerie that loitered around the bar, Lottie extended her glass to tap Sabine on the shoulder with the hopes of gaining her undivided attention. Breaking the space between the two sisters, she murmured in their native tongue as to not invite an unwanted audience, "Il est de retour, ma sœur." Though as she exchanged the warning, she peered out of the corner of her eye to a rather intuitive looking attendee. She's felt his heavy stare but yet to meet the eyes of which laid upon her. He smelled of that sickly sweet mortality. The scent that had teased at her all evening with the unsatiated hunger looming over her by the forces of the Blood Moon. An eager grin curled along her lips, tilting her chin ever so gently to him, "Apologies for the interruption. I hope you understand, monsieur." Lottie adjusted to remain at the back of the group, but transfixed with the human. "Charlotte deLorme. But you may call me Lottie." With a tender gesture to Virgil, she shared that same grin upwards to him, "This is my darling patron of the evening, Virgil. I believe you met his Father if you've met my sister. They make quite a pair."


interactions: Loomis Eldarkon Maverick Six

 

[Loxely]

​

 

[Maverick Six]

Interaction: zlexis Sepokku Loomis Eldarkon

Mentions: AlphaBlueWolf Sybela DarkKitsune RedLeftHand36

Bloodmoon Ball​

---

The Hunter of the Occult shook hands with the Vampire.

The attempt at greeting and shaking Mr. Wolfsbane's hand had come to fail. It seemed he was for the most part, focused on indulging in Thomas' suffering. At being ignored, he lowered his hand and said nothing. One would not see the characteristic tensing Richter did whenever he seemed to grow angry. The way veins. If anything, he seemed to be relieved that Mr. Wolfsbane was suffering from tunnel vision.

Naturally, Thomas was Bewildered. "What are you doing?" He hadn't expected a response. Yet he could tell where Richter was looking as his head turned to meet him directly. The man's mask would reflect off the lenses which occupied Richter's own mask.

"Anger is natural. It has it's uses." He spoke. But in truth, many vampires had enhanced senses. Enough to hear a beating heart when one was close. "However, your anger would be better suited doing something more productive than dying." He said, speaking cryptically. But not for it's own sake. It could mean any number of things to anyone.

He turned back to continue conversating.

One could only wonder how much Thomas had actually spent hunting. It almost seemed as though he simply brute forced his way through everything, judging by his reaction. The pragmatic reality of it was that the situation they were in was ill suited to disposing of those who they'd wanted to dispose of. For all the insults he threw -- it was mere poking and prodding. It was to get them to do something brash. Not the other way around.

Richter could not but wistfully think back as to when he did have a four man team of skilled Hunters. All of whom knew each other quite well. But like it or not, some of them were gone. And he was relocated here to Paradise City. Being a mage made Thomas an automatic asset. And he'd have to see to it that their lieutenant didn't lose more than what he already had. The details of the attack on Lazarus were hazy when it came to Thomas given his own disappearance for five days.

A less than ideal situation. But he's been in spots far more dire.

It could not be said that his mask augmented his abilities in anyway. But it did seem to be far from inhibiting his abilities. It was breathable. And most importantly -- it didn't impede the man's vision. His eyes secretly moved within his mask, as he watched the Redhead She-Wolf leave. At the moment, he didn't have a name for her. The Deo Volente's database was woefully incomplete. Those who'd made more of a name for themselves. It was something to be rectified. Admittedly, it was more entertaining thus far than his current company. He recounted his previous replies to her.

Spoiler: Flashack Response to Dani

"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."

"Not surprising exactly. Surprising is that one of your constitution would even bother with the hassle." It wasn't as though Werewolves weren't ones to use weapons. But to go such lengths seemed abnormal not with his experience, but with what he'd seen here. The Wolves he spotted didn't seem to be armed. The biggest of them obviously didn't seem to need it.

Then again, tonight was the night of the blood red moon. He speculated perhaps that the Wolves had devised some manner of way to control their urges when the time came. Though, something told him that at least one wolf around did not take their medicine. The Deo Volente were apt to be out in force tonight.

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.

"Of course I know how the story ends. I've seen it for myself." Richter said. And accounts would confirm this. The piles of Deo Volente bodies were stacked high in his mind. And he seemed to be the one to miraculously crawl out of the corpses he had every right to join. And not soon after, to stack a pile of the enemy's own like some sort of Revenant.

"Black and Grey is probably more accurate." He said. Not all missions were as bright and squeaky clean as many liked to claim. Glorified visions of running through houses and blowing the heads off creatures in righteous glory were muddied with the screams of bystanders both human and not. By vengeful, frantic attack by those all but innocent but attached to those who'd met their end. Pig and Zealot were but two recent names given to him among a great many.

The Hunter could hardly claim to see much white in the world, any more.

Similar could be said for "the Host." But this was simply an opportunity that shouldn't be passed up.

As far as Sabine's perspective went -- his gaze had never shifted away from her. And he continued speaking as though a whirlwind of observations and juggling of thoughts wasn't occurring with the neat confines of the Richter's mind.

"This event has proved very interesting so far. Indeed, I'd say this is the most interesting party I've been to." It was not a lie. Richter did not get invited to very many parties. And it wasn't as though he'd likely attend.

"Yes. A couple!" He said, unusually cheerful. Practically night and day, compared how he spoke to the others. "Had you not told me, I wouldn't have known for sure." Though it was certain there was something between them. More than friends. But perhaps less than lovers. Still -- there was something to gain in this. Particularly when it came to the target. It was difficult to read one such as Cassius. That golden mask he had covered so much of his face that it was fortuitous for him to even recognize him. But he saw the way his eyes narrowed when he gazed at Dante and Sabine together. If someone else was to do the job -- then he'd take it. Ideally, it could make the pair less inclined to come to their Elder's aid.

"We'll see what the future holds. Perhaps I'm too forward, but sparks fly between you two." He said.

“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.”

"That" He begins. "Is not what I mean. But, I'm sure you'll come to understand later." Richter said, cryptic and vague. He moved onto her next question.

"I don't know Magnus. I know of him." Which was true. Richter had barely been in Paradise City. Indeed, this was his first mission here. But he did do his research. Speaking to those present seemed a good time to fill in the blanks of said research. "The enlightened centrist. Seems a good fellow." A bit of that biting sarcasm seemed to bleed through. The man seemed almost a bit misguided. A comparative bright spot but much like the more enigmatic "The Host", Richter could only really wonder what his efforts would amount to. Was everyone going to sing Kumbuya as people were functionally trafficked like cattle? Just as he'd said before, Richter could hardly claim that humanity at large were saints. But what they fought seemed much worse.

Good was rare. Though something of a particular bright spot had caught his attention.

Is that a...housekeeper from the Hawthorn Hotel?

Some people were easier to ID than others obviously. Some masks covered more. Others less. This allowed him to identify her by features. But Richter could not claim to memorize each and every staff's members name, should they not be apart of the Deo Volente themselves. Perhaps he should run a background check on all the staff at this point.

Beneath the mask a brow raised as Richter seemed to spot a familiar face who'd walked around the place that he lived. There was little of note about her and in truth, there had been little reason for him to pay any attention to her at all. Yet he still seemed to remember a face. The man couldn't help but wonder as to what in god's earth she was doing here of all places. As he carried on with his conversation -- he kept a close eye on her. In a business like his, there was much opportunity for the enemy to implant spies of their own or to otherwise, mentally alter people into various pawns. Willing or otherwise.

Yet he couldn't help but get a sense of "lost" from her. Soon, it seemed she was intercepted by one agent and his associate. As she neared the bar -- he would listen to the trio's conversation. Perhaps it was for the best. This was hardly the best place to be lost.

Indeed -- Richter's eyes moved and focused on a particular detail. Just as Dani entered the rio....Riaan was running down the stairs. The man's movements brought about murmurs among the crowd. And he mustered up a fake smile to move them. Yet he could well see the hurried movements in the man. Why? He couldn't discern. But it seemed to correlate well with Cassius' own arrival. The man seemed to have a habit of spooking people of many walks of life. Though why Riaan specifically? He couldn't tell. The man didn't seem to care much for Lottie's own being manhandled. It had to be something else. The man eventually made his way out of the ball entirely until he was out of view. From there, Richter couldn't see what he was doing.
From the corner of his eye, Cassius too began to rush towards something -- lacking the same fear. But something clearly agitated him greatly judging from his movements. Then the source of his agitation became clear as he soon sensed something coming from the bathroom. Richter looked down, rolling up his sleeve to stare at his watch.

Tik toc, big bad wolf.

But for now, things were quiet. Sabine was conversing with the young lady who wielded a broomstick whom he'd noticed was shuddering in the corner. He gave the advice to run to them both. To which he said. "Sound advice, Thomas." He said. In truth, it was just he said to "the Host" earlier. And when it came to self preservation, running was the best solution. Even Richter was not above it. Sabine addressed who he'd confirm was a young witch given her name and her business. His eyes practically locked onto the broomstick. He began to snicker long before it had made contact with him -- as though he'd predicted it would.

Before he could address Sabine further, he saw something approaching from the side.

In utter defiance of Richter's original plans, a most unexpected event occurred. Yet it was a most welcome one. As she approached -- his arms went behind his back. It seemed almost as though she gave Sabine opportunity to escape something given the way she almost shoved her in. Yet Richter would welcome the new arrival with metaphorically open arms. He heard her say something to her sister in what he could pinpoint as a french accent. Yet he didn't know the language and was unable to translate it.

"I am quite blessed this evening, it seems." He said, not looking at her directly, at yet noting those blood red eyes of hers.

"I must say, I wasn't expecting to meet you tonight so soon." With his hands behind him, the Hunter pressed the knife hidden against the back of his forearm. And simply slid it's razor sharp edge gently along his own flesh.

SLCK

The quiet sound of steel against flesh. No louder than surgeon working his scalpel. What was another scar? A warm, wet feeling began to flow down Richter's arm. He didn't flinch. His heart didn't spike. There was no change in his breath. His own blood flowed down his arm until it was absorbed by his sleeve with the motion of his hand. The very same motion in which Richter would extent his hand to Lottie for her to shake should he so desire.

Clack. Clack. The sound of his dress shoes against the tile, each step carrying him closer and closer to Lottie -- given that she stood at the back of the group. Then she would smell it.

Not a drop left his sleeve. Yet...the scent of a human's fresh, virgin blood would fill the air around Lottie. There was not even a trace of any magic or any link to anything explicitly supernatural. The smell practically poured out the mortal man's sleeve, just for her. Virgil rest within his peripherals. But he had yet to greet or acknowledge him. His extended hand -- curled upward. His palm facing the ceiling. As though he would take her hand to kiss if she so graced his own.

"It's no trouble at all. A pleasure to meet you Lottie. You may call me Richter." The soulless, glass-like eyes of the man's mask stared on at her like a one way mirror. It showed nothing of what was within. His mask hid all the flesh on his head. All the flesh one his neck. He practically wore two masks. If not for his hand or the scent of his blood, one less perceptive might have wondered if he was human at all given how much he concealed.

"Indeed they are. In truth, I didn't want to keep them apart. So I'm truly thankful for your approach." He said, fully aware of the irony. Yet he knew well what their looks towards each other meant.

It wasn't as though they could act on their desires in front of everyone -- after all.

 

[Ghostiiys]

Interactions: Sybela zlexis RedLeftHand36 Eldarkon Mentions: Loxely AlphaBlueWolf

Otsana Raya

Location: Blood Moon Ball

Otsana's fingers itched to rip the skin off her body and go completely feral, but she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. She had been stealing from people all night, and she was starting to get careless. Otsana's giant stolen fur cloak and obvious duffel bag made her stand out like a sore thumb. Some gave her odd stares, but their eyes were glazed over with alcohol and lust, and they quickly turned away. Everyone was so engrossed in their own little bubbles that they didn't notice her or they just didn't want to. She could have been a ghost, slipping in and out of their lives without a trace.

The atmosphere in the ball was thick and oppressive, the air heavy with the smell of sweat, smoke, and alcohol. The noise was deafening, pounding through Otsana's chest. She felt like she was going to be sick. Otsana's head was throbbing from what she assumed was the copious amounts of alcohol she had early in the day. "No more drinks, for now." she thought to herself. But it wasn't just the alcohol that was making her feel uneasy. There was something else in the air, something ominous. Her skin tingled, and her senses were heightened to nauseatingly high levels. She felt like something was watching her, something dark and malevolent.

Taking a break to indulge herself in hors d'oeuvers, her peaceful night of thievery and gluttony was stopped by an angry woman. She was just about to take a bite of a canapé when she heard a voice behind her.

"You there!" The woman said with a scowl, causing Otsana's heart to race.

"Don't you see that mangy rat?!" She shouted, Causing Otsana to turn around, noticing an old cat, its eyes devoid of any life besides its white irises staring a hole into her head. Otsana hated cats, mostly due to the guilt of eating a colony of strays when she transformed for one of the first times.

"How could you just stand there, eating OUR food on the job when this diseased vermin is prowling about! Look at you! What is wrong with your clothes?! You're not even wearing a dress shirt for one, your bra is poking out and your pants are falling off!" She shrieked, her voice cutting through the din of the ball like a knife. The woman's face was twisted with rage, and her eyes were wild and bloodshot. She was clearly intoxicated, but there was something else about her that made Otsana's skin crawl. Her teeth were long and sharp, and her sclera was blood red. Otsana couldn't counter anything she was saying anyhow, She was wearing someone else's clothes after all.

Otsana took a step back, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn't know what to do. She had never seen anything like this before. She figured that if she just took care of the woman's initial complaint she could get off scot-free. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she turned to face the cat. It had not moved an inch since she first noticed it, and its eyes were staring right at her. They were strange, milky white, and they seemed to glow. Otsana felt a chill run down her spine.

"M-my apologies, ma'am," she stammered forcing a smile. "Let me just... take care of this."

She reached out and grabbed the cat by the scruff of its neck. It did not react. She lifted it and held it close, her whole body shaking.

"What kind of sickness does it have?" she thought to herself. "Its eyes... they're otherworldly."

Taking a deep breath she tried to calm down. She turned and walked away, the cat still in her arms. The woman seemed satisfied enough to laugh with her friends, and the commotion she had caused seemed to be forgotten instantly by the bystanders who tuned into the drama. It just kept on staring at her, a lump was starting to form in her throat. She decided to put the senile cat in her duffel bag, she would throw it on the way out.

"Bitch." She hissed under her breath, pushing her way through the crowd. Under any other circumstance, things would have ended differently, regardless of her freaky-ass eyes and fake plastic vampire teeth. Otsana was fuming, having just been accosted by a drunk woman. The woman's words had cut her deep, and she felt a surge of anger rising in her chest. She looked around the venue, taking in the scene. Everyone here was from a place of privilege. They were all drunk and carefree, oblivious to the struggles of others. Their opulent wardrobes were a testament to their wealth and status. She felt like she was going to suffocate. The thoughts in her mind were racing, bouncing off her skull like a pinball machine. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to destroy everything in her path. This was unusual and she knew it, but she barely had control over herself to do anything about it.

Otsana slithered through the crowd, her fur cloak billowing behind her. She noticed that the crowd had gone silent. Everyone was staring at something, whispering. She turned to look, and she saw a man in a green suit walking through the crowd. He was tall with long brown hair and eyes obscured by an industrial-looking mask. Otsana didn't know what was so special about this man, the way people parted from him, and the harsh words they spoke, barely above a whisper. But with a crowd full of people it felt like they were all in unison yelling at him. She didn't care about the man in the green suit. She didn't care about his importance to the event. All she cared about was the wad of money that was sticking out of his coat pocket.
The man was trying to leave the club in a hurry, and the items were almost falling out of his pocket. Otsana pushed her way through the crowd, her eyes cast down as she passed him. She stared directly into his pocket, her hand obscured by her fur jacket. With a sleight of hand, she retrieved the goodies and slipped them into her pocket. She didn't even look at the man as she walked away. She knew that he would never know what had happened. Otsana smiled to herself as she walked away. She had gotten away with it. She had gotten away with stealing from the man in the green suit.

There was something cathartic about hoodwinking people who thought they had it all. Otsana felt no pity for anyone here anymore. She would feast on their food, plunder their money, and sleep soundly. She calmed down after her successful coup. As an attendant passed her, deftly holding a tray full of drinks, Otsana snatched it from under his hands. Using it to camouflage herself a little better, she headed towards a more snobby group of individuals. As always, they were enamored with themselves. She would indulge herself a little more before disappearing into the night, her duffel bag was becoming heavy and the amount of money she would have at the end of the day would help her tremendously. A woman with a rabbit mask, holding hands with a black-haired man caught Otsana's eye. The best part was the fact that his wallet was ever so slightly protruding from the back of his pants. She deftly switched the tray to her free hand and casually bumped into the man. Not enough to jolt him, but just so that he was distracted enough not to notice his wallet slipping out from his back pocket.

"Apologies," Otsana said, bowing her head down before sauntering away quickly. His wallet felt very hefty, what a glorious night for her.

Like the rest, she slyly threw the wallet into her bag, accidentally smacking the cat, which she had forgotten was in there, on the head. "Oops. Uh, sorry, gatito," she mumbled. "Let's just get you out of here I guess."

Apologetic, Otsana scurried around looking for an exit but could barely see anything besides a sea of people. Cursing her short stature, she pushed her way through the crowd, looking for somewhere to let the cat out. As she was walking, she continued to swipe, her use of multitasking benefiting her to no end. She wasn't even realizing what she was taking, whether it was money or used paper, expensive jewelry, or cheap knockoffs. She saw a woman with a beautiful flower mask and a conservative dress. She stood out in the crowd, like a beacon of purity. Otsana knew she was no better than anyone here, but she couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for what she was about to do. But these people lied and manipulated to get where they were, just like her. But they were good at it. They knew how to play the game. Otsana, on the other hand, sucked at it. Luckily for the both of them, The blonde-haired woman was interrupted from her walk by a woman whom Otsana assumed was her companion.

hooking her nail onto what she thought was some spare money the woman held on her side. She snatched it and started to walk away, but then she noticed something. The object in her hand wasn't money. It was a picture of another woman. Otsana stopped and stared at the picture. The woman in the picture was beautiful, with long, flowing hair and piercing blue eyes. She looked just like the woman in the flower mask. Now she just felt bad, but she couldn't go back to the woman and admit how she had procured the photo. "Oh hey, I thought this was money and snatched it from you, but it's actually a stupid picture so you can have it back!" She stuffed the photo into her pocket, trying not to feel bad. She had more than enough of things to sell now and she could just leave, order some fast food, and pass out at a motel before she ended up hurting someone or herself.

code by serobliss

 

[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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  AlphaBlueWolf
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

The scent of alcohol wasn’t one she was particularly fond of. The smell, quite noxious in itself, was even worse when lingering on wagging tongues too loose to know their own good. Odette had met her fair share, especially at the parties thrown by her parents over the years.

