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Fantasy Soulless, Breathless, Heartless || IC Thread

Imelda | Werewolf
Current Mission: Find being responsible for a series of deaths. Maintain secrecy from humans and their officials. Any and all personnel available to assist in resolving this as quickly as possible are desired.
Current Team: Zarall & Da'wan
Note: [Brackets] mean Imelda is speaking in Spanish.

Imelda smelled the air. The wind played against her, lifting the loose strands of brown hair that had fallen free of her braid. Light from the gibbous moon dusted the city pale. Her back prickled beneath it.

“Anything?”

She glanced at Da’wan as he spoke and caught the red glint in his dark eyes. He already knew the answer to that—the vampire’s nose was just as sharp as hers. She shook her head anyway and peered around the building again. There was no movement anywhere on the street, only slumbering cars and exhausted streetlamps. Snow smothered it all, adding weight to the late night.

She strained her ears, listening as far as she could for the crunch of a footstep or the rhythm of labored breathing. Imelda heard wingbeats instead.

Looking up, she watched Zarall’s silhouette streak by overhead. “She’s seen something,” Imelda said. Pushing away from the wall, Imelda followed at an easy run, Da’wan keeping pace. She motioned with her hand. He smiled, fangs peeking from beneath his lips, before veering to the left and disappearing down a side street.

As she turned to an alleyway on her right, she glimpsed Zarall dropping from the sky, massive black wings arched back. Imelda lost sight of the angel behind an office building in the next heartbeat. Spotting a fire escape, she slipped in the snow as she twisted towards it and leapt. Her hands fumbled to grip slick metal, and her chest greeted a bar on the side of the first platform. A grunt rose into her throat. She continued upward, jumping to the next platform and the next until she climbed onto the roof.

A short-lived cry jutted through the air, smothered into a whimper.

Imelda slowed her pace, grasping the stone ridge at the lip of the roof, and peered down. Below, she could see the top of Zarall’s head, a myriad of black braids pinned back from a dark-skinned face and adorned with wooden beads. The angel’s wings flexed and folded, glimmering out of sight. Mostly.

Angels could only hide completely from humans when they wanted to. Anyone who wasn’t, like Imelda, could see through Zarall’s glamour. It was like looking at an afterimage or a ghost, the faintest hint that she had wings.

Briefly, Imelda glanced at the streets and nearby rooftops. When she saw nothing, she returned to her teammate. Da’wan eased around the corner, lingering a few steps behind Zarall but only sparing a cursory look before facing towards the street. Moonlight made his olive-toned skin even paler than it already was, casting an almost ghastly complexion.

The being pressed against the wall squirmed under the barrel of Zarall’s pistol, jacket collar bunched within her fingers.

He looks just like a child. Imelda tried shoving the tension from her shoulders into her stomach. She knew better. Two years on a team of supernatural creatures—she knew the job and what was at stake. So did the creatures that lived in or passed through the city. It was neutral territory and had to be kept that way with strict laws.

“Please—” The child’s blonde hair melted and browned, blending into pink skin that warmed and hardened into scales. Bronze glinted under moonlight and fabric stretched across a body much larger than before. Chimeras took on whatever shape they desired and no one, Imelda had learned, knew what they truly looked like. “I had no choice. You must believe me.” His words slurred together, mingled with a hiss.

Zarall’s silence was uncomforting.

“Zarall, maybe hear what he has to say.” Da’wan’s voice was soft, but it carried easily. “Part of this is to gather what information we can. There are victims still to find. What’s your name?”

“R-Rayip. But I go by Raymond,” the chimera said, voice tight.

Imelda searched the rooftops again, the braid of her hair sliding off her shoulder. She squinted at one near the end of the street. A figure darted from one building to another and Imelda’s lip curled. “Either be quick about it or let’s take this home. It’s about to get complicated.”

“Fuck.” Zarall sighed. “They always know.”

Taking a heartbeat to look down and catch the angel lowering her pistol, Imelda cracked her knuckles. “Oh, come on. It’s never a party without ‘em.”

Zarall’s gaze snapped up to her, green eyes narrowed. Imelda glimpsed the centuries that lingered within. “When you’ve been fighting demons as long as I have, get back to me on that ‘party’ of yours. Da’wan! Take the chimera and find somewhere the demons can’t bother us.”

Imelda turned away from the others. She tracked the shape that sprinted and leapt, racing towards her. A demon. They were always inconvenient, thriving on chaos and creating it in turn. Appearing anywhere they could, just to torment the world. Rolling her shoulders, Imelda listened to the wingbeats that stirred layers of snow and made her clothes writhe. In the next second, Zarall landed beside her. “Fast and hard?” Imelda asked.

“Before any more show up,” Zarall said.

“Go cover Da’wan, then. I got this one.”

Zarall stepped away and left, leaving behind nothing but disturbed snow and scuffed footprints. Imelda twined her fingers together and stretched her arms forward. The demon’s ethereal form was more distinguishable the closer it got. As if created without a solid outline, the demon’s body shifted like smoke and oil. Shaking her arms out, she heard the shifting of snow and shot a glance to her right. The claws of a second demon dug into her shoulder and side as the impact knocked her down.

Hissing from the pain, Imelda snarled at the creature that had blindsided her, grappling with its incomplete form. Its blue eyes glowed and teeth flashed. Water-aligned. Her boots found purchase on its belly, and she kicked. They both rolled and the demon tumbled over the edge of the roof. It wasn’t going to be gone for very long.

Blood splattered to the snow as she hunched over, peeling her torn shirt off with a grimace. The wounds would start healing in a moment, but her shirt was just going to have to be a casualty of the night. “[Fucker]...” Imelda pulled on the moon’s song, focusing on the tension in her back while keeping her awareness of the demons. Her skin crawled and her bones began to ache. Mentally, she reached out to her pack bonds, asking for more strength to quicken her shift into wolf. Matthias, her leader, fed it to her.
 

CsQ8LHS.png
Eiael
Status --- To The Rescue, Healthy
Location --- Rooftops
Others --- Imelda, Demons

Eiael hadn't been on patrol, as such, but it was decisively very poor taste not to at least investigate when strange, distressed cries suddenly pierced through the night. It had been a brief sound, quickly silenced, but Eiael's ears had nonetheless attuned immediately to it as a source of alarm. Reluctantly they set down their instruction manual, alongside of the toolbox they had been rifling through, in favour of taking the newly-built launcher off of their rooftop workbench and testing the weight of it briefly with a faint hum. "Well...not a bad time to test you out I suppose." Eiael mused, before flaring out their smoke-coloured wings and taking to the air.

It didn't take them long to find a point of interest, namely what looked to be a duo heading in the same direction as where Eiael had heard the sound. They lingered a little further back at first, curious as to what they were up to, until a rustle of dark feathers caught their attention down below.

Zarrall. A respectable angel in her own right, no doubt. Eiael found her to a bit too rigid and no-nonsense at times though, which could put a damper on the mood if they ever happened to be crossing paths for a while. Nonetheless, she was far older and had enough experience that Eiael tended to find themself deferring to her decisions when push came to shove. It was a dynamic that prompted them to flare out their wings and do their best attempt to hover on the spot high above them all, brow furrowed as they wondered what the fellow angel was up to and what she was saying to the rest.

She must have given the two orders, for she, the child, and the older man started to part ways. Soon all that was left lingering along the rooftops was the other unidentified woman, which prompted Eiael to begin their descent towards the roof of a separate building. They landed with a slight stumble, still getting used to the extra weight of their new and improved weapon, and immediately held it out in front of them when they first noticed the two demons approach her. The woman then began to shift in form, Eiael now finally registering that Zarall had been conversing with a werewolf.

Still a bad angle, too close. They were well aware of the advanced healing factor of werewolves, but at the same time they didn't think one would appreciate being set ablaze without at least some discussion on the matter beforehand. The launcher twitched about, impatient, before an irritated huff issued from Eiael and they lowered the weapon momentarily to consider their other options. It was only just now were they starting to realise why some of their fellow angels had been trying to persuade them to opt for something smaller when they first brought up their brand new ideas for better demon-dispatching. Werewolves, unlike the angels they were more used to, had an unfortunate tendency to be grounded alongside of Eiael's usual targets.

Instead, they turned their attention to the street further up. In Eiael's experience demons never travelled alone. They'd seen some truly horrendous-sized swarms before, considering that they were quickly establishing themself as one of the go-to choices for wider, crowd-control types of containment procedures. A well-trained set of rose-coloured eyes scanned ahead for the tell-tale signs of more demons approaching. Sure enough, a moment later, they spotted a few wisps of shadow and the glint of multiple pairs of eyes swirling about as figures began to duck and weave around street signs and parked cars towards the werewolf.

This, made for a far better target.

Restraining the urge to cackle and give away their position before the strike, Eiael brandished the weapon once more towards what appeared to be a duo of demons that had been skulking their way across the street. With a heavy arc and a sound akin to a firecracker whistling through the air, Eiael lobbed their first projectile at the pair. As it hit the ground between them a BOOM echoed down the street, the shockwave knocking both creatures prone several feet away from the impact point. Finally, they allowed themself to emit a maddening little giggle at this, and quickly took to the air to hover above the werewolf while searching for more conveniently-placed demons to fire at.

 
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Shaldrani | Dragon
Location: Literary Brew Book & Coffee Shop
Company: The Council + Meeting Attendees
THIS IS AN OPTIONAL INTERACTION FOR PCS.​
"That's not good enough!" The voice all but snarled into the air of the packed conference room. "We don't know where these creatures came from or why they're even here!"

Shaldrani tried to not let the Westside Alpha's sharp voice bother their sensitive hearing, passing through the crowd of gathered Supernaturals until they reached Celastris at the head of the table. The leading member of the Council, Celastris was a tiny dryad with a smattering of leaves tangled in his hair regardless of form. They were just less present in his human guise.

He thanked Shaldrani as they handed over the coffee he requested before addressing Matthias's concerns. "You're not alone in your concerns, Mr. Valerius, but we cannot deny the fact that we are severely lacking in information regarding these... ethereal crows." Shaldrani watched carefully as Matthias glowered before ultimately sitting back down in his seat, effectively yielding the point to the Councilmember. "Now, we are still working to gather possible personnel to investigate the matter; there are just more pressing priorities at this current time."

"If I may...," another Councilmember spoke up. Vyllynor Keyxina was a half-Elven woman, sitting next to Celastris, and the only other Councilmember to show for tonight's gathering. The remaining members of the Council were tending to other matters for the night. Once she was certain of the room's attention, she continued. "Werewolves cannot touch these crows, yet the creatures have been reported as potentially being marked by a butterfly symbol much like the werewolves themselves...." Fingernails drummed upon the table's surface. "Perhaps we should let the local packs take command in this matter?" She raised her hand to silence Celastris before words escaped his lips. "They'll still have support from other Supernaturals. But I feel it only fair that they take point in the surveillance."

Tension drifted through the room as Shaldrani's gaze swept over the various attendees. Clearing their throat, Shaldrani stepped closer to the gathering, fingers fidgeting with strands of their dark hair. "I-I could reach out to a fellow dragon. Find out if they know anything," they said.

"Thank you, Shaldrani. That would be of use to us," Celastris replied. Then he waved a hand, as if dismissing the subject matter. "Now, we still have other reports to address. Do any gathered here have completed paperwork to submit? Might as well do so now while Vyllynor and I are here."
 












"Only righteous angelic flames can purify the tainted."





Zealous - Stubborn - Insecure






Liriel Mebarum

The Avenging Angel








The script that ran across the white page was perfectly straight, compact, and minute. Councilmembers who had to review Liriel's reports often dreaded seeing them arrive on their desk for the sheer denseness of them, but the straight-laced Fire Angel was a strict rule-follower and, it must be said, quite fastidious. She believed in recording every last microscopic detail of a mission, no matter how seemingly irrelevant or unimportant, as you never knew what might provide useful information or insight.

She kept writing through the better part of the afternoon and, by the time she finally lifted her pen from the paper, night had fallen and the moon was out- sickly and pale.

The streets had gotten cold recently, which suited the demons just fine- fresh human blood was warm in any weather, and the longer nights gave them more time to prowl and attack. Liriel looked out her window, where soft snow was beginning to blanket the street.

