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

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Interactions: AlphaBlueWolf AlphaBlueWolf Mentions: Sybela Sybela RedLeftHand36 RedLeftHand36
Otsana Raya
Location: Blood Moon Ball

Otsana's mind raced with anxiety and fear. Her night of indulgence had come to a crashing end, and now she was facing the consequences. The man who had confronted her was confident and intimidating, and his mere presence sent shivers down her spine.

"It's of her sister, actually," the man said. "She's looking for her, and that's the only picture she has."

Otsana's gaze darted to the crowd, where she saw a woman standing, her face etched with worry. Otsana felt a pang of guilt. She already felt like a dirtbag for stealing, but now seeing the woman's pain made her feel even worse. Otsana took a deep breath and tried to calm herself down. She needed to think clearly. She needed to find a way out of this situation. Before Otsana could utter another word, a buzzing erupted from the man's pocket, followed by an apologetic look that flashed across his face. It was clear that this was unexpected for him.

"It's fine," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape route. This was the perfect opportunity to slip into the crowd and disappear. Or maybe she could just pull out the photo, play it off as a mistake, and hope for the best?

She glanced at the man again. Whatever was on his phone now had his full attention. His eyes were narrowed in focus, and his jaw was clenched. Otsana couldn't help but feel a flicker of curiosity. She had always been a bit of a chismosa, after all. Internally she shook her head and began to reach for where she had placed the photo. She would just hand it to him while he was distracted and them promptly run off into the night.

Her head was pounding and her throat felt dry. The same feelings she would have when she transformed and it terrified her.

"Actually..." she spoke. This would take only a second, and then she could leave.

She reached for the photo, her fingers expecting the thin sheet of printing paper. Instead, she felt the quick brush of rough fur. Her heart skipped a beat. She pulled her hand back, her eyes widening in shock. She looked down at her fingers and where a photo was supposed to be, emptiness took its place. Otsana's keen eyes darted around the room, searching for the culprit.

There it was, that damn cat she forgot about! It was weaving its way through the crowd, its small paws scurrying across the floor. Otsana could see the photo in its mouth, its tail flicking back and forth triumphantly. Otsana's heart sank. Instinctively she lunged for the cat, but it was too quick for her. It darted under a table and disappeared from sight. Otsana followed on her hands and knees, but the cat was gone. She crawled back out from under the table, her face flushed with frustration. She stood up and looked around, but there was no sign of the cat.

"FUCK!" Otsana slammed her foot on the ground, the heel of her foot pounding the hard floor with a resounding thud. Her expression was a thundercloud, her eyes narrowed in fury. The rising feeling of frustration, anger, and tension was beginning to crack at her psyche, threatening to overwhelm her. Before she could express her feelings in any sort of meaningful way, she was interrupted by the man she was speaking with earlier. She had totally forgotten he was there after the cat escaped.

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."
"Oh shit." Otsana screamed internally. She felt her heart pounding in her chest as her getaway ticket ran under the table and disappeared into the crowd of drunkards. Her palms were sweaty and her vision blurred. Otsana's eyes darted around the room, her mind racing. She had to think of a way out, but the bombardment of feelings was making it hard to focus.

She stammered. "You see... about that..." filling the silence with a bunch of "um's" and "so's." She needed to think something fast but she couldn't focus on anything besides her laboured breathing.

Suddenly, screams of terror erupted from the other side of the room. Otsana whipped her head around, but the crowd was too dense to see anything. One scream multiplied exponentially, and the crowd began to disperse erratically. Otsana could smell the fear in the air. It hung thick and heavy, like a suffocating blanket. She looked around and saw people falling and slipping, crawling on the ground in an attempt to escape from whatever was terrifying them. Otsana could hear the sounds of something animalistic, inhuman, and frightening. It was a primal sound that sent shivers down her spine.

The crowd surged around her, pushing and shoving. Otsana was jostled and bumped, but she kept her feet. She couldn't see what the people were running from, but she knew it was something bad. She could feel the panic rising within her, but she refused to give in. She saw a man fall in front of her. He was trampled by the crowd, but no one stopped to help him. Otsana watched in horror as the man was trampled underfoot. She realized that the people in the crowd were no better than the thing they were running from. They were like crabs in a bucket, pulling each other down to survive.

Otsana felt a wave of nausea wash over her. She had to get out of there. "What is happening?!" Otsana screamed looking at the man next to her , but her voice was barely heard over the symphony of terror. In the distance, she heard a low rumble, like the roar of a thousand beasts. It was then that her nose picked up a familiar scent. One that she tried her best to avoid.

The air was thick with the smell of blood.




code by serobliss
 












Odette




















































































































































  • mood












    Frightened





































































Whatever train of thought Odette held, simply vanished at the pure chaos that unleashed itself in such an unbridled way. One moment she was being helped by Cora, the next? People were barging to and fro in an attempt to get away from whatever caused the panic.

Like a child, she shot her hand back out towards Cora, fingertips barely touching the other girls arm before a couple people seperated them, followed by a few more.

Her momentary vision of the polite lady was filled with bobbing heads and colourful dresses, her spot next to Cora taken by the horde of heels. Odette, in a state of confusion, stepped back against the crowd and found herself promptly knocked on her hands and knees.

Was there a hound on the loose? Did someone get bitten? Each attempt to regain her footing ended with herself sprawled back onto the floor, the weight of people above her setting her chest in a fluttered panic, her heart practically jumped to her throat at the possibility of death by stampede.

Odette crawled where opportunity found itself, her small body careening through the gaps and crevices of legs and feet until, finally, she touched something solid. A simple fleeting emotion of relief immediately vanished when the cruel contorted body of a man revealed itself to her.

Body pierced by the tip of heels, limbs broke beyond all repair and a face that was swollen, jaw stiff yet hanging quite precariously as if the man had died screaming beneath the stampede. The sight of his head caved in sent bile to her throat and a sting to her eyes.

Her fingers that had been curled into the clothing quickly let go and she held her hand close to her chest as if she had just been burned. While there was no fire, clearly something was stoking the flames.

Ringing filtered into her head, a high-pitched frequency that blocked out the noise around. Odette felt the breath catch in her throat, and struggled to calm her palpitating pulse. Eyes wide, frenzily glancing back and forth whilst she dragged herself towards a wall.

Gone the thought of a photograph. Vanished was the lingering memory of her sister. She felt sick, too nauseous to move from her newfound spot in the corner. She managed to steady herself with a hand to the wall, albeit shakily.

Breath wouldn’t come to her, thoughts all jumbled up on repeat, an itch that reminded her of a broken record, jumping on the spot over and over and over again. The noise gradually getting worse until something louder, cacophonous spilled into the room that almost silenced it.

Still hyperventilating, Odette scanned the crowd for Cora, or even Declan. She came up short both times, even her attempt at a shout came out like a choked sound.

She was fine, everything was fine. She was off the floor, away from the dead body and pressed against a far wall. A tad bit bruised, maybe cut here and there from her sloppy falling, but fine nonetheless.

Lashes fluttered to a close, the clench in her jaw and furrow between the brows making her attempt at calming herself evident. Somehow, it worked.

Odette regained her composure somewhat, her fingers still trembled at her chest and her legs felt like Bambi on ice but the stress of not catching that next breath was gone.

Now where was Cora, or anyone remotely familiar?

Or more importantly, were they okay?






















































♡coded by uxie♡
 
  • Charlotte dismissed her, and for the second time tonight, Dani felt more than slightly peeved at being ignored. The vampire's entourage started to whisk her away, and she was forced to follow. Thankfully, Richter was harder to ignore, the Deo Volente agent's initiative putting him between Charlotte and the exit. The smell of burning flesh tinged the air, smoke rising with holy impunity as it indelibly marked impure flesh. It made her want to laugh; the way the leech's audacity vanished with her smug smile. She had to hand it to him, the monster hunter knew how to take control of a situation, and working in tandem with his agenda was giving her precious room for maneuvering.

    The moon was rising, and with it, her window for action closing. The genii were suddenly in a panic, but their attention wasn't on the attempted hostage situation in front of her, rather the one she had sent after Cassius was buzzing back and forth between her and the men's bathroom. 'That's the same bathroom as- Fuck!' Taking a look at the scene before her, she made an executive decision, pursing her lips and letting out a low whistle, the genii abandoned its lightshow and returned to her mask.

    With one fluid motion, she grabbed the Glock from where it was concealed on her belt, working the slide with her other hand to chamber the first bullet. Drawing a bead on the shapeshifter, Dani pointed towards Richter with her chin, "You heard the man." The Genius Locus that had been with Cassius spoke to her, a single word, and her stomach dropped.

    "FUCK! Change of plans. Everyone out." She took out her phone, dropping it on the counter and grabbing the nearest piece of cutlery. With a grunt she brought the fork down on the back of the phone with enough force to shatter the case. The tines of metal cut into the lithium-ion battery, and almost immediately the cutlery began to heat up as it bridged the circuit between anode and cathode. Her battery was nearly full, thermal runaway would occur in only a few seconds.

    She dropped the phone, fork and all, onto the floor, before kicking it in Richter's direction. Then she fired her gun. The rubber bullet collided with the glass of the bottle he held in his hand, causing an explosion of silicon and ethanol droplets. A single drop of the absinthe touched the fork as it began to glow with barely contained malice, and it ignited. The burst of heat caused the rest of the fluid to ignite, and a fireball erupted next to Charlotte and Richter. Flames lapped at the wall of the older building as the plush red carpeting smoldered and caused the fire to spread.