Dance with this person, then that one. Serve this, don’t forget the smile! Over and over again, without stop. It was tiring, she was exhausted and, like clockwork, she found herself in a similar situation with the same stupid smile plastered to her face.

Lip service is what it was, complete and undeniable fake words just to placate egos- and it worked. From the lady in red to the elderly gent with a three piece suit, white cane and a gleaming smile.

The downside to all this activity was that nobody recognised her sister, at least that’s the answers she was being given. Impossible, preposterous even. It took every fibre of her being not to furrow her brow in such an unladylike manner, she simply opted for a better option; scrunching the side of her dress in her one free palm.

Frustration was something she learned since being with her sister. Locked up in a room for the majority of her live, being coddled and given whatever she needed, Odette wasn’t use to things not magically being there.

Her sister, Marjory, made sure to teach her the little things in life, there was so much more to learn, so many new experiences that Odette needed to witness, especially with her sister.

She was promised to the see the sea, pinky swore about dining at a bar without the use of forks! Picking at food with their fingers like animals- Odette had dreamed of these little promises, it’s why it was so important that they found one another.

Odette had stopped, only briefly, just to glance at the photograph once more between her fingers. Was it truly the right decision to come here? Just because the party was full of those with the fake teeth, or vampires as her sister tried to scare her, doesn’t mean one of them had been treated by the sisters. What was the chances that she’d just so happen to find someone that would recognise the photo?

Feeling melancholic, her smile faltered and a frown tugged her lips downwards. Odette brushed her thumb over the pretty portrait and, with a small huff, continued her movements towards the bar- only to be completely stopped by another redhead.

She was pretty, even the intricate mask couldn’t hide that. Scarlet hair woven into a bun, framed by leaves and flowers, yellow in colour, the colour of happiness. It highlighted the woman’s eyes; brought attention to the striking blue that reminded Odette of the old pedigree Sphynx cat that frequented her home. Magical, unusual, unnatural. These were no eyes of a human like herself, surely.

Contacts

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She decided internally, feeling the uneasiness slowly recede. It really was permanently Halloween here, almost could have a full house at a checklist the way she kept on discovering new oddities.

It wasn’t until she noticed the male step into view that Odette was hit by a sudden wave of embarrassment. How long had she been gawking?

Was she speaking? Oh gosh.

“Pleasure to meet you both,”

Odette immediately curtsied, dipping her head in a sign of respect. The man, a little less extravagant than the woman, was still attractive with his posture and, from what she could see, a partially handsome face. Odette had to remind herself not to stare too much.

“If I may, you have beautiful eyes, miss.”

Odette admired her, they truly were mystical, she almost believed they were natural. Surely they weren’t.

The duo looked like two peas in a pod, close by her standards. It was nice to find someone who approached her with goodwill, without some type of ulterior motive, that she knew of. Despite the chill that tickled the hairs at the back of her neck due to the unnerving gaze of the woman, there was also the air of safety, security, around the two.

“Lost? Oh, oh! I’m looking for my sister.”

Odette waved her free hand in front of her, dismissing their concerns.

“We were supposed to meet but I haven’t seen her.”

A small white lie sprinkled with a coating of truth.

“Oh!”

She suddenly exclaimed, thrusting her hand forward as if procuring the photograph.

“Maybe you or your handsome friend have seen her? She looks exactly like this pho-“

Odette, the moment her eyes met the vacant space between her fingers, drained in colour. Her photograph, the only one she had of her sister, was gone. How? How could it possibly just vanish?!

“E-Excuse me,”

She stuttered, turning her back to the two people who had stopped to speak with her. Where could it have possibly gone? She literally had it a second ago! Odette scanned the floor, patted herself down even contemplated getting in her hands and knees.

Frantic, desperate, practically close to tears pricking at her eyes. How was she supposed to find her sister now without something to show people? It couldn’t have gotten far, surely. How stupid of her, careless, sloppy. Such an important trinket and she lost it right under her nose.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[AlphaBlueWolf]

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

Ms. Lost Puppy was nothing if not polite, the pair quickly noticed. She performed a courtesy and greeting worthy of the ballroom, leaving Cora with a grin plastered to her face. She'd been observing these people from afar, taking notice of the pleasantries performed by the attendees. She didn't expect to see it in full force here. She didn't reciprocate, she was less of a lady and more of a wild child after all, but she nodded and said not unkindly, "And you as well."

The man beside her gave a similar response to the young lady before them, though he spent the time she engaged with Cora taking in her posture. The way her free hand had clenched the sides of her dress in frustration, though unclenching upon meeting the two, and how her face showed no visible signs of that frustration. If Declan wasn't good at reading body language, he wouldn't even know of the sweet blonde's true emotions that she seemed to let go of in favor of the coming conversation. The courtesy showed signs of a well taught childhood, not an arm or hair out of place as she greeted them. She didn't seem like a local, even of the more illustrious houses in Paradise, though in this city those were few and far between, especially when they were kept by ordinary humans. She seemed too fragile and lost to be accustomed to this darkened atmosphere, almost as though she were a child's doll, too used to a playroom that when she was let out of her cage the real world seemed foreign in comparison. You didn't see people of her manners out and about in the world. He vaguely remembered how the Taylor children acted when his division ran that mansion drug bust all those years ago. Proper and well-mannered, though feeding the police whatever lies their parents told them to tell. She seemed sweet, not malicious in anyway, though Declan could just see the beginning strings of a mystery he had yet to completely unravel. There was more than a simple, well-mannered girl here, and he intended to find out just what that was. It seemed coming to this party proved fruitful after all.

As he was scanning over the girl, a woman of tan complexation and dark hair passed by, very close to the girl the pair had approached. She looked to be one of the various servants that roamed the ball with circular plates of Hor D'oeuvers and attended to the partygoers, but there was something wrong about her, beyond the ever-present oddness of the ball. She didn't entirely look like one of the other servants. Her wardrobe was off, her hair and appearance were far too matted and messy than would ever be allowed for one of the servants of such a prestigious ball as the Blood Moon. She wore a bag as well that seemed to be quite stuffed and oddly somewhat squirming as if it were alive. And maybe the oddest thing about her, she wore an extravagant coat of fur that one of the partygoers would wear to this thing, yet over a uniform that messaged to him that she was supposed to be a servant. Like the girl who he and Cora had intercepted, her oddness stood out among the supernatural energy. He narrowed her eyes at her, but he made no move to block her path. He needed to attend to the girl first. Maybe afterwards he could follow up on this second mystery.

"Thank you." He was brought out of his detective stupor with Cora's response to the statement Declan had barely managed to catch, compartmentalizing the appearance of the strange waitress for a later time. The girl was commenting on her eyes, though a compliment rather than remarking about their oddity like the pair was used to. "People usually tell me their strange rather than beautiful." Cora grinned, seeming as if she didn't quite mind that thought, though many would take it as rude, "Though, I suppose I can't blame them on that. They are pretty unusual at first sight." As if right on cue, Cora's eyes began to glow. It was only slightly in the well-lit room, and when you blinked you might think it was some trick of the light. Declan looked up to see the red of the moon brighter than before, and suspected the supernaturals of the room were getting affected more than before. He'd never seen her eyes glow like that, they were rarely out in full effect at all, and he didn't think they would have that quality on a regular full moon. But it was the blood moon, and not just werewolves were affected to it like the tide shifted to the moon's appearance. All the supernaturals had taken on some affect thanks to the blood moon, and Cora's eyes were becoming more unsettlingly beautiful by the passing minute.

Though, Declan didn't know if her grin was from her amusement at those rude comments she'd heard, or about the blonde's compliment going straight to her head. Cora wasn't stupid, flattery didn't get you whatever you wanted with her, but when she could tell someone was genuine with it and without an ulterior motive, she ate it all up. That's why Denny had to be very careful with what he said around her, a lot of his teasing coming from trying to humble the girl whenever her head got too fat with compliments and thank you's from her job. Despite all that, Cora was a very humble person. Declan suspected half of her bragging was simply jokes to get him to lighten up. It seemed they both did things in service of each other, her pokes and prods, and his teasing.

The pair's previous thought of the girl being lost was dismissed by the explanation that she was simply searching for someone. Her sister, who had apparently agreed to meet her here. But why the picture if she was just searching for someone who was supposed to show up? Why the frustration when that search came up fruitless? Was she just uncomfortable here, and wanting someone she knew? No, Declan hadn't acted like that whilst searching for Cora in the crowd, neither had his redhaired witch friend, even though he too had been uncomfortable initially. The pieces just weren't fitting together, and Declan couldn't write it off as the truth. His working mind was put on halt as the girl called Cora's friend handsome. Was she actively flirting with both of them, Declan thought, thinking back to the comment about Cora's eyes and now his own compliment. No, the comment was in a passive nature, and likely just what the girl was used to. He thought back to her initial greeting and curtsy. Yeah, that seemed to be it. He fit the two pieces together, and they seemed to fit well. The compliments were likely just her nature, a microcosm of how she'd grown up. Declan's own childhood, being raised by a law enforcement family, had ended up in his being overly critical of every little detail, even as a small child he was that way, discussing the intricacies of Mickey Mouse with his parents at the dinner table, and how it was strange that Goofy and Pluto were both dogs, providing his own theories on the matter and picking apart entire episodes of mindless entertainment for children to justify those theories. The reason he was the way he was now was because his family actually humored him whenever he brought things like that up and fostered those discussions, acting as if they were the most serious things in the world while Declan was so fixated on them, even when his father had other worries on his mind like murders and drug busts.

The conversation stalled as the girl went to show the photo Declan and Cora had witnessed her hold up to the lady in red before, but her hand came up empty, immediately a sense of worry grew apparent in the girl's features, and even Cora who was more of an amateur in detective work could glean the anxiety the girl felt. She looked as if a vampire had drained all the blood out of her waifish yet regal features. Quickly, she maintained her well manners by excusing herself, before turning away from the two shakily. They both felt a pang of sympathy pass through them as they watched the shaking limbs of the girl as she panickily scanned the room. The photo seemed to mean way too much to her. The pair turned a look to each other, and a silent agreement passed between them. It's not like any other matters occupied them, and this is what the both of them did. Neither of the two seemed to have any objections, and they both came to the same decision within the same moment. They didn't even have to speak on it before they both walked forward.

A hand was placed on the girl's shoulders, the grip firm reassurance yet gentle in nature. "Shh, its ok. We can help you look for your photo. We saw it with you just a moment ago, it shouldn't be far. And we'll keep an eye out for your sister if she arrives in the meantime. I assume she looks as charming as you do. It shouldn't be hard to spot a doppelganger in this crowd." She gestured around her to the freaks in masks, her included in that group of freaks. She then gestured towards Declan, unceremoniously bumping her hand into his shoulder that seemed odd for the atmosphere. It spoke of a friendliness between the two, and a certain modest quality to the woman that many attending the ball did not have. "Besides, this one is pretty good at finding things."

"That's right. In fact, it used to be my job, actually." Declan nodded in agreement to Cora's statement, "To track down people and objects with only a fixed set of clues. I was trained in it. Your photo won't stay hidden long with us on the case. So, don't worry. We'll find it." He reassured. Declan never out right said he used to be a cop, because people often got jumpy whenever law enforcement was brought up. They didn't know this girl's situation. Maybe that's why she looked lost, because she was evading some kind of law enforcement. He was beating around the bush, and you might be able to guess what he was getting at, either that or thinking he used to be a P.I., but it was enough that hopefully it would reassure her without the potential of spooking the girl.

"Stay with her, look for the photo with her. Maybe ask about her or her sister if you can get it out of her naturally, but don't press for anything or make it seem like you're interrogating her. Something's not right here. I'm gonna go track down a lead on her photo. If it turns up, come get me before I bark up the wrong tree a little too much." Declan whispered into Cora's ear. She gave a determined nod as confirmation, and he set off with a gentle smile towards the blonde-haired girl and a wave of his hand, turning and scooting through the crowd with hushed excuse me's and sorry's, beelining in a certain direction he had his sights set on.

"He's gonna go search over there, see if it got swept under someone's feet accidentally. Meanwhile, we can retrace your steps, see it maybe got bumped out of your hand as you were making your way through. It is awfully crowded in this stuffy event, isn't it?" She smiled with her lightly glowing eyes, and it somehow seemed like a warm thing despite the unnerving air of the eyes themselves. "Oh, right. I'm Cora, by the way. Cora Undermoore. And his name is Declan, but you can call him Denny if you want. I do, and he doesn't even mind for the most part." Her smile turned to a mischievous grin as she slowly moved forward, leading the girl in the direction she had come.

***​

It seemed Declan's mysteries had intertwined themselves.

He maneuvered himself through the crowd skillfully, years of chasing down criminals and knowing how to work rowdy crowds that had gotten him accustomed to squeezing his way through without much fuss. He made sure to hush an apology to whomever he managed to bump into but did not cause an alarm to those around him that would cause the woman he was chasing down to become suspicious. She had the lead on him, but his eyes were trained on her through the crowd, and he was gaining on his suspect. He watched her head swiveling around, holding in a relieved sigh as she didn't turn completely around to see the eyes trained on her. He was a Deo Volente at work, doing what he did best, hunting down individuals who caused trouble to humans. He couldn't be sure what she was yet, but she had such an unkempt appearance that it wasn't likely she was a vampire. Vampires prided themselves too much on their looks. It was almost as important as blood to them. His best guess to her wild appearance was one of the other three species. A human who got mixed up in the Blood Moon Ball, like he suspected of the other girl, a wild werewolf, or a witch who held a similar wild appearance to Cora. He couldn't be sure exactly which he was dealing with yet, and decided he better play it safe either way. If it was one of the latter two, Declan would be in big trouble with the Blood Moon up. He needed to be careful about whatever he was doing here, because the supernatural creatures could get testy fast, and use their heightened abilities to start trouble should they feel threatened.

Picking up his speed, he filled the vacuum between them, tapping her on the shoulder with an, "Excuse me, miss."

Declan watched her filled bag stop its bouncing on her shoulders as her movement ceased. Taking the opportunity before she could decide to bolt, he began to speak again, "Uh, I don't mean to take up much of your time. I'm looking for something, and I'm wondering if you've seen it around here. It's a photograph. See, it belongs to a young woman, and it seems she's misplaced it. She's feeling pretty anxious about it, I think it's really important to her, and I'd like to go back to her with good news rather than bad news. Can you help me out here? Have you seen any sign of it?"

This woman's unkempt appearance conveyed to him that maybe she did the things she did out of necessity than anything else. She was definitely not a waitress; Declan could see through that extra accessorized lie in mere seconds. So, he thought maybe there was a chance she was a good person and would return the photo after he'd laid it on so thick. It wouldn't do her any good at a pawn shop anytime soon, or ever. He didn't want to cause conflict within this ballroom, and he knew if he did, as a Deo Volente it would have an unwanted ripple effect that would scorn the others of his faction in this room. And they really didn't need that. He searched the woman's posture, her face, almost pleadingly. He was sure he wasn't barking up the wrong tree. The photo was there one minute, they'd seen it as they'd approached her, then this woman had passed, and the photograph of the poor girl's sister was gone. He just hoped she would give it up without needing to be pushed too much.

 

[Loomis]

Sabine’s posture was unwavering, her eyes holding a glint of amusement that danced in the warm lighting of the ballroom. She had always been a master of composure and tonight was no different. Although having to hold in her true feelings towards everyone in attendance was starting to wear on her. Every word uttered from their useless lips, their uneasy looks, challenging attitudes, it all was driving her mad. That and the Blood Moon’s power was constantly gnawing at her, provoking her violent nature. As the conversation swirled around her, her mind raced with thoughts and calculations. She knew that every word she spoke was being analyzed so she had to tread lightly.

The mask with the many faces spoke out, answering for the Witch. Another wave of disdain washed over her body. I don’t believe I was speaking to you, Sabine turned her gaze to the faces and smiled despite her thoughts.

“Ah, let them have their fun, I get the sense that many of them here don’t get the chance to relax and unwind. Sometimes overindulgence can be a good thing.” Crimson orbs locked onto the face centered on her, matching its stare and meaning. She didn’t care to have one of her kind interfering and in her opinion if they weren’t directly working with her they also needed to be disposed of.

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced either,” Sabine slowly angled her head to the side, closely examining the Vampire behind the bar. She couldn’t shake the familiar sense she had towards him, but she couldn’t exactly place it. The slight hushed tone of Thomas's voice pricked her ears and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Thomas, they don’t need to be ushered off. I can assure you no one is in danger here in this conversation, or even in this entire Ball.” He really did have a hero complex, didn’t he? It’s not like the man would be able to do much of anything even if he wanted to. He was unarmed, from what she could tell, and he was missing an arm. Typical men, showboating when they have absolutely nothing to stand on. She let his next quip go unnoticed, but she made it very clear to Thomas and the other Vampire she heard what he had said. Why were the two of them meeting? They seemed to have a closeness more than the pair should have if they just met tonight. Interesting.

Suddenly the nameless Witch whacked Thomas upside the head with her broom. That’ll bruise his ego. Sabine forced herself to keep her composure and not descend into maddening laughter at the sight.

“Silvermist, lovely name, you are quite the character,” Sabine took a hold of her hand in introduction and gave her a nod. The Witch seemed completely harmless and honestly out of place. Why she chose to attend the Ball was a mystery that Sabine did not have interest in solving. Turning her attention back to Richter, one of the few in the group worth paying attention to, she shook her head at his comments.

“Sparks you say?” Lifting an amused brow at the mortal she took a gluttonous sip from her glass.

“Oh, you really should take the time to sit and talk with Magnus, he’s such a delight.” Sabine said, moving past his cryptic words. She wasn’t sure what game he was playing, but with her time running short she did not have the time to entertain it. Sabine could sense her sister approaching before she felt the desperate push into her shoulder.


"Il est de retour, ma sœur."

Panic. Pure panic. The Vampire’s body went cold, her eyes cracking and exposing the fear she felt coursing through her veins. Bringing the champagne glass to her lips she finished off her drink, taking that time to collect herself.

“Vous devez partir maintenant.” She locked eyes with her sister, hoping the urgency behind them would resonate with her. That must be what that wretched little prick meant.

“I am so sorry, but something has been brought to my attention that we must attend to. It has been wonderful meeting all of you, if you ever wish to find me Lazarus will greet you with open arms.” Sabine gave a general goodbye to the group before taking Dante’s hand in hers, giving it a very tight squeeze and pulling him away with her.

As the two of them separated themselves from the group at the bar she desperately scanned the crowd. Where the fuck is he. After all this time, why now? Why here? That bastard will not ruin this for me. Her eyes bounced from one mask to the next in hopes of spotting the piece of history she wished to forget.