Good, footprints will make tracking easier, the Angel thought.

She rose from her desk and gathered the ream of papers (much too thick for a routine mission report), grabbing her coat on her way out the door. She didn't need the coat, of course- Celestials didn't really feel the cold- but, given the weather, it would've looked suspicious to any human passerby if she'd been wearing nothing but a tshirt and jeans.

Exceedingly punctual as always, she made it to the coffeehouse just as the special meeting was being called to order.

She listened evenly to the various Councilmembers discussing the issue at hand, her report clutched carefully against her chest.

Liriel frowned at the suggestion about leaving the Wolves to take charge of the matter with the Crows. After all, Werewolves were the only ones who couldn't even touch the things, and the butterfly suggested a connection that could be dangerous to them. Liriel's call would've been to let the Wolves search, sure, but with a different supernatural partner accompanying them.

When Celastris dismissed the matter and called for the submission of reports, the Angel stepped forward, handing out her papers.

"Mission successful," she announced in her usual clipped manner. "Three demons dispatched, one human in hospital with nonfatal injury, no mundanes alerted," she succinctly summarized.

Many have wondered how Liriel manages to be so concise with her words when she speaks, and yet so verbose in her written reports but this, like many of her other idiosyncrasies, was simply an immutable fact of who she was.




♡design by neon reverie, coded by uxie♡


The script that ran across the white page was perfectly straight, compact, and minute. Councilmembers who had to review Liriel's reports often dreaded seeing them arrive on their desk for the sheer denseness of them, but the straight-laced Fire Angel was a strict rule-follower and, it must be said, quite fastidious. She believed in recording every last microscopic detail of a mission, no matter how seemingly irrelevant or unimportant, as you never knew what might provide useful information or insight.

She kept writing through the better part of the afternoon and, by the time she finally lifted her pen from the paper, night had fallen and the moon was out- sickly and pale.

The streets had gotten cold recently, which suited the demons just fine- fresh human blood was warm in any weather, and the longer nights gave them more time to prowl and attack. Liriel looked out her window, where soft snow was beginning to blanket the street.

Good, footprints will make tracking easier, the Angel thought.

She rose from her desk and gathered the ream of papers (much too thick for a routine mission report), grabbing her coat on her way out the door. She didn't need the coat, of course- Celestials didn't really feel the cold- but, given the weather, it would've looked suspicious to any human passerby if she'd been wearing nothing but a tshirt and jeans.

Exceedingly punctual as always, she made it to the coffeehouse just as the special meeting was being called to order.

She listened evenly to the various Councilmembers discussing the issue at hand, her report clutched carefully against her chest.

Liriel frowned at the suggestion about leaving the Wolves to take charge of the matter with the Crows. After all, Werewolves were the only ones who couldn't even touch the things, and the butterfly suggested a connection that could be dangerous to them. Liriel's call would've been to let the Wolves search, sure, but with a different supernatural partner accompanying them.

When Celastris dismissed the matter and called for the submission of reports, the Angel stepped forward, handing out her papers.

"Mission successful," she announced in her usual clipped manner. "Three demons dispatched, one human in hospital with nonfatal injury, no mundanes alerted," she succinctly summarized.

Many have wondered how Liriel manages to be so concise with her words when she speaks, and yet so verbose in her written reports but this, like many of her other idiosyncrasies, was simply an immutable fact of who she was.
 
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3paRW3e.png
Julien
Status --- Nervous, Healthy
Location --- Council Meeting
Others --- Council Members

Skittish hands wrapped around the edge of the coffee mug that had been placed into them, one of his fingers tapping lightly against it in a sort of contemplative, somewhat nervous fidget as Julien listened in on the conversation around him. He was no longer capable of drinking from its contents, but the warmth that radiated from it was at least of some comfort to him and reminded him of simpler times when he'd have downed the beverage in a single gulp. A singular blue eye darted about and traced across the faces of others in the room as they spoke in turn, occasionally widening or averting if anyone actually decided to make eye contact with it in return. It's partner, a glazed eye with a film of white over it, merely drifted about as usual in a manner that suggested Julien had very little control over wherever the pupil would decide to rest.

When the Westside Alpha snapped at the room for its lack of answers, Julien's breath hitched and he flinched back from the increasingly irate individual with a cautious expression. It was hard to remember still that the attitudes between werewolf and vampire were very different here, compared to the place he had once called home. The thought that he, as a high-ranking member of Ravenwood, could even be seated in the same room as an Alpha and not get torn apart by it was both fascinating and headache-inducing for the sheer contrast from what he was used to. Julien allowed a faint exhale to escape from him, rolling his shoulders as a way of easing out the tension a little before he returned to cradling the mug that sat before him.

To his right he heard a dismissive sort of sniff, and briefly he glanced aside to see a woman with thick, pink curls of hair eyeing off the reaction in a rather judgmental fashion. Celyn, he'd heard mention of before. Supposedly the current form she took on was a mere guise in order to walk about the humans during the day, but Julien still wasn't quite sure what exactly it was that lurked beneath it. Only that whatever it was, it seemed it had a vendetta against anything that Shaldrani suggested to the Council, and looked almost about to argue about the offer the dragon-in-disguise had made before Celastris managed to dismiss the matter at hand. Privately, Julien wondered whether it was the best conclusion to draw considering that the wolves couldn't even touch them. Though he at least knew better than to question the council's decision on anything while he was still relatively new to the area.

On to paperwork. Julien's gaze swivelled down towards the few sheets of paper that rested before him, and tutted to himself just as he realised he'd managed to leave a coffee cup stain along the edge of one of them. He spent the next few moments fishing out a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing away at the corner of said page, hoping to disguise the damage effectively enough before it was his turn to present them. Eventually, the angel that had gone before him seemed to have finished her summary, and Julien cleared his throat in a manner that vied for attention before rising to his feet.

"Erm, yes, I also have a report from some of my associates across the pond." He declared, approaching Celastris in order to hand over the paper as he spoke up. "From the Ravenwood Seethe specifically. In summary, at the risk of bringing the conversation back up we...have confirmation that these odd little corvids are not exclusive to this city." He paused, glancing briefly at a few faces around the room before deciding that it was a cue for him to continue. "There's been a few sightings of them amongst the usual birds that frequent the grounds of Ravenwood manor. Attempts to see whether werewolves are also incapable of making contact with them are..." He trailed off, trying to think of a way to glaze over the well-known tensions between the Ravenwood Seethe and Grimclaw Pack. "...Inconclusive, as of now."

He then stood back, perhaps a little awkwardly, and shuffled from side to side on the spot. "Ah...if there's any inquiries for Lord Ravenwood or other members of my Seethe, I would be glad to pass them over, too."

 
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"In a battle of wits, no sound logic can outweigh vampiric gifts."





Cunning - Calculating - Manipulative






Amara Santiago

The Vestal Vampire








Layla, would you come over here please?

The telepathic request (well, really, it was a command) reverberated through the minds of every human in the house and, in short order, a pretty blonde woman who looked to be in about her mid-twenties drifted into the parlor, sweet and rather vague expression on her face.

Amara grinned and licked her lips, her long fangs flashing white in the pale moonlight streaming in through the window. When Layla joined her in the chaise she lost no time in sinking her fangs into her slender neck, drinking deeply. For such a small person, the Aragon heir was a greedy little thing.

The girl was weak and noticeably pale when the vampire finally released her, her breathing shallow and her pulse faint.

Two men in liveried uniforms stepped forward out of the shadows to carry her back to her room. It would take a few days of fluids and bed rest to recover, but eventually her blood would replenish and she would be fine, as always.

It was one of the conditions from the Council- older vampires were allowed to maintain Menageries to lessen the risk of an unfortunate mishap because they had proven themselves to have the self-control for it, but that privilege would be swiftly revoked if harm were to befall any of their Thralls.

Even by the usual vampire standards, however, the Santiago Menagerie was an outrageously opulent affair. Even though she was no longer, technically, Spanish royalty, Amara behaved as if she were, and insisted on the best of everything no matter how ridiculous. The curtains were damask, the carpets were Turkish, and the fireplace was Italian marble.

Amara's Thralls were regularly brought close to the point of death (did I mention she was a greedy little thing?), but they were also arguably some of the best cared-for in the entire city, which was why she only accepted the highest-possible grade of human into her Menagerie. They slept on silk sheets, dined on truffles and caviar and, at the end of their five- or ten-year tenure, they were gifted a lavish sum of money with which to start their new lives.

After her feeding, Amara relaxed comfortably in her chair, idly wiping a drop of blood from the corner of her mouth. She liked a good nap when she was full, and was ready to doze off.

Unfortunately, that was the moment Thomas chose to walk in and say in his clear, efficient voice "Mistress, the Council meeting."

Amara swore and got up. She'd instructed Thomas to remind her about the special session, which she'd been wise enough to know she would forget about when the time came. Which she had.

She swept imperiously from the room and up two flights of stairs to her boudoir, flinging open the closet doors with unnecessary force and beginning to pull down outfits. After a brief debate, she decided on a navy-blue Victorian fancy with black satin ribbons and lace at the collar and cuffs and a matching bonnet and cape, heading out into the cold night air with two liveried attendants in tow.

When she arrived at the Council meeting taking place, of all the ridiculous notions, in a coffee shop, she flounced to the back of the room like she owned the place, settling herself down into a chair with her two Thralls beside her, wearing an expression of practiced boredom as she listened to the ongoing conversation.

She briefly caught Aurelia's eye and, at the Mistress' stern nod, carefully rearranged her features into one of polite interest. She owed the head of the Seethe nothing less than her life, and it was only out of respect for Aurelia that Amara didn't go around murdering innocent mundanes for sport left and right.

As the conversation drew to a close, Amara's eye was drawn to a nervous-looking vampire near the front row.

Julien Delacroix was, despite his deliciously French name, a member of the ancient Ravenwood Seethe of London. Though the Ravenwoods had considerably diminished in power over the last few generations, they remained one of the oldest and grandest Seethes in Europe and, just for this, Amara would've agreed to an alliance with them on principle (not that she was in charge of such decisions).

It was an open secret that Julien had been sent here as an envoy of the Ravenwoods to make just such an alliance, and he had been awkwardly trying to broach the matter with Aurelia. Amara had been enjoying taunting him with promises of her aid in this matter, in exchange for vague services in return.

Despite his clearly nervous disposition, she'd been impressed with how, up 'til now, Julien had managed to politely evade these taunts while, at the same time, not making a scene or outright cutting ties. It had made trying to unsettle him one of her favorite pastimes at any boring meeting or party they both attended.

She watched him now as he, none-too-discreetly, attempted to clean coffee stains from the report he was about to hand in.

A vampire with a cup of coffee, I ask you, Amara thought, giggling to herself at the idea.

As he presented his report and, doing what he does best, danced around the issue rather than outright stating that the vampires and werewolves of London couldn't stand each other, and would no sooner have collaborated on such a matter than started singing Kumbaya (which, after all, was common knowledge), she took advantage and crept up behind him, unnoticed.

At the conclusion of his report, she popped out quickly enough to make him drop his papers (had he still been holding them) and, nodding at the small brown stain on his white shirt, smiled brightly and said "You missed a spot, Mr. Delacroix!"




♡design by neon reverie, coded by uxie♡


Layla, would you come over here please?

The telepathic request (well, really, it was a command) reverberated through the minds of every human in the house and, in short order, a pretty blonde woman who looked to be in about her mid-twenties drifted into the parlor, sweet and rather vague expression on her face.

Amara grinned and licked her lips, her long fangs flashing white in the pale moonlight streaming in through the window. When Layla joined her in the chaise she lost no time in sinking her fangs into her slender neck, drinking deeply. For such a small person, the Aragon heir was a greedy little thing.

The girl was weak and noticeably pale when the vampire finally released her, her breathing shallow and her pulse faint.

Two men in liveried uniforms stepped forward out of the shadows to carry her back to her room. It would take a few days of fluids and bed rest to recover, but eventually her blood would replenish and she would be fine, as always.