    The fire alarm began to ring, water misting gently down from the sprinklers as Dani darted into the bathroom after her packmate. "Edward, are you in here you old fart?" Ed? Edward!" One hand gripped her gun, knuckles white as she squeezed the polymer handle with much more force than was necessary. Her other hand fingered the wolfsbane charm that hung around her neck. A spirit of temperance sat within it, keeping her soul calm despite the scarlet rage of Luna.

    She rounded a corner, and


    Ȇ̸̢̠͍͈̫̮̲͚̝̾͆́̄͑̇͑̀̌͌͘͝ͅv̷̛̻̹̭͍͕̬̱͔͛̉̓̆̌̄̕͜͜͠͝͝ͅe̴̼̝̱̐̈́̃̃̓̿r̶̡̡̯͎̱̖̩̝̖̖̩̺̠̋̽͊͌̎̀͌̋͝y̶̧̠͍̫̩̰̱͇̾̅̃t̶͔̋͠h̸̛͕̉̿̿̇̌̒̑́̓̿̀̈͘͠i̴̢̢͉̻͕̬͙͉͉͇̭̗̲̇̍͗̆̃͂ͅņ̶̮̮͙͚̱͛̔͆̀͑́̊́͗͌ͅģ̸̛̛͕̘̬͍͕̓̑͌́͋͑̅̿̄͝͝ͅ.̷̨̫̜̣̦̺̖̗̙̯̟̾̄̈̂͗͐.̸̗̼̻̮̬̥͔͗̍̀̌̆́͊͝͠ͅ.̶̨̒̒̃͊͘̕͘


    ̵̝̹̱̘͇͔͎̤̞̳͔̹̽̏̀̇̍̏̑̈͝.̷̛̳͊̍̏́̿̕͠.̸̢̡̙̩̝̻̠̀͜.̴̨̨̨͙͕̟̭̽̅̀̔̈́̆̿ͅ


    ̷̻̟̜̟̣̎̐͠B̶̨͖̣̗͔̞̘͔͔͜͠l̵̛̫̰͔̩̘͔̳̥͈̓̂̒͐̿̑̽͑̚͠͝͝a̸̫͑̉͒̄̋c̸͙̝̾̽̋͒k̸̟̈́͋̓͆͌̈́̇̂̽̕.̷̢̲̙͈̥̹̺͇̠͇̟̠̮͔̖̆

 
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Iva Villalobos
Interactions: Charon Eldarkon Eldarkon
Mentions: Thomas, Sabine, Richter, Dani, Charlotte​

Iva listened intently as Charon spoke, a diligent pupil taking in advice that could very well save her life. Unlike many other werewolves, she was not dangerously stubborn, adaptability was what had saved her life and allowed the vampire to mold her into an an adept agent of duplicity. Change was necessary to survival, which was why Iva took every utterance from her handler's mouth as gospel. He had lived much longer than her, and was much more adept at survival, something her own pack had failed miserably at teaching her.

"I'll keep my eyes and ears open, words might be measured tonight but with emotions running high and alcohol flowing someone is bound to slip." Thomas' outburst earlier had already proven that to be true, it seemed the Deo Volente were not quite as tactful in their dealings as they claimed to be. The vampires, especially the mysterious Sabine, seemed well-adept at getting under the skin just enough to elicit the foolish emotional reaction they wanted. It was admirable, as long as Iva wasn't on the receiving end of it.

"I appreciate your protection, as always. You needn't worry though, as you said, I've learned from the very best." The corners of her lips quirked up into a smile, a playful grin despite how truthfully she meant those words. Something tightened in her chest at Charon's words, to know that there was someone who truly did care about whether she walked out of here alive or not. Her own pack had not cared enough about her survival on that fateful night, it had been the vampire from that day onward who had given her the tools needed to keep herself alive, to give her a chance at making something of herself. It was a debt she could never repay, but would continue to try to make his investment worthwhile.

The higher the Blood Moon rose, the more ill-at-ease Iva felt in her human form. Hidden claws threatened to rip at her own flesh, the wolf within her frantically trying to shed her human skin for a much more sinister form. Her face felt feverish as she restlessly tapped her fingers against her crossed arms, barely hanging onto the threads of civility she had left under the moon's ministrations. Though she tried to focus on the body language and movements of the key players in the room, her eyes found themselves lingering on the vital veins of the Deo Volente, bloodlust singing sweetly to coax the raging beast out of her. It wouldn't be long until the transformation swallowed her, and with the fanned flames of tension rising around them, she wasn't sure she wanted to be around when her pack all shifted at once.

As fate would have it, chaos would not wait for the moon's call to overpower them. A commotion from the direction of the bathroom had her on full alert, using their vantage point from the stairs to see through the crowd. The scent of burning flesh hit her nostrils moments before she turned to find Richter's firm grasp on a woman who looked like Dani...except that Dani was walking right up to them with a feral look that meant nothing but trouble. Before she could fully assess the situation, Dani was brandishing a weapon, firing a single shot and causing an explosion at the vampire's feet. The screaming was all she could hear after that, the frenzy of scrambling bodies and terrified shouting too much for even her heightened senses to make much sense of. The game at hand was over, the board had been flipped entirely to make way for a battle of blood instead of wits.

The moment she spotted two werewolves hurtling through the crowd in a rage of fur and claws, she reached into that wild part of her soul to prepare to defend herself, only to come up painfully empty. Panic overtook the ferality that had been building within her, the stone-cold realization that she couldn't shift had her scrambling for a backup plan, stepping partially behind Charon, the only form of protection she had at the moment, emerald eyes wide as she grappled with her sudden inability to fight. Somehow she'd ingested wolfsbane, likely in the drinks she'd so greedily consumed in the haze to calm her nerves.

"I can't shift." The tremor in her voice disgusted her, a slip of weakness that had her inwardly recoiling, but the Blood Moon had all of her senses and emotions heightened, and her innate nature to survive at any cost won out over the violence trying to pry itself free. Part of being strong was knowing when you were beaten, and trapped in her weak human flesh was a dangerous position for her to be in amidst what was sure to be a bloodbath. She steadied herself with a ghost of a hand on Charon's arm, mind whirling with the outcome of each possible scenario.

"I'm useless in this form, but it's best I not get involved in such a public way." Frustration tinged her voice, more a soft growl than a whisper as her inner beast raged against the cage of flesh it was contained within. As it turned out, Charon had been right after all. Charm wouldn't be nearly enough to save her in a situation like this, unable to shift while violence permeated the ballroom. The rational part of her, the predator's mind that Charon had helped to shape, knew that involving herself in a brawl between species was possibly the worst thing she could do for herself at this very moment, it would immediately blow the cover she had been working so hard to hide under. Still, the blood-thirsty creature within her wanted nothing more than to use the unfolding mayhem as an excuse to rip the Deo Volente's throats out, to taste the revenge she craved in such a primal way.

Unfortunately, the rational side won out. Keeping a low-profile was necessary to her survival, running headfirst into this mess was the opposite of what her mentor had taught her. With the hand not leaned against Charon for support, Iva flexed her powers, a spark of moonlight bursting forth from her fingertips. A sigh of relief washed over her, confirmation that she was not entirely useless without her true form. This would be enough to protect herself if it came down to it, a way to help Charon should he need assistance in the turmoil spreading around them like wildfire.

"I'll keep myself out of the direct fight as long as I can and focus on healing injuries, but I'll stay as close as I can to you without putting myself in the way." Iva firmly met Charon's eyes for a brief moment, ensuring they were on the same page before they were consumed by the fray. Brute strength would not save her, but strategy would. "I'll have your back." Iva dipped her head in acknowledgement before taking off into the edges of the ballroom, keeping a keen eye on the noteworthy people in the room, gauging their reactions and intentions as they navigated the madness. She grabbed the first injured person she could, hauling enough out of the way to inspect their injuries while still remaining close enough to watch Charon's back as he sprung into action.

A bloodbath at the Blood Moon Ball and she didn't even get to spill any herself.
 
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Riaan Joseph

Location: The Regency's Roof
Sepokku Sepokku ​


Riaan’s face grew grim as he stared through the scope at the scene. Screams filled the room as crowds of people pushed in a panic towards the exit, champagne glasses flying from their hands and shattering across the floor, the leftover pieces trampled by panicked lambs who tripped and stumbled over their clumsy bodies. The prey in the slaughterhouse, the humans who had thought this soirée would be a night of peace, a night where all would come together under a moon bathed in blood, holding hands and singing happily.

He knew–he could tell from the very beginning, as if the wolf inside could sense it, as if it was written in the stars, that this ball would end in nothing except disaster.

After he’d retrieved his weapon, he’d found a position on the roof of the regency and perched himself just next to one of the grand skylights that allowed the crimson glow of the moon to seep into the party. He had shed his jacket during the climb (as if he’d even miss the tight-fitting thing) and now sat with rolled-up sleeves as he loaded his rifle with four specific bullets.

Silver bullets. Cannot be too careful, even against your own kind. One by one, they slid in with a satisfying click. From his position, he could see most of the surroundings, and one thing in particular stood out to him. An engine hummed as the same SUV circled around the regency for the fifth time, trailing the scent of exhaust, gunpowder, and four human bodies drowned in their own sweat. A certain scent that could either be found in a pigsty, or by the so-called peacekeepers. No doubt, their backup.