“Listen closely,” Sabine snapped, the pleasant tone her voice long gone, “Someone is here, someone very…dangerous and he could ruin everything I have planned for this evening. I don’t have the time to fully explain, but after tonight I will. I need you to see to it that Charlotte leaves, now. Have Charon or Virgil escort her back to Lazarus with the security team I assigned for her.” Sabine’s voice had a slight shake to it, her eyes frantic, her body tense. Lifting a hand in the air she motioned to the men standing nearby to go and collect her sister.

“You see that man over there?” Sabine nodded to a man surrounded in the middle of the ballroom floor. Obvious security guard standing on the outside of the circle surrounding him. “That is the Mayor of Saint Haddock, Donovan St. Clair, we need to meet with him before everything goes to shit.”

Interactions: Eldarkon , DarkKitsune , Maverick Six , zlexis , RedLeftHand36 ​

 

[Eldarkon]

Dante watched the scene unfold before him, his senses keenly attuned to every word and gesture in the crowded ballroom. Sabine, as always, maintained her composure, but he could sense the tension beneath her facade. The Blood Moon's influence, combined with the aggravating company, was indeed taking its toll. He noted the masked figure interjecting on behalf of the witch, a hint of annoyance flashing across Sabine's eyes before she masked it with a smile. Sabine's ability to conceal her thoughts and feelings from him had been a mystery from him since the day they met. The masked figure's presence clearly irked her.

Dante inclined his head slightly at Sabine's comment about overindulgence, acknowledging her subtle message. He continued to keep a close eye on Thomas. The man's misplaced bravado amused him, and Sabine's subtle dismissal of his threats did not go unnoticed. When the witch, Silvermist, took matters into her own hands and smacked Thomas with her broom, Dante couldn't help but smirk, though he concealed it behind his mask. Sabine's reaction was one of restrained amusement as well. The witch was an intriguing addition to the group, and her audacity was entertaining.

Dante raised an eyebrow at Richter's mention of "sparks" but decided not to delve into it further. There were more pressing matters at hand. Then came the whisper, "Il est de retour, ma sœur," in Sabine's mind, a harbinger of dread that sent shockwaves through her being. Her panic was a palpable force, her fear a cold and biting wind that cut through the room's warmth. She addressed her sister, her command to depart weighed with urgency.

Sabine's farewell to the group was a facade, a veil to conceal the turmoil beneath. As she gripped Dante's hand and led him away, his senses honed in on her relentless search for a figure from the past. Her desperation was a silent cry echoing within her.

"Sabine, you need to tell me what's happening," he said, his voice low and serious, matching her tone. For something to rattle Sabine this much, Dante knew there was real danger. He pulled her close and met her now panicked gaze "I can ensure Charlotte leaves here with Virgil safely. You have my word. But we need to act quickly. Who is this dangerous presence you're talking about, and why is he here now?" Dante's senses were on high alert, ready to protect and assist Sabine in any way necessary. "Whoever he is, rest assured I will do everything I can to keep you safe as well"

Turning to face Virgil, Dante hardened his gaze as his eyes met his sons. "You are to take care of Miss Charlotte and ensure her safety. Do not leave her side until I say so" His voice echoed through Virgil's mind. His son was more than capable of protecting her. Frankly it was overkill, and it would probably lead to trouble by itself, putting those two together. But whatever this daunting new threat was, Dante knew that his son was far too reckless to properly deal with the situation. It push came to shove, Charon was the better choice to help. Dante then turned his attention to the group of guards "You will listen to my son. You will assist him in protecting Miss Charlotte". The men were immediately frightened by his booming voice echoing in their heads, but began to understand that the situation was dire.

Finally, Sabine pointed out a man in the center of the ballroom, surrounded by an obvious security detail. Donovan St. Clair, the Mayor of Saint Haddock. Dante absorbed the information, recognizing the gravity of the situation as it unfolded before them. "What are we waiting for then my dear?"

 

[Sepokku]

For a moment, Dani did not move, save for the twitching of her eye as she struggled to quell the annoyance she felt at being ignored. Her fingers tightened around the neck of bottle containing over one hundred proof alcohols, the amorphous solid threatening to shatter under the strain. For a moment she imagined the feeling of glass slicing into her skin, the sickly-sweet scent of anise that would rise from the bottle, the gentle lick of flames should the liquid be touched by enough heat.

Then she remembered herself, what was expected of her, and why she had approached the vampiric lout and his hare-brained associate in the first place. 'Time enough to run wild after the night is over. Now where was I.' Dani took a moment at the top of the stairs to observe the room below, her senses keenly trained on metaphorically sniffing out the Cottontail that would complete her hunt. The new-in-town Vampire stood at the bottom of the stairs. Pointing with her chin, Dani sent one of the Genius Loci that made up her mask after him, a lazy twinkle of light circling his head, like a halo on a particularly devious looking angel. Reasoning she could always find him via the Loci later, she went back to looking for her original quarry.

A pickpocket was making the rounds, it was obvious from her vantage point, their purposeful steps and careful fingers depriving the unaware. Dani recognized her as a member of the transient population, Homeless Joe had said her name was... 'Akshasha?' The top left Loci on her mask shone a fluorescent red color then stopped. 'Oatshawna?' Another red blip of light. She took out her phone and opened one of her spreadsheets. There were two names highlighted on the list of known transients, a vampiric pimp nicknamed 'Boe' and an 'Otsana,' who was a serial vandal.

"Otsana!" In her excitement the name came out as more of a yell than she had meant it to. The Locus finally flashed an emerald green color, affirming she had indeed guessed the strangers name correctly; something about the way it pulsated told her there was something more to be gleaned from the stranger, but before she could her attention was stolen away.

The tell-tale ears of her prey poked out from above the crowd, weaving with inhuman grace through the throngs of people. Was she trying to blend in, did the poor creature not realize its doe ears gave it away? Or was she just showing off? Charlotte had approached her sister, a moment of hushed intimacy shared between the two; Dani couldn't help but wonder what words they had exchanged.

"Internally, the eternal battle between fashion and function, and thankfully you have chosen the former." With a grin, Dani made sure she had a clear path below her, then threw herself over the railing of the staircase, landing on her feet with a huff. Her knees popped in protests as she landed, the frailness of her human side making itself known; not like it mattered when most injuries tended to heal themselves when in Wayob. Her purposeful stride carried her through several people, those who did get out of her way were gently shoved somewhere else; it felt especially good to watch the uppity bartender from earlier fall on his ass. She wasn't sure why the Loci had prompted her to grab a clean cloth napkin from his apron, but she was sure it didn't matter.

As she approached the Vampiress and her group, Dani folded the cloth napkin around the neck of the bottle. Contrails of light followed the Loci as they traced a path for her to follow, her feet following the glowing footsteps with an assured swagger. Interposing herself between Ricther and the Leech wearing the face of a rabbit, she pirouetted, one foot raised off the ground, her toes held tightly against her other knee as she spun a full one thousand and eighty degrees. As her spin slowed, she pressed the bottle into Richter's outstretched hand, closing his fingers around it. In the same motion, her other hand brushed against his wrist, pads of her fingers moving slowly up his arm until... She frowned, clicking her tongue as she pulled the cloth napkin off the bottle and around his forearm, tying it into a knot with slightly more force than necessary. The white fabric quickly changed color, like roses being painted by mad woman; a scarlet bloom hidden by the rayon interior of Richter’s sleeve.

"Clumsy human that you are, you seem to have hurt yourself, try to be more careful next time," She gave him a shit-eating grin as she gently chided him. She then turned to address the Vampiress she had spent the better part of an hour following. "And you!" She pointed an accusing finger at Charlotte, "Ma petite lapine, you'd better not try to hop, hop, hop away again, at least not before I'm done talking with you." Crossing her arms, she made a show of looking the girl up and down, before scoffing as if unimpressed. "Nice outfit, I like it. You know, what the French say when they really like something? Je te mangerais." She paused for a moment, knowing full well that the girl hailed from New Orleans, "I hope you take those words to heart." Dani's canines sparkled as she grinned.

Interactions: Loxely Maverick Six
Mentions: Loomis Ghostiiys

 

[a z u l a]

Iva Villalobos
Interactions: Charon Eldarkon
Interactions: Riaan, Sabine, Dante​

Chess pieces moved about the ballroom with quick, calculated precision. A life or death game of skill and finesse, some participants more aware to the on-going contest than others, mere rooks to be sacrificed for the larger goal at hand. Every being here tonight played a part in this carefully choreographed dance, one misstep could be disastrous for all involved.

As an undercover operative, the power to decide fate lay in her hands, and yet, it seemed none at all. Iva was well aware that to the Crimson Tear's she was merely a pawn to be played until she no longer served their needs, though Charon had always been gracious with her, she was aware of Dante's hatred for her kind and his wish to eradicate them. She hoped that Charon would keep his promise of protection, but long ago she had learned that she could only ever truly rely on herself. Theoretically, her worth was much higher within the wolf pack, they operated as a close-knit family after all, but if they knew of her duplicity she would be less than dirt to them.

Between the harsh lessons life had taught her and the detailed preparation from Charon, Iva was confident in her ability to handle whatever the night held in store for her, whether it be a physical altercation between all four species or a delicate battle of wits and words. As much as Iva had once hated vampires, she had come to appreciate their sharp intelligence, the Crimson Tears was an impressive organization that she was thankful to not be an enemy of. Though her pride would never let her admit it, she admired Charon in a sense, for his keen eye for detail and teaching her all he knew about strategy. Her survival, both on that fateful day and every day since, was all due to his willingness to take her in and mold her into a valuable asset for their organization.

"Perhaps you just don't possess the same charm that I do, a smile is a beautiful distraction, enough to keep your prey from realize you're about to sink your teeth into them until it's too late." Flashing pretty white teeth, Iva gave him the same dazzling grin that had served her so well over the years. It was an easy mask to slip on, a flawless tactic to let others guards down, something that had once been genuine now turned into an enticing trap. "Intimidating your enemies may serve you well, but I find charisma to be the best weapon at my disposal."

"Hm, you never let me have any fun." The werewolf joked, green eyes fixed on the events unfolding across the room. It seemed no blood would be shed, yet, the Deo Volente collecting their lieutenant as seamlessly as they could, a spectacle that managed to both ease and raise tensions all at once. The game at hand was slowly unraveling, each species trying to keep up with each meticulous move made, though it seemed the complicated art of war was tripping some individuals up. The actions of one such individual made it clear that the Deo Volente were not quite the united front they tried to appear as. "I only ask that when the time comes, you let me have the first bite." Turning to meet the vampire's gaze, she dipped her head ever so slightly to indicate that she understood her role, it was not her place to draw first blood tonight, merely an observer to collect and analyze as much useful information as she could, the connoisseur of each species downfall.

"I'd like to think I learned from the best." She replied cheekily as Charon remarked on her perceptiveness of the ever-shifting environment and the key players within it. Though the more silent of the brothers, Iva found she rather enjoyed the fiercely witty retorts from her handler, an impressive intelligence that she was more than happy to learn from, as opposed to be on the receiving end of his keen tactics. After all, this entire charade had been organized by the vampires, a cleverly thought out master plan to further their end goal. It was a sensitive relation that she had with their kind, her saviors and still her captors. Her life was forever interwoven with Charon and the rest of the Crimson Tears, a blessed second-chance at life, cursed by the betrayal of her very kind. Though her gratefulness to Charon for sparing her life was never-ending, she couldn't fight the pang of guilt that crept upon her for enjoying the vampire's presence and the security his hand on her arm brought her.

The air shifted once again, the mood in the room as fickle as a summer storm. If they were not careful, it would sweep them all away into oblivion. Despite the inherent betrayal of her survival and the precarious position it left her in, Iva found herself surveying the room for her packmates, the sudden shift in Riaan's stature putting her on high alert. Mere moments after his exit, the attentive facade their hostess had put on was beginning to crumble, indicating that the plan was threatened by something, or someone.

"Do you know what's going on?" Signaling with a sweep of her hand in the general direction of Riaan and Sabine, Iva turned a worried glance to Charon, trying to keep her posture loose even as her senses threw her nervous system into fight or flight. The veneer of tonight's formalities was officially coming to a head, the fine line of conversational battle was beginning to steer into the territory of real battle, though what had shaken their hosts so much left Iva confused. There was nothing she hated more than to not be aware, for knowledge was the only real power worth having in this world. "Should things go suddenly and severely south, what's the plan?" With her pack leader and the head of the Crimson Tears both vigorously on edge, Iva would need to mind her actions even more delicately tonight, trying to keep up the appearance of someone in a polite conversation as she carefully watched the charade fall apart around them.

 

[Ghostiiys]

Interactions: AlphaBlueWolf Mentions: Sybela

Otsana Raya

Location: Blood Moon Ball

Otsana moved through the crowd, She couldn't shake the feeling that she was going to be caught. She had never acted so boldly before. Why had she even come here? She had always earned money by hustling and selling CDs or fake jewelry. And when she did steal, it was never like this. But she had never felt so alive. The adrenaline coursed through her veins, and her senses were heightened. She could hear the smallest whisper, and she could feel the slightest brush against her skin. She was so on edge, the anxiety turned into exhilaration and then panic.

The more she slithered through them, the more the walls seemed to close in. She was beginning to feel claustrophobic, as the towering bodies around her blocked out the light above. She could feel the heat of their breath on her skin and the press of their bodies against her own. Her heart pounded in her chest, like a trapped animal. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing pulse, but the air was thick and suffocating. She felt like she was drowning in a sea of people. Their faces were a blur of colors and shapes, and their voices merged into a cacophony of sound. Otsana tried to focus on her goal, but the crowd was making it difficult to think. She felt like she was going to be crushed, swallowed up by the mass around her.

She pushed and shoved, trying to create some space for herself, but it was no use. The crowd was too dense. She was trapped. Otsana felt her panic rising. She needed to get out of there. She needed to breathe. Clutching the strap of her duffel bag so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her nails dug into the fabric, leaving triangle-shaped impressions. She could feel her nails starting to extend, her fingers itching to transform into razor-sharp talons. She felt like she was being watched, hunted. Every shadow seemed to be a threat, every creak and groan a harbinger of doom. The noises around her were so deafening that her senses were on overload. She felt like a dog who had been cornered, its fur standing on end and its teeth bared.

All of Otsana's emotions—anxiety, panic, fear, and anger—collided in her chest, forming a knot so tight she could barely breathe. Her head spun around like a swivel, her eyes narrowing to vertical slits so small they looked like a needle. But then she realized what had caused her to startle: a simple tap on the shoulder.

Otsana took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. It was just a false alarm. She was still safe. Looking at the man who in a way snapped her out of her mini panic attack, it wasn't until taking a closer look she realized that he was one of the people who had been talking to the blonde woman moments ago. Her heart sank. She had to play it cool. She nodded as he spoke to her, but her mind was racing. She had to figure out what to do with the photograph. Should she give it back? Would he believe her if she said she had accidentally taken it? Otsana cursed herself. She should have been more careful. She was usually so good at this, but tonight she had been reckless.

Otsana was caught between a rock and a hard place. If she handed over the photo without resistance, she knew it would make her look suspicious. He, or someone else, might ask to see the contents of her bag and any other pocket that was currently stuffed with stolen goods.

But if she refused, she risked angering the man and still making him suspicious. He could easily call for security and have her arrested. Otsana took a deep breath and forced a toothy smile.

"Sorry, I'm actually about to clock out, but I can go in the back and see if there is a photo in the lost and found?" She scratched her head and averted her gaze, Otsana was not the best liar. But she was wearing somewhat of the uniform of the workers. She could just throw the photo away and leave the way she came in. It was just a stupid photo after all , did this woman not have a phone with about a thousand other photos?

"What did the photo look like again? Maybe your friend can come with me and I can let her in the back to see if she can find it herself." Otsana cocked her head while asking, her eyes glazing over as she remembered the woman's delicate skin. She could almost taste it, the sweetness of her flesh on her tongue. Like a predator eyeing its prey, Otsana scanned the room, searching for the woman.

She couldn't help but feel a growing hunger, a hunger that she didn't understand. She had never felt this way before.

code by serobliss

 

[Eldarkon]

Virgil stood his ground as Cassius continued to exude his haughty charisma, toying with Charlotte like a cat with a cornered mouse. He observed their exchange with a calm demeanor, though beneath his mask, a storm of emotions raged. Cassius's condescending attitude grated on his nerves, but for the moment, he chose to play the role of the silent, stoic protector. As Cassius reached out to Charlotte's bunny ears, Virgil couldn't help but feel a surge of annoyance. The man was testing boundaries, his amusement thinly veiling his underlying arrogance. Virgil's fingers twitched subtly, his instincts itching to intervene, but he restrained himself, aware that Cassius's games were far from over.

When Charlotte finally responded to Cassius's taunting tone with her admission of not being delighted to see him, Virgil could sense the tension between them. Their history, marred by Charlotte's choices and Cassius's expectations, hung heavily in the air. Virgil's eyes remained locked on the unfolding drama, and he couldn't help but wonder about the enigmatic figure that was Cassius. The mysterious allure and danger that surrounded him were impossible to ignore.

Then, a sudden shift in the atmosphere caught Virgil's attention. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but his heightened senses picked up on it. Something was amiss, something that transcended the drama of personal vendettas. "Raison d'être," Charlotte's voice, like a siren's call, drew Virgil's focus back to the moment. Her toast, laden with meaning, resonated deeply with him. With a subtle nod, Virgil raised his glass, acknowledging the unspoken pact they shared.

As Cassius turned his attention to Virgil, the young vampire couldn't help but feel the weight of the older vampire's gaze. There was irritation and annoyance in Cassius's tone, thinly veiled beneath the surface. Virgil's posture remained composed, but beneath the mask, his thoughts churned. "And you are?" Cassius's words were curt, a challenge thinly disguised as a question. Virgil understood that he was being tested, and he felt a reckless impulse surging within him. Without breaking eye contact, Virgil replied, his voice measured and calm, but with an undercurrent of something daring. "Virgil," he said, allowing the weight of his own presence to fill the space between them. The challenge in his gaze matched Cassius's, and in that moment, a silent battle of wills unfolded. Cassius exuded a powerful and intimidating aura, similar to that of Virgil's father, maybe even more so. A faint shiver ran down his spine as he stared up at the ancient vampire. But it seemed as their intense stare down came to an end.