It was one of the conditions from the Council- older vampires were allowed to maintain Menageries to lessen the risk of an unfortunate mishap because they had proven themselves to have the self-control for it, but that privilege would be swiftly revoked if harm were to befall any of their Thralls.

Even by the usual vampire standards, however, the Santiago Menagerie was an outrageously opulent affair. Even though she was no longer, technically, Spanish royalty, Amara behaved as if she were, and insisted on the best of everything no matter how ridiculous. The curtains were damask, the carpets were Turkish, and the fireplace was Italian marble.

Amara's Thralls were regularly brought close to the point of death (did I mention she was a greedy little thing?), but they were also arguably some of the best cared-for in the entire city, which was why she only accepted the highest-possible grade of human into her Menagerie. They slept on silk sheets, dined on truffles and caviar and, at the end of their five- or ten-year tenure, they were gifted a lavish sum of money with which to start their new lives.

After her feeding, Amara relaxed comfortably in her chair, idly wiping a drop of blood from the corner of her mouth. She liked a good nap when she was full, and was ready to doze off.

Unfortunately, that was the moment Thomas chose to walk in and say in his clear, efficient voice "Mistress, the Council meeting."

Amara swore and got up. She'd instructed Thomas to remind her about the special session, which she'd been wise enough to know she would forget about when the time came. Which she had.

She swept imperiously from the room and up two flights of stairs to her boudoir, flinging open the closet doors with unnecessary force and beginning to pull down outfits. After a brief debate, she decided on a navy-blue Victorian fancy with black satin ribbons and lace at the collar and cuffs and a matching bonnet and cape, heading out into the cold night air with two liveried attendants in tow.

When she arrived at the Council meeting taking place, of all the ridiculous notions, in a coffee shop, she flounced to the back of the room like she owned the place, settling herself down into a chair with her two Thralls beside her, wearing an expression of practiced boredom as she listened to the ongoing conversation.

She briefly caught Aurelia's eye and, at the Mistress' stern nod, carefully rearranged her features into one of polite interest. She owed the head of the Seethe nothing less than her life, and it was only out of respect for Aurelia that Amara didn't go around murdering innocent mundanes for sport left and right.

As the conversation drew to a close, Amara's eye was drawn to a nervous-looking vampire near the front row.

Julien Delacroix was, despite his deliciously French name, a member of the ancient Ravenwood Seethe of London. Though the Ravenwoods had considerably diminished in power over the last few generations, they remained one of the oldest and grandest Seethes in Europe and, just for this, Amara would've agreed to an alliance with them on principle (not that she was in charge of such decisions).

It was an open secret that Julien had been sent here as an envoy of the Ravenwoods to make just such an alliance, and he had been awkwardly trying to broach the matter with Aurelia. Amara had been enjoying taunting him with promises of her aid in this matter, in exchange for vague services in return.

Despite his clearly nervous disposition, she'd been impressed with how, up 'til now, Julien had managed to politely evade these taunts while, at the same time, not making a scene or outright cutting ties. It had made trying to unsettle him one of her favorite pastimes at any boring meeting or party they both attended.

She watched him now as he, none-too-discreetly, attempted to clean coffee stains from the report he was about to hand in.

A vampire with a cup of coffee, I ask you, Amara thought, giggling to herself at the idea.

As he presented his report and, doing what he does best, danced around the issue rather than outright stating that the vampires and werewolves of London couldn't stand each other, and would no sooner have collaborated on such a matter than started singing Kumbaya (which, after all, was common knowledge), she took advantage and crept up behind him, unnoticed.

At the conclusion of his report, she popped out quickly enough to make him drop his papers (had he still been holding them) and, nodding at the small brown stain on his white shirt, smiled brightly and said "You missed a spot, Mr. Delacroix!"
 
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3paRW3e.png
Julien
Status --- Nervous, Healthy
Location --- Council Meeting
Others --- Amara, Liriel, Council Members

Not wanting to stand in the spotlight any more than he needed to, Julien was quick to deposit the papers before Celastris and then distance himself once more to allow room for the person behind him to have their say. At this stage, the hope was to merely try to seem of some use to the city's local Seethe and its members, or indeed even the Council as a whole. Perhaps then they'd at least be willing to entertain an alliance of some kind, and allow Lord Ravenwood the audience he so desperately seemed to want. Privately, Julien felt it would be a lot easier if the Lord just visited the city himself instead of sending Julien out on a long-term errand to have Aurelis accept an invitation there. But he couldn't deny at the same time that he had leaped at the opportunity to find a place where he could finally sit and have a coffee with Oscar without the fear of accidentally setting off another ancient blood feud.

Shit. He'd meant to have reminded Oscar about this meeting, too. Julien frowned as he realised the error. Grumpy old git was probably asleep at this point in time, given his dismal sleeping schedule. No chance of him making the tail end of the meeting by now, even if he was coherent enough to answer the mobile phone that Julien had finally convinced him to start using more often. Maybe if I just don't mention it he'll forget it was even meant to be on-

A new voice abruptly sounded, addressing him, and Julien jolted out of his idle thoughts in response. A quick side-step was made, singular blue eye sweeping down to check his surroundings for the source until it caught sight of Amara now lurking beside him. Internally, he grimaced. Externally he managed to respond with a strained smile of forced politeness, fangs briefly jutting out into view, before nodding his head towards her in some vague parody of respect.

"Yes, it would appear so." He agreed through his teeth, before fishing out the handkerchief once more to tend to the stain as he went to take his seat. By now though the coffee had started to dry and the best he could do was merely dilute the edges of it a little before giving up on the matter with a short huff. The handkerchief was pocketed again, Julien then turning back towards Amara with a cautiously inquisitive expression. "Do you have a message or inquiry for the Ravenwood Seethe?" Julien then asked, deciding it best to glaze over the observation in the hopes that she would simply state whatever was on her mind and then wander off once more.

Julien's impression of Amara, unsurprisingly, was not a particularly flattering one. So far he had found her to be an insufferable brat, raised in a world where she had experienced very little, if any, hardships as part of it. He'd even heard a rumour from a fellow vampire or two that at some point in her life she had been a member of royalty, though it meant very little to someone whose French-born, hard-working grandfather had survived through the late 1700s. If it wasn't for her known influence over the city and Aurelia's suspected soft spot for her he'd have dismissed her entirely at this point. However, due to his own loyalties towards Ravenwood, Julien found himself forced to at least give the impression of a polite neutrality towards her if he ever hoped to secure favour with the Mistress.

All that being said, he didn't trust her in the slightest. Whatever she had to say further, he was already mentally steeling himself for a way to gently dismiss it.

"I presume you have some reason to address me instead of allowing me to focus on the discussions of the council, after all."

 
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'Oxi' - Tiamata Okscanna - Air Guardian Angel -


Oxxer.jpg
​


Shooting demons and Gathering on the rooftoop...



It was snowing, cold and the weather forecast threatened for more dumping of the white stuff.

Yet here was Tiamata sitting with her entourage made of friends, crew, musicians and back up singer from Spark the Dark Lounge. Some were glassy-eyed, others were with heated pink cheek, but undoubtedly all found themselves laughing, drinking, eating and enjoying, all gathered round here at their their regular spot in SugarBoys. There was no door to seal them off and it was just off to the side of the main entrance. Still it was a bit of semi private room save for the part that peeked out the front bay window. And yes, of course they had set the ambiance to their own vibe; quarters ready and pumping into the jukebox without skipping a beat.

'Ms. Troublesome,' Chanteuse extraordinaire. Twice on Sundays. The redheaded singer sat at the head of the table, still enveloped in her curve-hugging little black number. It was that very one with the flowing blossoming plush sleeves and deep cut plunging V-neckline. As she stood to hug the newcomer to their party, the light hit the velvety fabric just right and ghostly, silver patterns were highlighted all across her body. Seated again, one long stocking'd leg crossed over the other, then she raised her wine flute swirling the velvetly burgundy fluid within as someone made a toast for the upteenth time. A bubbly giggle from a lewd coment brought a slender tan hand to cover her mouth. High above, the track-spotlighting shone down upon her, glinting offa her red nails fancied up as always with the signature black, lovely floral patterns neath the candy-coated surface.

A smile lit up her face. It was professionally done up, crimson lips and smooth transitions accenting her cheekbones still intact. Perfect for the next nice little pose for a group selfie. She still looked the part of vocal vixen save for the twin pigtails marring her stylist's recent masterpiece. Natalia took her time setting up her auburn locks to have the just right twist in her wavy hair. The stylist had lovingly combed and parted her hair in perfection, sparkle laden hairspray doubly applied and effective. And now big black combat boots replaced the scarlet, diamond-finished stilettos from her performance as Ms. Troublesome but 35 minutes ago.

Here, she wasn't Ms. Troublesome. No, she was but merely 'Trouble' to all gathered here. But most called her just 'Tee'. They saw her as this charming young lady, vivacious and chatty, talented and pretty, a budding celebrity with a killer bod.

But she saw herself as something more. Something more important than the fame and fortune such a sought after career could bring. But her friends here in her entourage would never see it. Nor were they meant to.




The mortals would never see it nor, hear it but the explosion just half a block away, blasting a body up high only to come hurling back down to earth, bouncing onto the concrete right in front of the bay window.

Slowly the chanteuse rose from her seat, eyes taking on a silvery glow. Slender wrists were suddenly adorned with pewter bracelets, but upon closer look, it was hued more like gunmetal. Only one single other at the table would notice. The redheaded singer and her brunette friend locked eyes; The Angel gave a slight upward chin nod. The Witch gave a slight nod in return and slid Ms. Troublesome's clutch towards herself and slipped the expensive leather thing into her own purse.

"Eyo, Miri, babe, I need to get my shawl outta the car. Cover for me here wouldja?" a green-eyed wink she tossed her friend.

"Oh, we good, Troubs. I got you. You do what you do," a hazel-eyed wink returned. She knew what it meant when those pewter bracelets were adorned on her friend's wrists. Miri knew that the shade they held was more gunmetal than anyone could ever suspect.

Several waves and kisses on the cheeks she gave, jovially stating she'll be back, she'll be back. The Angel made her way past, Elaine, long time veteran server who had long since stopped dyeing her hair to hide the grey. A 50 dollar bill she slipped the wonderful server and said wonderful server nodded and thanked her graciously.

The moment she stepped out the door, all semblance of exuberant smiles and laughter vanished like waking suddenly from a bad dream. Mortals would see, Trouble point at the ground. Supernaturals would see her put two rounds into the demon to finish it off, one to the heart, one to the head. A sudden gust of wind twirled the ends of her twin pigtails and swished past the hem of her black dress. Oxi inhaled the aethereal Air vapour and sighed. The chanteuse was no longer there. Only the gunslinger remained.




Into the alley she slipped and disappeared from mortal sight. The slate and silver of her immense wings shrouded her momentarily before unfurling as she took 3 tremendous strides forward. Oxi launched into the snowy skies, eyes getting used to the wind up here and noted the location of the demon killer. Eiael. A mirthful glint lit up green eyes allowing a small laughing scoff to escape her lips. Of course it just had to be them that fired such a thing.

Tilting her chin to the left, she noted the oncoming swarm of red-eyed enemies. A deep breath she took then with controlled breath, she unleashed an extended musical note. As the cluster of slobbering shadows turned to stare at her, she had begun her battle song and had begun her attack run. The song was ancient and crafted over millenias ago in the original Cherubim language. The bullets that hailed down on the demons were newly crafted and made of her own will; the magic of Elemental Air.

A master's lesson of shooting accuracy whilst in high speed flight she demonstrated. Oxi only fired 4 times each shot hitting home squarely in between the eyes. Upon impact a sudden rush of wind immediately entered the wound and detonated the bullet within. From 3 bullets, dozens of deadly Air charged shrapnel exploded from the targets and found home deep in the bodies of the unfortunate brethren. The final bullet was one of a different magical effect. This one exploded and a tornado swept up snow and demonic body alike into a madly spinning funnel.

Lycanious Lycanious "Eyo, E! What's good, Angel?" The tornado ceased spinning and all that snow and all those bodies fell to earth, "nice little pile right there for target practice, no?"