Other pigs had crept their way into the regency, anyway, and soon enough, the place would be swarming with them. His scope landed on the one who had been chatting with Dani. His protective side wanted to say to hell with it all and introduce his head to the bullet. Yet, he knew it wouldn’t do anything except escalate the violence, putting his pack inside the building in an unsafe position, more so than they already were. On top of that, the enforcer seemed preoccupied with someone he did not recognize–ideally, the problem would remove itself soon.

The same went for the Lieutenant. He watched the man from his position with barely disguised disdain. A limping, insignificant creature, barely able to lick its own wounds. Riaan would be more than willing to put the sick dog to sleep. Then, with a face of stone, the Lieutenant began to move, removing his mask and striding towards someone across the regency. Worried that the pyromancer was about to start something, on instinct, Riaan leveled the rifle at Thomas’ head and–

Suddenly, fire erupted from a blast enacted by none other than Dani, as flames consumed the regency, inciting further panic amongst the remaining humans. He wanted to shout and whisk the rest of his pack to safety, but he watched through the scope as she disappeared into the bathroom, of all places.

“That isn’t the fucking exit…” he spoke gravelly under his breath while he moved his scope to the other pup, the newest member of the pack. Hip to fucking hip with that vampire—still. His eyes narrowed, but now was not the time for conspiracies.

Something clenched his stomach as he felt… an unfathomable disgust emanating from the bathroom. The same one his mechanic had run into. He pointed his rifle back in that direction, his eyes widened, and, as if possessed by abject horror, he pulled the trigger with a reverberating bang.




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Thomas Barrett



Thomas watched with narrowed eyes as Richter disappeared into the crowd on his mission to secure the weakest link. Though he spoke in subtext, the Lieutenant could gather the meaning quickly. The mirror that walked amongst the vampires. Fragile, vulnerable creature. Undoubtedly, having one of the DeLormè sisters under their protection would be ideal for their cause, and would secure an upper hand against the Lazarus vampires.

He nodded, and whispered, “Good luck.” Though, not that Richter would need it as he went to capture the vampire. He’d proven plenty skilled enough.

Thomas, however, had other plans.

Perhaps it was fate that led him here tonight, led him to the same place that his family’s murderer would be, the vampire that had been the catalyst for all the unraveling chaos. The idea of his revenge consumed him, gnawed at him, blinded him as if all other thoughts had been dowsed as steam emanated from his boiling blood. Like a statue, he stood amongst the growing, frenzied crowd, though he did not pay it any mind as the people flowed around him in a blur. Whatever they ran from could not be more important than what he wanted–no, needed to do.

As the crowd parted, Thomas could see him. Standing like a proud messiah to his cause. Cassius. His heart pounded in his ears as his feet began to move, his hand grasping the side of his mask before tossing it to the floor, the visage of a deer abandoned with a clatter as a gunshot rang out, and with it, a raging explosion. All of it happened simultaneously, as the expanding fire seemed to fuel something inevitable within Thomas. He did not notice as the sprinkler system showered the cool water from above, as if the embrace of the blood moon protected him from his weaknesses for tonight. Water could not touch him; nothing could touch him. He felt invincible.

When he finally emerged, standing before the vampire he saw seventeen years ago, he could not help but smile. A manic grin stretched across his face. Everything he had worked up to led to this moment. After this, after it was all over, no matter how it ended, he’d be free.

“Cassius,” he spoke slowly, as smoke billowed from his mouth, mixing with the tense atmosphere. Then he shook his head, and continued, “Words are not enough. I will kill you, even if it is the last thing I do.”


 
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Interactions/Mentions: Loomis Loomis Loxely Loxely zlexis zlexis Maverick Six Maverick Six
Dante​
Dante couldn't help but smirk as Sabine passionately kissed him, the sparks between them igniting with each fervent touch. He responded with equal ardor, his hands gliding along her figure, poised to remove his jacket and yield to her desires. The building excitement was palpable, and they were on the cusp of surrendering to their passion when a low rumble interrupted their heated moment. Sabine's focus shifted from her desires to the commotion below, where the once harmonious event had descended into chaos. The noise of breaking objects, terrified screams, and the scent of blood hung heavy in the air. It was a stark reminder that, despite their intimate engagement, their reality was fraught with danger.

Sabine, though reluctantly, withdrew from Dante's embrace, the disruption putting a pause to their desires. She adjusted her attire and hair, the moment of intimacy now overshadowed by the urgent situation at hand. Her disappointment was evident as she flicked his tie and took a step back. Sven's concerned presence at the door further emphasized the seriousness of the situation. A werewolf had turned rogue, an unpredictable threat to their carefully laid plans. Sabine's expression reflected her irritation at this unwelcome twist in the night's events.

She made a decision swiftly. It was unwise for her to engage in combat with a werewolf after publicly advocating for peace. Her priorities shifted to the bigger picture. She needed to ensure her safety and that of the mayor. Sabine planned to retreat to Lazarus, and she instructed her loyal servant Sven on how to proceed. Before leaving, she reached out to Dante, her thumb gently wiping away the smudges of her lipstick from his lips. Sabine's sultry smile held both a promise and a regret. "Jusqu'à la prochaine fois, mon amour," she whispered before fleeing the office.

Sabine's departure left Dante with a mix of emotions. The intensity of their encounter still lingered in the air, but the urgency of the situation had overridden the immediate desires. With a lingering sense of longing, Dante straightened his suit, adjusting his tie with a sigh. He spared a moment to glance at the mirror, almost as if searching for some answer within his own reflection before turning his attention back to the unfolding chaos.

Dante made his way out of the Mayor's office. He swiftly brought his tattooed wrist wrist to his mouth to send a telepathic message to Charon as he made his way to the second floor balcony. "Charon," Dante's voice was calm, but there was a note of urgency, "We've got a situation. As you might have noticed, the ballroom has turned into a battleground. Sabine is retreating to Lazarus. I need you to stand back and gather intel. There's something more to this situation, something she's not telling me." Dante then ended the call his eyes now drawn to the spectacle below.

From his vantage point on the second level, Dante observed Thomas' confrontation with Cassius. The tension in the air was palpable, and despite the chaos, Dante couldn't help but be amused by the situation. Thomas, fueled by revenge, stood tall, his determination etched across his face. The dance of power and vendetta was a familiar one, and Dante, ever the observer, was curious about how it would unfold. Yet, he remained at a distance, watching the interaction with a calculating gaze. There was more to Cassius than met the eye, and Dante intended to uncover those hidden layers. He knew better than to underestimate the ancient vampire.

As the first clashes of violence echoed through the ballroom, Dante made a decision. He would remain in the shadows, observing, waiting for the opportune moment to reveal his hand. In the chaos, the true nature of individuals often surfaced, and Dante was keen on seeing what masks would fall away tonight. The Blood Moon had a way of revealing the darkest truths, and Dante was prepared to exploit them to his advantage.
Virgil​
Amidst the turmoil of the Blood Moon Ball, as Lottie's transformation and Richter's confrontation unfolded, Virgil couldn't just stand by and watch. His duty as Lottie's protector was unwavering. As Lottie's new, fearsome form emerged, he understood the raging conflict within her. Her desire to take action, to confront their enemies, was something that resonated with his own commitment to safeguarding her. The situation had escalated beyond control, and Lottie's stubborn refusal to retreat stirred his concern. The confrontation with Richter seemed destined to become a catalyst for further chaos. While he respected Lottie's spirit, he also feared the repercussions of her actions.

As he moved to step in, to pursue Lottie and confront Richter, the clash between Richter and the guard was perplexing. The display of power was beyond that of a mere human, and it left Virgil with a sense of disquiet. The eerie silence Richter held in the midst of this commotion only deepened the mystery. Virgil followed Lottie's path, slipping through the crowd, and as he reached the scene, he witnessed the exchange between her and Richter. The searing contact between Richter's hand and Lottie's skin sent shockwaves through the supernatural community. A mark of divine origin branded upon her flesh, an emblem of protection and repulsion.

Richter's words echoed with enigmatic intent. His observation of Lottie's disposition towards another figure, presumably Cassius, hinted at intricate alliances and vendettas hidden from Virgil's knowledge. The tactical separation of Lottie from her guards and the brewing confrontation with Richter raised the stakes, and Virgil understood the complexity of the situation. The Night was poised on the edge of chaos, and as Lottie stood at the center, her choices held the power to tip the balance. With determination in his heart, Virgil couldn't help but wonder how the night had unfolded into such a perilous situation. With his duty to protect Lottie never more critical, he approached Richter and Lottie, poised to intervene, to ensure her safety, and to address the veiled intentions of the enigmatic Richter.

Virgil approached Richter with a fiery resolve that rivaled the intensity of the Blood Moon itself. His eyes were ablaze with a blend of concern for Lottie and a determination to protect her at all costs. As he stepped forward, the ambient moisture in the air coalesced into a crimson mist around his outstretched hand, a subtle manifestation of his blood manipulation abilities
Richter's enigmatic demeanor, his uncanny control over the situation, was a puzzle to Virgil. He knew there was more at play than met the eye. But he couldn't allow Lottie to be a pawn in some cryptic game. She was under his protection, and her safety was non-negotiable.

