Vampire the Masquerade-Bloodlines (part 2) -Freeform- (cont. in new thread, part 3)

[AtropaMandragora]

This RP has moved to a new location. Find us at Vampire; the Masquerade - Bloodlines (http://vtmbloodlinesrpg.proboards.com/), and please don't hesitate to join!
New players are always welcome. :)





This is a continuation of the Vampire the Masquerade (http://forums.sims2community.com/showthread.php?t=48152) roleplay. All events that took place in that thread are still a part of the story. Nothing in the story has changed.
The reason why there is a new thread, is because the previous game host, devoshka, has been missing in action for the past couple of months, and I, as the co-host, decided that a good roleplay needs to be kept updated. That includes rules, character list, etc, and the only way for me to achieve this, was by starting a new thread.

We'd also like to think of it as a chance for more people to become interested.
New players are always welcome, so please do not be intimidated by the fact that the story has already come a long way. You'll find a brief synopsis of the events below, as well as a list of where the other characters are currently at, thus making it easier for new participants to join.
New players are also more than welcome to approach one of the currents players to form some kind of relationship with their characters, as a way of easily finding a way into the story; you could be someone's childe, Sire, ghoul, boyfriend, girlfriend, lover, niece, etc etc. The possibilities are endless.

If any of the current players have grown bored of their character and wants to replace him/her, it is quite alright to do so. All I ask is that you give it some serious thought before you do, and don't replace your character every other week. This is only meant to serve as a way to refresh creativity, when a player feels he/she has taken their character as far as they can go, and no longer feel they have anything left to do with them.

Last but not least;
Current players - Feel free to re-submit your character applications in this thread, if you want. If you don't, I'll simply link back to the one in the previous thread, and that will be fine too, at least until the old thread is archived.


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http://i59.photobucket.com/albums/g313/Devoshka/banner.jpg

Welcome to Los Angeles, home of the Camarilla made up of 7 clans of Vampires and is the largest organization of vampires.

They consist of:
Brujah
Malkavian
Nosferatu
Toreador
Tremere
Ventrue
Gangrel


Camarilla policy is that vampires should try to fit in with and hide from the rest of humanity, as to easily feed on them. For this reason, they created a web of lies and misinformation, called the Masquerade, to make the public believe that supernatural beings like vampires could not possibly exist.

The Camarilla also believes that the only way the vampire species can survive in these modern nights is if it unites - any breach of the Masquerade by any vampire risks exposing the entire race. Any vampire that breaks the Masquerade will have to clean up the mess or face severe punishment.

The Camarilla consider it their duty to protect humans and NEVER advocate killing to feed.

Each larger city has a vampire Prince; a leader that sees to it that the vampires there abide by Camarilla law. If planning to go to war with another clan, or to simply Embrace a human, you’ll need the Prince’s permission to do so.
While the Prince acts as a leader of all Kindred within a city, each larger clan within said city have their own leader, called a Primogen, acting right below the Prince. All clan Primogen are part of the Prince's council of advisors.

This brings us to what actually kills a vampire;
Sunlight, fire, decapitation, being completely drained of blood.
Staking isn’t lethal to a vampire, but it will temporarily stun them.
Holy water will burn their skin, but it won’t kill them (unless, of course, they go swimming in it).

A more extensive list of vampire characteristics, as well as a Vampire the Masquerade glossary, will be found below.

I have also created a webpage for even more extensive info, for those of you who are interested in learning more. It is, however, not required that you learn all these things;
Vampire; the Masquerade - a Bloodlines roleplay (http://www.crimson-tale.com)



RULES:

* Forum rules (http://forums.sims2community.com/showthread.php?t=41221) are to be respected and obeyed.

* No spamming (meaning double posting or unnecessary ooc posts).

* No powerplaying/godmodding. Try to respect each other and each other's characters.

* No killing another without having permission from the other, even if it means planning the scene in PMs.

* When in doubt of putting another person into a certain situation, PM them first!

* An RP post should be 8 lines minimum. This limit does not include quoted lines from a post you are replying to. While this RP is for fun, it is for roleplayers who take it somewhat seriously.
The occasional exception is, of course, allowed, as long as it doesn't turn into continually posting less than 8 lines.