Oxi landed onto the snowy rooftop, shivered her slate with silver highlighted wings free of snow. She shook her auburn pigtails free of snow for good measure too. The dead cold expression she lost, a smile now stretched across full crimson lips happily in its stead. A musical squeal she let out and pranced on over to Eiael, "We'll catch up in a sec. But first, let's secure the area first. So who are you here with, E?"




Plain Text - Shooting demons and Gathering on the rooftoop...


'Oxi' - Tiamata Okscanna - Air Guardian Angel
​

It was snowing, cold and the weather forecast threatened for more dumping of the white stuff.

Yet here was Tiamata sitting with her entourage made of friends, crew, musicians and back up singer from Spark the Dark Lounge. Some were glassy-eyed, others were with heated pink cheek, but undoubtedly all found themselves laughing, drinking, eating and enjoying, all gathered round here at their their regular spot in SugarBoys. There was no door to seal them off and it was just off to the side of the main entrance. Still it was a bit of semi private room save for the part that peeked out the front bay window. And yes, of course they had set the ambiance to their own vibe; quarters ready and pumping into the jukebox without skipping a beat.

'Ms. Troublesome,' Chanteuse extraordinaire. Twice on Sundays. The redheaded singer sat at the head of the table, still enveloped in her curve-hugging little black number. It was that very one with the flowing blossoming plush sleeves and deep cut plunging V-neckline. As she stood to hug the newcomer to their party, the light hit the velvety fabric just right and ghostly, silver patterns were highlighted all across her body. Seated again, one long stocking'd leg crossed over the other, then she raised her wine flute swirling the velvetly burgundy fluid within as someone made a toast for the upteenth time. A bubbly giggle from a lewd coment brought a slender tan hand to cover her mouth. High above, the track-spotlighting shone down upon her, glinting offa her red nails fancied up as always with the signature black, lovely floral patterns neath the candy-coated surface.

A smile lit up her face. It was professionally done up, crimson lips and smooth transitions accenting her cheekbones still intact. Perfect for the next nice little pose for a group selfie. She still looked the part of vocal vixen save for the twin pigtails marring her stylist's recent masterpiece. Natalia took her time setting up her auburn locks to have the just right twist in her wavy hair. The stylist had lovingly combed and parted her hair in perfection, sparkle laden hairspray doubly applied and effective. And now big black combat boots replaced the scarlet, diamond-finished stilettos from her performance as 'Ms. Troublesome' but 35 minutes ago.

Here, she wasn't Ms. Troublesome. No, she was but merely 'Trouble' to all gathered here. But most called her just 'Tee'. They saw her as this charming young lady, vivacious and chatty, talented and pretty, a budding celebrity with a killer bod.

But she saw herself as something more. Something more important than the fame and fortune such a sought after career could bring. But her friends here in her entourage would never see it. Nor were they meant to.




The mortals would never see it nor, hear it but the explosion just half a block away, blasting a body up high only to come hurling back down to earth, bouncing onto the concrete right in front of the bay window.

Slowly the chanteuse rose from her seat, eyes taking on a silvery glow. Slender wrists were suddenly adorned with pewter bracelets, but upon closer look, it was hued more like gunmetal. Only one single other at the table would notice. The redheaded singer and her brunette friend locked eyes; The Angel gave a slight upward chin nod. The Witch gave a slight nod in return and slid Ms. Troublesome's clutch towards herself and slipped the expensive leather thing into her own purse.

"Eyo, Miri, babe, I need to get my shawl outta the car. Cover for me here wouldja?" a green-eyed wink she tossed her friend.

"Oh, we good, Troubs. I got you. You do what you do," a hazel-eyed wink returned. She knew what it meant when those pewter bracelets were adorned on her friend's wrists. Miri knew that the shade they held was more gunmetal than anyone could ever suspect.

Several fond waves and cheek kisses she doled out, jovially stating she'll be back, she'll be back. The Angel made her way past, Elaine, long time veteran server who had long since stopped dyeing her hair to hide the grey. A 50 dollar bill she slipped the wonderful server and said wonderful server nodded and thanked her graciously.

The moment she stepped out the door, all semblance of exuberant smiles and laughter vanished like waking suddenly from a bad dream. Mortals would see, Trouble point at the ground. Supernaturals would see her put two rounds into the demon to finish it off, one to the heart, one to the head. A sudden gust of wind twirled the ends of her twin pigtails and swished past the hem of her black dress. Oxi inhaled the aethereal Air vapour and sighed. The chanteuse was no longer there. Only the gunslinger remained.




Into the alley she slipped and disappeared from mortal sight. The slate and silver of her immense wings shrouded her momentarily before unfurling as she took 3 tremendous strides forward. Oxi launched into the snowy skies, eyes getting used to the wind up here and noted the location of the demon killer. Eiael. A mirthful glint lit up green eyes allowing a small laughing scoff to escape her lips. Of course it just had to be them that fired such a thing.

Tilting her chin to the left, she noted the oncoming swarm of red-eyed enemies. A deep breath she took then with controlled breath, she unleashed an extended musical note. As the cluster of slobbering shadows turned to stare at her, she had begun her battle song and had begun her attack run. The song was ancient and crafted over millenias ago in the original Cherubim language. The bullets that hailed down on the demons were newly crafted and made of her own will; the magic of Elemental Air.

A master's lesson of shooting accuracy whilst in high speed flight she demonstrated. Oxi only fired 4 times each shot hitting home squarely in between the eyes. Upon impact a sudden rush of wind immediately entered the wound and detonated the bullet within. From 3 bullets, dozens of deadly Air charged shrapnel exploded from the targets and found home deep in the bodies of the unfortunate brethren. The final bullet was one of a different magical effect. This one exploded and a tornado swept up snow and demonic body alike into a madly spinning funnel.

"Eyo, E! What's good, Angel? " The tornado ceased spinning and all that snow and all those bodies fell to earth, "nice little pile right there for target practice, no?"

Oxi landed onto the snowy rooftop, shivered her slate with silver highlighted wings free of snow. She shook her auburn pigtails free of snow for good measure too. The dead cold expression she lost, a smile now stretched across full crimson lips happily in its stead. A musical squeal she let out and pranced on over to Eiael. "We'll catch up in a sec. But first, let's secure the area first. So who are you here with, E?"

 
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Lycanious Lycanious Ayama Ayama BuggaBoo BuggaBoo

Imelda | Werewolf
Current Mission: Find being responsible for a series of deaths. Maintain secrecy from humans and their officials. Any and all personnel available to assist in resolving this as quickly as possible are desired.
Current Team: Eiael & Tiamata
Note: [Brackets] mean Imelda is speaking in Spanish.

As she heard the demon climbing the building, joints popped beneath her skin and thick, rust-red fur burst. Flesh stretched and tore, coaxing a groan from her lips despite her every attempt to swallow it down. White painted down her chest to her pelvis and her spine stretched further into a tail. The cold of the night faded away.

Both demons were too close.

She almost forgot about her cargo pants and the beads of magic she bought contained within some of the pockets. Imelda tore the fabric with a claw without ceremony, stumbling into the snow as she kicked off her boots and her legs started to reshape themselves. A weight dropped down on her back and she growled, the sound pitching into a howl as claws ripped into her flesh.

Teeth punctured the back of her neck and Imelda snatched a hand backward, throwing the demon off her before it could do anything fatal. Scrabbling to her feet, she stood as tall as she could, face elongating into a muzzle. Rubbery lips peeled back in a snarl, pointed ears flattening against the back of her head.

She rushed towards the creature, sprinting on two legs before stooping to all fours. Her body collided with the demon’s. Imelda’s teeth sank into the half-smoky form and tendrils, that should have been blood, choked her senses. The demon scored claws down her stomach and thigh, splattering the snow with dark red and forcing her to throw it sideways to stop the assault. The other demon finally closed the distance between it and her, lunging with snapping teeth at her legs.

Imelda stumbled backwards to avoid it and felt her leg hit the ledge of the roof. Where the water demon had left gouges, her body seemed to burn with cold. She gritted her teeth together against it. Her side was at last fully healed and the back of her neck followed suit, the sensation of skin stitching itself back together akin to stinging ants.

Both creatures paced before her, the red eyes of the other demon giving away its fire adaptation. She crouched slowly.

The fire demon charged just as thick icicles erupted from the snow, the former using the latter as a low platform aimed at her chest. Imelda ducked beneath both and turned, grasping at the fire demon before it fell from the rooftop. Her claws dug into its hip and back. With another twist, she impaled the beast on the icicles. It writhed for a moment as its body disintegrated.

With the fire demon gone, she darted around the icicles and caught the water demon’s lower jaw in her hand mid-pounce. She slammed it against the roof’s ledge before throwing it back across the snow. The dark creature tumbled and slid, scrambling to its feet a moment after. More icicles jutted up, racing towards Imelda.

She jumped over the ledge, claws scraping then puncturing the stone of the neighboring building. The ground waited several stories below when she glanced down. Another icicle launched from the rooftop and Imelda twisted aside, letting the ice crash against the wall. Grabbing what remained, she swung herself up and loped back to where the demon lurked.

Imelda hadn’t expected it to meet her partway.

It slammed into her before she reached the ledge, knocking them both off the makeshift pillar. The demon scrabbled at her as they plummeted, teeth and claws finding whatever they could tear and rend. Imelda howled and bit back, crunching a limb between her teeth and jerking her head to snap it in two. The limb tore from the demon’s body as she drove claws into its belly. Smoke clogged her senses.

Wrenching a hand free, she groped for anything to arrest her fall, feeling the resistance as her claws dug into stone again. It slowed her descent but threatened to dislocate her shoulder. The demon still clung to her, tearing at her chest, side, and back. Imelda’s claws came loose from the stone and their bodies struck the ground in a plume of snow and smoke.

Everywhere her flesh seared with pain, and she laid still, trying to make the world return to some semblance of order as red stained the snow before her face. She couldn’t see or hear the demon, her ear twitching slightly for any sound. It must have died from the impact. Air huffed from her nostrils as she forced herself up, arms quivering beneath her weight. Blood stopped dribbling to the ground as her wounds began to heal.
A boom and accompanying cackle provoked Imelda's ears to perk. Looking up, she spotted a new angel--with what looked like a rocket launcher. A fanged grin split her maw as she stumbled out of the alleyway. The angel with the Destroy-All-gun wasn't alone, either. Imelda watched as another angel barreled through a few more demons, their shadowy figures dissipating into nothing upon the wind conjured up. She gave a quick glance about the streets and rooftops, ears swiveling and nose twitching in search of any further demonic activity. There was none left.
Briefly, a sigh escaped Imelda as she stretched furred arms above her lupine head. Then, she again glanced upward at the pair of angels, the wind-wielding one midway through an enthusiastic greeting. As the two angels mingled, Imelda scurried back towards the building she'd taken a fall from earlier, climbing her way back to the rooftops where her shredded clothes were discarded. She snorted, a bit annoyed at herself for having been so careless. At least the elemental beads within the pockets of her cargo pants were unharmed.
It took several minutes for her to return to human shape, bare feet unbothered by the snow as she held the remains of her clothing before her for a more thorough evaluation. Gradually, she tried to make them cling about her body, ignoring the pangs of discomfort as oversensitive skin prickled with pain from being touched so soon after shifting.

Shaldrani | Dragon
Location: Literary Brew Book & Coffee Shop
Company: The Council + Meeting Attendees

"Thank you, Liriel," Celastris replied, taking the... impressively, sized report from the angel. "We'll have another sent to the hospital to ensure the human isn't possessed or becomes so while especially vulnerable." As Liriel stepped away, Julien stepped forward, providing his own set of documents and message. The dryad frowned as he listened. "Yes," he finally started to respond. "Your report is appreciated and certainly... uncomfortable, to hear. If these entities are global, then who knows what sort of impact this might have for all Supernaturals..." He rubbed a hand against his jawline, fingers idly scratching at a browned leaf tangled in his beard. "I will have a letter scribed for you to send to the Master of your Seethe. Expect word within two days." At that, Celastris nodded at Vyllynor, both Councilmembers gathering their meeting notes and the various reports turned in before heading for the exit.