Virgil's eyes blazed with a fierce protectiveness, his resolve hardening like steel. His father had given Lottie into his care, and he would not waver now, not in the face of whatever dark alliances or mysteries surrounded Richter. "Back away from her asshole" he commanded, his voice laced with an ominous edge. The transformation of Lottie and the mysterious mark seared into her flesh had intensified his protective instincts. The Blood Moon had unleashed a tempestuous force within Lottie, and now, it was Virgil's role to be the bulwark against the impending storm.

"You've meddled enough, mortal," Virgil growled, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of battles. "Whatever your game is, it ends here. Lottie is under my protection. You've marked her, but that doesn't mean I won't tear you apart if you pose a threat." The mist around his hand began to coalesce, shaping into tendrils of crimson energy that danced with an eerie grace. It was a display of power, a prelude to the potential violence that might ensue. In his mind, there was no room for subtlety or negotiation. Lottie's well-being was paramount, and he was willing to face any adversary who threatened it. He advanced further, now within striking distance of Richter. "I won't ask again," Virgil snarled, his features twisted with the fierce resolve to confront the enigmatic man. "Step away from her, or you'll have more than just her blood to contend with." The warning was a mix of anger, concern, and an unmistakable threat, echoing through the tension-filled air.
Charon​
In the midst of the chaos that was now erupting within the Blood Moon Ball, Charon observed Iva's transformation from the diligent pupil to a keen and resourceful agent. Her adaptability was one of her greatest assets, and her ability to learn quickly was something Charon deeply appreciated. This chaotic situation was a test of her training and their shared understanding. As Iva grappled with the increasing feral nature brought on by the Blood Moon and her inability to shift due to the unexpected presence of wolfsbane, Charon remained steadfast and cool-headed. He was fully aware that charm alone wouldn't be sufficient to deal with this bloodbath, and it was precisely these kinds of situations he had been preparing her for.

"Iva, you're not useless," Charon assured her, his voice calm and filled with a sense of purpose. "Your healing powers are a formidable asset, and you will make a difference in this fight." He nodded in acknowledgment of her plan to remain in the shadows, ready to assist without exposing herself. With that understanding in place, Iva moved with a graceful blend of poise and grace. Charon couldn't help but be impressed by her commitment to the cause. She reached for the injured, focusing on mending their wounds as best she could, all the while keeping a watchful eye on the unfolding battle.

Charon observed Iva with a mixture of pride and concern. Her willingness to learn and adapt was one of the qualities he had respected and nurtured in her since their first meeting. As the chaos unfolded around them, he knew her ability to remain calm and focused would be a valuable asset in this treacherous situation. The explosion had thrown the entire event into pandemonium. It was as if the Blood Moon itself had taken control, pushing the instincts of all present to their breaking points. Charon's trained senses allowed him to perceive the subtle shifts in body language and scent that marked the intentions of those around him. He could see the lines of confrontation forming between the vampires and werewolves, and his cold, analytical mind processed the threat levels of various individuals.

Iva's revelation that she couldn't shift was a concerning development, but she had already adapted by harnessing her healing abilities. Charon gave her a nod of approval, acknowledging her plan to provide support in the form of first aid. He knew that her healing capabilities were a potent tool, one that could potentially tip the scales in their favor when violence erupted. In the midst of the chaos, Dante's voice echoed in his mind, cutting through the noise of the battleground. Charon's attention shifted to the telepathic message, his expression remaining stoic despite the urgency in Dante's tone. "Understood Father" Charon replied mentally, his thoughts transmitting swiftly back to Dante. "I'll gather as much information as I can. There's something beneath the surface here, something Sabine isn't revealing. I'll find out what it is."

With a sense of purpose, Charon turned his attention back to the unfolding conflict. He was a master of gathering intelligence, and in this chaotic dance of power and bloodlust, information was the most potent weapon. His eyes scanned the room, his mind sharp and focused as he observed the players on the field. Every movement, every whispered conversation, and every hidden glance held a clue. As the first injured person was pulled from the chaos, Charon's attention shifted to his immediate surroundings. The room was a battleground, with supernatural creatures unleashing their pent-up fury. His senses detected the flicker of concealed weapons and the surge of energy as powers were unleashed.
 
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Edward

beast.png
H U N G E R

[ Interactions with Sepokku Sepokku & THE WORLD AT LARGE ]


T R E M O R S


The Boogeyman is real.

August 3rd, 10 years ago. An entire herd of cattle on a farm on the outskirts of Saint Haddock is mutilated. It would have been chalked up to mountain lions or wolves were it not for the remnants of their corpses being strung up on tall trees. The night after, Dougless Andersen goes missing while on patrol for whatever had committed such an atrocity. December 24th, the night of Christmas Eve, 7 years ago. A newlywed couple spends their honeymoon at the groom's family cabin 10 miles northwest of the city. A phone call was made in the dead of night from the location, but only incoherent noises could be heard. The couple was never seen again. February 2nd, 6 years ago. July 19th, 3 years ago. Missing people. Murdered animals. The Saint Haddock special. Nothing new. Nothing uncommon. No wonder this place was walled off. At what point is a human being no longer a human being? What's that line? Does it really even exist? Are we fooling ourselves?

Here. Now. There are monsters. Actual monsters, withs claws and fangs. Monsters that go bump in the night. Monsters that do bad things. Monsters that are bad things. Here is a building full of them. But among even monsters, walk things that frighten even them. There was no door anymore. If it still existed, it was a splintered mass of wood drowned in... something wrong. There were cracks forming in the doorway. The wall around it seemed like it was breathing. Blackened sludge dripped from it, and the monster among monsters peered through the empty space with its thousand clouded eyes. A child of beasts came forward, and praise was offered. And the Boogeyman smiled in thanks, a thousand crooked fangs coated in the oil of decay, the inky ichor pouring from within the shape.

"What are you doing in here Ed? You're missing the party."

"DEAR LITTLE DANI. I WAS ASLEEP. I HAD A DREAM. AND I DREAMT I WAS A MAN."

A million voices, all at once. Distorted, humming, screeching. Some human. Others less so. Some far from it. The abominable shape within the doorway shifted and churned, the cracks split wider, and the beast of beasts slowly began to emerge from its blasphemous chrysalis. The obsidian fluid burst out and flooded out onto the carpet as a giant hand adorned with innumerable, grotesque claws leaned itself upon the wall adjacent from the restroom. The sludge poured from the massive grotesquery, staining everything it touched and stood over. It smelt of disease and decay, like the bowels of a rotten fish mangled by pollution. The skinless face swayed in pitch and yaw, as if determining where it stood. A twin-faced skull edged with stretched flesh clinging on by fibrous threads raised itself into the air, and the air around it was slowly pulled into the skeletal hole of a nose. Something writhed behind the gauze over where the initial eyes were.

BANG

A shot rang out. A shudder. A tremble. Ripples like a stone in a lake. But violent. Unnatural as the rest of it. A smoking hole, sizzling, bubbling, cracking. The horrible pattern filled out the shape of the hallway where the restrooms were, some of it in front of Dani, some of it beside, some of it behind. Just like the wound, it hissed. It was a sound like a bag of rattlesnakes being drowned in a shallow tub of acid. The arm, the more sizable and distorted of the two, caught the bullet in its foetid flesh, and the skin around it bubbled and whorled. Soon enough, though, as the thing made a barely-recognizable gagging sound, the wound inflamed, and the bullet was vomited out by a toothless mouth, and a white, semi-translucent ooze dripped from within. A bubble formed, and then solidified, and soon a new eye was formed within the arm from where it had been shot. The shape screeched.

"A THOUSAND SCARS, WHAT IS ONE MORE?"

The thing was now attentive to the world. It slowly ebbed forward like a polluted tsunami in the distance, desecrating anything it touched, violating the very ground it stood upon. The carpet beneath it turned sour and mouldy from the pouring sludge, and the thing's body forged the sounds of cracking and tearing from within itself as it moved, as if it were continuing its transformation within. It's greater arm stretched out onto the ground before it as a gorilla would, but it's leaner arm and its vestigial budding clawed at the higher walls and ceiling as it lurched onwards, and as its innumerable, tumour-like eyes twitched and occasionally, slowly, blinked, its sightless gaze pinpointed Riaan in the distance. It spoke, once more, in its unfathomably nightmarish voice.

"HARK, CHILD! HARK! GOD IS KNOCKING AT THE DOOR! ANSWER HIM, BOY! ANSWER HIM!"

The shape slowly but steadily began to quicken its pace as the crowd erupted in a blazing panic. A fire of frenzy and madness. But it was not like the kind of frenzy and madness that was waiting in store. No. God was knocking within the throat of the Beast, and the monster was eager for the right moment to open the door. Of course, there were many kinds of madness. A vampire, sure of strength, did momentarily challenge the monster. Alas, a malformed hand like a great, thorned club returned him to the form of his purest essence; A smear of deep crimson stain upon the floor, soon blackened out by the shape's own essence. There were others, too. But they didn't last long enough to make note of. No. Some were too slow. Some ran too late. Some were torn apart. Some were consumed by the thing. It did not just have the mouth upon its face. It was as if its chest was a maw just as well, with the protruding, sharpened ribs as teeth, and the second rib-cage beneath that one pulling itself apart like a funerary casket.

No kill was clean...