* If you for some reason have/choose to drop out, please finish up, by either RPing an end for your character, or at least telling us that you will be dropping out. Don't leave people hanging.

* When you are RPing with someone, give them at least 24 hours to reply. However, should more than 24 hours pass without the other person responding, you are free to move on.

* When making an RP post, please include the name of your character in the header, and preferrably where they are at and what other character they are with as well. This makes it easier for people to keep up who is where, and with whom.

* Foul language is allowed, but please do tone it down a bit; F***, b****, ***hole etc will get your point across just fine.

* Everyone is allowed three characters, BUT, third character has to serve a purpose by somehow adding to the plot, and be approved by me. Thus, if you have a third character planned, PM me with their info first.

* Character pictures do not have to be of a sim.

* If you are unsure of something, ask. Either in the thread, or in PM.

* Have fun!




APPLICATIONS:

Vampires:

1. What clan you belong to:

2. Name:

3. Age:
(based on these:
-Neonate(s): Just Embraced vampires. They keep this name until they're about 100-200 years old.
-Ancilla(e): Vampires between cca 200 and 350, 400 years.
-Elder(s): Vampires over 400 years.
-Methuselah(s): These are very rare. Vampires over a thousand years old.)

4. Disciplines: (which you have and what level (rules and descriptions are in following post))

5. Short bio:

6. Picture:


Currently there is no limit on the amount of characters in each clan, but should one clan start overflowing, I will limit the number of slots on that particular clan. After all, having 20 Ventrues running around might be a touch much. ;)



Humans:

1. Name:
2. Age:
3. Willingness to be a ghoul, or embraced (if so, by what clan):
4. Occupation:
5. Short bio:
6. Picture:


Currently there is no limit on the amount of human characters.





CHARACTER LIST:


http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j172/DesiGriffin1/vamp%20banners/brujah_2.jpg

1. Marvin Grey (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1304333&postcount=943) - Brujah
2. Ché Santiago Vargas da Silva (http://forums.sims-community.com/showpost.php?p=1310187&postcount=983) - summerkelsa
3.
4.
5.


http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j172/DesiGriffin1/vamp%20banners/malkavian.jpg

1. Seraphina Christou (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1206395&postcount=368) - Alissa888 --- PRIMOGEN
2. Melissa Harper (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1219468&postcount=465) - WannabeSith
3.
4.
5.


http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j172/DesiGriffin1/vamp%20banners/Nosferatu_2.jpg

1. John 'Fitz' Fitzroy (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1219485&postcount=466) - WannabeSith
2.
3.
4.
5.


http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j172/DesiGriffin1/vamp%20banners/toreador.jpg

1. Valerian (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1116199&postcount=7) - Atropa
2. Moira Sushill (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1116187&postcount=5) - Ghanima Atreides
3. Vevila van Roemer (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1219854&postcount=472) - trampledsneakers
4. Alfmundr Sorenson (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1237879&postcount=615) - WannabeSith
5.


http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j172/DesiGriffin1/vamp%20banners/Tremere.jpg

1. Adrien de la Cour (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1116202&postcount=8) - Atropa
2.
3.
4.
5.


http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j172/DesiGriffin1/vamp%20banners/ventrue.jpg

(Damian Alexander (III) - Atropa --- THE PRINCE (see post 4 (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1116160&postcount=4)) )
1. Archon DeWinter (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1116636&postcount=21) - Psyche --- PRIMOGEN
2. Claudia (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1187693&postcount=262) - Alissa888
3.
4.
5.


http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j172/DesiGriffin1/vamp%20banners/gangrel_2.jpg

1. Noah (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1206157&postcount=367) - Psyche
2.
3.
4.
5.


Humans (image coming later ;))

1. Aeode Mallard (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1116190&postcount=6) - Ghanima Atreides
2. Lena Sayliss (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1185152&postcount=239) - Alissa888
3. Connor Hale (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1194330&postcount=305) - Atropa
4. Alric Kasimir Reinard (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1231181&postcount=556) - trampledsneakers
5. Melody Hart (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1273575&postcount=807) - Ghanima Atreides
6. Katherine 'Kat' Bradley (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1299950&postcount=930) - Black Sheep
7. Darin Kolmar (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1304806&postcount=952) - vocman3
8. Mieke Uehara-Khun (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1306807&postcount=969) - summerkelsa
9. Lola Dmitriev (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1306972&postcount=970) - robokitty
10.