As Cassius retreated, Lottie turned to face Virgil, pressing herself tightly against him. Virgil, ever the pillar of strength, offered her a reassuring presence, his own cobalt eyes hidden behind the mask meeting hers with a silent understanding. Her fear was palpable, and Virgil couldn't help but feel a surge of protectiveness. Lottie's hand found its way to Virgil's upper arm, gripping it with a concern that resonated deeply with him. Her words were a warning, delivered with a tone that spoke of genuine apprehension. Virgil nodded in acknowledgment, his grasp on his champagne flute remaining steady. "I understand Miss Charlotte," he replied in a hushed tone, his voice laced with a seriousness that mirrored her own. As her fingers interlaced with his, Virgil felt a strange mix of comfort and connection. Her touch was delicate, and the intimate gesture, though brief, conveyed a sense of trust. Her lips pressed against his cheek, leaving a fleeting kiss that ignited a subtle warmth beneath his mask. "You're welcome," Virgil replied softly, his eyes tracing her features with a warmth that matched her own. Lottie's lips left a lingering sensation on his cheek, and her gaze traced along his jawline, studying the minutiae of his features. Virgil, momentarily caught off guard, allowed her to see beneath his mask, into the depths of his soul.

With Lottie leading the way, Virgil followed, his hand intertwined with hers. The touch was intimate, their connection palpable, and it fueled the growing recklessness within him. As they moved through the crowd, Virgil's imposing presence cleared a path, and he felt the weight of his role as Lottie's protector. Approaching the group around the bar, Lottie tapped Sabine's shoulder, and Virgil stood by her side, his attention divided between the sisters. Lottie's warning in their native tongue was cryptic, but Virgil sensed the urgency. As Lottie's attention turned to the attendee who had been watching them, Virgil couldn't help but be drawn into this web of intrigue. His gaze locked onto the human, his instincts stirring with a dangerous curiosity. "Apologies for the interruption. I hope you understand, monsieur," Lottie purred, her voice dripping with allure. Virgil sensed her dangerous allure, her ability to manipulate the desires of others. Introducing herself as Charlotte deLorme, Lottie continued to play her part with a captivating smile.

Virgil stood there, his senses alert and his gaze locked onto Sabine and Dante. The atmosphere had taken a sharp turn from the elegant soirée it had been just moments ago. Panic and urgency hung in the air, and the cryptic warnings exchanged between the sisters left Virgil with a sense of foreboding. Sabine's words were laced with fear, and Virgil knew that this was a situation that demanded immediate action. His loyalty to Sabine and his responsibility as her protector compelled him to act swiftly.

As Sabine and Dante moved away from the group, leaving Virgil behind, he received the weighty instructions from his father, Dante. The message was clear - he was to ensure Charlotte's safety at all costs. It was an order that Virgil would not take lightly. With Sabine's instructions to Charlotte ringing in his ears, and his father's command to protect her echoing in his mind, Virgil prepared to escort Charlotte safely back to Club Lazarus. The night had taken a perilous turn, and he was determined to see them through it unscathed.

With resolve in his stance and a nod of acknowledgment towards Dante, Virgil turned his attention to Charlotte. He extended a reassuring hand towards her, offering a comforting yet firm grip. His voice, laced with a newfound determination, was a stark contrast to the calm façade he had worn earlier. "Miss Charlotte, we need to leave now. Your safety is our utmost priority," Virgil spoke with a sense of urgency, his piercing gaze locking onto hers. He knew that they had to act swiftly and decisively.

Turning to the group of guards, Virgil addressed them with authority. "You heard the orders. Our primary concern is Miss Charlotte's well-being. Form a protective circle around her, and follow my lead." His voice carried the weight of command, and the guards, though initially startled, fell into formation with a newfound sense of purpose. Virgil led Charlotte towards the exit, the guards forming a protective shield around them. He knew the way to the waiting limousine, a sleek black vehicle that had been discreetly stationed nearby. The night air was cool, a stark contrast to the heated tension inside the ballroom.

As they reached the limousine, the driver opened the door, and Virgil gestured for Charlotte to step inside. He followed suit, taking a seat beside her. The guards positioned themselves strategically around the vehicle, their eyes scanning the surroundings for any potential threats. Inside the limo, Virgil maintained a vigilant watch, his senses on high alert. He knew that they were stepping into the unknown, and the reckless undercurrent of the night had only intensified. As the engine roared to life, the vehicle began to move, carrying them away from the elegant but perilous world of the Blood Moon Ball and back to the relative safety of Club Lazarus.

Loomis Loxely

---

Charon maintained his composed demeanor, a mask of cold and calculated control, as he navigated the intricate web of alliances and rivalries within the Blood Moon Ball. He was well aware that each participant in this elegant masquerade was a piece on a chessboard, and the stakes were nothing less than life and death. Charon's exterior remained composed, a mask of professionalism and strategic calculation. Yet, beneath that carefully maintained facade, Iva had a unique ability to stir complex emotions within him.

"Charm has its merits, my dear," Charon replied with a faint smile, his voice as cool as the moonlight that bathed the ballroom. "But in this arena, it's the balance of power, strategy, and perception that truly matters." As she deftly wove her charm and charisma into their conversation, Charon couldn't help but be intrigued by her. She had come a long way since that fateful day when he had discovered her, vulnerable and desperate. He had invested time and resources in her training, molding her into a valuable asset for the Crimson Tears. Her transformation from a prey item to a capable operative was a testament to her resilience and his guidance.

Her comment about charm resonated with him, and her captivating smile momentarily cracked his stoic demeanor, evoking a faint, genuine smile in response. There was a degree of pride in seeing her utilize the skills he had imparted to her so effectively. Charon admired her intelligence, perceptiveness, and wit. Her playful remark about being the first to bite, followed by her cheeky response to his observation, highlighted her adaptability and quick thinking. She had become a skilled player in this intricate game of alliances and power struggles. But beyond his professional regard for her, there existed a more complicated set of emotions. He felt a genuine sense of responsibility for her well-being. He had saved her life, plucking her from the jaws of death when she had been left for dead by her own kind. This act had forged a connection between them, one that extended beyond mere mentorship.

There were moments when he couldn't help but feel a protective instinct toward her. She was navigating treacherous waters, walking a precarious tightrope between loyalty to the Crimson Tears and her obligations to her pack. In those moments, he found himself hoping that she would continue to succeed and thrive. Yet, there was also a shadow of sadness that lingered beneath the surface. Her survival had come at a great cost, the betrayal of her own kind, and the perpetual secrecy she had to maintain within her pack. Charon couldn't change her past, and he couldn't fully fathom the emotional turmoil she must endure.

As the events unfolded before them, Charon observed the various players with a keen eye. The Deo Volente's actions had not gone unnoticed. It was clear that their facade of unity was cracking, revealing the underlying tensions and rivalries within their ranks. Charon knew that this night was a test for all involved, a test that could lead to either an alliance or a bloodbath. Iva's cheeky response drew a slight chuckle from him. "You have learned well indeed," he acknowledged.

The sudden shift in the atmosphere did not escape Charon's notice. He watched as Riaan exited the scene, followed by Sabine, their expressions and body language revealing a sense of urgency. It was a disruption in the carefully orchestrated dance, a ripple in the fabric of the night. Charon turned his gaze to Iva, his eyes reflecting a hint of concern beneath the mask of detachment. "I do not know the specifics," he admitted quietly, his voice barely audible over the ambient noise of the ballroom. "But something has unsettled our hosts, and that could have far-reaching consequences." In those rare moments when their eyes met, Charon couldn't help but feel a sense of connection and understanding. She was more than just an asset; she was a testament to his ability to transform lives and reshape destinies. And as the Blood Moon Ball unfolded, he couldn't help but hope that her future would be filled with more than just survival – that she might find some measure of happiness and purpose amidst the shadows of their world.

As Iva inquired about their contingency plan, Charon's mind raced with possibilities. "Our primary objective remains the same: to gather information. If tensions escalate to violence, our priority is your safety. I will do my utmost to ensure your well-being, Iva. Remember our training, and stay close. We will act accordingly as events unfold." Charon's focus remained on the unfolding drama, his sharp mind already calculating the potential outcomes and strategies at their disposal. In this game of shadows, they could ill afford to make a wrong move. As the events within the ballroom began to escalate, Charon's thoughts were split between his strategic calculations and his concern for Iva's safety. He was determined to protect her at all costs, to ensure that her second chance at life was not squandered, and that she could continue to walk the fine line she had chosen.

a z u l a

---

 

[RedLeftHand36]

Thaumus

Under a different name
Interactions with zlexis Maverick Six DarkKitsune Ghostiiys AlphaBlueWolf

An ode to inconvenience...

"Perhaps, after tonight, under different circumstances, we could speak again."

"Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh."

Quite the mess. Every moment forward, one felt he had drastically overestimated either the intelligence or the will to live of the Deo Volente. Both seemed quite the likely case. From Icarus and the Sun, to Odysseus and Poseidon, hubris proved to be all too common among mankind throughout the ages. A sickness that would take them all in the end, if it could. As six eyes parsed their surroundings, it was fortunate happenstance that Hell did not break loose so easily. He was neither perturbed nor amused by childish smackings, though such an incident may be the first within a good century or two to totally escape his understanding of reason. But there were far more important things to worry about. Since the thrice-fold fools seemed so gregarious amongst themselves, perhaps twas better three fools for one another's company.

That old, odd pattern, grander than time itself, the absolute of reality. Nothing could defy it. But one perceptive enough could read it. Sequential shapes, certain forms and algorithms. It was all deja vu. When one looked at them all, he saw only shapes. A veritable Turing machine, complete with its gliders and guns. There was that certain wonder, from back when the garden bloomed, whether or not Heaven and Hell were part of the game... or if the emptiness was worse. Not for oneself, of course. For them. One disdained and pitied them, all the while he loved them so. Alas, he saw value in a meagre snail. There held the possibility they held little value that mattered towards one's design. No less, actions were to be made. He had something to say, so he would say it.

"Mr. Barrett, Mr. Kenway," came a voice more absolute in tone, the three-faced mask seeming to survey the great room they all stood within. "Your task here is to safekeep those here who overestimate their abilities."

That strange aura of stern exigency, authoritative in nature, looming and absolute like a mountain. The expressionless visages seemed to all turn towards the two Deo Volente, all at once.

"That includes one-another," the voice said, irked to say the least. "Since you both seem to share a total lack of awareness, between attempting to incur the wrath of a hundred-fold vampires surrounding you, or eliciting their hunger on a night where recreating you both into steak tartare would seem exceedingly tame."

This time, the stranger in white pointed upwards, posed stiffly, as if he were performing a strange military salute.

"And need I remind you: I am always watching. And make note... Elu Tainn's killer is here. The DeLorme sisters fear him for a great many reasons... You'll know Cassius when you see him. I recommend sticking close to the bar. Enjoy some refreshments."

Then he closed in. Not towards the Deo Volente, but rather the other individual acting as bartender. His movements were ghostly and strange; One might figure it to be a common manner of movement for a vampire, but those familiar with the sanguinary spectres were unlikely to have understood it. Impossible to call it unique, but not difficult to call it unusual, even for the paranormal. A hand gloved in white leather held the back of the nameless man's head, undoubtedly on track for the various myriad of unusual circumstances for the fellow, regardless of experience. The ghostly vampire stood unnaturally still, even for something without a heartbeat, and though his voice was low and hushed, it was not overly difficult to hear his demand of the other.

"You will give your guests what they demand of you, and you will offer what protection you can should they need it, understood?"

No answer.

"Otherwise, I will doubt you will get your chance to see little Sadie ever again. Am I clear, Mr. MacDowell?"

The stranger did not allow for a response. Instead, he vanished into the crowd of the ballroom like a leaf on a breeze through the forest. It was apparent enough that what the stranger desired of others, he had a knack for making it so. A strange being from a strange world, utter strange words. When one looked from all angles, one understood what they needed to. Things were spread out. Far too unconnected for one's liking. So it appeared one would have to thread the needle, and stitch the string of fate into the unknowable masses. As time marches ever onward, one would commit only the uncertainty. The King of the Woods would claim his Garden. No dog nor wolf nor bat would halt him. They had no horns with which to challenge.

They had no eyes with which to see.
________________________________

Old Deuteronomy. Only One knew that to be the name of the cat, a cat who had seen well through its nine lives and then some. It was old and grey, almost sickly in stature with its thin body and elderly fur. But its appearance disguised one great fact: Among felines, it was far more capable than any lion at the peak of their lives. It was the son of a cat named Methusalah, and it came from a long line of cats with a greater calling in life than most. His eyes were a symbol of that. This was unknown to nearly all throughout the world, but even that was some matter that offered pride. It was a colourless shadow, perched atop the world itself.

Ghostly eyes surveyed the innards of a large purse, unhindered by darkness or abuse. It had seen a great many things. There were plenty of other dumpsters like this, even on a larger scale. But what was this? Something more valuable than gold. More precious than diamonds. Sentimentality was a concept strong enough that its scent was like the northern lights; Magnificent and beautiful to see. Colourful. Fuschia and scarlet, gold and viridian. Bring it here, girl, offer me this tithe, thought the cat. She disobeyed. Unknowingly, of course. No matter. Old Deuteronomy was faster than the dark when the light was shut off.

What a foolish girl. The spider's web connected. Oh. She was new. She had no name, not yet. She didn't know about the city. It didn't even seem she knew about the Lesser Things. Faulty and poor imitations of the Master of the Woods. He hated the especially haughty ones. The ones that thought they were smart, but weren't. They didn't know what smart was. Not like Old Deuteronomy. They even thought aristocracy was still in style, as if their supposed lessers didn't behead them time and time again. Arrogant fools. This girl was a fool, but certainly of the better kind. Still, he wanted that photo. ONE wanted that photo.

"Can you help me out here? Have you seen any sign of it?"

Foolish, foolish. She thought she was so sneaky, didn't she? Quite the blunder, new girl. No worries. Old Deuteronomy will fix things for you. Cats were smart, after all. And he was exceptionally experienced. First, a look-see. Ah yes... MORE Deo Volente dogs. By strict technicality, only one, but the girl worked with them enough. Or, rather, just the one, one might suppose. The feline found it especially amusing that the Deo Volente had a habit of being themselves quite foolish for their own standards. Violence begets violence, hatred begets hatred. So on, so forth. That cyclical nature of things. As above, so below, as the Lord of the Wilderness would say.

A grey blur. Undoubtedly, the photo would not be in quite the same condition as before, but it would not be particularly damaged. The old grey cat was far too agile for that. It scurried off with unexpected speed for its appearance once it escaped its confinement. Just as well, a spider's-eye view of things always helped. It practically vanished into the sea of people, and whether or not it was especially noticed among the fools was left to their own abilities. In a flash, it vanished, and only the faintest of murrps to let them all know that the cat was out of the bag.

Soon enough, however, the old cat reappeared within the midst of the crowd... only this time, at eye-level. And not alone. The sea of people seemed to part, yet they parted in a strangely natural manner. No, it was not because of the man in white. In fact, none of them even seemed to register the three-faced mask. He stood there, gazing at those from which the elder cat had swindled, strangely difficult to properly ascertain his silhouette, as if his costume were great camouflage for a ballroom party. Yet as it were, he just as well stood out, as if he were inviting them to the knowledge of his presence. And though the cat possessed nothing, a small, rectangular sheet remained gently pressed within six individual digits clothed in fine, white leather.

So beckoned the six-eyed mask...

 

[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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  AlphaBlueWolf
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

Pain, a shallow feeling that tore and tread upon her heart with little thought of the consequence. How it coiled, tight, suffocating her very being much like a constrictor. What was she taught to do again? Ah- breathe. And so she did.

Between her trembling lips, and slightly chattering teeth, Odette sucked in a breathe, willing the oxygen to calm her frazzled nerves and dance with the devil that clawed up her throat in a frenzied panic.

She felt sick, her own fault really. While her attention had been elsewhere, the photograph had slipped from her fingers somewhere amongst the sea of heels and platforms. What if someone stepped upon it? Gone, torn asunder and crushed beneath a boot. Just the thought was enough to coax back the panic that willed her blood cold.

One single memento, the sole object that she had of their existence together. Back home, all proof of her sister had been scrubbed away. Clothes, paintings, even family tree records- gone. Just having this one photograph was nothing less than a miracle, a luxury even. While others squabbled over greed of coin, and other possessions, Odette was happy with the emotional value of her little secret.

The photograph, while grained in quality, was nothing short of clear and obvious. Within its four crinkled corners sat the epitome, at least for Odette, of happiness. Grinning without a care in the world, her sister Marjory laughed at whomever took the photograph. Beautiful blonde hair, wild and crazy, sun-kissed skin that practically glowed from the warmth of the sun. She was glowing, but that also probably had to do with the plainly obvious bump that she had her hands rested upon.

Even now, the image was so clear in her memory but, how long before that faded? She needed to find it, even if she had to be disgraceful and get onto her hands and knees and scour the floo-

Torn from her thoughts as a hand touched her shoulder, Odette hopped on the spot out of fright. She turned, hand pressed to her neck as if to quell the palpitating pulse.

It was red, again. The hand now a firm grip upon her shoulder as if she were the anchor to Odettes sinking ship. She steeled herself, dabbing at her eyes through the mask to chase back the tears before letting out a pitiful laugh and clearing her throat.

“I’m so sorry, I-I don’t know what’s come over me.”

Odette waved her hands in front of her eyes, willing the stubborn emotions to retreat lest she look like a child.

They saw her with it? At least that was a start! Surely they could retrace her steps and voila! They would find the photo.

“D-did you see if I dropped it?”

Odette asked, still fanning at her eyes over the mask. She was thankful for their help, truly. In the span of five minutes, these two strangers had become her saviours.

They were placating her, she could tell. Honeyed words disguised in compliments and gentle touches in an attempt to distract from the current situation. Odette was grateful, truly. If the man was capable of finding things, much like Sherlock, she was sure the picture would be back in her hands by the end of the night.

“I used to have a bloodhound,”

Odette commented, embarrassed about her current state.

”He could sniff out anything from miles away.”

She continued, rambling. He had been a gift from the groundskeeper, an ex chief of police that boasted about the appeals of such dogs. Was the mystery man of such occupation too? With his description of his former workplace, Odette thought it to be very likely.

She mulled over her questions, trying to think of something not too prying when the man gave her a gentle grin and ventured off in search of the photograph. A bloodhound he was, she deduced. Odette watched as his back disappeared from view and gave her full attention to Red once more, elated with the company she still had.

“You should see the parties back home, events like these are always enough to make someone develop claustrophobia,”

Odette replied to the comment, wringing her fingers together at her chest.

“The difference is the company. I know no-one here while the company was…Familiar back then.”

She hesitated, choosing her words carefully.

Being confined to a room until you were needed to be seen left little communication with others. While she was kept at her family home, around familiar people, they were also as unfamiliar as a stranger. So many different faces, ones that have long faded. If Odette had to choose, it would be this ball over the suffocating room back home.