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Declan Martin
Blood Moon Ball
Interactions: Ghostiiys Ghostiiys ​


Declan had been so focused on his phone, his mind slipping into work mode, that he hadn't even realized the woman before him had moved about and shouted in rage. His nerve endings tingled with the anxiety of altercation and figuring out how to cover all his bases in the developing situation that he'd completely disregarded her and his previous mission for a few minutes. She could've easily escaped from under his watch without him so much as noticing until it was far too late. Not doing so gave him good signs about the woman in front of him, but he still should never have taken his attention off of her like that. His father would have been disappointed in him for not keeping his senses open while talking to a potential criminal. He'd gotten distracted but for a good reason, trying to prevent something that could cause harm and death to so many innocents in this crowd. And now that he was fully aware, now that he'd but his attention back to her in hopes of getting the photograph, his attention once again slipped as madness divulged within the ballroom.

Screams shot out, his head whipping around to search the crowd for dangers. But the tightly woven bodies of vampires, werewolves and humans, scared and screaming alike, all trying to get out of harm's way, obscured his vision. He couldn't see whatever nameless entity had turned the delicate peace of the ball into a screaming blood bath, the thing he had always thought it would divulge into from the start.

"Shit!"

The crowd was streaming towards the doors, trampling over anyone in their way to get themselves to safety. His gaze shifted around to find the supernatural. The flowered, antler mask, the glint of cat-like blue eyes. His friend, the kindhearted and yet a little off-putting witch, not whatever werewolf had shifted under the tension and light that cast the room as if blood had already spattered on the walls. But he couldn't catch a glimpse of her with the steady stream of people, and his heart tightened with anxiety. One of the things he hated the most, the panic that came with unfortunate events. When bombs went off, shots fired, or even well-meaning threats sent, it always made his job harder. Police or Deo Volente, it didn't matter. The panic made everything worse. But what were you gonna do about that? It was human nature, even of the not human races. Declan understood that. But that didn't change the fact that panic only made a situation so much worse than it already was. And it made his job a lot harder.

That's how it was now. He couldn't see a path forward towards the door. No safe way to get him and the potential criminal beside him to safety. And everything got worse and worse from there.

The first gun shot hit his ears and his eyes went wide. His shoulders would've jumped years before, but he was too used to gunfire from his years of service by now to be all too shocked by the sound. Immediately, his rental suit was drenched as whatever small explosion had happened after the gun shot drifted to the fire alarms and the sprinklers were sent off. The drips of water that drowned the fleeing guests ate up the pouring crimson light, reflecting red as if blood itself sprang from the safety systems. Though he saw more vibrant crimson among the crowd already that signaled real blood. That signaled the deaths of innocents.

"Crap. They're gonna bring humans here." His hand itched for his badge, his old one he still kept in his pocket. He had a crappy old copy of it that he'd managed to save, getting a new one after a fight with a witch had ended in his trench coat getting wrecked and the thing falling out. Cora had found it and kept it, giving it to him as a little going away present after he resigned. He didn't want to be that guy, the one who used power against others, but having a badge did help keep ignorant humans out of harm's way. And if that alarm kept going off, the fire trucks and police, the units of his old stomping grounds, would soon arrive to help. And they would find death awaiting them.

Photograph completely forgotten, his mind transformed immediately into officer mode, as easily as pulling a trigger or slipping on a glove. His mind worked to find the direction the gunshot had come from. Further in the crowd, where the bathrooms and bar were located. It seemed they'd be safe from the gunman, if they were here to hurt people. He couldn't be sure whether the sprinkler move was on purpose or on accident, but either way it had been the wrong one. It would've been smart in theory, if they were dealing with a human threat. But this was absolutely supernatural, something more primal than the selfishness of human nature itself hunting down the attendants of the ball. The sprinkler was a bell rung to attract more of the flock of Saint Haddock to come to their slaughter.

Suddenly, another shot rang out, though it came from a different direction. A different shooter, an attack coming from the muzzle of a different gun. It sounded like it came from above, and not the weapon from before. What sent the sprinklers off was a Glock, the new shot came from something different. He could only describe the new shot in a broader term. A rifle most likely, though he had no idea what kind. Certainly not an auto, or else he'd be dealing with running from a spray of bullets instead of one shot. Glocks and rifles sounded different, and he cringed every time a movie or show used a pistol sound effect for a rifle shot mistakenly. Though, that meant there were two gunmen. One maybe well meaning, either trying to save the crowd or attract more prey, the other he couldn't tell their intentions yet. Certainly not backup. Their orders were strict, and he wouldn't call the ones he worked with stupid by any means. He knew they'd be itching to help, but unless he or Richter signaled for them, they weren't coming. Even if they had already arrived. But if they were here, they would be no use in the streaming crowd of civilians. And Declan knew what his first task had to be before that thought every occurred.

Declan reached out to grab at the woman to keep them together, guilt rushing into him. Sure, she may as well have been a thief, but if he hadn't stopped her, she would be out of this mess by now, walking home with her findings but safe nonetheless. And if he was wrong, well he just brought an innocent down with him. He caught her arm in his grasp, a tight grip but nothing that would hurt her. Simply firm and serious while his free hand clenched in frustration at himself. He knew there was potential danger, so why hadn't he tried to take the interaction outside? He'd taken the time to warn Cora, so why hadn't he warned her? He put his own wants before an innocent's needs, and he couldn't forgive himself for that.

"Something terrible." Was all he said, almost without his brain knowing it was even said. His brain was more focused on getting the innocents out, "Where is the back? The staff exit? I can get you out of here through there and then I'll start filtering people out. We can evacuate people faster that way. Please!"

He had a pleading look in his eyes, desperate for anything that could get people out faster. His skin crawled from the screams, and the inhuman garbling that came from the center of the mass of innocents, where blood rained down upon the guests like the drops of water meant for their safety. More and more innocents were dying by the second, and he had to do something about it.


Cora Undermoore
Blood Moon Ball
Interactions: Sybela Sybela RedLeftHand36 RedLeftHand36 ​

Cora heard it first. The screams of terror that rang through the room and the horrid screeching. At first, she just thought some people had too much to drink and forgot their manners. Then, she thought better of it. Declan had warned her of this. Warned her that something was going to happen. But so soon? The exit was in sight. They'd been so close. So close to getting the innocent young blonde out of harm's way. But now, as she looked back to Odette, all she saw was a deer. Graceful. Elegant. Wide-eyed. Hunted.

Odette reached out, and her fingers brushed her arm before they were jolted apart. Like a cat, Cora sprang forward and pounced, pushing her way through the herd that pranced towards them to get to her ward. But she'd already slipped from her vision. She was jostled around as she stayed in her spot, looking frantically side to side for any sign of the familiar blonde hair as people pushed past her. She heard a searing hiss as a vampire bared their fangs at her, cursing at her to get out of the way. A werewolf passed her, the fabric of one arm completely ripped as fur traveled up it, their hands now a mitt of brown fur and dark claw. Her dress tore as the wolf scrambled past her, accidently ripping at the side with their claw before bending onto all fours to manage the crowd. She felt a sting and realized the claws had scoured faint lines of red into her side.

Hissing, she retracted, pushing into the center of the room instead of away. She'd surveyed many hunts before. Back home, a favorite past time had been enjoying the nature around her, even the things that seemed cruel. They all had a purpose in the end, and were they so cruel then? The eagles that would swoop down and grab field mice or the foxes that emerged from their dens to snatch up rabbits in their laughing maws. She loved to see it all. One time, even watching a rehabilitated werewolf, coming to their doorstep half dead from human hunters, running after game on a full moon, fully healed and vigorously enjoying his life. This... this was not nature. All cruelty, no purpose.

The ballroom had turned into something evil. A blood red expanse, no longer beautiful or unique, but primal and grotesquely wicked. There was no use to this. This senseless killing. No balance to reap from it, nor food for any creature. A monster gone rabid, killing for sport and cruel fun rather than purpose. She could not condone that. Not even in the wilds, where every creature was at its base primal nature, could she condone such killings. And certainly not a civilized environment. It was abhorrent. The bodies, the smell, the sludge she found on the bottom of her shoe. All of it. Unnatural. Like a weed taking root in the garden of saints. It must be cleansed.

The young witch was making no head way looking for Odette herself. She was not that character with his x-ray vision, Remarkable Man? She couldn't remember the details of the old comics Declan gifted her when they had first met, a gift coming after a job well done on a case and their growing friendship expanding, now in the chaos of the ball. But her inhuman eyes were nothing super, remarkable yes, but nothing with power. She could not see through this crowd with x-ray vision. Her human eyes weren't working, so she'd have to settle for her witch eyes instead.

She glided to her original perch, side lined from the main events, and carefully twirling a champagne glass, although her hands were empty now of such refreshments. Now to the side, she shut out the main festivities, screaming bloody murder and running a marathon race to the doors, and pushed out her will, calling upon Her gift. Cora reached out her consciousness to whatever plants lay in the room. She felt potted ferns and flowers at the edges of the room, and vases on different tables that populated the ballroom. Although she felt the hurt and panic within the plants, an odd sensation to feel emotions that weren't quite like her own or the other races, words that weren't words and thoughts that weren't thoughts, because the chaos had knocked over several of them, she could still make contact, which got her one step forward than she was before.