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SYNOPSIS AND WHEREABOUTS:

Synopsis:

* A few RP nights ago, the Prince called a blood hunt on a Malkavian named Milo, due to him breaking the Masquerade by feeding in public. Milo was hunted down and killed by a Brujah NPC the following night.

* Also a few RP nights ago, Ada von Vita of the Tremere and Beyonca of the Ventrue were banned from the club The Haven, after Ada came dangerously close to breaking the Masquerade by (accidently) using her superhuman strength when shoving a human girl, sending her pretty much flying into a fountain. Beyonca approached to help her sort it out, but they were both asked by Valerian to leave, and let him take care of it. Ada refused, which resulted in an argument that cost both her and Beyonca access to the Haven.
Ada was confronted by her Primogen, Mina Coles, and sent away from L.A. to learn the proper ways and behaviour of the Tremere.
Now, however, she is back and have sorted things out with Valerian, thus she is welcome at The Haven once again, as is Beyonca, who settled things with Valerian the night after the incident.

* Two RP nights ago (from where we are now, night #8) there was a Ball organized by the Prince to welcome the Ventrue Primogen Archon DeWinter back to Los Angeles, after having spent a couple of months travelling.
Along with most Los Angeles Kindred, this Ball was also attended by Moira Sushill, a visiting Toreador Primogen from London. Though so far, I believe there are one three people aware of who she is; The Prince, Archon, and Valerian. (let me know if I missed someone).

* Also attending this ball was Adrien de la Cour; a notorious (former) vampire hunter that used to pose as a Tremere, until his cover was blown in Los Angeles about a century ago, when he was just about to slay Mina Coles. Since then he's been operating from the shadows, until three years ago, when he was Embraced by the San Fransisco Tremere. This, however, has been a well guarded secret until his appearance at the Ball. Now rumour of his embrace and presence in Los Angeles is spreading like wildfire among the L.A. Kindred, and no one is quite sure what to expect.

* Eight years ago, a young mortal woman - Aeode Mallard - was saved from dying by the current Toreador Primogen of Los Angeles, Jessica, who fed her some of her blood to heal her. Aeode doesn't remember much of the incident, but has been searching for the people that tried to kill her, and for her mysterious saviour. She has just recently found out from Andre of the Ventrue that the woman's name is Jessica, and has just happened to cross paths with Jessica at the Haven.



Current whereabouts:


Alleyway: Adrien and Lena
Outside The Haven: Aeode, Noah and Valerian
The Haven, Valerian's quarters: Valerian and Claudia
The Haven, bar: Alfmundr, Aliana
Club Envy: Connor, Moira, Melissa, Melody, Kat, Marvin
Vevila's apartment: Archon and Vevila
Seraphina's mansion: Seraphina and Fitzroy



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If you have any questions please feel free to PM me.

This is a roleplay inspired and freely adapted from the game 'Vampire The Masquerade - Bloodlines'. 'Vampire the Masquerade' is a registered trademark.

Useful links;
Vampire; the Masquerade - a Bloodlines roleplay (http://www.crimson-tale.com)
http://www.white-wolf.com/Games/Pages/VampireRevised/pages/camarilla.html


You do not need to know this game in order to participate in this roleplay. It simply serves as a basis and idea, that's all.


*information compiled from several different sources*

Thanks to Ghanima Atreides, Psyche, veldagia and PennyTheCorgi for all their input and suggestions on how to improve this RP. :) You've all been a big help.

[AtropaMandragora]

CLAN DESCRIPTIONS:

Here you'll find description of the characteristics of each clan, along with a small idea of what a vampire from a certain clan COULD look like. Though it's all your interpretation. For more extensive info, and pictures, please visit the website (http://www.crimson-tale.com).