Shaldrani watched the two leave before finally glancing in Celyn's direction. "I heard that derisive sniff, you pompous glitter bomb knock off," they snarked in a hushed tone, fangs peeking from beneath their lips. The dragon pinched the bridge of their nose, letting a faint wisp of smoke billow out from between their teeth before swallowing the ire down. The unicorn truly got on their final nerves any time they occupied the same room. But Shaldrani wasn't about to completely unravel while there were guests in their shop. Waving a dismissive hand, they strode closer to the angel named Liriel, only briefly eyeing the pair of vampires at the other side of the room. While the walls were justifiably sound proofed against the outside world, this was still their lair and so they heard everything within those same walls.

They cleared their throat as they approached Liriel, lifting a clawed index finger. "That was quite the expansive report you presented," Shaldrani started. "You made it sound so quick, though. Do you mind sharing some of the details with me? I hardly get to see what the Task Force does outside of my shop..."
 












"Only righteous angelic flames can purify the tainted."





Zealous - Stubborn - Insecure






Liriel Mebarum

The Avenging Angel








As Celastris thanked her and took the report from her hands, Liriel inclined her head respectfully, stepping back as a vampire stepped forward to give his report. She appreciated his humble manner- so at odds with that of most of the city's bloodsuckers, who essentially considered themselves superior to everyone else (though they would invariably show their true, cowardly colors when faced with lycanthropic rage or righteous angelic wrath).

As the meeting wrapped up and people began to leave, Liriel felt herself tense up as she heard the exchange between Shaldrani and Celyn. It was well-known that the dragon and the unicorn pretty much hated each other, and they had been known to blow up at each other at previous meetings, with spectacularly destructive results.

Luckily, Shaldrani kept their ire under control, and stepped away from Celyn and (much to her surprise) towards Liriel herself. The angel found herself experiencing a different kind of nervousness as Shaldrani approached as, despite the fact that they were always unerringly friendly and pleasant to all, dragons were considered sacred creatures to many of the world's cultures, and most low-level Guardian Angels viewed them in much the same way.

When Shaldrani asked her for more detailed information on her report, Liriel actually blushed, and found herself mostly looking down at her feet as she gave the information, only occasionally briefly lifting her eyes before darting them back down again.

"O- of course, my Ledan- it would be my pleasure! We arrived at the mission location at 2146 hours-" (she'd picked up military lingo in the early 20th century with much enthusiasm) "- and proceeded to inspect the building. The first three floors were clear, but on the fourth floor we encountered a minor demon on guard duty.

The demon was quickly dispatched, but not before it had managed to alert the other two, one floor up. When we arrived, one had their human captive held hostage, making it clear to us it would harm the human if we came any closer. As it distracted us, the other came around from the rear.

Zadkiel reacted quickly enough to protect us from the strike. He dealt with it so that I was free to focus on the one in front. I placed my weapon on the ground so that it would believe it had the upper hand then, at the last second just as its guard lowered, I was able to get it between the eyes.

The human received no damage other than a twisted ankle- we dusted him and brought him to the hospital."

She fell silent as she finished her tale, timidly raising her eyes to the dragon's once more, wondering if there might be additional questions or requests they might have of her.

*'My Ledan' is the gender-neutral equivalent of 'My Lady' or 'My Lord'.




♡design by neon reverie, coded by uxie♡


As Celastris thanked her and took the report from her hands, Liriel inclined her head respectfully, stepping back as a vampire stepped forward to give his report. She appreciated his humble manner- so at odds with that of most of the city's bloodsuckers, who essentially considered themselves superior to everyone else (though they would invariably show their true, cowardly colors when faced with lycanthropic rage or righteous angelic wrath).

As the meeting wrapped up and people began to leave, Liriel felt herself tense up as she heard the exchange between Shaldrani and Celyn. It was well-known that the dragon and the unicorn pretty much hated each other, and they had been known to blow up at each other at previous meetings, with spectacularly destructive results.

Luckily, Shaldrani kept their ire under control, and stepped away from Celyn and (much to her surprise) towards Liriel herself. The angel found herself experiencing a different kind of nervousness as Shaldrani approached as, despite the fact that they were always unerringly friendly and pleasant to all, dragons were considered sacred creatures to many of the world's cultures, and most low-level Guardian Angels viewed them in much the same way.

When Shaldrani asked her for more detailed information on her report, Liriel actually blushed, and found herself mostly looking down at her feet as she gave the information, only occasionally briefly lifting her eyes before darting them back down again.

"O- of course, my Ledan- it would be my pleasure! We arrived at the mission location at 2146 hours-" (she'd picked up military lingo in the early 20th century with much enthusiasm) "- and proceeded to inspect the building. The first three floors were clear, but on the fourth floor we encountered a minor demon on guard duty.

The demon was quickly dispatched, but not before it had managed to alert the other two, one floor up. When we arrived, one had their human captive held hostage, making it clear to us it would harm the human if we came any closer. As it distracted us, the other came around from the rear.

Zadkiel reacted quickly enough to protect us from the strike. He dealt with it so that I was free to focus on the one in front. I placed my weapon on the ground so that it would believe it had the upper hand then, at the last second just as its guard lowered, I was able to get it between the eyes.

The human received no damage other than a twisted ankle- we dusted him and brought him to the hospital."

She fell silent as she finished her tale, timidly raising her eyes to the dragon's once more, wondering if there might be additional questions or requests they might have of her.

*'My Ledan' is the gender-neutral equivalent of 'My Lady' or 'My Lord'.
 
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CsQ8LHS.png
Eiael
Status --- Curious, Healthy
Location --- Rooftops
Others --- Imelda, Oxi

Eiael had been given very little chance to spot any more demons lurking about before a new, upcoming sound interrupted their search. Momentarily they caught a glimpse of yet another angel swooping across the skies, just before their winged silhouette fired off a series of bullets to deal with another small group of demons that had been, presumably, forming just out of sight from where Eiael had been hovering. They took this as an opportunity to dip lower and glide across several rooftops, scanning the area for more of the beasts lingering about in the shadows while the werewolf dealt with the remaining two. So far, secured. Though Eiael didn’t have any doubts that more were fated to come by eventually if the trio remained for too long.

For a fraction of a second, a slouch was allowed to settle into their shoulders. They’d wanted more of a chance to test out how effective the weapon was against different elemental alignments, not to mention if the two knocked prone would’ve stayed down if not for the wind-assisted bullet to their skulls to finish them off. A quick survey of the area revealed no more right now though. Such a thought was quick to give way to the counter argument that the demons had been dealt with, at least, and the mildly disappointed expression quickly gave way to a polite greeting towards the newest arrival as she began to approach.

Likewise, Eiael relaxed their wings and landed upon the same snow-covered rooftop to speak to her. They however remained stationary while the fellow angel skipped towards them, brow creasing faintly but otherwise nodding in agreement. “Reckon we’re safe, for now. But knowing how the bastards are I’m sure some more will start to show up eventually.” They declared, before relaxing a little in their stance as they registered that the other being was 'Oxi'. “Ain’t anyone I’m with here, but I saw Zarall flying off a moment ago.” Eiael then added, gesturing in the general direction they’d seen her disappear to. “Looked like she was helping get someone away from the place, but dunno who or what it was.” A shrug followed for emphasis. “Figured I’d help make a distraction here for whatever was trying to follow.”

It was then that Eiael remembered the werewolf, and turned from the conversation in order to see where she’d disappeared to.Curious, they planted their boots against the edge of the roof and rested their hands onto the safety barrier of it, before leaning up and over the edge to investigate. It took a moment of scanning their surroundings, but eventually they spied the werewolf having clawed its way back up to the rooftop of a building directly across from them. “Oh, good! You didn’t die.” Eiael called out to them, as wings flared and they launched off of the edge to make a lazy, half-hearted glide across to the rooftop to meet them.

Eiael landed on the side opposite the werewolf, politely averting their gaze for a moment as their form shuddered and twisted back into something far more human before gathering up her clothing. Once a few moments had passed they began their approach, pausing once they were within conversational distance. “You uh, want some extra layers there?” Offered Eiael, the tone one of concern but perhaps laced with a little more of a huff of amusement at the scenario than originally intended. The angel briefly observed her with a contemplative hum, noting that while she had a considerably stockier build than they currently did they were at least of a similar height. It was a close enough match to prompt them to reach back and begin to undo the buttons at the back of their lab-coat, creating a gap for their wings to be freed from it, before sliding the garment off of their shoulders. Hopefully the fact it was a bit oversized for Eiael would make up for the difference in their body types.

“Don’t worry if you get blood on the coat,” They chirped as they then held out the item of clothing towards her, revealing a pink button-up shirt beneath to match the colour of their hair. “Washes out just fine on that one, I’ve already checked.” A curious head then tilted to the side, trying to remember if they had bumped into her out and about the city before. “Saw you with Zarall just now, figured you were mates ‘n all. Reckon you need any more help here or you all good?”

 












"In a battle of wits, no sound logic can outweigh vampiric gifts."





Cunning - Calculating - Manipulative






Amara Santiago

The Vestal Vampire








Amara wanted to giggle at the smile that Delacroix had hastily plastered onto his face- the expression was more pained grimace than anything remotely pleased or jovial, and was quite comical to behold.

The nod he gave was also one of forced politeness, stiff and curt, and it couldn't be clearer that he hated having the nicety forced out of him by the demands of etiquette and his particular situation.

She did let out a giggle as Julien tried, unsuccessfully, to tackle the stain on his collar, and then gave up with an irritated exhale. When he turned back to her, his expression was now familiarly guarded as he pointedly asked her if she had a message for the Ravenwood Seethe.

At his following comment about her essentially preventing him from paying attention to the discussions of the Council, Amara laughed out loud- a carrying, tinkling affair heard throughout the room.

The meeting was already over- Julien was clearly grasping at straws to get her to leave him alone as quickly as possible, and the fact that he'd made such an obvious mistake (which he usually wouldn't be prone to) demonstrated that her campaign to unsettle him had indeed been bearing fruit, or that he was strained due to some other reason.

Amara fluttered her lashes coquettishly as she leaned uncomfortably far into the other vampire's personal space.

"Reason? What other reason could I have, but for the desire to engage in conversation with our most charming visitor?" she purred, smiling sweetly. The fact that she knew how much the obvious obfuscation would bother him made it that much more enjoyable.

"Speaking of which," she continued in a would-be casual manner, "have you given any additional thought to our previous conversations? I know the politics of our Seethe can be somewhat opaque to outsiders, but I would be more than happy to assist you in... finding your way," she delicately stressed, moon-white fangs glinting in her predatory grin.




♡design by neon reverie, coded by uxie♡


Amara wanted to giggle at the smile that Delacroix had hastily plastered onto his face- the expression was more pained grimace than anything remotely pleased or jovial, and was quite comical to behold.

The nod he gave was also one of forced politeness, stiff and curt, and it couldn't be clearer that he hated having the nicety forced out of him by the demands of etiquette and his particular situation.

She did let out a giggle as Julien tried, unsuccessfully, to tackle the stain on his collar, and then gave up with an irritated exhale. When he turned back to her, his expression was now familiarly guarded as he pointedly asked her if she had a message for the Ravenwood Seethe.

At his following comment about her essentially preventing him from paying attention to the discussions of the Council, Amara laughed out loud- a carrying, tinkling affair heard throughout the room.

The meeting was already over- Julien was clearly grasping at straws to get her to leave him alone as quickly as possible, and the fact that he'd made such an obvious mistake (which he usually wouldn't be prone to) demonstrated that her campaign to unsettle him had indeed been bearing fruit, or that he was strained due to some other reason.

Amara fluttered her lashes coquettishly as she leaned uncomfortably far into the other vampire's personal space.

"Reason? What other reason could I have, but for the desire to engage in conversation with our most charming visitor?" she purred, smiling sweetly. The fact that she knew how much the obvious obfuscation would bother him made it that much more enjoyable.

"Speaking of which," she continued in a would-be casual manner, "have you given any additional thought to our previous conversations? I know the politics of our Seethe can be somewhat opaque to outsiders, but I would be more than happy to assist you in... finding your way," she delicately stressed, moon-white fangs glinting in her predatory grin.
 