Asking plants for something wasn't at all the same as asking a human or supernatural. More like receiving word from a middleman, instead of straight from the horse's mouth. Although She did a beautiful job of weaving the twines and twinges of plant language into tangible concepts for the witch to grasp at and procure. She heard several rants and raves about the chaos, but she pushed further and gained her insight. She watched morosely as red droplets dripped from vibrant stems, as if rejuvenated by the blood of innocents in this wild, wavering jungle. The ferocious beast, king of the blood forest, pranced with his crown of vile sludge and teeth, a mass of incoherent mess, mouths overlapping slippery fur, that should never have been born to Her earth. She found it sad that such a creature should exist so harshly, without the Mother's blessing. Such misery. It drenched nature in its filth and obscenities, scorching green with red.

The defiler ripped and shredded and bore its violence onto the innocents. It took indiscriminately, not so unlike Her, but too violent to be natural. Many thought death was a vicious concept, but it was not created to be so. Those who live through that violence make it seem so. Those who brought violence to the name of sleep made it so. The frenzied beast made it so.

Cora opened her eyes and almost collapsed onto her feet. She never felt so overwhelmed, even when the uproar had started, and the sprinklers flared, and the shots fired. To her, in those moments, she had been more a part of the natural world than she had been her entire time in Saint Haddock. Nature was chaotic but balanced, and nothing seemed to surprise her. But this... she couldn't even conceive it. No curse or spell or disease could cause that monstrosity. A thousand of Her most powerful beasts smashed together in one large grotesque form. What terrible entity had created such a thing? And poor Odette was loose in the crowd with the enemy of nature.

Scrambling forward, she weaved her way through the crowd with a purpose and set destination. The bodies strewn on the floor created pools of blood as round and red as the Blood Moon itself, and her shoes painted a picture like stained glass after stepping through the vibrant ichor. But she could not waver just to keep herself clean. The crowd was still moving, still shoving past her in masses. She was aware of the inhuman screeching, the laughing of several mouths and rows of teeth where teeth should not have been. But she kept on moving. Cora would not abandon anyone here. Least of all a girl who had no business in this madness.

Cora found herself pushing closer to where the madness took place. The center of the ballroom. She could see the mass of slick fur now, pushing down the urge to gag at the repulsive sight of it. Everything in her body told her that creature had no business even breathing, let alone tipping the balance between life and death. It cut down those in its path that tried to escape, leaving bodies in its wake, many with the light already out of their eyes, yet their bodies still desecrated with attacks or wounds from the foot traffic. She saw a horribly misshapen man, holes from heels dug into him and cuts gouged into his skin, bruises from the pressure of shoes over his body, his head cracked horribly to one side. Human nature had been the end of him.

On the far wall of the conflict, a blonde girl, cowering and scared. Cora could see the signs of her shivering like a leaf, like a mouse knowing it had been caught in a cat's gazes. She saw the potted plant close to her, drenched in scarlet droplets. Red water or crimson blood, she could not tell. But it stood resilient in the conflict, giving her vantage over the confrontation after goading a favor out of them. The girl looked terrified, yet Cora glimpsed the strength within her. The courage she gathered in herself to keep moving forward, even when everything around her was a terrifying mess. It gave Cora her own strength to push forward, even though it meant she ran across the path of the beast, the thing that made her cringe like hearing the sound of nails on a chalkboard.

Moving forward, she gave the creature, chomping up civilians like a paper shredder, a wide berth, willing to stay out of its sight. She pushed through the crowd, getting knocked to and fro, her appearance shabbier than before. Her cat's eyes were slitted and focused as she carefully picked her way through the crowd, finding Odette. She bent her knees so she was eye level, with a warm smile on her face.

"There you are," She said, trying to keep her own emotions in check. Holding out a hand for Odette to take she said, "We have to get out of here. Can you walk? Even if you cannot, you must force yourself. You understand, don't you?"
 








Charlotte 'Lottie' deLormè — ʟᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇɢᴇɴᴄʏ
“
Because I take things away from stupid, evil men. They deserve to lose everything and I deserve to have all their stuff.
”



The room pulses with energy, but within this chaos, Lottie's anxious pursuit unfolds like a tightly coiled spring. Ready to release its tension when she finally locks eyes with Cassius, ready to confront the past, or perhaps, seek closure for a future yet to be determined. Despite the cacophony around her, her concentration remains unwavering and her determination burns like a beacon. Each heartbeat resonates loudly in her ears, intensifying her sense of urgency. Her brow furrows as she scrutinizes the sea of faces, searching for the reoccurring nightmare of a man.

SSSSSTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

An inconsolable scream released all the air from her lungs, as she trembled violently from the unexpected excruciating pain that so mercilessly devour the tender flesh of her arm. Her eyes darted around, shooting a venomous glare to the human grasping her limb. The agony causing her mask to unveil almost instantaneously. The flesh and locks of what was once the redheaded she-wolf, melted in sections as of a wax candle burning too brightly. A crimson eye beamed a mix of loathing and suffering, followed by a single tear cascading along the vampires' form, tricking along the liquefying overly of Dani's face. Amidst the persistent burning, chewing away at her skin to only bubble and throb, a high pitched ringing formed in her head. Her attention teetering to and fro of Richter's form within the dense crowd and bouncing to the throng of attendees. Lottie's mental fatigue became more evident with attempting to block out the pain receptors, along with upholding the façade of imitating Dani's features. Unfortunately, all too quickly draining herself and evidently becoming overwhelm with exhaustion. The flesh suit that enveloped her now oozed lazily along her frail physique, revealing more chunks of her true self. Richter's words echoed hauntingly with the mention of her hatred for Cassius, it invigorated her determination only for that of her mustering the small strength to attempt and tug her arm out of his grasp. But the jerk was pitiful and to no avail, only the grunt of disappointment. Richter hadn't budged, only calmly spoke with laced dictation. Suggesting she shall not be killed and her agreeing to be his captive could prove beneficial for her well being.
Perhaps it was her debilitation causing the lapse in judgement, but she found herself heavily considering accepting his threat with open arms. A slow blink draped over her sight, followed by the heavy and lack of strength to hold her own head upright. The flash uncertainty for her future stirred within her, the fear of continued torture if held as a prisoner for the Deo Volente. She knew she was weak and they could easily pry information about her kin, about Sabine within a matter of minutes.

Lottie's neck swiveled, her chin raised and lids opened narrowly. A heavy sigh slipped out as she found strength within in her stubbornness to peer down at Richter. Lips tightened in disgust, while her tongue danced behind jagged fangs. Pthu. The projectile glob of saliva fired fiercely, directly aimed at his face.
"Fuck you."

In the midst of the bustling crowd, a sudden burst of fire erupts, sending shockwaves of chaos and fear through the onlookers. The flames roar to life with a deafening crackle, casting a fierce, flickering glow. The heat emanating from the fire is palpable and the acrid scent of burning absinthe and ethanol fills the air. Panic and urgency grip the surrounding crowd as they scramble to distance themselves from the inferno. The lush carpeting becoming engulfed in raging flames - rapidly crawling along it's length and through the corridors of The Regency.

"Back away from her, asshole"

Virgil's threat cut through the symphony of screams flooding the room, the scrambling of feet and bodies shoving one another for freedom of hellfire enveloping the ballroom. A weak smile of relief creased her quivering lips. Her once vibrant eyes, windows to a soul that had endured centuries, had dulled to a hollowed into sunken gaze that shifted feebly towards Virgil's voice. She clung uncontrollably lurched forward towards Richter for support, her strength waning with each passing moment. Gripping her claws tightly into his shoulder for stability. Her breath was shallow and raspy, a mere whisper, audible enough for him given their close proximity, "I hope he ends you slowly, little pig." The haunting hunger for blood, which had driven her existence for eons, gnawed at her from within, and her pupils dilated with a desperate thirst. Her lips parting zealously, baring pearly fangs, that grazed along the bare tender flesh of Richter's neck. A feeble attempt to fight back and possibly reinvigorate herself enough to escape the chaos ensuing around them.


interactions: Maverick Six Maverick Six Eldarkon Eldarkon
 
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Bloodmoon Ball​

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Featuring: Eldarkon Eldarkon (Virgil) Loxely Loxely (Lottie) zlexis zlexis (Thomas) AlphaBlueWolf AlphaBlueWolf (Cora) Sybela Sybela (Odette)

Mentions: RedLeftHand36 RedLeftHand36 (Ed) Sepokku Sepokku (Dani)

Someone is aiming at me.

It wasn't something he noticed at first. But he soon found himself stopping in his tracks when his eye snagged on something.

It was one of the reasons as to why they kept him around, and why Richter was typically on point. Once his mind set onto the task, it took him only a moment to find him the tiny speck of a sniper. Outside the entire building and on the opposing rooftop for what must have been hundreds of feet away. An uncanny sense of danger born of many ambushes survive and a natural aptitude for the more confrontational side of his work. Not only did his eyes land on the speck, but he could tell whom he was aiming at. And his entire head soon moved as if to lock on.

From Riaan's perspective -- Richter would be looking right at his scope for brief moment. But as his aim left -- so too did Richter soon find himself tending to other things.

"Luck? I'd rather it not come to that. But if it does, so be it." He said to Thomas.

"Try not lose the other arm, will you? Though, it will make you easier to carry out, Lieutenant."

Now​


Richter's observation had been correct. With the application of holy item, Lottie's disguise had begun to quite literally fall apart. Even if they'd be separated, it could make her easier to locate in the future. Especially if Lottie were to take the form of someone he didn't recognize.