Brujah:

The Brujah can trace their roots back to ancient Babylon, and the clay tablets of the first scholars. They were the lovers and guardians of knowledge, and the founder of their line was the inventor of written language. However, in their quest for freedom, they slew their founder and were banished from the first city. Today, the Brujah are scorned as riffraff who have lost their heritage and are without pride. For over a millennium they have been rebels among the Kindred, forever questioning and testing the Traditions. are the brutish, overly physical clan. They believe that might makes right, and have little patience for those that choose not to act. They are seen as anarchistic rabble by the Camarilla. The rest of the vampire community rarely cooperates with them, since they always seem to counter existing authorities. This clan chiefly depends on their body and physical strengths, using blood to enhance their movement and combat abilities.

The clan is very poorly organised; its members meet only irregularly, and share little in common besides their love of rebellion. They are among the supports of the anarchs, and aiding them is one of the only matters upon which they ever agree. They are often underestimated, as much by themselves as anyone.

Appearance: Think punk, or bike riders. Tatty, worn clothes, leather, jeans, anything that screams "I'm a rebel and don't give a ****". Usually with an attitude to match.



Gangrel:

Clan Gangrel is said to be the only clan whose founder is still involved in and concerned with the welfare of her progeny. Her concern for them is matched only by her concern for mortal descendants - the Gypsies. Though many Antediluvians use their progeny as pawns in the Jyhad, the Gangrel pride themselves on their freedom from such manipulation. There is a close bond between the clan and the Gypsies. In recent years, as Gehenna approaches, their interaction has been considerable.

Born in the wild, this is a rather interesting sample of vampire species. More feral than other clans, they exist on the fringe of civilization. Since they have such a deep connection with nature, they are able to communicate with some types of animals. As they enhance their special animal-like abilities they become less and less... err... friendly.

Appearance: Well, they're the wildest of all clans. Most of them don't have a residence at all, they like to roam forests and pastures and sleep in the earth. They'd almost always be dirty, with matted hair, ripped clothes, feral. They're also the clan closest to the Beast (the predator in each vampire) - they have an uncommonly close relationship with animals, and many of them have a certain animal-look about them too, whether claws, or cat-like eyes, or very sharp teeth and so on.



Malkavian:

The history of the Malkavian clan is completely shrouded in the past. The Malkavians themselves have many tales about their origin, but do not believe most of them. A favored legend among the kindred is that the founder of the house was cursed by Caine, and his descendants have lived with the madness since. The Malkavians have always existed on the periphery of the vampire culture, watching, but never truly involving themselves in it. Long ago, before the curse and the madness, the founder was said to be the greatest among third generation. Now it is his madness that keep the weakest of those involved in the Jyhad "alive".

Extremely unpredictable and dangerous vampires. Blood drives them completely mad, but also grants them extraordinary powers that make them stand out among other vampires. Their chief abilities include seeing things most vampires cannot, manipulating the will of others, etc.

Appearance: It's incredibly difficult to stereotype them. All of the members of this clan have a mental disorder, but that's not so easy to spot. For example, a raving lunatic in bunny slippers could be a Malkavian - but so would an apparently respectable doctor a la Hannibal Lecter... So it's really up to you.



Nosferatu:

It is the unfortunate plight of the members of this clan to display the beast within their hearts upon their countenances. Though their founder was known for his rabid predilections and monstrous impulses, the Nosferatu of today are known for being cool-headed. Though they tend to choose only the most depraved individuals as progeny, some how the members of this clan seem to retain their sanity better than most vampires. Their hideous appearance makes them quite unpopular and completely unable to exist in civilization. They look more like monsters than men (for an idea of their appearance, check out the classic film of the same name), they are endowed with a unique ability to conceal themselves from sight (called Obfuscate), which makes them formidable spies and ambushers.

The founder is said to have been a man of regal visage who incurred the wrath of Caine for his barbaric activities and was thereby cursed with the face of a hag. The savagery of his soul is reflected upon his face and that of all his progeny.

Of course, many clans have legends in which an all-powerful Caine curses their founder just as God cursed Caine. It is not likely that all of these stories are true, but some, such as this, might be. Presently, the Nosferatu clan is estranged from their founder, and do not serve him - at least to their knowledge.

Appearance; It'll be tricky to recreate them. The Embrace leaves them deformed and unrecognizable - scabby skin, puss-filled sores, bald heads, bat like ears, discolorations of the skin, lopsided fang-filled maws and the like. In one word, very ugly. They live in sewers, crypts etc so they usually smell as good as they look.