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Julien
Status --- Nervous, Healthy
Location --- Council Meeting
Others --- Amara, Liriel, Council Members

The sounds of Amara’s laughter were met, as usual, with a deadpan expression. Julien didn’t scoff nor try to laugh along with her, merely blinked back in a tired manner a few times before diverting his attention back towards the heads of council just in time to see them wrapping up the entire meeting. Politely he bowed his head in acknowledgement, muttering a faint thanks towards Vyllynor at mention of the letter before the dryad and other council members made their way to the exit.

It was then that Amara decided to finally elaborate on why she had chosen to speak to him, and he rolled his head towards her in a more irksome manner than before to hear it. A disbelieving eyebrow quirked upwards at the explanation. Julien knew perfectly well that every syllable was laced with insincerity, no matter how much she tried to smile innocently alongside of them.

“Whilst your offers to assist myself and the Ravenwood Seethe in our endeavours to forge an alliance have been noted, we shall continue to decline them at this current point in time.” Julien hummed, deciding that keeping the conversation both formal and to the point would perhaps help bring it to an earlier end. Additionally he took a step back, as he was most certainly not a fan of anyone invading his personal space, and let a faint scowl start to seep into his expression as he dusted off the sleeve of his suit. “We feel it is best to earn our meeting with Ms. Eirlys on her own terms after all, rather than attempt to weasel our way to her ear beforehand.”

Finally, the sleeve was seemingly dusted and straightened to his standards, and he moved to cross his arms behind his back before continuing. This time the tone was short and sharper, bordering on what almost sounded like a warning. “I’ll be sure to inform Ms. Eirlys all about your kindly offers to help, though.”

With that, and a click of his heels, he turned towards the nearest alternative conversation in the hopes of warding her away. He had very little passing familiarity with both Shaldrani and Liriel, but he’d paid enough attention in the meetings to at least learn their names. Julien managed to catch the tail end of Liriel’s recount, eyebrows raising in response to it. “Ah, forgive the interruption, but I must say that sounds rather harrowing. I…feel as if the demon encounters are far more intense, around here. Or perhaps they are just more frequent, globally, as of late…?”

Julien however had very little time to ponder this any further, on account of the fact that the door to the coffee shop had abruptly busted itself open once more and prompted a slight jump in response. Standing in its frame was the familiar sight of a portly man in a green jacket, weight distributed partially onto a walking stick at his right-hand side. Judging from the panting for breath the man had made a brisk-as-possible walk to the place. Or perhaps that was just from regular walking, Julien wondered. Oscar, as the man was named, had hardly ever been the pinnacle of good health after all.

Green, tired eyes surveyed the room for a moment. Whatever they had been in search for however was, apparently, not present, as Oscar huffed in exasperation. A string of muttered expletives followed as he started to trudge his way into the coffee shop all the same, ire now honing in towards Julien as he neared the far-taller vampire. Julien meanwhile did not look particularly concerned by it, though a faint hint of guilt was now easing into his expression.

“Any chance of a spot of tea at this hour…?” He asked the dragon, before sharply motioning to Julien with the cane once he’d come to a stop. ”Or has this wiry old git made me too late for that as well?”

 
My name is Isaac Nathaniel Davis. I am 29 years old, contain a strong desire to live, and with no self destructive tendencies, habits, or inclinations. I live in a small home on the edge of the city limits of which the exact location I will not disclose for my safety. My primary method of travel is by bus and by foot, and I do not drive, hitch-hike, or otherwise traverse long distances by private means of which are not recorded and publicly available.

If you are reading this post-mortem, they are lying to you.

The skinny figure sitting across from a series of monitors mounted to a concrete wall darts his eyes to another screen. His hand reaches from the keyboard that was previously being furiously utilized to his mouse. The cursor shifts across a mess of panels and windows to one that looks like a black and white text screen to type in four innocuous letters that form no word in the dictionary. He hits enter, and a long string of text shoots past the console's text input. The window closes and another opens, displaying the grainy image of a street. The only sign that it was not a static image was distant headlights driving further down the street. Isaac taps his keyboard a few times, rifling through camera feeds.

He looks back to the center display, corneas slowly frying from constant working in a dark room with bright, white light. The shadow he casts is not enough to obscure the ladder leading up to the rest of the house, nor the two wide desks littered with parts and wires gutted from a great many machines if not ordered especially for a project here or there. Mounted on the other walls are more monitors and a doorway leads into another room beyond the ladder. It clicks and whirrs, the room filled with computers and servers that act on his codes and commands. The ground is littered with sticky notes that have lost their clingy residue, scribbled with notes and to-do lists that must be rewritten again and again and again and again.

On the wall is a corkboard littered with images of official reports and schematics, all linked with red twine. The machinist's hands continue to type.

I am an enthusiast of technology, the occult, and the unknown. I have an interest in managing servers for various purposes and constructing autonomous drones and remotely piloted vehicles for remote observation, exploration, and investigation throughout the city. These are my primary means of entertainment within my dwelling and are used for non-nefarious purposes. I do not commit acts that harm individuals in any way that is physical, mental, emotional, or monetary unless they are actively committing that harm to other individuals in a way I can verifiably prove.

I have no next of kin and request all my belongings be destroyed in an irreparable and unrecoverable manner. Should my dwelling be discovered intact within 24 hours of my expiration, I request an additional 48 hours to pass before my belongings are seized and destroyed. Automated systems will carry out the remaining desires of my will without any further intervention.

The camera feed ceases flickering and a third angle of the street displays itself, but clearly from a few hours before during the evening. A quick smack at the keys opens a video scrubber, and slowly the sun sets and night crosses over. It can only move so quickly, and his gaze shifts to another monitor. Two more camera feeds display a city street that's bathed in more moonlight than from any lamp. On that feed, in the corner of its distorted camera lens, are three individuals standing upon a rooftop. Two have odd visual distortions around their person, clearly consistent in a 3d space as a second view of the scene shows similar distortions. Their postures and gestures match with a minor delay, confirming a live feed. A blinking red dot at the corner of the window records it all. There is no audio, as the local municipality felt that it was unnecessary.

I write this note on my local system because I have bore witness to something I suspect I was not intended to see.

Our city does not rank the safest places to live in the nation or the state. I have cross-referenced official reports on shootings, homicides, robberies, and other violent crime with other cities and we should appear on this statistic, yet we do not. My hobbies in the remote observation and exploration of the city have returned with more audible recordings of gunfire than the Police Department will report.

There is something strange in this city that I have come to reluctantly call home. Statistics of disappeared persons officially published by the city do not coincide with the records of individuals reported missing that have not been solved. Ongoing cases have been scrubbed from official records on a daily basis. City planning documents have not accounted for large swaths of subterranean rooms and un-utilized chambers within public buildings.

A pause. Something moved in the house. His hand quickly shoots across the keyboard and opens a view of the living room upstairs. The windows remain boarded. The dining room debris are still in their place. Kitchen is undisturbed. Bedroom is in the same state of discheveling as before. The view turns to outside, black and white with a crisp vision up to the tree line and a bit further. The property remains pitch black, but is bathed in infrared light to see what does not want to be seen. It is barren.

Behind him a printer whirrs to life that is clearly of some great age, yellowed from its original off-white and slowly dragging itself back to life to push out an image of the street and the three figures in its periphery and, in a single blurry image, a large furry creature thrown to the ground scrambling to its feet. The video displays the beast falling into view for a handful of frames before making its way back up to the roof. On the live feed, the creature is not there.

I will include all evidence I have been able to gather alongside other corroborating evidence to the investigation I am conducting and will be stored on an external server in the event of my death, and will be distributed to reliable sources, and no sooner. There is something strange ongoing in this place, and I will do my best to uncover what it is.

Isaac huffs, taking a deep breath from the sight of such an unusual unravelling of events, and grabs the paper from the printer, hacking away at it with his scissors before he pins them to the cork board, linked with red string. His hands clench and unclench in anxiety, always having wanted to be part of such a new discovery into the unknown goings-on in our world. To find a piece of something not meant to be brought to light.

And now, god help him, he's found it.
 



'Oxi' - Tiamata Okscanna - Air Guardian Angel -


Oxxer.jpg
​


Leaving the rooftop and off searching for answers...


Oxi watched Eiael's tension relax the moment she stepped up to the other Angel. As he responded, green eyes lit up whilst admiring his weapon. A soft smile and a whistle she let out in appreciation.

Like many others of her breed, she loved angellic weapons and had an innate curiosity to learn about them over the centuries. She even taught countless others to shoot both on ground and airborne. But for whatever reason she never crafted one herself. She just shrugged and laughed it off when confronted about it; 'Those that can will do. Those that cannot will teach.'

Lycanious said:
“Ain’t anyone I’m with here, but I saw Zarall flying off a moment ago. Looked like she was helping get someone away from the place, but dunno who or what it was.”
Click to expand...

"Grumpy Angel with someone in tow?" one dark blossoming sleeved arm rose and tan hand held up her chin. Her other hand supported said elbow and long fingers with elegant red nails thrummed in succession one after the other, "hmmmm... could have something to do with this latest demonic rush, E."

To the snowy rooftops edge she marched with the other Angel, big black combat boots crunching in the drift as she went. Green-eyed gaze caught what E spied and she shook her head. Upon a neighbouring roof, an olive skin woman stood there, collecting her tatters of clothes. A calm expression the stocky woman held and seemingly without care for the subzero elements lead Oxi to believe that yeah, this was not a mere mortal. Torn clothes, weather resistant, well built? Yeah she was a wolf.

Another shake of the head. Transforming and shredding clothes was not for her. Definitely. Oxi would just die if she had torn through this little black dress; it was a one off specifically tailored and handmade for her afterall. Eiael sudden leapt off the edge of the roof, unfurling his wings and undoubtedy going to greet the wolf. Oxi merely sighed and shrugged.

"Okay. Well we can always catch up later, E," she called after him, stepping offa the ledge behind him, "I'mma figure out what Zarall is up to. Later, Angel."

Slate and silver feathery wings burst open midway down her headfirst descent towards the pavement below. Swooping up in an elegant arc she rocketed up to the snowy skies, auburn pigtails chasing behind her. She circled the immediate area scouring for more demonic activity. When sated she continued in the direction where E had pointed and pulled out her phone from her bra and texted her fellow gunslingers in NightFlight.

{{Yo, Angies. Demonic activity near SugarBoys. All clear. Met with Eiael. Wolf on scene. Imma look for Zarall. She got possible witness of some kind????? idk. update later.}}

With her phone now tucked away securely she continued on, singing her Angellic battle song all the while in hopes of getting Zaralls attention.



Plain Text - Leaving the rooftop and off searching for answers....


'Oxi' - Tiamata Okscanna - Air Guardian Angel

​

Oxi watched Eiael's tension relax the moment she stepped up to the other Angel. As he responded, green eyes lit up whilst admiring his weapon. A soft smile and a whistle she let out in appreciation.

Like many others of her breed, she loved angellic weapons and had an innate curiosity to learn about them over the centuries. She even taught countless others to shoot both on ground and airborne. But for whatever reason she never crafted one herself. She just shrugged and laughed it off when confronted about it; 'Those that can will do. Those that cannot will teach.'

Lycanious said:
“Ain’t anyone I’m with here, but I saw Zarall flying off a moment ago. Looked like she was helping get someone away from the place, but dunno who or what it was.”
Click to expand...

"Grumpy Angel with someone in tow?" one dark blossoming sleeved arm rose and tan hand held up her chin. Her other hand supported said elbow and long fingers with elegant red nails thrummed in succession one after the other, "hmmmm... could have something to do with this latest demonic rush, E."

To the snowy rooftops edge she marched with the other Angel, big black combat boots crunching in the drift as she went. Green-eyed gaze caught what E spied and she shook her head. Upon a neighbouring roof, an olive skin woman stood there, collecting her tatters of clothes. A calm expression the stocky woman held and seemingly without care for the subzero elements lead Oxi to believe that yeah, this was not a mere mortal. Torn clothes, weather resistant, well built? Yeah she was a wolf.