Odette, once more, found herself drawn to Reds, Cora as she had just introduced herself as, eyes. The colours were ethereal, a familiar depiction of the sirens that lured sailors to the sea. Odette could imagine anyone would be lost while looking into them for too long. They were so unusual, so…inhuman that it took every fibre of her being not to ask why she was wearing such unique contact lenses for.

Despite being a pretty sight, Cora’s eyes were definitely something that sent a shiver down Odette’s spine. It was as if she was being stalked by a predator, one that had her in its sights as prey.

“Cora is a really pretty name. I’m Odette, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

They walked together back in the direction she had originally stumbled in from. While Odette had her nose positively facing the ground so she wouldn’t miss a thing, her fingers curled around Cora’s arm as she held herself steady.

Soon, she stopped and turned to face Cora, hands grasping at her saviours own and she gripped them tightly.

“I don’t know how to repay you and Sir Declan for all your help.”

She suddenly chirped up once more.

“I-I don’t have much money at the moment but if there’s anything I can do to repay the favour, please let me know, Miss.”

Neither of them would know of the sentimental value the photograph held.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[RedLeftHand36]

Edward

H U N G E R

[ Collaboration with Loomis ]

F E L L

Fractaled, dissonant blots of irregularity, and incongruous, discordant patterns, all in that familiar, intimate smell of coins and nails. A cacophony of carmine flux, pooled into an inky darkness. Only unpleasant to those not of the likeness of the two within that room of ceramic and mirror. The buzz of the fluorescent light, dim and colourless as it was, seemed like the light of heaven, shining upon the would-be angel underneath, its sacramental bread in hand. Faceless strangers, people whose families and personal lives never mattered in the grand scheme. There were a handful of them, unwitting sacrifices for a seemingly ascendant being.

Bare bodied under the light, mottled with crimson dyed and naturally white hairs that could barely obfuscate the innumerable battlescars of metal and claw and fang, the saintly visage looked upwards. Was he looking for god? No. He spat in the face of the lord of the sky long ago. His eyes were bound by wrappings stained, not by the current spillage, but from times long past, when he would cry naught but the water of life that now splattered the tiles of the lavatory. The mirrors on the wall offered supplement of his expression: A blasphemous ecstasy cased in a blissful grin.

A gnarled, giant hand, shoved within the throat of the most recent tribute, twitched. Amongst the gore of it all, it was a canvas with a grand oil painting placed upon it. Another tithe? Perhaps. The being lowered his gaze, and something seemed to momentarily malform across the stretches of his shoulders. An eyeless visage seemed to peer into one of the mirrors. The one who entered had no reflection. The one who was there had no sight. And yet it did not matter. He did not act as if there were such gaps.

Squelch. Squish.

Slowly, the huge beast of what could barely be called a man turned around. The faint smell of ocean salt and sawdust, kerosene and bonfire hidden beneath layers and layers of that electric, shiny smell. A peeled painting, claret oils over the semblance of something that could never be mistaken as human. Vampires had no business in the light. They clung to the shadows, and blended in. Whatever this was, it had no love for such manners. The only reason Elu never knew how much blood was on this thing’s hands was because he did not boast of his hunts.

There it was. Tha disdainful look of scorn and mocking pride, a father who revelled in teaching his children harsh truths. Though his eyes remained under their ragged wraps, it was easy enough to tell how distorted and frenzied this creature was well enough without the help of the blood moon. Sharp, inhuman teeth, yellowed and crooked and uncannily numerous, grinned amidst a great white lake of a beard, and then came a voice; A most harsh voice, like the uprooting of a tree, or the breaking of stone. The voice of a soul that hated everything just because it could. Rusted nails and an old saw.

“I was wondering when one of the bigger fish would come to bite.”

_______________________

Cassius stood behind the behemoth and took in the glorious sight before him, revelling in the iron scent in the air. His crimson eyes fixed upon the beginning stages of the monstrous transformation unfolding before him. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to see when he entered the small bathroom, but he was delighted at what he found. This creature would be a great catalyst to the Vampire’s plan of the evening. Placing a hand in the pocket of his slacks he fiddled with the bag resting inside the satin pocket.

The air was thick with tension as the Wolf turned and acknowledged the Vampire's presence. A sardonic smile stretched across his face as he gazed upward at the looming figure before him, a low chuckle came from behind the mask as the creature addressed him.

“Come to bite? I like to think I’m here to play,” Cassius replied in a mischievous tone. “I see you have not been partaking in the drinks supplied here tonight. Did you know they were spiked with Wolfsbane, or are you not one for spirits?” He wouldn’t be surprised if the man did in fact realise what was laced into the cocktails, it was clear he had been around long enough to not be so easily fooled. His body bore the weight of time and traces of countless battles etched into his flesh, each scar telling a tale of his struggle for survival. His weathered skin, once taught and youthful, had become a roadmap of his history and hardships leaving their indelible marks.

“The Blood Moon will soon be at its most powerful point, will you stay and let it overwhelm you and send you into pure violent rage? Or tuck your tail and flee the ball to let your primal needs take over elsewhere?” Cassius didn’t actually care for his intention at all, once he took matters into his own hands the Werewolf wouldn’t be able to flee if wanted to.

_______________________

The grizzled face adorned in snowy-white cocked in a tilted state of dissatisfaction, and his hooked nose crinkled before he seemingly scratched at it with one of his haphazardly sharp claws. Yellowed nail tore into pocked flesh, yet it did not seem the old man gave it mind. But it was his answer to the first question. The nose knows. He moved his head around, as if to look at the gore with unseen eyes; gestured to it, even, with the same hand that tore into himself. Head back up. His imaginary gaze settled back on the vampire who had visited him. And so came words drenched in venomous amusement.

“You blind or somethin’?”

Splish. Splash.

Edward Wake readjusted himself as he stood within the puddle of violence, but what he was doing stood out above the rest of it; The futureless busser, hand shoved within neck, was brought face to face with the old lupine… and made to talk. A puppet show of no talent, Ed didn’t even try to hide his lip movement, or even choose a different voice. A crazy old man talking to himself.

“hEY, EDDY,” came a voice feigned to be from the meat puppet, as sounds of crunching and squelching and blood spurting came from its actual mouth. “wHY AREN’T YOU WITH tHE REST OF yOUR pACK?”

The big bad wolf laughed an inhuman laugh, interrupted by a most sickening cough as blood started leaking from the inside of his mouth. His cruel grin flickered on his face with brief moments of… something. The expression of a godly man awaiting his rapturing. He twitched and shuddered as unnatural movements stirred just beneath his skin. And he continued his sermon.

“A fair question, Nicky-boy,” replied that coarse and gravelly voice, an exhaust pipe in winter. “You see, I don’t care much for the blind.”

“bLIND?”

“Yeah, Nicky. I’m always surrounded by blind people. Blind to the lies. Their lies.”

“tHEY’RE LYING TO tHEMSELVES?”

“That’s right, Nicky. They lie about how civilised they are. Packs? Sociability? All lies.”

“tHEN WHAT’S THE truth?”

“The TRUTH, Nicky…” Another spasm, more violent this time, as blood exploded from the wolf’s mouth. “Is that we’re all savage beasts, slaves to the violence.”

The head of the meat puppet made a sickening noise, amalgamated from any noise meat and bone could make, and sloughed off the hand of Old Salt. The only thing left in his hand was the jaw, which was promptly, purposely dropped. Ed’s head turned back to the one whose name he did not care to know.

“Me, though,” he spat out, alongside his tar-like blood. “I’m an honest man. What this moon does? I do it to myself each and every night. Because this moon makes us all honest.”

He clawed at his shoulder, again seemingly as if to scratch an itch, only to tear out chunks of flesh. Black, thick, inhuman blood oozed like lava flowing from a volcano. Just as well, he belched, loudly. It was almost comical, were it not for the outpour of that very same liquid that did not seem like that of a human’s, flooding past numerous teeth like the jagged rocks of an inhospitable coastal area.

_______________________

Cassius scrunched up his face in slight disgust, he had seen many a Werewolf transformation and none could compare to this one. The sounds were always the same, bones cracking, screams of torture and so on. But this? This was different. His eyes fixated on the wretched sight before him, listening as the man descended into madness. Cassius wasn’t sure if the man himself was mad or if this was a part of his transformation, either way it was odd. His lips curled in a grimace as he observed the scene before him. Disgusting creatures.

If he believed in God he would’ve thanked him for not making him suffer through a life of this putrid existence. His eyes followed each piece of flesh that fell from the man and onto the tiled floor. In that moment, the Vampire’s eyes a mixture of disgust and fascination, as if he were drawn to the repulsiveness like a moth to a flame. It was a sight he would never forget, one that would haunt his mind and etch itself into his memory.

“Every night?” Cassius echoed, raising his brows in disbelief. “I must say, I have to admire your commitment. I know the transformation process is a gruelling one and to put yourself through it nightly is quite the accomplishment.” Bending down slightly he picked up one of the pieces of flesh that had sloughed off the man's body, squishing it slightly between his fingers.

“Tell me, how does this feel exactly? I know each Wolf’s transformation is different, and I have seen my fair share of them, but I have not seen one like yours.”

_______________________

An awful, wet cracking sound was paired with the tilting of the old wolf’s head as he thought about the answer. In that moment, dark spots of fresh ooze darkened the eye-covering gauze, pooling up and seeping out the bottom like tears of dark mud. Then the thought was completed, and the tall man tilted his head upwards towards the heavens once more. For a brief moment, he hugged himself, then traced along his collar-bones with his claws, scraping off flesh that seemed to quickly decay into putrid mush as it was carved off, mixing with the thick, viscous tar that seemed to be the beast’s blood.

“Ecstasy.”

Once again, he reached out arms as if to bathe in some imaginary baptismal scene.

“The most beautiful pain you could imagine,” He continued, as the distortions within his body became more pronounced, the sounds more nauseating, the voice in his throat more distorted. “Like being born for the first time, every time. Clawing your way from a womb to see the world for the first time, over and over. And it’s all so disgustingly beautiful.”

And then he heaved. And heaved. And heaved until he fell over, onto his hands and knees. A loud, fleshy crunch and rip. Pointed rib bones, plainly exposed, and some kind of putrid growth with patches of oily, matted fur. The vomiting of vile liquids, with gurgled moans within the bubbles. Horrific bile, and growls of some morbid mixture of pain and pleasure. But words came through them still.

“Every night is nothing but heaven. Freedom from every burden in life. Bursting with delight from a chrysalis of pain. Is that not the promise of a kind and loving God? Is this not what prophets promised the sons of men?”

The claws were already far removed from what a human ought to possess on their hands. But when Edward’s fingers bursted open between flesh and yellowed keratin, only the unfamiliar emerged. Skeletal and disproportionate, with one hand sprouting much longer claws, both uneven in numerous digits, asymmetrical in nature. That familiar five on the smaller hand. Seven bursting from the beating hand. Portions of skin started outright ripping open, veins and tendons bursting forth with something ungodly peeking beneath.

“Every night. Because it feels so good.”

Something peeked out from within the dark depths of the throat.



“ṉ̸̡̧̘̻̟́̄͊̓̂͆͝Ơ̸̦͇͈͖̖̲̩̤̐̓͠͠T̵̝̀̈H̵̩̻̝̿́̄̓͛͝İ̵̞͈̗́̋̈N̷̨̫͚̄G̵̡͉̙̏͛̈̽̿̕͜͝͝ ̴̬͓͉͎̗̍̊̀͝W̶̧̧̜͂̾͑̚R̷̻̦̖̯̹̃͆̈́̍̓̉̂O̷͍̱͗́͐͗͑͋͐͝N̶̨̞̼͎͖̝̪͑̾̌G̶̮̖̘̳̬̏̀͊͛͜ ̴̨̯͈͔̭͙͝W̶̡̠͙̌͘͠Î̴̜̞̲̯̥T̶̛̥̫͙̗̻̲̐̓̈́͂̀̍̀Ḥ̶̠̲̭̗̉́̕͝ͅͅ ̸͇̭̺̻̳̓̄̾̃̉̃̉͜͠t̵̢̡̛͈̗̼͉̯̮̑̐̔̀̅͊H̴͔͛́̓̌̔͘͝A̸̛͈͓̅̉͋̀̊̉̍Ț̴̻̜̻̗̝͗̊͊,̶̢͖̥̗̉͛̊͊̔͠ ̶̧̺̎I̶̢̲͓͍͑̋̌̿͜ͅS̵̜̣̠̹͆̀́͊̃̒͝ ̸̛̱͓̮̈́̍̑͑̎T̶̯̓͒̐̂͊H̶̖̤͖̬͚̾͗̓̅̃E̵͕̫͓̻̥͑̆̀̓͋͠Ŕ̵͙̩͈̾̈̋̀̈́͜Ḛ̷͉̳͉̣͑͛̈́?̵̭͎̤͓̳̳̍͌́͊̓”


_______________________

“Nothing wrong at all, I am no stranger to indulging in a little ecstasy,” Cassius raised his voice so his words weren’t engulfed in the guttural noises coming from the beast. As the transformation continued the sounds of bones cracking and shifting into place tickled the Vampire’s ears. Despite his disgust, Cassius couldn’t tear his eyes away from the spectacle unfolding before him. It was a macabre dance of nature's darkest magic, a repulsive fusion of man and beast.

“While I would love to stay and witness the conclusion of your transformation, I must be off. The night is still young and there is still fun to be had.”

Before the Wolf could react Cassius leapt forward and took a powerful hold of the man’s face, his fingers sinking into the rotting liquid pouring out from him. Using his free hand he pulled out the bag from his pocket, ripping it open with his teeth.

“This will give you a little push to move things along,” Cassius growled as he forced Ed’s head back and shoved a fist full of pills down the beast's throat. With the Blood Moon and now Primyl added into the mix the Werewolf would be at his peak before the Blood Moon reached its own. In a matter of minutes the rest of his transformation would be complete and the creature would be as blood hungry as ever.

Cassius jumped back and gave both his hands a firm shake as he tried to rid them of the thick fluid covering him. Another suit, ruined.

“Enjoy that,” Cassius gave the Werewolf a quick solute before slipping out the door.

_______________________

Is it poison?
Does it matter?
He should have stayed.
It would be glorious.



S̵̻͍̫͖̲̻̳͉̣̭͉̗̯͂̀͗̾͑͆̈̉̕͠͝͠Ḩ̷̡̧̡̢̡̩̞̩̟͓͓̖̔̔͗͜Ő̴̞̖͇͑̀͒̀͛͌̉͋͌̉̚̕͜͝W̶̛̱̣͕͔͌̐͛̏̈́̐̃͊̿͝͝ͅ ̷̣̙͍͙̼̉̆̅̑̾͑̾͛̈́̍̌̚̕͜T̷̬͙̠̩͔̰͉̰͒̎̽̅̌͐͒͂̑͌͆̉͝H̵̨͎͚͛̔̇̑͊̂͝E̵̡̨͎̪̲͖̼̗͌̆͒͆͑̀̏͒͊͒̕͝M̴̖̭͕̱͈̒̈́̄̑̚ ̷̢̤̹͍̣̉̆͛͂̈́̾́̍̀̿̒̉͘͘Ą̸̩͐͋̊́͌̎̽͑͑L̵̢̞̏͗̒̃͘L̷͚̔̑̓




What a godly sound, the rupturing of the throat. Snapping bones and ligaments, tearing muscles and tendons. Flesh burst, and meat burst forth. Each moment of revelation was heinous and terrible, and it was a shame the only witness left. Soon enough, the maw of an entirely different creature poked from the breaking mouth of Edward Wake, his own jaw cracking from the pressure of the thing within emerging from its slumber. What glorious and splendid pain. What magnificent and pleasurable agony. He longed to share it with them all. What greater gift could there be?

Malformed hands that continued growing outward like horrid plantlife, gripped the brow and mouth of their host. And soon enough, with the loudest of meaty tears, a true face was revealed, the fabric around the blind eyes of man sliding over the blind eyes of the beast. And like putrid tumours of eldritch nature, the rest of the body followed, bursting from the seams of a false shell of skin and muscle and bone. The true form was revealed in a smattering of discoloured gore...

A skeleton face, of gnarled and malformed bone. No. Two faces. A remembrance of the form of man on the side of the visage of the canid creature, fused in some unknowable, abominable manner that made for a third, mismatched eye-socket, a second pair of nasal cavities, and rows of human teeth behind a portion of the sharp teeth of the monster. It was huge. Skin clung so tight to it, it ripped in a myriad of places to reveal twisting muscles that often did not follow the typical pattern of anatomy. Sometimes they looked more like thick, putrid vines violating the corpse of some great dead thing.

Much of the face, plenty of areas were merely exposed bone. The knees and elbows. The spine and shoulder blades. The ribs seemed to burst open, like a toothy maw of splintered sharpness, only for another rib-cage to be revealed underneath, grotesque grey flesh between each rib. The hands were just as misshapen. A thin layer of widened skin like the webbing of a frog stretched over numerous digits of odd and asymmetrical number. At first, the smaller hand seemed to only have 5 digits, only for two more to have appeared near the wrist. All the same, some vestigial, half-grown forearm and hand, not unlike that of a great, predatory dinosaur, had formed from the elbow. The other hand was absurdly large, Having grown plenty more digits since the beginning. That lucky number of thirteen.

But most horrific at all were what became of the ears and neck. Could they even be called ears anymore? Odd yet huge calcifications and cancerous, fleshy growths like that of teratomas, that formed a pattern more akin to the shape of a moose's antlers, only made of ungodly flesh and bone. The same fleshy growth also permeated around the creature's neck, like a mantle or a mane, and just as well upon the largest of the beast's forearms. This sick flesh, grey and lumped, was decorated in numerous white, semi-translucent bulbs of somewhat gelatinous substance. What they were was clear: Innumerable eyes, with neither pupil nor iris. Failed conceptions of ocular organs. Some even had functional eyelids. But oh, how the beast could see.

And the monster continued growing. And it got larger. And the deformations grew worse. And it was getting...






H̴̡̢̨̛͇͈͓͔͍͔̥̭̯̜̜̖̠̜̜̺͇͋̓̾̌̈́͌̍́̈̔̾͗́̈́̉̏̉̃̆̔̈͋͋́̚͘͘̚̚͜͝Ų̷̢̭̺̯̣̙̪̺̖̪̳͋͊̈̍̔̏̎̉̾̓͑̐͒̀͑͆̉̚͜͝͠N̶̡͓̙̗̼̯̬͈̦̲̭͙̳̭̫̖̼̻͌͋́̕͜͠G̸̡̝̖̞̬̩̯̘͚̩̃̒̑͊͛̈́̿͆́͊R̸̡͙͖̖͖͌Y̵͎̳͔͈̥̥̖̽̎̏̋̂̄̏̓͘͝ͅ

 

[Loxely]

​

 

[Loxely]

That sickly sweet scent. How utterly delicious. The gluttonous temptation, the struggle to resist those primitive instincts causing an internal battle within her. It wafted teasingly within her nostrils, beckoning to submit to the insatiable hunger. That of a virgin was of upmost rarity and delicacy for her kind's palette. Lottie nearly swooned towards the intoxicating aroma. But with the looming threat of Cassius' presence, she managed to regain her composure to a degree.