Toreador:

Throughout history, the Toreador have been involved in the arts. This tradition is said to have begun with the first progeny of the founder, a pair of beautiful and artistically gifted twins. Their sire was a leader of the cabal of third generation vampires who slew their own sires. Though ruthless, he was very doting upon his progeny, proffering them far more independence than any other fourth generation vampires were given. They used their freedom to nurture the full panorama of the arts, and their sire protected them throughout war and famine. To this day, the Toreador claim that they are watched over by Arikel, their founder. Though the Toreador are not as formally organised as some other clans, they are furiously loyal to one another and to the art they claim to serve.

Debutantes to the end, these vampires are inspired by things of great beauty. A Toreador’s senses are vastly enhanced to see beauty in the most unlikely of places, and they can use this skill (Auspex) to find their way out of seemingly impossible situations. They also have the ability to enchant and charm others (Presence). But, being so sensitive, they are drawn to any beautiful thing and can become completely captivated by it - even at the most inopportune moments.

Appearance: Generally more than average pretty. Think sexy, seductive, enticing. They are usually up to date with the respective age's fashion trends (and indeed, among the only clan who bothers with such things). They're basically the fashionistas of the vampire world.



Tremere:

The Tremere are unique and no other clan has a history as rich, yet short, as theirs. Long ago, there were others of their line who were not warlocks, nor did the clan have mastery over the discipline of Thaumaturgy. Less than 1,000 years ago, a metamorphosis occurred. Deep in the Romanian mountains, in the district known as Transylvania, a group of magi from the ancient order were Embraced by a foolish clan leader. Combining their new powers with their ancient lore, the magi were quickly able to assume control of the clan. They Embraced many others from their arcane order, and drank the blood of all the elders of their clan. It is even hinted that the most powerful among them managed to hunt down and slay the founder of the line. The Tremere have adopted the most rigid hierarchical system among the clans, and this has allowed them to achieve great power within Kindred society. The other clans distrust the Tremere, both out of fear and a sense that something is not quite right with them. The political center of the Tremere is in Vienna.

A malevolent bunch which seem more like sorcerers than anything else. Their powerful ancestry has bestowed great magical powers to the Tremere, passed down from untold generations. Their unique blood type grants them heightened senses, and the ability to force their will on their victims.

Appearance: No real clear stereotype. They're usually scholars, dressed in austere clothes. They don't much care for flashy things. I would imagine a Tremere woman as wearing a pencil dress with a tweed jacket, hair in a bun and with glasses. For example.



Ventrue:

The Ventrue suspect that their founder has been slain by one of the Brujah clan. Though this is a blow to their pride, it has given them some distance and protection from the chaos and strife of the Jyhad. Without the intrigue and demands of a god-like founder, the Ventrue have acheived a remarkable independence from the Antediluvians. They do not know how much truth is contained in this legend, but it is nonetheless one of the basic tenets of their clan, no matter how much other Kindred scoff at it. If there is an elite class of vampire, the Ventrue would be the closest thing to it. The Ventrue are the political powerhouses of the Camarilla, and as such, most cities are governed by Ventrue princes. They are a balanced clan that relies equally on physical strength and the power of the mind.

Much of the respect accorded to the Ventrue is due to the independence they are perceived to have from the Antediluvians. It is out of pride for this respect they are given that they conceal their persecution of the Brujah clan. More princes and Justicars come from the Ventrue clan than from any other; they are clearly leaders of the Camarilla. The Ventrue have regular clan meetings in various parts of the world, including a Grand Council in London every seven years.

Appearance: Well, they're the upper class, and they were in their mortal days too. In the past, new progeny were chosen from the ranks of nobles, royalty and so on. Nowadays, from CEOs of companies and the like. They like the finest and most elegant clothes, though not necessarily fashionable. Many of them like to keep the style of their own mortal days in the way they dress. Males would wear impeccable suits, hair short and perfectly styled, women in either business suits, or elegant gowns for social meetings, fine jewelry, all in good taste. They're snotty as hell, and like to think it is their duty to lead the vampire society.





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WHAT IS A VAMPIRE?