Another shake of the head. Transforming and shredding clothes was not for her. Definitely. Oxi would just die if she had torn through this little black dress; it was a one off specifically tailored and handmade for her afterall. Eiael sudden leapt off the edge of the roof, unfurling his wings and undoubtedy going to greet the wolf. Oxi merely sighed and shrugged

"Okay. Well we can always catch up later, E," she called after him, stepping offa the ledge behind him, "I'mma figure out what Zarall is up to. Later, Angel."

Slate and silver feathery wings burst open midway down her headfirst descent towards the pavement below. Swooping up in an elegant arc she rocketed up to the snowy skies, auburn pigtails chasing behind her. She circled the immediate area scouring for more demonic activity. When sated she continued in the direction where E had pointed and pulled out her phone from her bra and texted her fellow gunslingers in NightFlight.

{{Yo, Angies. Demonic activity near SugarBoys. All clear. Met with Eiael. Wolf on scene. Imma look for Zarall. She got possible witness of some kind????? idk. update later.}}

With her phone now tucked away securely she continued on, singing her Angellic battle song all the while in hopes of getting Zaralls attention.


 
Shaldrani | Dragon
Location: Literary Brew Book & Coffee Shop
Company: Meeting Attendees

"Oh, please," Shaldrani said. "You don't need to be so formal with me; just 'Shaldrani' is fine." All the same, they listened to Liriel's breakdown of events and hummed as they mused over the angel's recount. "One of the humans was possessed? What is it like dealing with them in this decade?" The more that was said, Shaldrani found themself growing further and further curious. The last demon they had personally dealt with was centuries ago, before humanity designed guns and demons found out how to use elemental magic. Before Shaldrani was chosen by their elders to participate in the 'experiment' of a neutral city without being allowed to get involved. That, of course, didn't prevent them from sticking their nose into business from time to time.

"Demons used to be much more brazen about attempting to possess a human. Some years, I wonder if they're still as bold as they used to be or if they've decided to change tactics. What's your impression?" Shaldrani went on, fingers idly plucking the loose fabric that hung from their shoulders (humans called it a shawl or something like that) to rest it upon the back of a chair instead.

As they did so, conversation seemed to shift within the room as Julien approached, drawing their attention towards the vampire. His question seemed more intended for Liriel than for Shaldrani. Being the likely case, the dragon took a step away from the others and proceeded gathering the assortment of mugs that had been used for beverages during the meeting.

The moment a werewolf touched the handle of the shop's front door, Shaldrani was immediately aware of his arrival. So, when he strode further into the shop and found his way to the secluded conference room, his appearance and uttered swears were of no surprise to them. Without looking up, Shaldrani responded to the werewolf. "Please refrain from slamming my doors." Their gaze narrowed the smallest bit--was that a crack forming in one of their mugs? "You might find the repayment for damages to be--" They finally turned to the grouchy wolf with a slight frown. "A bit steeper than you can afford...."

Shaldrani strode past him, collection of dirty mugs firmly clutched between clawed hands. "No need for insults, child. My shop is open at all hours; you need only make a request. I'll have a drink for you momentarily." The dragon disappeared into the main section of the shop, returning a short time later with Oscar's mug of tea. "Here you are. Do you need someone to summarize the meeting you missed?" They glanced to Liriel, Julien, and Amara. "I'm sure one of them might be better suited for such a task. Otherwise, I can certainly try, though you may not enjoy my type of effort."

Imelda | Werewolf
Current Mission: Find being responsible for a series of deaths. Maintain secrecy from humans and their officials. Any and all personnel available to assist in resolving this as quickly as possible are desired.
Current Team: Zarall, Da'wan, Eiael, Tiamata

Her ear twitched towards the voice drifting through the winter air. Imelda looked over and up, seeing the pink-haired angel approach. With a fanged grin, she snorted in response to their commentary. "Not used to werewolves, are you?" Imelda mused, nevertheless gently taking the offered coat from the angel. "Name's Imelda. What's yours, Feathers?" Wingbeats drew her gaze upward. A quick nod towards the other departing angel. "And your friend's?"

Again, Imelda grinned widely in response to the angel. As she shrugged the loaned coat on and started shuffling through her tattered clothes to inspect her elemental beads for any damage, she shifted a shoulder. "Yeah. I'm tackling the human murders case with Zarall and Da'wan. The other two won't say it, but we'd appreciate any help we can get. As it is, it took us some time to find the one suspect we could tonight." A pause. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about Chimeras. Would you?"

A car horn beeped once down the block, causing Imelda to stand straighter. "Oh, speaking of!" She gestured for the angel to follow as Imelda sprinted across the snow-covered rooftop.

"Tiamata." Zarall's voice carried her greeting through the night air. Imelda leapt from one rooftop to the next before quickly scaling her way down to the streets where her teammates were. "Appreciate you assisting with the demons tonight," the angel continued, wings fluttering as she lighted upon the sidewalk, green eyes upturned to the dressed-up angel.

Imelda reached Da'wan's car, resting her hands upon the window frame at his driver's side. Peering in, she studied the Chimera stuffed into the backseats. They avoided her gaze by looking at the floorboard. "Not the talkative kind?"

The vampire shook his head, a faint frown gracing his lips. "Not since he gave us his name." Da'wan shrugged a shoulder before turning his gaze to the others gathering around his car. "Making friends again?"

Imelda's features cracked with another grin. "Always. You mind if I have a plus two?"

"Only if they behave themselves," Da'wan replied. There was a veiled thread of tension under his voice. So soft that Imelda had to strain her sensitive ears to hear. She understood where it came from; Angels and Vampires didn't always mix well. It was tricky enough to keep Zarall and Da'wan in good graces with each other. Imelda privately hoped she could manage three angels and one vampire all together....

Thumping the driver-side door with a hand, Imelda gave a short whistle to ensure she had the attention of all three angels. "We're going to have a talk with Raymond. Who's coming and who's going?" Zarall lifted her black wings in response, beating them until she hovered above Da'wan's car. Only left Tiamata and Eiael's answers.
 
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Oscar
Status --- Grumpy, Tired
Location --- Literary Brew Book & Coffee Shop
Others --- Meeting Attendees







A slight frown to match the disguised dragon’s formed as Shaldrani turned to him, before Oscar glanced momentarily down at his current attire. In hindsight, the current ensemble probably did make it look like he didn’t have much in the way of money. The coat he’d hastily grabbed just before leaving was perhaps his oldest and shabbiest, a feat largely attributed to the fact that it had been gifted to him back when he was still considered to be human. He’d done his best to keep it in good condition over the decades, sewing up any tears it had sustained and making sure to tuck it well out of sight on full-moon nights lest he grab it in a similar rush. But the colour had still faded on him, and he suspected the slightly mis-matched patches of cloth he’d used to repair one of the sleeves were more noticeable to someone whose eyesight wasn’t as dismal as his own.

Those same, bleary eyes then started to trail further over his form in a quiet contemplation as Shaldrani passed by him, now taking note of the faded wine stain on his trouser leg and the fact that his shoes could do with a polish. By the time his hand had come up to scratch at a particularly unkempt beard a new ebb of embarrassment had taken hold, and he averted his gaze from them as he mumbled out an apology. “Sorry. Been a long few nights.” He offered for a half-hearted explanation, hand now gripping once more around the cane before he started to shuffle towards the nearest available table. “I can pay for the door if I did actually break something.”

Shaldrani was quick to return, barely giving Oscar time to gingerly ease into his seat and start to idly scroll through some pictures on his phone before they returned. “Thank you.” He hummed, meekness from his earlier entrance still making itself known. With his right hand he slid the cup of tea closer to him, his left momentarily occupied with typing out onto his phone a reminder to himself to tip the cafe shop owner extra for the trouble. Once the note was complete he reached for the cup and took a sip from its contents, appreciating in some vague, back-of-the-mind manner that Shaldrani had remembered to make the beverage extra strong.

When asked whether he needed a summary, Oscars shoulders just sank in reply for a few seconds before he voiced his thoughts. “It’s alright. Too late to get my questions answered regardless. I’ll just get it from Julien when we head home.” Oscar sighed, briefly tilting his head back towards the lanky old vampire to see what he was up to. Julien at this point seemed to be occupied more with his own phone, looking to be skimming through a few messages with a faint scowl etched onto his features. Oscar shook his head slightly over at him, before letting his attention drift back towards Shaldrani.

“Unless you’re just looking for a chat? Some sort of excuse for a break?” Ventured the tired old man, before taking another sip of tea in hand. “Mind you, I can think of far better conversationalists.” Another pause, eyes drifting aside in lost thought, before they eventually drifted back towards Shaldrani with the first question that had come to his head. “Do you take breaks? Feels like every time I come in here, no matter when, you’re running this place.”





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Eiael
Status --- Curious, Healthy
Location --- Rooftops
Others --- Imelda, Oxi







When questioned on the subject of werewolves, Eiael emitted a short huff of amusement. “Not much, nah. I set off a lot of fire and car alarms and I’ve been told you lot don’t tend to like that.” They declared. “Pack of ‘em used to even call me ‘Earplugs’ back at my last assignment.”

Coat taken and arms now exposed to the night, the angel momentarily shivered and fluffed up the feathers of their wings in an attempt to adjust to the sudden cold. “My actual name’s Eiael though.” They announced while gesturing to themself. “Or uh, Elliot, if we’re among humans.” The angel then added with a conspiratorial tap of their nose, as if this was some grand secret that Imelda had just been made privy to. At the question their gaze momentarily drifted upwards to watch as Tiamata seemingly left the two of them to their own devices, pursing their lips in vague curiosity over what she had spotted beyond the buildings. “She’s going by Tiamata Okscana, last I checked. Though most people just call her Oxi I reckon.”

At the mention of the case, Eiael sucked in their air through their teeth and tutted in response. “Oof, yeah, heard about that one. Can’t say that detective work is my usual sort of department but, unless you wanna borrow the lab for some forensics. But I s’pose it wouldn’t hurt to have an extra pair of eyes in the sky and such?”

Lacking any other plans for the night, it didn’t take much convincing for Eiael to start to trail after the werewolf. At first they attempted a jog, but quickly took to the air once more as they realised they could match her speed better while flying. The word ‘chimera’ settled into their thoughts as they flew a few feet above Imelda, brow wrinkling as they tried to recall anything useful about the creatures to share. “Uh…I know they can shapeshift, and that they eat a lot of meat? I think?” Eiael offered, brow furrowing as they already began to struggle with more facts to bring up about the creatures. “...They’re a type of fae, yeah? So I reckon you could use iron to defend yourself from one.”

Another audible pause, and then Eiael motioned in an uncertain manner as best as they could while fluttering down towards the street where Imelda was directing them. “I dunno, that’s about it. Probably better off asking someone who knows about ancient fae history more than I do.” Eiael could think of a few likely candidates for that off the top of their head, and nominated the first that came to mind. “Uh…could try that werewolf bloke? Short, tubby, wears glasses. Think he teaches history or mythology or something. He one of your lot or the other pack’s?”

There was a momentary pause as Da’wan came into their line of sight, but only briefly. Vampires were, like werewolves, a group that Eiael didn’t claim to have all that much history with. Where they differed however was that Eiael had certainly witnessed immediate distrust in the few times that they had crossed paths with vampires, and the pink-haired angel often found difficulties in convincing them that really, truely, Eiael didn’t really care what they got up to as long as they stayed out of the way of angel business.

With Zarall’s presence though, Eiael quickly reasoned that the vampire was probably of a more agreeable nature than some of the ones they had bumped into in the past, and they decided to respond with their usual chipper greeting for him. “Hey there! Name’s Eiael. I’ll uh, assume if I’m tagging along you’d prefer me in the air.” They then added with a chuckle, before flaring their wings and taking to the sky to hover close to Zarall’s side.

“Imelda tells me you’re up to some detective work, tonight?” They asked Zarall while they awaited the responses of everyone else, head tilting towards her with an inquisitive eyebrow raised high. “Dare I ask for all the unpleasant details while we fly?”


 
This is insane. This is completely insane.