The exchanged introduction between her and Richter was dealt with class, but his raised hand to clasp hers was a clear indicator that he was the vessel exuding the delectable substance that coaxed her appetite. It was invigorating. Chills of excitement trickled along her porcelain skin, jittering playfully while her mind swarmed with instincts to just take action. Take a bite. Even a nibble. Her eyes full with lustful desire, traced along his physique as if to pick off pieces and categorized them into different courses of meals.

His words seemingly charismatic, but his tone remained dry. She was quickly putting the pieces together as her gaze locked, fixated on his. He was cold in demeanor and despite her best abilities to read the behaviors of others - she was only met with a solid wall. Admittedly, she felt uneasy. If not, even a little frightened. One thing was evident, he had to be a Deo Volente.

"I'm quite flattered to offer such a service to you, Richter. I'm certain my presence is the highlight of a few this evening. But, I must say yours is the highlight of mine." Speaking in her typical eloquent fashion, always as if center stage in the spotlight. She knew her part to play and was dedicated to the role. Often enough that she believed in her own persona being her true nature.

The exclaimed interruption caused Lottie to dart a narrowed glare towards the woman's abrupt cull. The initial expression of irritation lifted rather quickly when she appraised the staggering woman approaching. Her mannerisms were vastly different from the company Lottie kept. This woman carried her words with crass. Which dually intrigued yet disgusted Lottie. The unfamiliar redhead posted up with a sense of feigned authority, spewing a veiled threat if Lottie were to dismiss her entirely. Something she thoroughly considered as time was ticking away to formulate a plan to flee or dispose of Cassius. A far greater threat than that of a drunken... mutt. That's what it is. The boastful bantering, the abrasive taunting, and that musky stench - partly mixed with alcohol, she had to be one of Elu's mutts. Now, the rebuttal in her native language was something to note. A brow raised curiously, followed by the curve of her lips to form a delightful grin, "I'm quite familiar." She stated matter of factly, still with her alluring chime, "However, I'd not care to remember such a saying from someone who's failed to share an introduction. I hardly pay any mind to a stranger." Lottie gestured towards Richter, "Perhaps take some notes from a gentleman." With that, she offered a half hearted curtsy in his direction but her eyes still inquisitive of his true motive in attempting to bait her. Though, she reeled her desires in, she was nearly salivating.

Retreating herself and her companion, Virgil, they reformed with their fellow kin. Her sister's warning was imperative but truthfully dismissed by Lottie. Whether it was the many wasted years of tiresome fleeing from the threat of Cassius or the Blood Moon's merciless grip, clouding her better judgement - she refused to run. As lips parted to voice her disdain for the plan of action, she was swarmed by the hired guards. Essentially defeated in any futile attempt to rebel against her sister's commands. Submitting to the escort, they ventured towards the exit. Lottie ached with fury and ultimately seizing her stride, stopping in her tracks. "I'm sorry, Virgil." She muttered, while her eyes danced along the tile in search of a better explanation. Perhaps even a solution to solve all the problems that will inevitably unfold. But she was never the sister with a calculate plan, she was the sister who acting primarily on instinct. She raised her chin to catch a shared glance to Virgil, "We have to do something." She stated, yet her voice echoed and warped with that of a handful of other tones. Mixed between masculine and feminine.

Black smog seeped lazily out of her white gloves and the neckline of her gown. Her hair becoming slickened with noir ooze. Dark tendrils of what could be mistaken for lithe, malnourished digits clawed out from under her mask, gripped at her delicate skin. Until they seeped into each pore, reshaping, redefining every physical feature that made her. Her altered appearance shifted within the darkened substances. "We have to fight." With that, she stepped backward into the crowd, to emerge within it a new figure. Still of a feminine physique, but reddened hair and a toughened build. The essence that assisted in her transformation had submerged back within her, nestled once more until to be culled upon again. Lottie slipped away from the guards and sought out for Cassius. The rage was nearly consuming her, the hunger for bloodshed had driven her, all while the Blood Moon fueled these desires. Puppeteering her into becoming a blood thirsty predator of the night.

interactions: Eldarkon Sepokku Maverick Six mentions: Loomis

 

[zlexis]

Thomas Barrett

Location: The Regency
Interactions: Maverick Six | DarkKitsune | RedLeftHand36 ​

The action of the young witch caught him by surprise, and out of reflex, a dancing flame appeared in the cup of his hand as he swiveled around to see his assailant. Yet upon seeing her face, anger melted into confusion, and briefly, his gaze softened.

"Keep that courage close, as you never know when you'll need to call upon it.” Amber eyes pierced into hers as he dispelled his flames with great difficulty, as if they refused the will of their master. “With what's to come, you may still need it. However… do not forget yourself, or at least think twice about where you point that thing. I will not ask again.”

That would be it. He would no longer entertain the foolishness, nor would he continue to reconcile with the coven's leader. His attempts were futile from the start, and there were more important matters to attend to. Mage or not, he had no reason to affiliate himself with the coven, as his allegiance was with the Deo Velonte first and foremost.

The voice of the stranger in the three-faced mask interrupted his thoughts as he addressed both Thomas and Richter with an unfaltering tone. With every word, he felt his body tense, yet he stared up and into the center eyes of the mask.

"Your task here is to safekeep those here who overestimate their abilities."

Such was the role of a peacekeeper, as if Thomas needed anyone, especially a vampire, to remind him of it. His loyalty, his life, his meaning - he had made his oath the day his old self died and was remade anew. He had dutifully served that purpose with unwavering ambition, and as an occult amongst the Deo Velonte, proof of his devotion was critical. Yet, these past few days, everything had turned on its head, as if he were caught in a tide. Whether it was the moon above that pulled or the string of fate, it was all uncertain, and he could barely keep his head above the water.

“...Elu Tainn's killer is here. The DeLorme sisters fear him for a great many reasons... You'll know Cassius when you see him. I recommend sticking close to the bar. Enjoy some refreshments."

That name struck familiarity, and Thomas's eyes widened as the room around him stilled. Cassius, Cassius, Cassius. That name sent fire through his blood, as if the ichor in his veins boiled. The heat soothed his wounds and fueled his resolve alongside visions of three figures with glazed-over eyes. Despite everything, despite the fact that the vampire he had sworn to destroy was in the same room, he was calm, calmer than he had been in a long time. This changed everything. Perhaps there was meaning to him being here tonight, perhaps he could finally enact his revenge. But of all the times to finally show up, why now? What’s changed? What were these leeches planning?

His eyes darted to Richter, who had been left on an unfinished note as Sabine made a sudden departure. She had come to the same understanding and left the bar in a panic, undoubtedly worried about her beloved sister. Suddenly, all concerns about these other vampires seemed beneath him and intersected at one goal, one thought, one purpose. Thomas thought back to the crumpled photo in his pocket, and unbeknownst to him, a creeping fire began to spread across the photo. The moon above beckoned as the paper blackened and dissolved into ash. The mage was losing control, and with every passing minute, the clock marched towards the inevitable:

Explosion.​

As if mirroring the Enforcer's actions from before, the Lieutenant placed a firm hand on Richter's shoulder and leaned in closely, his voice a low whisper. A warm heat emanated from the spot that gripped the man’s shoulder.

“All of my communications are out of commission. I trust you to call for backup.”

If a vampire of that caliber was here... they were going to need all the help they could get.

 

[Maverick Six]

Interactions: zlexis Sepokku Eldarkon

Bloodmoon Ball​

---

In large part, Ms. Delorme had been correct.

Beneath the mask which hid most evidence of the man's humanity, there existed no love for her. In truth, there wasn't even lust there. At least, not in the sense that most healthy human beings would understand it. Like a two way mirror, the lenses of his mask hid his eyes, all while allowing him to peer onto that frightened expression of hers. His voice had given it away however. Charming perhaps, much to his own surprise. But the lack of true interest in those carnal aspects was present in this moment. By most standards, Lottie would be beautiful. Yet his heart beat steady, devoid of any true passion. He looked over her form as if to peer beneath the surface of her porcelain-like flesh. And more seemed interested in the intricate network of pulleys and levers. A device to be carefully dismantled.

An outsider, he carried an air of class. But as she had accurately surmised, it was quite off. Richter had never attended anything as formal as this. And indeed, he had never even taken the time to ever learn about the finer intricacies of such interactions. It was wholly fraudulent. He was an outsider -- who merely was mimicking the mannerisms of those who'd practiced this for years. And he'd adopted them as his own for but a single night. He grasped her hand

The Agent's hand was left hanging. And instead of receiving Lottie's hand, he received a bottle of expensive champagne. His eyes wandered about the Red She Wolf's form. Yet in spite of her blatant violation of his space as she reached for his sleeve -- he sensed nothing imminently hostile from her. Indeed, there was a bit of amusement in his tone as he replied. "My mistake." He chuckled, as though he'd been caught in a game of hide and seek. "I must have had too much to drink and slipped knocked my arm on the bar." He said, lying through his teeth -- as though he'd had the explanation prepared for if he was prompted.

As she tied the neckerchief around his arm, he spoke. "You've been rather pleasant company, tonight." He said to her, truth to his tone. "The most pleasant thus far, in fact." He admitted. For what reasoning he did so, was up to Dani's interpretation. "You should be careful yourself." He balanced the bottle in his hand. Feeling it's weight, and they way it shifted. He threw it up and it landed on the palm of his hand. All without really taking a moment to glance at it. He threw the bottle of up again. And this time, he caught it by it's neck.

The wolf and the rabbit went at it. And for a brief moment, he was oddly content to simply fade into the background as his bait failed.

Richter pulled out his phone, using Dani as cover. And covering it with his hand so that none could see it but him. From it -- he subtly sent out a series of of pre-typed messages. All saved on a clipboard of his phone. In truth, he did not type very quickly. This made it easier.

Spoiler: Encrypted Comms

Mentions: AlphaBlueWolf (Declan)

Four message were sent out via the Deo Volente's own encrypted communications. And only they would be able to receive it. Thomas woefully lacked such communications. Declan however could well catch it if he was to be believed.

"The ball is heating up."

Richter is typing.....

"Send out at least four armed men. One get away driver. Have them wait outside."

Richter is typing....

"Do not enter without a call. Or those men will likely die."

Richter is typing....

His fingers dialed at a particular speed. The pre pasted messages came quickly. But the last message would be one which arose from something as of yet unanticipated.

"Send out the cops to search for Elu Telainn's corpse. She has been killed." He typed manually. For this was not something he could possibly have anticipated or found out about on his own.

So it would be that a few select souls would be plucked out. And sent out to the ball with only cryptic, and brief messages. Police would be sent to Lucky Dave's in search of a body as soon available agents were sent out. Tonight was the night of the blood red moon. And not all were as civil as they ball. Not to mention that Hawthorne had to be kept secure.

The many faced man couldn't help but chirp in his ears. And misinterpret his intentions a bit. Oddly enough, The Deo Volente agent could not help but be reminded of his parents. Not the biological ones who had abandoned him long ago. His real parents. The reason he was standing before them today. Wistful memories of his parents chastising him for incurring the wrath of his peers. Though his parents soon did so notice the quirks of their adopted child. The ever spiteful Richter's nature incurred him to receive multi-man beatings and he was chastised for his reprehensible nature.

Though eventually, those beatings stopped hurting. And soon, it was for the safety of his peers, that he would asked to stop.

His mind came back. And he finally addressed the many faced man's worries over his risk taking.

"You remind me of my mother." He said. "For all that talk earlier, perhaps you underestimate your kind's civility." He said, amused. Ultimately, nothing much had happened. They all seemed to well control themselves. And the amount of blood he released could hardly be called a buffet. Particularly given their hunger being at least partially satiated. The vampires had been making ga-ga eyes at the waiters all night. A few drops had been shown to be not enough to send them all on edge.

Thomas came towards him and upon that heated touch onto his shoulder -- he stopped in place. And he'd told him to do something that he had already done. "We think alike, Lieutenant." Richter said, putting his phone away. "However, I my approach is more to work from the bottom and up. I seek the weakest link." He spoke. "I hope I can count your assistance tonight."

With that Richter would walk forward. And he would soon begin to disappear into the crowd.

----

The security detail which surrounded Lottie Delorme began to notice something. And it was that Ms. Delorme was in fact -- missing. This was not something lost upon the man who'd spotted her.

He bumped into one of the guards. And received a hiss.

Richter was violently shoved backwards by the guard. Yet instead of flying, Richter merely took a step back. His body had moved but the shove deeply...unsatisfying. As though the full force of it hadn't really been given to him. The guard growled.

"Watch where you're going fucker." The guard of Lottie's entourage said. Bearing his fangs at the mortal. He felt the need to say nothing more. He looked the man up and down. And he saw nothing in his hands of note. One hand was curled ever so slightly with his knuckles facing him. Yet it was not tense enough to be a fist. The other hand had a bottle with it. And expensive one. Unfortunately for the Redhead She-Wolf, he had absconded with it.

"....." The Deo Volente Agent was even more silent as he stood in the way of the entrance without a word. And he too looked among the crowd as if to confirm that Lottie Delorme was indeed...missing.

"My mistake." He said simply. And then he was on his way.

While Thomas had the mentality of peacekeeper...ultimately Richter's mind began to search and scan the area like a born and bred hunter. And he searched for any abnormalities which might yet clue as to just where she had gone. Much like anyone, he lacked abilities which technically, ventured into the realm of the supernatural. However, he had developed an uncanny ability to observe all that was around him and parse through it with unusual ease. He could not hear across the room. But if half a dozen spoke around him -- he could parse through each and every conversation at once. A cacophony of voices which might drive one mad, was process wholly. That which he detected, he interpreted.

To his eyes, he dissected details. And he spotted one redhead she wolf. And then...he spotted another strangely enough.

I didn't know you had a twin.

The Devil was in the details. And unfortunately, Lottie had made it all too easily for one used to plucking out ambushes to suspect her. But there was simple way for him to confirm. The closer he had gotten to her. The more his mind shifted away from the feigned lust he'd shown earlier. And much closer to all too familiar violence. No more pretending to be that which he wasn't.

His hand reached out to her arm. And he took hold of it. The strength of with which he did so was nothing threatening to a vampire. Indeed, a vampire who feared Richter's impressive yet ultimately human strength would be a pitiful creature indeed. But there was something else entirely.

SSSSSTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

His hand gripped her like a brand. Lottie Delorme's flesh would briefly boil.

Steam would covertly erupt into the air. The liquid within her flesh would begin to bubble. And the vampire's blood rage would be met something else which fundamentally. Instead of the blood that attracted -- divinity would repel her. Once she pulled away, a mark would brand itself unto Lottie's flesh. It was quite similiar to the mark which Van Helsing himself had branded onto Mina. A brand in the shape of Jesus Christ himself. How fitting.

Most who regarded this were confused to say the least. Richter was an unarmed man, carrying bread and wine in his hands.

"You know, I've been watching. You really don't seem to like that man." He said.

"I don't really want to kill you. Contrary to what you might think. Ironically, I might be protecting you. Considering who you seem to be targeting" He couldn't help but smile beneath his mask at the irony. There was a truth to his words. Lottie was comparatively weak compared to her peers. And this made her the weak link in the chain. He too, had been observing her for some time. Her encounter at Lazarus had been described in much detail -- which he kept in mind here. Capturing the others would prove difficult or outright impossible. From purest and most pragmatic perspective, it hardly made sense to kill her here. She was more useful alive.

Everything had become a weapon. The crowd presented an obstacle to her guards. Their speed impeded by the density of people around them. Where Richter had stopped was not an absent-minded choice. He wanted as many people between Lottie and her protectors as possible. And they would break apart confrontations into separate encounters. The bottle in his hands and the liquid within it was far more useful for other things than for him to drink. Thomas had made himself available. And if ever innocent people were no longer in the way, he'd make for quite the entity against the guards. And most importantly...to Virgil. Who too was following Lottie like the Knight in shining armor he was.

The wolf sat yet in the bathroom. And by now, Richter had figured out the man's cryptic warning. He and the Redhead had yet to partake. And the lack people coming out could only mean that he was in the same form as when he had gone in.

"But I do want you to come with me. Whether you'd like to or not." His hands clasped around the bottle, tightening around it's neck. From his pocket, he draws...a flashlight. Compact and simple. He twirls it idly in his hand. And this does not yet draw the suspicion of the crowd. In spite of the fact that it too, was a weapon.

He felt the hairs on his arm standing on end. And a shudder ran down his spine. Danger practically radiated from the bathroom. And he who had bathed in the blood of his friends, his enemies and himself learned well of it's omens. In truth, he was staller, as a far greater physical than he could hope to be would soon descend on the ball. And he had spent the better part of half it's length, watching and waiting. The time would soon be ripe.

In truth, his expectations were set. Lottie's answer was most likely going to be no. They always chose the hard way. The fun way.

Say "no."

The night however, was far from short when it came to surprises. The very fact that she was here and not trying to abscond to Lazarus was nothing shy of a miracle. Perhaps god was real after all.

 

[Loomis]

A

momentary sense of relief washed over the Vampire as Dante immediately got to work securing Charlotte's safety. She was so thankful to have him by her side at this moment, but she also hated herself for letting her panic get the best of her. Dante questioned her about the mysterious danger that was now looming over the Masquerade; she wanted to tell him everything, but the words caught in her throat.

“I…I promise to give you every last detail when we are truly safe, but for now I’ll give you the short of it. His name is Cassius, he’s centuries old and is the most horrible thing I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.” The sound of his name rolling off her tongue felt odd and unfamiliar. Sabine hadn’t dared utter his name at the fear it would somehow conjure him up. A childish fear she was well aware of, but a fear of hers nonetheless. Her scarlet eyes once again took a frantic sweep of the groups around them. How did I not notice his arrival?

“The Mayor is already aware that I wanted to meet with him, so getting him to step away shouldn’t be much of an issue.” With her plan slowly coming back together Sabine could feel herself regaining control over herself. Rolling her shoulders back and tipping her head high she grabbed onto her remaining confidence and approached the cluster of political figure heads.

“Donovan!” Sabine’s serene voice shouted over the conversation as she gracefully inserted herself beside him.

“Ah, Miss Delorme. I was wondering when you would grace us with your presence,” He greeted, his hand playfully twisting at his mustache that peeked out of the bottom of his mask. The Mayor had gone with a much more simple approach with tonight's theme; a classic all black suit and a matching black mask.

“And who is this?” Donovan craned his neck around the luscious blonde hair blocking his view to size up Dante.