The mask hid expression. His gaze wandered curiously about her body in search of answer to a simple question. This had felt almost too easy. He have expected her to swing or jerk out of his grip. But what little resistance she did put up as her flesh boiled was meager. Yet still, he couldn't help but find himself curious and cautious. Within her musculature however, he'd begin to detect an attack. Her lips were soon to purse, and her cheeks were soon to puff.

There wasn't the slightest bit of movement nor any attempt to dodge. The wad of spit and mucus struck true against his face. Some of it splashed across his face. And a little bit of it struck.

"Finally." He began, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side. As the spit rolled down his mask, it evaded his eyes, posing no threat to his sight. "That's perhaps the most honest you've been tonight, Ms. Delorme." By the sound of his voice, one could perhaps guess that he might have been smiling beneath that mask.

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Thump-thump-thump-thump

Lottie could perhaps hear it. The racing of his heart. Yet he made move. He did not tremble. But blood pumped to his mind as he became more alert to something.

His ears cut through the murmurs of the crowd. Their noises functionally silenced as he selected the sound of something: A phone sliding across the ground. He looked down at the device with a fork stabbed into it. And then he looked to where it came from. From there -- he watched in practically slow motion as Dani began to draw her gun, much to the ignorance of those around him with senses dulled by alcohol and habits born of decadent complacency. He wondered if he should move. Dani could have been a master marksman for all he knew, able to hit him no matter how he moved. But it wouldn't have taken much for him to simply move a bit into the thick crowd he'd made sure to have around.

However, he simply made a choice. And he waited what felt like an eternity. And he saw exactly as to where she was aiming. The first gunshot of the ball was fired by a Werewolf of all things. And Richter stood there as the bullet simply struck the glass. Oddly enough, he held firm to the bottle as it shattered and spilled it's $400 contents onto the phone. The intact end remained in his hand.

He took one step backwards at the ground as simply lit ablaze. The fire seemed to rather quickly spread along the ground of the old, renovated building. And flickering flames danced against the lenses of his mask. Sprinklers went off above him. And like rain, it washed over him form little beads of water trickled off his still form. And he didn't bat any eye as he was soaked. The combination of this made for a thick mist. A gunshot. A fire. Steam. And imminent threat soon to descend onto an ignorant and completely unprepared crowd.

A perfect storm. Who'd have known that it would be the She-Wolf who made for a catalyst?

Lottie clung closely him for support among the chaos. She could barely even stand as her disguise melted away. And her claws sank into the thick fabric of Richter's coat as she gripped down tightly.

Through this storm however, one had cut through. "Virgil Wolfsbane. Our Knight in shining armor has arrived." He replied matter-a-factily. Richter's heart was beating quickly. Yet it had not changed with the vampire's approach. Richter moved, orbiting Lottie so as to keep the both of them in his sight at all times. "How noble of you. Maybe there is some hope for Chivalry yet." His mask gave no indication towards how he felt beneath. Yet one could probably tell from his voice just how much fun he seemed to be having.

Virgil approached and Richter watched him as though he had locked onto. Richter's eyes locked onto the chest. From there -- he could see Virgil's entire body. And indeed, he did back away some distance. Slowly and steadily with the man's approached. He raised a fist up to his chin -- holding only a broken glass body. And he simply stared. As if waiting for something from him. Much like before when near Sabine and Dante, the Enforcer watched Virgil's body in order to anticipate any move he might have made. Yet no attack came. Only a threat. And a display of power.

"...." He said nothing towards the threat. Instead, he fixated onto the mist which danced on it's hand. He assessed it's shape, texture and he watched the way it began to move. And within moment, he surmised it to be blood, perhaps of the own man's origin. But to Richter's surprise once more, he'd yet to be attacked. So, he took at least a little bit of time to guess at the man's ability. Information was practically being given away for free. He could imagine Virgil conjuring any number of constructs with said blood. And seek to whip, stab or potentially even lob projectiles at him, if he were to guess.

Richter had all the while no desire to display anything to Virgil. One might notice quite the juxtaposition in how there was a lack of any showcase on Richter's part whatsoever compared to him showing his hand to Dani or replying to the host.

You'd let me walk away for free?

Finally, however, an attack was coming -- even if it was a meager one. He could quite literally feel Lottie's movements creeping towards his neck.

His hand moved almost of it's own accord. The glass bottle in his became a blur to the human eye until one could see where it landed. The broken glass bottle stabbed into Lottie's cheek -- sliding between her gums and slicing into the masseter muscle. The glass weapon's tip poked out her cheek. The result would be a mouth full of glass and the muscles responsible for closing the jaw being partially severed. To make matters worse -- he broke the bottle's jagged off in her mouth, leaving her with a chunk of glass lodged in her mouth.

"Not yet." He said simply. Perhaps she'd get it given to her willing in time. Or perhaps she would take it from his corpse.

"Catch."

A stomp of his foot. A turning of his hip. Lottie would feel her feet leave the ground completely as Richter gripped beneath her shoulders and threw Lottie's entire, petite body with startling speed into Virgil. If the knight wanted his opportunity to have the lady, the hunter would give it to him. The act of hurling her entire body into the man would serve to obscure the agent for a moment before-

Richter was gone, having disappeared somewhere off into the crowd and the mist in the time it would take for Lottie's form to impact into Virgil.


Track: M | O | O | N - Delay

"Ms. DeLorme!" A voice had called out to her. Apparently, Virgil was not the only one concerned with their missing V.I.P. But they unfortunately lacked the same tracking capabilities their superior Virgil had. However, they too could prove to be quite the threat. Dealing with an entire security detail would be far too risky of a venture under normal circumstances alone. Especially out in the open and out during the night of the blood red moon. Thus, they would be removed while the chaos was still ripe. The gift given to him by the She-Wolf would yet last.

"You aga-" Richter was nobody amid the crowd. Simply another human being, until he wasn't. But by the time that guard who had shoved him earlier had some faint idea of who the Agent was. The chaos would have been overwhelming. And it had been in this frantic chaos that he had approached. Not in the dead of silence, but amid a sea of meat. There was no room for error on the Deo Volente's agent.

But his strike struck true. With the rest of merely a broken glass bottle, he struck the vampire from mere inches away. There were so many ways something as simple as that could go wrong. The glass could shatter against his bone. The edge alignment could be off. The glass could have simply broken in such a way as to not make it conducive to being a weapon. And yet it had been driven into his chest -- slipping through his ribcage and nearly punching through his chest. He stared at Richter's paralyzed. And then he simply dropped to the floor to be trampled with the rest.

He left the broken glass in the man. A gift for that shove earlier.

One.

He kept track of how many he killed. From the Enforcer's sleeve, a single knife seamlessly fell into his hand. It was something which had been there for some time.

If something is not broken, why fix it? One by one, they began to fall. Outliers who had been separated from the crowd or who had taken to spreading out so as to better locate them. Little did they know that this made for fitting prey. Richter was but a man. He could hardly hope to sneak up on a creature in the dead of the night. They'd hear his footsteps. They'd hear the beating of his heart. They'd smell his flesh. But here? He was one man of a great many -- moving with the flow of the current as they tried to swim upstream, searching for their master. Their senses would serve them not here.

The clipped point of his Bowie Knife was well suited to stabbing. There were better blades for such a purpose. But this one was enough. And in his hands, it didn't often meet more bone than necessary. It only slide straight through the ribs, right to the heart. Just as Richter had said: Occam's Razor. The best answer to many problems was often the simplest. The knife had been long abandoned by many. But he found quite good use of it here. The slipping of a blade through flesh made little in the realm of noise. And hardly did anything to alert their senses.

So it was then that many...simply fell this way. One after the other. Lost the sea of screams. The flowing of the crowd. A situation which had been described as previously impossible became possible, as a well coordinated team were nowpicked off one at a time.

Two. Three. Four. Five.

That was, at least until one had caught on.

As it turned out, vampires could be very difficult to stab in the heart. A human being like him could be stabbed in a great many places and potentially die within minute or even seconds. But vampire? They had to be stabbed in one particular spot. This was to say nothing of the experience a vampire themselves might have had. They were like humans in that they learned and could take on a great many skills.

One of the guards had caught Richter's wrist. The knife in his hand desired the man's chest. But the creature of the night would allow it to go no further "Got you." He said with a toothy grin -- peering into the Hunter's soul-less gaze. Empowered by the Blood-Red Moon squeezed as to break the Hunter's arm. But no such noise could be heard, nor any pressure felt.

The knife had swapped hands, and it was now severing the flexor tendon in his wrist with a slice. The wound healed immediately for the vampire. But the cut had proven enough for him to let go.

The vampire swung with his fist. He was fast...but light was faster. A flashlight of unreasonable brightness shined into the guard's eye from Richter's spare hand. The wild swing had hit something and broken a neck. But unfortunately for the vampire -- he did not see the knife which had come for his neck. One which had taken much, much more than.

Above the neck, there was nothing. Where was the head? If one looked closely, they would see that his head was simply rolling onto the floor -- having been cut cleanly off with a chop nearly imperceptible to the human eye. The vampire's hands reached above the neck. But there was nothing there. His throat and arteries were exposed to open air.

Squelch.

The corpse began to realize it was decapitated....and yet the heart could not help but pump. Blood shot into the air. And it's legs wobbled for a singular moment before it simply collapsed to the ground. Those who were unfortunate enough to be near by the brief confrontation would splashed by the man's fluids. Screams only heighted and began shrill at the corpse that one could hardly tell was different from any other. Ungodly noises of terror and distress that many would likely be better going their entire lives without hearing. Yet to one who had such screams from men, women and children alike on his exploits, they brought no pause as he simply moved to the next target.