The printer begins to rip itself back to life once more, growling with outdated systems clinging to life with half-measures crossing circuit boards with exposed wires, the top plate concealing the actual printer arm completely missing to watch the machine turn blank white to a spread of grays and blacks outlining images of that alley. The wires stapled to the walls running up, across, and back to the main computer array transmit a laundry list of images to print. Daytime images. Night time images. Different angles. Different resolutions. Maps. Layouts of the city. It's a frantic dance of technology orchestrated by a man who hasn't seen the sun in 36 hours. He can feel his blood running through his veins.

Half of him wanted to rip away from the desk and attend to this growing collection of pages that were rapidly becoming unorganized. He wanted to start pinpointing where this was in the city. Get sizes, heights, widths, features that can't be clearly gotten through the screen's resolution mixed with the camera quality. Isaac, in his frenzied state, wanted to pour over the evidence he's collected over the past five minutes, if not less, and drown in theories. But this wasn't catching up to investigators for some cold case, where he had all the time in the world to look and sit and read and digest. No, this was an active crime scene. Not even that, he just watched the murder. The murder is still happening. HONK!

What was that. What the fuck was that.

That was a sound, from his speakers, connected to the computers. Was that a car horn? One of these cameras had audio? It was faint, and his eyes shoot across the screen before the waveform faded back to a flat line. The machinist let out a low yowl as he fixated on the camera. It was installed by a small business, probably just some off the shelf brand, but was pointed outside to watch the street. Probably has a lot of robberies.

His hand didn't even touch the mouse as he grabbed the camera properties and snagged a model and specifications, then began screening and filtering. One monitor had a plethora of angles on one street, but the other was flickering through cameras filtered by their brand type, location, and if they were online. A clatter across the keyboard kicks on a recording software that's briskly tucked into the background, keeping track of every single shot, every single frame, stealing every single iota of information to be scratched at a micrometer level into one of a thousand disk drives. Gather data now, research it later, but do not lose the information right in front of you.

They get out of frame. Oh my god where did they go.

He pulls up a map of the city so broad that it takes up half of all his monitors. The cursor zooms and scans. Landmarks. Intersections. Visual reference. They're on that street. Yes, they're moving through here so there should be a-. Blank. Blank. Static. Blank. Offline. Bad angle. There's got to be one. There's always one. In this world of technology and surveillance, there's never a corner left unnoticed. One camera window is set aside from the rest, clearing the filters to dig through anything associated with the city's zip code, then the model of camera the city uses for its surveillance cameras.

Images cram through the ethernet cable from a black box buried in the yard, tapped directly into the internet service line underneath the border of his property. Those fuckers aren't getting a dime out of him if he could help it. A frame shoots past his frantic search that looks familiar. It's live. It's dark. The title in the corner had the right zip code. Oh my god, those technicians didn't configure the hardware right, and now it has no associated location. It's a good view of the intersection the map says they should be on. There's a car parked right where those three should've landed. Witnesses? They're not speeding off in a panic. Maybe they didn't see. Wait-

There's only two now. There were three on that roof. They approach the car. What if these are different people? They look the same, but the camera quality is shit. One's missing. Could he be wrong? No, the angles match up. The maps don't lie, they would've landed right there. What color is the vehicle? Make and model? He lets out a groan of frustration as he tries to pick out five or six pixels and somehow form a coherent license plate. Good luck. Distinctive markings? Hardly. He's already trying to que up other cameras as the printer behind him starts to blink a little red LED hanging off of a few wires. Poor thing was begging for more paper before it runs out.

He shouts in frustration, turning his back to make sure the printer kept pumping out evidence. A new pack of white sheets comes free from a nearby filing cabinet stuffed with junk and he stands to get himself up and keep the evidence printing. There's a sudden resistance on the tip of his foot, and something cracks as his foot yanks on a cable. He recognizes the blue wire whipping free from the back of his machine, ripping the ethernet from its socket. The blood curdling cry of horror at the sight of his hardware being ripped apart from his own negligence could probably be heard outside of his home. Oh no. Oh no no no no. His eyes shoot up to the screens and all the cameras are frozen on their most recent frame. Isaac's blood runs cold. There's an image, frozen, in the middle of all his screens of the street camera's last frame.

Of a figure lifting off into the sky.
 



'Oxi' - Tiamata Okscanna - Air Guardian Angel -


Oxxer.jpg
​


Gathering with the others...



The battle song ended with a curt affirming nod.

Carried upon the cold wind to Oxi was the voice of the black winged angel. A smile lilted cherry lips as she veered to the left. Immediately she tucked her wings and plunged, descending downward like a diver set to splash into an urban ocean. Silver and slate wings fluttered and flapped several times, gouts of snow kicked up and scattered neath her as she swooped, arching back up high before circling the area where Zarall stood.

ValidEmotions said:
"Appreciate you assisting with the demons tonight,"
Click to expand...

A final pass before she too descended, gliding lightly. A musical hum emitted into the frosty air just before landing with boots touching the earth with barely a sound and nary a dust up of cold white. As always a tan hand raised to obscure her self-hated grin. With the amount of money the chanteuse made over the centuries, she could have easily spent on dental work to correct her vampy overbite, but she was an Angel afterall. What mortal instruments could rip an Angel's teeth from their mouth let alone change the shape of their jaw. And besides, Oxi learned how much obsessive vanity befell the best intents of female mortals time and again. over her dead body would she fall prey to such shallow nonsense.

"Hi, Z. Yeah, how could I resist," green eyes sparkled with mirth. It never got old to receive compliments from one of her kind, " demon bodies landing in front of my favourite hang out? Say less. Hahahahah! "

With her mouth covered proper, her other hand raised to don a fond wave at the forever grumpy-stricken angel. As she shook out her scarlet pigtails free from snow, she couldn't help but admire the braids sprouting from the top of Zarall's head. A pang of jealousy twitched a lone green eye; sometimes Oxi wished she had chosen the life of someone other than a performer in this life cycle. it would be nice once again to dress and style her hair as she pleased and not how she was told she should due to her profession. A small internal shrug, an small external sigh. Oh well, next life cycle it was.

Underneath the lamplight she shook out her little black number. The underlying silver patterns flashed like fleeting schools of ahi neath the waves with each swaying or turning movement of her tall, lithe fom. Despite the seeming distracted look draped across her face, green eyes would steal glances at the other beings in and around the car. The wolf had arrived on scene and leaned in all chummy and bubbly with the driver. Oxi literally had to bite down on her tongue to abstain from spitting her disgust; she had actually fallen in with a blood-sucking mosquito. But this was Zarall's crew and Oxi dared not disturb the peace set within their alliance vs. the demons. That and, like it or not, the vamp was on her side. Fine. Oxi merely stretched her neck to the side, exhaling slowly as her wings fluttered seemingly shaking out pent up frustrations.

Oh, but she had to really calm herself the moment she noted the 'passenger' in the backseats. Long tan fingers itched for her twin pistols, green eyes ablaze when she made eye contact with the Chimera. A longing in her-- no a deep-seated craving-- cut straight outta her heart, demanding that she unload her entire magazine with extreme prejudice into the head and heart of the demonic scumbag. It was only the sulky quip of the vamp that brought her irrationale ire back down to a slow burn.

"The name is Tiamata, vamp," not even a flinch to acknowlege the vampiric driver and not even a hint of an invite to call her by her nickname. Instead, she gave a toss of scarlet pigtails over a shoulder a heartbeat before big black combat boots marched her closer to Zarall.

ValidEmotions said:
We're going to have a talk with Raymond. Who's coming and who's going?"
Click to expand...

A musical humming melody she released into the cold air. To answer both the vamp and the wolf at the same time, Oxi sung a snippet of her lyrics, "♫ ...I'll be up there, high up in the air where only Angels soar... love at the top, it will not stop, so you can seethe even more... ♫"

Both wings popped open wide, silver and slate feathers oustretched. Two quick steps then Oxi launched up, up up into the night sky, finding formation with Eiael and Zarall.


 












"Only righteous angelic flames can purify the tainted."





Zealous - Stubborn - Insecure






Liriel Mebarum

The Avenging Angel








When Shaldrani amiably suggested Liriel refer to them by their first name and forego the use of a title, the angel blushed, unable to meet their eyes. She would no sooner have done so than committed a deadly sin. At their inquiry, Liriel lifted her gaze and quickly shook her head.

"We managed to arrive before the possession could take place- we would've been unable to save them otherwise."" She took a breath before answering the second question. "Demons are a lot more careful now than they were in centuries past. Thanks to the humans' new technology, we are no longer the only threat they face. But their caution has made our job more difficult."

Liriel's sharp angelic hearing caught most of the conversation between the two vampires standing nearby, and she restrained herself with difficulty from a pained grimace.

Vampire politics... the angel thought, irritation practically radiating off of her. More than once, vampires' concern with what she viewed as utterly trivial manners had delayed the council from ordering timely action- sometimes with disastrous consequences- and, though she knew it was important vampires be represented same as the other races, she couldn't help but feel like things would run so much better if they could be in charge of paperwork and bureaucracy and leave the action to soldiers such as herself.

When the older vampire described her latest mission as 'harrowing' she refrained, with even greater difficulty, from rolling her eyes.

She was beginning to formulate a response to Julien's hypothesis when the door of the coffee house burst open with unnecessary force and a rather grizzled and unkempt-looking werewolf entered, walking with a cane. She kept herself from giggling at the stream of expletives that broke from the werewolf's mouth- if it was a choice between the wolves' brash and often unthinking eagerness for action or a vampire's cautious, self-preserving nature, she would choose to fight with a wolf at her side every time.

Liriel winced when Shaldrani reprimanded the werewolf. Fearsome as they could be, no sane creature would ever want to be on the receiving end of a dragon's wrath. At Shaldrani's suggestion that she might be able to sum up the meeting for the new arrival, Liriel stepped dutifully forward, but the wolf merely shrugged the idea away. As the vampire appeared to be engrossed in something on his phone and the werewolf engaged Shaldrani in conversation, Liriel fished her own little magic box out of her pocket.

So, anything happen yet tonight? Have you had a chance to test out the launcher? she texted, wondering if Eiael's night had been more exciting than hers so far.




♡design by neon reverie, coded by uxie♡


When Shaldrani amiably suggested Liriel refer to them by their first name and forego the use of a title, the angel blushed, unable to meet their eyes. She would no sooner have done so than committed a deadly sin. At their inquiry, Liriel lifted her gaze and quickly shook her head.

"We managed to arrive before the possession could take place- we would've been unable to save them otherwise."" She took a breath before answering the second question. "Demons are a lot more careful now than they were in centuries past. Thanks to the humans' new technology, we are no longer the only threat they face. But their caution has made our job more difficult."

Liriel's sharp angelic hearing caught most of the conversation between the two vampires standing nearby, and she restrained herself with difficulty from a pained grimace.

Vampire politics... the angel thought, irritation practically radiating off of her. More than once, vampires' concern with what she viewed as utterly trivial manners had delayed the council from ordering timely action- sometimes with disastrous consequences- and, though she knew it was important vampires be represented same as the other races, she couldn't help but feel like things would run so much better if they could be in charge of paperwork and bureaucracy and leave the action to soldiers such as herself.

When the older vampire described her latest mission as 'harrowing' she refrained, with even greater difficulty, from rolling her eyes.

She was beginning to formulate a response to Julien's hypothesis when the door of the coffee house burst open with unnecessary force and a rather grizzled and unkempt-looking werewolf entered, walking with a cane. She kept herself from giggling at the stream of expletives that broke from the werewolf's mouth- if it was a choice between the wolves' brash and often unthinking eagerness for action or a vampire's cautious, self-preserving nature, she would choose to fight with a wolf at her side every time.

Liriel winced when Shaldrani reprimanded the werewolf. Fearsome as they could be, no sane creature would ever want to be on the receiving end of a dragon's wrath. At Shaldrani's suggestion that she might be able to sum up the meeting for the new arrival, Liriel stepped dutifully forward, but the wolf merely shrugged the idea away. As the vampire appeared to be engrossed in something on his phone and the werewolf engaged Shaldrani in conversation, Liriel fished her own little magic box out of her pocket.

So, anything happen yet tonight? Have you had a chance to test out the launcher? she texted, wondering if Eiael's night had been more exciting than hers so far.
 
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