“Donovan, this is Dante Wolfbane, my business partner,” Sabine stepped aside so the men could make their standard introductions.

“Oh right, I remember you mentioning him in your last email. She sings your praises you know,” Donovan tipped his whiskey glass in Dante’s direction before bringing it to his lips to take a greedy swig.

“Who wouldn’t boast about having one of the most successful businessmen working with them?” She let out a forced laugh, this conversation was taking longer than she’d like to get to the point.

“I hate to take the lovely Mayor away from all of you, but he did promise me some one on one time, and I’m dying to have it.” Sabine’s words were laced with a sensual undertone, flashing him a smile she gave his arm a squeeze. She learned long ago that men were always easily persuaded with a little extra affection, and Mr. St Clair was no exception.

“Well, yes, of course! Lead the way my dear.” Donovan finished off his glass of whiskey and pawned it off to the person standing closest to him before following Sabine up the stairs.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━​

In the midst of the elegant masquerade, Dante's emotions were a turbulent sea beneath his calm exterior. The name "Cassius" sent shivers down his immortal spine. He couldn't deny that a certain fear, a very primal and ancient fear, gripped him whenever that name was uttered. Dante had heard of Cassius, and he knew that he was no ordinary vampire; he was a dark relic of history, a creature of immense power and malevolence. Although Dante had never crossed paths with him before, He had read plenty of stories describing what he was capable of. Cassius was a name etched in blood-soaked chapters of vampire lore.

As Sabine explained the situation briefly, Dante's crimson eyes bore into hers, filled with both understanding and a fierce determination to keep her safe. He nodded in acknowledgment of her promise to divulge the full details later. Right now, the priority was to ensure her security and handle this crisis discreetly.

"You've done the right thing, Sabine," Dante replied in a low, reassuring voice. "We'll handle this together. Cassius may be formidable, but he won't catch us off guard."

With her plan in mind, Sabine approached the Mayor, and Dante followed suit. Donovan St. Clair, a powerful figure in the city, was the center of attention among the political elite. His recognition of Sabine and her introduction of Dante proceeded smoothly. The Mayor's words flowed with a certain charm, masked by his simple yet alluring black attire.

Dante maintained his poised demeanor, his mask concealing his true thoughts and emotions. He acknowledged Donovan's polite remarks with a faint smile, allowing Sabine to lead the conversation. Her flirtatious tactics were not lost on Dante, but he knew they were a means to an end. In this world of power and influence, such social maneuvers were often necessary.

"Your praise is most kind, Mayor St. Clair," Dante replied, his voice carrying the refined tones of centuries of aristocracy. "I must say, this gathering is quite remarkable. Your city truly knows how to host a memorable event."

As Sabine skillfully guided Donovan toward the prospect of some one-on-one time, Dante's sharp senses remained alert. He could sense the thoughts and feelings of the Mayor and the surrounding crowd. The Mayor was certainly intrigued by Sabine's company and was more than willing to oblige her request. His thoughts were a mix of curiosity and attraction, clouded by the alcohol he had consumed.

The crowd, on the other hand, was largely oblivious to the brewing storm. Their thoughts were a mosaic of superficial musings, from admiration of the opulent decor to idle gossip about their peers. Dante couldn't help but feel a sense of detachment from their mundane concerns. In this world of shadows and secrets, he and Sabine were the orchestrators of a hidden dance, and the rest were merely unwitting spectators.

As Sabine and Donovan ascended the stairs, Dante decided it was time to take further precautions. He brought his left wrist up to his mouth, the ritual tattoos illuminating his face. He telepathically reached out to Charon, his thoughts directed with urgency.

“Charon, be on high alert. An individual by the name of Cassius is among us” Dante's mental message conveyed a sense of gravitas. “He is a dangerous adversary, do not engage him alone. We will rendezvous later"

With that, Dante resumed to follow Sabine and the mayor. He made sure to focus his senses, being ever watchful and ready to face the looming threat of Cassius head-on.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━​

Sabine led the two men up the stairs and through the hallways, the music and conversation fading away the further into the building they went. She listened as the Mayor prattled on about what he had been up to, offering a laugh when needed and nodding her head to show she was actively listening. But she truly couldn’t tell you a single word that man had said to her, she was focused on the plan at hand and nothing else.

“Ah, here we are, my old office,” Donovan stood in front of the door, memories of what once was flooding him. He hated that he had been run out of his own town, his office, his home, but he hated that he just rolled over and let it happen even more.

“You’re lucky I like you so much or I would be mad at you for running me out of here,” He joked as he pushed the door open.

“Oh, Donovan, please. You know I had nothing to do with that, I never would have allowed my people to run you off. A city without its Mayor is a sad one,” Sabine cooed as she brushed past him and flipped the light switch, illuminating the office. She could honestly give a shit if Donovan was in the city or not, he was about as useless as any other over inflated politician.

The Mayor’s office, a once bustling hub of civic activity and decision making, now sits forgotten and abandoned. The room is cloaked in a thick layer of dust and a stale scent staining the air. The desk still had papers littering the surface, awaiting approvals and signatures but never to receive them. Plants that were once vibrant and full of life were now shriveled and rotting. The room frozen in time with no one to tend to its upkeep or preservation. It now only served as a melancholic reminder of the failed Mayors history and ownership of Saint Haddock.

“Also, I thought we were meeting…alone,” Donovan looked from Sabine to Dante with a frustrated look on his face.

“Don’t worry, my dear, you have my full undivided attention. Dante is just here to make sure we are safe and no one interrupts us.” Sabine sauntered to the desk and pulled the large leather chair back and gave it a light pat, gesturing to Donovan to take a seat. Donovan hesitantly walked over and took a seat, eyeing the papers left untouched on his desk. He frowned once again at all the work he left behind, he didn’t even bother packing anything up before fleeing the city.

“Now then, straight to business,” Sabine said and placed a hand on each arm rest, bringing her face close to his. “I want you on my side. I want you to make a public statement saying that you are behind me one hundred percent and that you approve of everything that I’m doing. You are also to damn the Deo Volente and mark the prescene in Saint Haddock as disruptive and terroristic.”

“You can’t possibly be serious,” Donovan snorted, “You want me to stand beside the very people that have tossed this city to ruin?!”

“I will admit our arrival to the city could have been handled better, but I need you on my team. I have plans for this city, plans that will help bring this city to success. I will need access to your office and city funds. I want staff back in the office working for me. You can return to Saint Haddock if you wish, but you will also work for me.” Sabine’s grip tightened on the arm rest, her knuckles turning white. She had anticipated some push back from him, but his reaction was rather irritating.

“I think you have mistaken our friendly banter as something more. If you think you can come to my city, run me out of my office, take over and turn this place into your little play house you are sorely mistaken. I will absolutely not support any sort of plans you have. And if I were you I wouldn’t get ahead of yourself and make anymore plans, while you’ve been fucking around we have been working on ways to get our city back.” Donovan went to stand up, but Sabine forcefully sat him back down.

“ENOUGH!” She shouted, her red eyes slowly turning black, the veins on her body pushing against her skin as she let her anger consume her. “I’ve heard enough from you, you arrogant little man,” She spat, her fangs itching to dig into his flesh.

“Dante, hold him.”

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As Sabine led Donovan and Dante through the winding corridors of the elegant venue, Dante's mind was a well-ordered web of plans and ambitions. He possessed an innate ability to read the thoughts and emotions of those around him, a gift honed over centuries. This extraordinary power, coupled with his capacity to influence minds, was a formidable tool in his pursuit of control over Saint Haddock.

Donovan's meaningless prattle about his past actions and the city's history seemed to melt away into a cacophony of inconsequence for Dante. His focus was laser-sharp on the impending negotiations and the potential for seizing power. His inner thoughts roiled with ambition, like a predator stalking its prey in the shadows.

Entering Donovan's forsaken office, Dante observed the remnants of the Mayor's former reign, now cloaked in layers of dust and decay. Neglected papers and withered plants painted a poignant picture of abandonment, a symbol of a city in decline. The room's melancholic atmosphere did little to sway Dante from his objectives; instead, it served as a reminder of the vacuum they aimed to fill.

Donovan's evident irritation at Dante's presence was inconsequential. His role was not to be the charismatic charmer in this encounter but the silent enforcer, a role he relished. With a looming and imposing presence, Dante towered beside Sabine, his very demeanor reinforcing the gravity of their purpose.

While Sabine navigated the conversation, Dante stood at her side, a sentinel of power and influence. Donovan's resistance to their audacious demands was expected, but Dante saw beyond the Mayor's defiance to the potential beneath.

In his telepathic and empathic abilities, Dante found his most potent tools. As Sabine's negotiations grew heated, Dante connected with Donovan's mind, injecting persuasive thoughts and feelings that resonated with the Mayor's deeper desires and fears.

When Sabine issued her command, Dante moved with measured purpose. He advanced with a commanding stride, positioning himself behind Donovan. His hands rested firmly on the Mayor's shoulders, an unspoken assertion of dominance that underscored his role in maintaining decorum and safeguarding Sabine's interests.

"Mayor Donovan," Dante's voice carried the weight of authority, resonating in the room like a commanding drumbeat. His words were punctuated by subtle telepathic nudges, reinforcing the compelling message. "Sabine and I share a vision for this city, one of unity and progress. While we acknowledge the past's shortcomings, we offer an opportunity to rebuild and restore Saint Haddock to its former glory."

Dante's telepathic influence whispered persuasive thoughts into Donovan's consciousness, enticing him with the promise of a pivotal role in shaping the city's future. His grip on Donovan's shoulders remained unwavering, conveying the implicit message that resistance was futile. His crimson gaze bore into the Mayor's, revealing not only determination but also the promise of cooperation or dire consequences.

As he held Donovan's gaze with his crimson eyes, Dante's thoughts delved into his own ambitions. Sabine's audacious plan was not just a tactic to fight against the Deo Volente; it was a gateway to unparalleled political power and control over Saint Haddock. Dante envisioned a future where they ruled the city with an iron grip, a vision where they dictated the course of the city's history itself.

Sabine was not just a partner or a potential lover; she was a key to unlocking his deepest aspirations. Her plan offered them both the potential to ascend to a level of public dominance and authority, a chance to reshape the destiny of Saint Haddock. And as Dante pressed Donovan with his telepathic and empathic persuasion, he knew that this moment could be the first step toward their shared path to supremacy.

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Every time Sabine needed Dante he never disappointed her. He swiftly moved in and held the Mayor in his place and got to work twisting the mortal's mind. She watched Dante with a subtle fascination, she had only seen his powers in passing but to watch him work up close was a wonderful sight. As looked upon him, taking in his formidable presence, her admiration grew stronger. It wasn’t just his knowledge, his business strength or his abilities, that she was infatuated with; but his desire to give her whatever it was she wanted, what they wanted. In this moment, she found herself grateful beyond words to have him as a business partner. His power was not just a reflection of his own success, but a testament to their shared vision. It was like they were meant to be together, their abilities complimented each other beautifully and they both had like minded goals. The two of them truly were a force to be reckoned with and Donovan St. Clair was quickly coming to that conclusion.

Sabine looked down at Donovan smugly as her will was being enforced upon the man. She moved her hands from the arm rests and violently placed them onto the Mayor's face, her nails digging into his skin, and locked her darkened eyes onto his. Taking a deep breath and reaching deep inside herself Sabine began to channel her manipulation to its full potential, using the added power from the Blood Moon she was able to go into the depths of his mind to plant her seed of deception.

“Tomorrow morning you will make a public statement, to the press, swearing your allegiance to me and damning the Deo Volente. You will cooperate with everything I have planned, you will help fund everything I need, you will bring staff back into Saint Haddock to work for and with me. You see our plans, you see the success, the power, we have and you will show us your unwavering support. You follow every order given to you like the dog you are. You are mine.”

As the Vampires mind bending influence spread through Donovan’s subconscious he felt compelled to fight back. He had no special training or powers of his own, only an unwavering determination to protect himself and those that resided in the city.

For a few moments Donovan’s thoughts remained his own, but gradually, they began to shift. It started with a whisper, a voice in the back of his mind like a distant echo. The room seemed to close in on him, the shadows deepening and the air growing heavy with an otherworldly presence. His resistance was valiant, but he had never encountered such a force. His thoughts wavered like a flickering candle in a gusty wind. Images and desires that weren’t his own began to intrude upon his consciousness. The manipulators will pressed against his like a relentless tide, eroding his mental defenses.

Then, as if a switch had been flipped, Donovan quit struggling against their grasp. His once contorted face was now relaxed, his eyes vacant and mouth slightly open. Sabine watched as the light in his eyes dwindled and a zombie-like glaze took over. Slowly she removed her hands from his face, dragging her index finger along the small line of blood that dripped from where her nails once were.

“See, that wasn’t so hard was it?” Sabine mocked as she slipped her blood covered finger into her mouth, sucking the thick fluid off.

“You can leave now,” She flicked her finger to the door to dismiss the Mayor. Donovan’s eyes returned to their normal state as he rose silently from the chair and made his way towards the door.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you both, I look forward to our future endeavors.” Donovan turned and gave them a nod before exiting his former office.

Sabine moved to the desk and glanced over the scattered papers still on the desk before pushing them aside and taking a seat on the wooden desktop. With a gentle yet firm grasp she reached out and curled her fingers around Dante’s silk tie and pulled him into her. With a sly grin that hinted at her intentions their lips met in a passionate, blood stained kiss.

“For a job well done, and for my own enjoyment,” She said coyly as to explain the sudden affection.

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As Sabine seamlessly took control of Donovan's mind, Dante stood like an unyielding sentinel, his telepathic and empathic abilities subtly weaving a web of influence around the Mayor's consciousness. The room, once a place of political power and decision-making, had now become a stage for a different kind of power play. Dante's crimson eyes remained fixed on Donovan as the mortal's resistance slowly crumbled beneath the weight of their manipulative forces.

In the moments that followed, Dante's thoughts danced with a strange mixture of satisfaction and ambition. He couldn't help but admire Sabine's formidable abilities as she wielded her powers with finesse, pushing Donovan to the brink of mental surrender. It was a potent reminder of the unique synergy they shared, a partnership forged in the crucible of shared goals and mutual ambition.

Dante felt a surge of gratitude toward Sabine, not just for her powers but for her unwavering commitment to their shared vision. It was a testament to their compatibility as business partners and co-conspirators in the grand design they were weaving for Saint Haddock.

As Donovan's resistance faltered, his mind began to succumb to the relentless tide of manipulation. Dante sensed the battle within the Mayor's thoughts, a valiant but ultimately futile struggle against their combined influence. It was a testament to Donovan's determination, but in the face of their powers, it was a losing battle.

Gradually, Donovan's consciousness yielded, and his once-contorted face relaxed into an eerie placidity. Sabine's control over his mind solidified, and Dante could feel the Mayor's thoughts shifting, like pieces on a chessboard being moved by an unseen hand. They had won.

With Donovan now under their sway, Sabine released her grip on his face, leaving behind a small trail of blood from her nails. Her mocking words played like a sinister melody in the room, and Dante watched as the light in Donovan's eyes dimmed, replaced by a vacant, hollow gaze. The Mayor's transformation from a defiant adversary to a compliant puppet was complete.

Sabine's dismissal of Donovan was delivered with an air of casual cruelty, and Dante couldn't help but appreciate the cold, calculated manner in which she wielded her power. As Donovan left the room, Dante remained by Sabine's side, crimson eyes fixed on her as she moved to the desk.

The scattered papers, remnants of Donovan's former authority, held little significance to them now. Sabine's seductive grace took center stage as she seated herself on the wooden desktop and, with deliberate intent, pulled Dante closer by his silk tie. Their lips met in a passionate and bloodstained kiss, the taste of power and victory lingering in the air. Sabine's coy words hinted at her motivations, acknowledging the satisfaction of their successful manipulation and her own desires.

Dante, equally driven by ambition and desire, responded with a hunger that matched Sabine's. Their kiss was a fusion of dominance and longing, a celebration of their shared triumph and a tantalizing glimpse of the future they were forging together.

"For a job well done," Dante murmured against her lips, his voice laced with a sultry undertone, his finger and thumb delicately holding her chin "and for the promise of what lies ahead."

In this moment of shared intimacy and power, their connection deepened, and the vision of their ascendancy over Saint Haddock burned brighter in their hearts and minds.

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Sabine’s heart raced wildly in her chest as their lips locked with each other. A rush of electricity coursed through her body with each touch from Dante. Wrapping her legs around him she roughly began to remove his suit jacket, she wanted him here and now, but a low rumble in the building forced her to stop. She took a moment and focused on the noise below them, the sound of things breaking, screams and the scent of blood sent her to high alert.

“Mistress?” The office door swung open and Sven stood in the doorway, his face riddled with concern.

“What is it?” Sabine hissed and turned to look at Sven without adjusting her position on the desk.

“One of the Wolves has turned and is on the loose,” Sven anxiously looked over his shoulder as another shriek rang out from the Ball, “we need to leave, now.”

“Those fucking idiotic dogs,” Sabine growled and turned back to Dante and gave his tie a disappointed flick and reluctantly slid off the desk. She smoothed out her dress and adjusted her hair while she thought about the options on how to handle the situation.

“I’m going back to Lazarus, I can’t afford to be seen fighting a Werewolf after going around spewing that bullshit about peace,” Sabine sighed and gently reached up to Dante’s lips to wipe away the faint red smears of her lipstick. Heavy, angry footsteps crashed into the office floor as she joined Sven’s side craning her neck around him to take a peek down the hallway. Thankfully whatever chaos was ensuing downstairs hadn’t reached the second floor.

“Send some men to find the Mayor, his safety is of utmost importance. Take him to the city limits so he can safely start on the plans we discussed. Send our car around back, I’ll take that exit to avoid any possible conflict. And make sure I have a blood bag ready for me as well before I rip into the next human throat I see,” She snapped while rubbing her now agitated temples. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. All in all tonight had gone mostly to her plans, but these little hiccups had the potential to ruin everything.

“Jusqu'à la prochaine fois, mon amour,” Sabine she flashed him one last sultry smile before slipping out the door and fleeing for her car.

Location:

The Mayor's Office

Copost w/:

Eldarkon

sugar coded ♡

 

[AlphaBlueWolf]

Cora Undermoore
Blood Moon Ball
Interactions: Sybela ​

The girl was certainly full of charm, but Cora didn't have Declan's eye for investigation, nor could she pick apart every little detail of a sentence to get down to what lay between the lines. She would have no idea if the girl's sweet talking was simply a ploy in order to hoodwink the witch, but then again, she wasn't at all worried about the blonde little girl. Cora saw no threat in her, rather treating her as if she were a tiny rabbit that needed to be protected from the cats and wolves of the ball. "Thank you. Odette is a pretty name too. Unique at that. You hardly see any Odette's nowadays. Though, now I see one." She gave a small chuckle, her eyes straining and dilating, as if they could somehow perform an eloquent gesture as much as a sweeping arm could, referencing the prey the predator had caught in her cat-like gazes.