Vampires are undead beings, meaning their bodies do not function like that of a human;

* They don't breathe, but they can mimic it. Some have even made a habit out of feigning it while among mortals, as it's a way to uphold the Masquerade. However, they can still speak and smell. (Don't ask me how that's possible, because I don't know. *s*)

* They don't have heartbeats

* Male vampires CAN, shall we say, show the signs of excitement, but not due to physical or mental stimulation, but by willing blood to the relevant area. Though few see the point, as Kindred no longer have a sex drive per se. Blood is usually the only objects of their desire.

* They can cry, but as blood is supposedly the only fluid in their system, the tears will be blood.

* They still feel physical pain.

* They do have reflections.

* Fangs; Their canines are long and pointed, and extremely sharp, but only fully extended while feeding, being at other times withdrawn into their sockets by the contraction of a flexible tissue at their base. However, some Nosferatu lack the means to withdraw their teeth, due to their disformed state.

* Feeding; the only thing a vampire craves as far as feeding is concerned, is blood. They can feed on humans or animals, although feeding on the latter is frowned upon by "polite Kindred society". Feeding should occur about once every night, unless they use their disciplines alot (using disciplines costs blood) or get seriously injured, in which case a higher blood level helps them heal faster. To feed, a vampire only needs to bite, retract the teeth from the wound and begin to drink. Once they're done, if they lick the wound it will heal, leaving no trace of the feeding. The victim will experience a feeling of ecstasy during the feeding. Afterwards they won't remember much of the incident, unless they actually know what has just happened (as would be the case with most blood dolls).
However, the Ventrue are a bit different from other clans when it comes to feeding. They cannot feed on the blood of bums, prostitutes, or any other being on "society's bottom", as it will cause them to vomit. Being the snobs they are, they require "higher quality" blood. Some have even developed a taste for one specific kind of blood (for instance, scholars or aristocrats, etc), and thus cannot drink any other kind of blood.
Kindred also usually don't kill when they feed. They take only what blood they need, and that's it. Killing is frowned upon, as it endangers the Masquerade by leaving corpses drained of blood for the police to investigate.

* Clans; whatever clan your Sire is, that is the clan you'll be. It's in the blood. If a Brujah embraces you, you're a Brujah for the rest of your unnatural unlife. Think of it as ethnicity; if you're born caucasian, there's no changing it.

* They can not digest food or drink, simply because their bodies are dead and cannot process it. If they eat or drink, they will vomit.

* Regeneration; Kindred can use the blood upon wich they've fed to heal themselves. Kindred are able to regenerate whole limbs and organs, given time and need. Regeneration always restores the vampire to the physical state he/she possessed when Embraced. This includes hair length, face shape, body weight, etc. When the body is injured or otherwise changed, it will reform in the same mold over and over again.
Regenerating/Healing in public is considered a Masquerade violation.

* As stated above, hair length cannot be permanently changed. It will never grow longer, but a vampire can cut his/her hair and have it stay that way during the entire night. When they go to sleep, the hair will regenerate. The same goes for piercings; if they get something pierced, and take out the ring/stud/whatever, the flesh/skin will regenerate within minutes.

* Final death; Kindred aren't completely immortal. They can die, and when they do, nothing will remain of their body but ash. This is called the Final Death.
What kills a vampire is the following;
- Being exposed to the sun for more than but a few seconds. The sun will burn their skin, and if they retreat back into the shadows in time, they will heal.
- Holy water; works much like sunlight. However, it won't really kill unless you decide to go swimming in it.
- Fire; works the same way as with humans.
- Decapitation; works the same way as with humans.
- Being completely drained of blood.
Wooden stakes will NOT kill a vampire. It will just paralyze them for a few moments, provided that they are staked in the heart.

[AtropaMandragora]

DISCIPLINES:

Disciplines are supernatural powers granted by the Embrace. The origins of these powers are unknown, but some speculate they are gifts from Caine, the father of all vampires himself.
There are two types; passive and targeted.

Passive disciplines target your own character, and affect their perception and their skills. They last for a certain amount of time depending on the caster's level of expertise, but can be broken in advance by the caster him-/herself. Your character will automatically cast the highest level of any passive discipline they have.
The passive disciplines are; Auspex, Celerity, Fortitude, Obfuscate, Potence, Presence and Protean.