Six.

Unfortunately, he was spotted. "Out of the way." One guard said, shoving his way through the crowd. His voice thick with anger, from seeing ally and friend alike slain by the "mere" mortal who knew not his place. Particularly tonight.

He saw the man soon to approach him. And Richter began to back away with his knife held in front of him. The man reached for his wrist to disarm. Yet the knife moved. It a was blur before the human eye. And yet the vampire could see with his enhanced reflexes...as his fingers were simply lopped off with a flick of the wrist.

The man used his other hand. Choosing boxing -- he threw a punch. Wielding a knife -- Richter chose to fence. A vague name of his maneuver echoed throughout his mind wordlessly and instctively: Counter. He swung his blade into the man's arm. The force and speed of the vampire's own blow became Richter's own, focused unto the edge of his blade.

Steel won against flesh and the arm was severed mid strike.

Through force undoubtedly superhuman and born of the vampire's own power, the severed arm flew by Richter's head. And it crashed through the wall with ease. Yet the vampire stared at the mortal in almost disbelief as he began to get closer. He raised the arm he still had to block a strike to his heart. Unfortunately, a light shined in his eyes. And the target was no longer longer his heart.

SLCK

The crowd had begun to part before the display, like the red sea.

This blade came down onto his skull. Bone was hard and as a result, this was perhaps the loudest use of Richter's knife this night, though it was no gunshot. To the horror of those who noticed, it had cut entirely through the man's skull. Yet technically, this was no decapitation. He still yet had some measure of faculties, as well as ability to heal. And so the Agent raised his knife yet again.

SLCK SLCK SLCK

And he brought it down. Again. And again. And again. It was like watching a butcher prepare a freshly cut slab of meat. One might think the display savage if he hadn't cut with almost supernatural precision. Each time, he struck the same spot -- cutting deeper and deeper into the man. With three swings, he had nearly chopped the man in half. The skull and neck had split open for the world to peer into the innards of his upper chest cavity. By this point, the man had fallen onto his knees with his arms spasming.

The knife spun in his hand into a reverse grip. And it came down to stab through said exposed neck...and into the heart.

Seven.

A familiar face somewhere. Knife still wedged in corpse, Richter looked towards Odette and Cora. "You're our cleaning lady!" He said to the women known to many Odette, as he kicked the corpse away. His tone oddly jovial in spite of the woman's abject terror.

The Deo Volente agent approached. Though given his eccentric methods, one might be surprised to learn he was a government agent and not some random killer who had wandered into the ball. "And our medic. Would be a shame for you to die here." He whipped out his phone from his pocket. The crowd still rushed by as he found for himself...a brief moment of peace amidst the madness. His breathing was quite heavy. He had begun to sweat beneath his mask and suit.

Ring ring!

As the phone rang -- there was little to do. He couldn't see too far, but he suspected the last guard would be nearing his target. So broke the silence, looking at Odette for a moment as she cowered underneath the table. The way he spoke, one might have thought he was enjoying himself quite thoroughly. "Quite the mess we have here. At least you won't have to clean this up!" His tone was unusually jovial and oddly devoid of much sympathy. Given the situation.

Like a switch, this however turned off as someone picked up the phone. His voice became loud. But he did not yell. What he sought was clarity.

"Start making your way inside. Avoid engagement wherever possible. And find me." He heard one singular. "Got it" on the other side and hung up. With that, he headed to where he suspected the last guard was.

He was correct. Indeed, he had found his way to him.

"Ms. DeLorme! Mr. Wolfsban-" Another voice within the mist rang out. And another silenced.

SLASH

"Damn." Richter muttered. The cut was unclean.

The man's head had been nearly decapitated with said swing. It hung on by quite literally a mere strand. Instantly the vampire collapsed. He stopped mid-fall however as Richter -- standing behind him, caught the collar of his shirt. "I suppose I'm a little rusty, at least." He said. The corpse tried desperately to heal the wound -- sped up by the power of the blood red moon. Yet, the "Peacekeeper" did not allow such a thing to happen.

He gripped the head with two hands, twisted and then simply ripped the rest off with a swift jerk.

Eight.

The force of his yank caused him to hold the head high into the air for a moment....before he unceremoniously dropped it.


Within the purview of his gaze, there was Lottie and Virgil. But there was also something else.

What a scene.

The ground tremored. Richter had come back just in time to watch something raise a club like appendage and smash a random vampire into unrecognizable gore, as if disposing of a fly on a windshield. It took time for his eyes to process what exactly it was he was seeing. The Enforcer had seen much. Killed much. Yet what was before him tonight confounded him. The mangled flesh bore no resemblance to them human form which housed it -- at least immediately. Soon however, he recognized it as the thing he had been waiting for. The big fish. An agent of chaos. Finally, he recognized who the monster was by the familiar bandage still yet wrapped around his head.

"Old man. Finally done pissing." He said to himself, as he calmly watched man eat it's mostly unfortunate and woefully igorant

Fools and degenerates.

The Hunter himself killed a great many and he had known loss. He had seen. Yet he couldn't help but not care for those faceless fools who had decided to attend this gala. The place was a cesspool of opulent debauchery. And it showed the fate of those who mingled too closely with monsters. He hoped that those who fled would spread tales of this night's events far and wide. Perhaps when the elites cried -- humanity might yet wake up to what preys upon it.

Preparations were made in the event of an attack. Escaping the beast would be difficult given it was likely faster -- but his eyes searched for escape routes. From his pocket, he pulled out a small, plastic bottle full of of wolfsbane extract. He poured into the sheath which rested beneath his arm. And he need only return the knife to said sheath to bless his blade with it's essence. The scent of the extract would radiate strongly from Richter. Perhaps the beast would view him as nothing more than an insect. But this would be an insect.

The mauled remnant of the poor souls at his feet served as little more than evidence for Richter -- allowing him to guess at the creature's motivations. Little in the realm of rhyme or reason could be seen among the corpses. He cared not for these relationships and dynamics. A walking hazard which presented perhaps the largest and most immediate threat in the room. A potentially perfect distraction or a deadly impediment. Only time would tell.

Richter ducked instinctively as a bullet whirred by -- making himslef a smaller target. However, the bullet was not meant for him. It sizzled within the creature's flesh as it was soon spat out. Promptly, it healed, the wound reforming in perhaps the most disgusting and yet fascinating way possible. It was like watching a tumor form.

The creature bellowed out to the sniper, in cryptic wording. The Redhead was likely somewhere around here. And he suspected that she would turn too. After all, she didn't have any drinks. He last saw her running towards the bathroom. But she was not a concern for yet.


The flashlight slipped into his pockets. And it was exchanged with an M1911. Slowly but assuredly, he screwed it on -- shifting slightly as to weave through the panicking crowd.

In a strange way, the blood red moon had felt in some manner similar to other nights. So many dead. Danger lurking around every corner. Random variables threatening him at every which turn. Endorphins rushed through his body -- perhaps able to be smelled through his sweat. The closest thing an ordinary person might liken to being a rollar coaster. Yet he coould not afford to grow complacent. He could not think himself too far from the corpses on the ground. That which separated humanity from wild beasts was discipline. The ability. A message engrained inside of his head.

Always assume that everyone is stronger.

Life was short for his ilk. He knew such a fact first hand.. One mistake could potentially be all that it took. But he had made many mistakes, and none so far had proven fatal nor even crippling. Virgil was alone and Lottie were yet capable, while potential Interlopers did so exist. But this was as good an opportunity as he'd get. The area was currently very obscured. The exits were in the midst of being swarmed -- making it difficult for both anyone to get out or for reinforcements to get in it.

Finding them had felt like swimming upstream now. Body after body battering swiveling through. But Richter eyes swiveling beneath his mask like the scanner of a drone -- searching for the vaguest outlines which might yet resemble his prey and keeping alert for anything which might seek to ambush him in and of itself.

Soon however -- his eyes came to a stop.

If the Lottie was going to be protected tonight, Sharon seemed apt to share a great bulk of the credit -- given the death of their security entourage. The attack would come with little of the dialogue which had come from before.

Ptew ptew ptew

Three silenced shots rang out. The subsonic rounds traveled with a lack of the distinct crack which accompanied most, making up for it's lack of velocity with a heavier bullet. Three .45 ACP rounds sought to smash into Vergil knee cap to slow him down and to gauge his reaction.

From the mist, Richter did not seem to walk nor run. Instead, he lunged -- devouring the distance between himself and the blood manipulator in a moment, appearing Vergil from somewhere in the rushing crowd. His blade was a flash of bloody steel to the human eye, but likely visible to Virgil's own. With a single slice, he sought to completely lop off one of Vergil's arms. The razor-sharp edge of his knife seeking to slice through his clothing, his muscle and his bone in but the blink of an eye.

Yet he would step back rather than press forward after his attack. His stance was bladed, making a him a smaller target. His knife held in front of him in a defensive sabre grip -- as though himself did not believe the attack would work. Not on this one. He was more dangerous that the others. He sought to see what he would do, ready to respond at a moment's notice. To take this one's head was not likely to be easy if he could.

But killing was ultimately secondary to his objective, no matter how much he wanted it.

I only need to survive and to win.
 
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