Cora watched the girl more than she watched what passed under her feet for any signs of the photo. Even though things could be much simpler than Declan thought sometimes, the witch had come to trust his judgement throughout the years, so much so that she never bat an eye towards one of his hunches. If he had disappeared in search of the photo somewhere else, possibly and probably towards one of the attendees, then the only thing she needed to watch was the girl beside her.

Though, even with her burning eyes set upon the girl's frame, she didn't see it coming when Odette's fingers touched her arm, wrapping around it like pushy vines. She almost stopped in her tracks to keep herself from tensing at the touch, only from the pure shock of it rather than being uncomfortable. And she didn't want to give her any hint that she was uncomfortable, because if holding onto her made her feel more confident in the space of the ballroom, then she would let it happen. She forced the surprise out of her muscles before they could tense to show it and shoved away any spark that had entered her eyes. Her eyes, burning with that same glow ever more intensely now, kept that same air about them that she knew what she was doing, and was confident in every step she made. A contradiction of her previous statements to Odette about the clogged ballroom.

"Well, you can start by calling me Cora. And Declan's not a 'sir' of anything." Cora said with a small chuckle, clearly amused by the girl's statements, though not as if she were looking down upon her. Again, it was just another mannerism of the girl, wishing to make up the trouble to the two rather than just giving them a quick thank you like any other person would do, that surprised her rather than off put her. She found herself wondering back to when her and her partner met, and she thought she must've somehow slipped into his shoes tonight. This sense of oddity from all the girl's actions must've been how it felt the first few months of their meeting, before Cora knew anything about the modern world.

"But, in all seriousness, no repayment is needed. Declan and I live for stuff like this, you could say. You're more so really doing us a favor, rather than we you. I mean, you already did me a service with that bloodhound bit. Amazing. You really had Declan wrapped around your finger with that one," She grinned, thinking back to his somewhat stunned face, his eyes shifting to try and tell if the girl was insulting him after she had been flirting with the two of them. Though, like always, he'd compartmentalized that comment to get down to the real business. Whether or not the girl had just called him a dog was less important than finding her treasured possession.

Gently retrieving her hands back from Odette in a way that wouldn't sting her feelings, she lightly brushed her shoulder forward in a way that would gesture for them to carry on moving. She would've allowed the girl to hold onto her had she not felt the insistent buzzing of the phone Declan made her get come from her pocket. Quickly, she fished it out, unlocked it, and read the message from Declan, careful not to make any emotion show. Sending a thumbs up, she put it away and looked towards Odette, taking the lead on the same path they'd been on, but subtly steering them towards an exit. She knew when the Deo Volente were at work, they needed to make themselves scarce. Though she worried about him, she would never not worry, she knew Declan was capable enough on his own, especially with her potions at his hip. And with his DV pals backing him up, they could definitely win against whatever threat made itself known. Cora would've loved to be by his side during all of this, for her own peace of mind, but she had her charge to take care of. And she wouldn't abandon her. "Though, I do like to chat. I feel as if I rarely get to do that. Well, I mean, chats that are not strictly business. We could look for this photo in silence, or we could carry out our nightly obligations in a more pleasant way. I'd much prefer talking to you than any of these folk. Feels to be like just more business. So, what do you say?"

Declan Martin
Blood Moon Ball
Interactions: Ghostiiys Maverick Six Loxely
​

Immediately, Declan's detective eye scanned the girl he'd trapped. He took in the signs of stress, the tightened shoulders and the dilated, almost slitted pupils that reminded him somewhat of Cora's eyes, except the color didn't take up the entire space, and Declan didn't feel the same uneasiness looking upon her that he had when he first met Cora. He found a different feeling, one he wasn't as good as his fellow hunters at pinpointing, but had gotten better in recent years, and with the blood moon heightening the occult races, it made the feeling tingle up and down his arms like Spidey Sense. The feeling that what he was speaking to was not human.

At the woman's reply, Declan's gaze shifted a moment to disappointment. With the averted gaze, mimicking a wolf's respect for one of a higher rank, a gesture that gave him some food for thought to mull over later, he hoped she hadn't noticed as he wiped the expression from his face. He had hoped she would just give the photo up to him without a fight. It's not like he was looking to nail her for the theft. He just wanted it returned to its rightful, innocent owner. Of course, he could be barking up the wrong tree, but the number crunching part of his brain overruled that suggestion. It was the only logical explanation. He didn't think the girl would carelessly drop something that looked so precious to her, and this woman had passed them moments before they discovered the photo missing. The two events had to be connected, he was sure of it.

"Thank you so much. If it's not a bother to you, I'm sure you're itching to go home after all of this. I can't wait to myself." He cocked a half smile, as if he said something he shouldn't have but couldn't completely stop the smile from creeping up on him. "The photo is of a young woman, blonde, Caucasian, looks like that woman over there."

Declan prattled off the details as if he were issuing a BOLO. As he peered out over the crowd, he spotted first Cora's antlered mask crowning her red hair, and then pointed next to her to the blonde girl that currently had her arm wrapped around Cora's. "It's of her sister, actually. She's looking for her, and that's the only picture she has."

The girl could've had a stack of identical pictures back home for all he knew, but he cut around some corners to tell a better sob story, to see if this criminal had heartstrings to tug upon. Though, with the way she reacted towards losing the photo, it was very unlikely that was the case. It made Declan seriously wonder why this girl didn't have it on her phone. Maybe she was not well enough financially to have one? But, whatever she needed, the two would make sure to help her.

Before Declan could continue with his conversation, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Absently, he moved his hand to his pocket and unveiled it to take a quick look at the notification, to see if it had been important enough to grab his attention away. He'd set different sounds for different notifications, and he knew what the buzz meant. A Deo Volente message, the notification buzzing from the encrypted comms they kept, which Declan liked to think of as a glorified group chat. Unfortunately, it was important. "One moment, ma'am." He quickly directed towards the woman before him, sending her an apologetic look.

Keeping the phone close to him so that no one could see, he opened up his phone to the messages waiting for him. Revealed to be from Richter, he briefly flashed his eyes up to see if he could get a glimpse of the man. He knew of those who were supposed to be here from his group, and last time he'd looked Richter had been accompanying their lieutenant for the time being, but it seemed as if he'd moved on. Though, he could no longer see Thomas' group either. He felt somewhat claustrophobic, being so cut off from his teammates, with a predator staring into him, waiting and watching like a cat stalking a mouse.

By the time he looked down at his phone, the third message had popped up. Despite the seriousness of the situation, a part of his brain got caught up on the getaway driver bit. Were they robbers now? Looking around again, he couldn't see anything more than pleasantries being exchanged. Maybe his little side mission to get back a photograph had distracted him too much from his work, while being too much on the outskirts to see any of the brewing tension he'd been able to catch at a glance when he was near to his lieutenant.

Declan didn't think he could do much but wait and forward the messages directly to Octavia. Though he cringed at the thought of messaging his boss, he knew the situation called for him to grow a pair and contact her. Declan well knew his own ideals about the occult races chafed with what Madame believed, and he wasn't stupid enough to bring up peace between the races without skirting around the bush to make it look like he was only interested in the Deo Volente's own continued success. But he was always nervous that she'd catch on to his thoughts, what with him bringing up Cora aiding them whenever they had a need for intelligence, and that nervousness extended into messaging her directly.

He was just about to exit when the bubbles down at the bottom stopped and a new message was sent. His body went rigid, his blood ran ice cold, and he couldn't keep the shock from enveloping his face, or the worry. His eyes hungrily ate up the few bits of information he got in the next message, looking as if someone had just killed his dog. And, in a funny sort of way, that idea could've actually worked. The Saint Haddock werewolves' pack leader was dead. Not only dead. She'd been killed.

Holy fuck. He knew things in the city were getting unstable, dead bodies popping up, but he'd never have anticipated something like this. Killing such a pivotal member in the underground dealings of Saint Haddock. He couldn't claim to have the strongest relationship with Elu Tainn, or much of a relationship at all, but he still mourned her loss like he would anyone else. Cora had dealings with her pack, and he'd have to make sure to tell her directly rather than letting her find out through her little information ring. He knew she'd be even more mournful after growing relations with the pack, helping them out on occasions, even taking visits to care for Elu's son a few times when he'd gotten sick.

Declan sighed a mournful sigh, typing out a quick reply to Richter's messages. "Working on it."

Hastily, before doing anything else regarding his work, he thought of his partner and typed out a message to Cora. That girl hated using phones or electronics, and she often acted like a grandmother trying to use her first phone, but Declan had chastised her enough for not having it on her that she should tonight of all nights. "DV stuff potentially going down. Get her out of here."

Then, as fast as he could, he switched off to directly message Octavia. "Need four armed and one driver sent to the Blood Moon Ball, on standby until messaged directly by me or another in attendance. High probability of an altercation." He sent this one first, knowing the urgency of this task, before typing another message as fast as he could while also keeping a watchful eye for typos.

"Mr. Kenway believes Elu Tainn has been killed and is requesting police to be sent to search for her body. I would advise, if you can, restricting the police from getting word out if this is in fact true. Or sending our own people for this investigation. If we do discover Ms. Tainn dead, I believe requesting an audience with her pack, and telling them ourselves rather than letting them hear the news through rumors would be beneficial. It would allow us better relations with the pack moving forward, if they see this kindness from us, and might also allow for a smoother investigation with little to no resistance from the pack. I urge you to consider this course of action."

Declan didn't know how much weight his words would truly hold, but he believed his boss to be a woman of logic. Presenting the advantage of telling the pack themselves may up his chances of getting what he wanted. Really, all Declan wanted right now was to be considerate of the family unit, knowing how hard they would take her death. The promises of advantages for the Deo Volente regarding this investigation was purely so his boss would be more implored to really consider the option without completely dismissing it upon sight.

With one last look to his phone, seeing the emoji Cora had sent, her one understanding of the strange magical allure of phones that she totally abused, he moved to put his phone back in its original position. He didn't know how long the woman had been standing there, waiting, but, when he put his phone away, an item that definitely didn't look like the latest model, and looked up towards her once more, again his face shifted apologetically. "I was trying to reach them," He fibbed, "Sorry it took so long. I know you're itching to get out of here, but I don't think I can reach them. The service here is absolutely terrible when you're not five feet away from someone. They're searching to see if it got swept under someone's feet accidentally, way over there, I'm just taking a new angle here. A shot in the dark, but you're being so kind about it. It might take too long to get their attention, and I know you're dying to go home, and rightfully so, but if you could let me in the back, I would know it if I saw it."

He gave his best charming smile, his voice staying friendly, apologetic, and grateful towards the woman. He couldn't help feeling like he was approaching a cornered animal here, and he was willing to do whatever it took to take her off the ledge. Partially, he wished to speed things along because of the coming danger. If this woman handed over the photograph and untangled herself from the ball, she likely wouldn't get caught up in this mess. Likewise, he would be free to assist Cora in getting the innocent girl they'd engaged with out before any altercation occurred and assist his fellow Deo Volente when it did occur. Because it would. He thought back to his conversation with Cora upon meeting up with her. "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 seemed the detective's inkling had been right all along. As it always was.

 

[DarkKitsune]

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

Spoiler: Dress

The conversation felt like it was over, as everyone involved disengaged from the conversation. Before she left for a different part of the bar, she listened to what Thomas said about keeping her courage. She assumed that at least meant her act was a believable one. However, what freaked her out had been finding out Thomas was a Deo volente from the way everyone was talking and that he was apparently a leutient she hit a high ranking Deo Volente with her wooden broomstick. People she was not an expert on could hear rumors coming in and out of her shop, but she never attempted to put faces to their names. Silvermist's Specialty are items and objects which depending on what it was, she would only sell if the customer in question knew enough about to prevent a possibly dangerous out come. She couldn't see the future. Some people were just not the brightest bulbs. That rule was for the sake of everyone involved. However, to her knowledge, the Deo Volente weren't people to mess around with. It seemed like she was let off. However, she couldn't tell if it was a warning or something worse didn't happen due to witnesses. It could also be both. She apologizes to Cordelia briefly before picking up her glass cup and making her way to a different part of the bar. As it grew later, the grasp on her magic would become more difficult. The thing was she didn't use it enough to notice. She was still learning and hardly had a use for it in her shop. She didn't realize attending a simple event could be so... draining and worrisome. Everyone seemed worried about something and, quite frankly, she had already prepared for the worst. She could pretend to be confident all she wanted, but at the end of the night it's not like she could fool her mind into thinking about something else. She kept her broom stick in one hand and a glass of water in the other. If the ball was attacked one way or something, she hopefully had a chance to hold out with her odd way of self defense. Everything was odd about the ball, to be fair, including the people. However...the difference was they were dangerous.​

 

[Maverick Six]

The Hawthorne Hotel​

---

The immaculate hotel lobby was quiet on this night -- for many personal had been deployed about the city to deal with any incidents which might have resulted from those who couldn't keep themselves in check. This night, during the blood red moon.

Yet an unfortunate few would be selected for a task.

"You, you and you. You're with me. We're going to the Bloodmoon ball. Ms Moretti's orders." Oliver, Fricis, Rolando and Renard.

"Just us?" Fricis asked.

"For now." Renard replied. "Rolando. You drive." The three of them exchanged glances wordlessly. But they got up immediately. All of them. And the four of them combined walked from the hotel bare handed. Their noses with the stench of Downtown Saint Haddock. Trash. Exhaust. And a sprinkle of body unwashed body odor hailing from an underpass, if one paid enough attention to it. Their eyes scanned the area for anything security might have missed, habitually aware from training and experience for anything which might have been amiss. And yet they all had looked like they could be any other person. None of them wore anything out of the ordinary. Between jeans, T-shirts, button ups, long sleeves and jackets.

To an onlooker, they were just a group of guys about to hit the town.

The group of four began to pile into a heavy duty, bullet resistant suburban. And everyone got fairly comfortable. They adjusted their seats to give them space. And they reached into the back to a case filled to the brim with rifles. Colt 933 AKA M4 "Commando", known for it's short length for tight quarters. They carried with them specially made ranger RXT's, known for their stopping power but compromising on armor piercing. Fricis had for himself a Benelli M4 Shotgun. Each person received a long, metal knife akin to a rondel dagger -- a medieval weapon used to seamlessly stake vampires once again. Each carried with them a limited amount of silver tipped ammunition -- made from hollowpoints filled with the substance at the bottom of the hotel's basement. One mag each. Along with about four silver shotgun shells for Fricis.

KLCK KLCK

The question was followed by rack of a charging handle. Followed by the satisfying sound of a bolt catch. "So what's the situation there?" Asked Fricis.

"Apparently things have escalated at the ball. Who would have thought, right?" Renard asked sarcastically.

"So what's the plan?" Asked oliver.

"We go there. We look. And then we wait for a call. Intel comes from Richter."

"That maniac? Guy like that'll probably be dead by the time we get there knowing his charm. Not mention, apparently the guy's a fucking knife nut of all things. Fuck up that much, no wonder he's got so many scars. You know how many of those fangers and furries are there? Who's with him?" Said Fricis.

"New guy Jacques had to bail. So we got Delcan. That former cop. And that woman who tags along with him." The others nodded

"At least we got a medic eh? And a cop on roid-I mean, who's got some fancy potions" Fricis said, picking a first aid kit and sliding it under the seat -- making sure everyone knew where exactly it was.

"And Barret." Each person in the van exchanged glances. "The Lieutenant? Where on god's green earth has he been?" Was the reply. "Don't know. But he's with us apparently. And that's all we need to know. Also, he's missing an arm." There was a deadpan silence within the car. "Perfect." A less than optimal situation. But situations as of late were rarely ideal. Particularly in Paradise City, it seemed.

The quiet was cut through as the Suburban's engine began to purr. "We good to go?" Said Rolando finally. Renard gave a quiet nod. And he peered as he began to back out of the parking lot. And soon drive down the street. As the left the lavish hotel's parking lot, they were soon greeted a montage of struggling stores and abandoned shops. A few of them eyed a series of tents pitched beneath an underpass, before returning their gaze about themselves. There was little in the realm of much to say between them.

The Regency​

---

On this night, the sun had shone red. And it bathed Saint Haddock in it's blood-colored rays.

"Drive up and don't stop. We'll take a quick peak and then circle back around. Find a spot down the street from where we just came." Renard ordered.

The SUV drove by in a manner not unlike any other car. And the four of them gave the place a side eye -- sizing it up and assessing the situation outside for a few brief moments. A few guards outside. Metal detectors. The usual one might expect.

"Any word?" Oliver asks, looking at his phone himself at the Ball's group's encrypted chat. But so far, there was nothing. "Nothing." Renard says simply. And the truck goes around, looping back but slipping into a handicapped parking spot along the side of the road-- ready to dart in front of the regency at a moment's notice. The engine hums faintly. Taciturn and ever observant, the driver finally speaks up as he notes something unusual.

"Look at all these damn birds posted up around here." He said, looking at the creatures, who seemed to almost be looking around. Watching them all. "Place creeps me out. I feel like they're watching me." Each of them looked about, but said nothing of it. There was not much to go off, when it came to such Soon, their eyes find something more relevant. They scanned the environment diligently, but many of them quietly began to feel a similar air. There was an abundance of eyes. And it felt like they were watching them. Along with everything else.

"Look." Said Rolando.

Suddenly however, their attention.

"Gear up and get ready." He said. And the group would obey. They checked their chambers and glanced at their magazines. Each put armor atop the clothes they were already wearing. And each of them wore a long coat. The engine continued to hum as each of them shift and shuffled within the confines of their spacious and heavy-duty SUV. "Keep the engine warm. And be ready to ram one of these motherfuckers if you need to. And give us cover."

"Got it." Rolando offered curtly.

"Fricis. Your pointman. I'm breacher. Oliver, you're slackman. Soon as Richter or or Delcan gets here, they'll relieve point. It'll probably be Richter, given he's an experienced pointman. Seems to also know more about what's happening." Commands had been met with affirmation from each person involved. They stuffed flashbangs into their jackets and carried first aid kits onto their person. All hidden beneath the veil of a coat, so that the occasional passerby would be none the wiser. Rolando squinted...and slowly rolled down his window just a bit and strange noises began to come from the ball.

Almost like screaming.

It was audible from even here. A silence envelops the SUV as the Deo Volente Agents listened dutifully, yet not responding immediately. "We wait for the call. Again, according to Richter, we go in without it, we die." Said Renard decisively. To which he met nothing in the realm of a question. Only a single, disgruntled comment.

"I hope whatever this is all for is worth it."