Targeted disciplines require your character to select a target on which to cast the spell; friend or foe, or even yourself. They can either harm or strengthen the target. You will also have to select what level to use, as each level represents a different "spell".
The targeted disciplines are; Animalism, Dementation, Dominate and Thaumaturgy.

What disciplines you have/can learn depends on what clan you are. Each clan has 3 disciplines they specialise in, and each discipline has 5 levels.

What levels you have access to depends on the age of your vampires. Neonates don't have access to any levels higher than 2, Ancillae can reach level 4, and only Elders and Methuselas can wield a level 5.
For the sake of 'realism' though, feel free to not have reached the highest level possible for your age, in every discipline you have.

Also, it is important that you are careful using disciplines, as some result in an obvious display of supernatural powers, and using them where the Masquerade is in effect (meaning in public or around mortals) will be considered a Masquerade violation, as it breaks the Masquerade. Other disciplines are subtle enough to use around mortals, as casting them will not be visible to the naked eye.
However, no disciplines are to be used while in an Elysium.

So, what three disciplines do each clan have?
Well, here is a list;

Brujah: Celerity, Potence, Presence
Gangrel: Animalism, Fortitude, Protean
Malkavian: Auspex, Dementation, Obfuscate
Nosferatu: Animalism, Obfuscate, Potence
Toreador: Auspex, Celerity, Presence
Tremere: Auspex, Dominate, Thaumaturgy
Ventrue: Dominate, Fortitude, Presence


I will not include the names of the various discipline levels, nor what they do. If you are interested in using disciplines, I must refer you to the Disciplines section on the website (http://www.crimson-tale.com).
And if you have any questions, do feel free to ask. :)





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HOT SPOTS:

In order to offer players locations and landmarks where there characters can meet, instead of just having them all roam the streets, you'll find a list of current so-called Hot Spots below. These are locations that are open for all characters, unless otherwise stated. You are, however, of course free to have your character roam the streets anyway, or head to other locations.


* The Haven: a night club run by Valerian of clan Toreador and Claudia, a Ventrue. It's dark, with a gothic atmosphere, and offers the usual bar, booths and dance floor, but also a stage for live performances. The open second floor holds a VIP lounge/office to the left of the staircase, and a small passage leading to Valerian's personal chambers and art studio to the right. This has been branded an Elysium.
Picture 1 (http://www.crimson-tale.com/Images/TheHaven1.jpg), Picture 2 (http://www.crimson-tale.com/Images/TheHaven2.jpg), Picture 3 (http://www.crimson-tale.com/Images/TheHaven3.jpg), Picture 4 (http://www.crimson-tale.com/Images/TheHaven4.jpg), Picture 5 (http://www.crimson-tale.com/Images/TheHaven5.jpg), Picture 6 (http://www.crimson-tale.com/Images/TheHaven6.jpg)
(Pics are not exact, but simply here to give you the general idea of the basic layout. Also, there are tables/booths underneath the VIP lounge and next to the stairs, but sadly items on the first floor don't show when viewing the second floor in-game (referring to Pic 2).)


* The Museum Hermeticum and Internet Cafe: The upper floors remain traditional to an ancient library filled with enough dusty texts and hidden scrolls to set every scholars heart on fire. The basement has been modernised in silver and ruby with the latest electronic equipment and now houses L.A.'s finest internet café. Enter to research online, keep up with the latest communications or stop by for the richest cup of Italian Mocha you’ll ever taste.
The museum is owned by the Tremere and Mina Coles resides on the top floor. This has been branded an Elysium.


* The Rave Arcade: With an eleven dollar admission fee, the Rave Arcade has become L.A.'s hottest gamer haven. The mood varies throughout the night, earlier hours are blanketed with soft techno sounds that are overridden by the endless drone of the arcade games. Deeper into the night, however, many of the arcade games are shut down and the moshers take their spot in the mosh pit as one of the popular local bands enlisted to play take their stage. The presence of the arcade is controversial as, over time, it has become a breeding ground for rowdy metalheads and shady characters.


* Club Diebuk: Diebuk is a rave nightclub where, unlike others in the city, vampires from all clans and backgrounds can come together. Well wishes, or no. The club was founded in 1892 by Cade Vaughn the Brujah Primogen, and is situated in Downtown LA, underground, opening usually around 9pm with no admission fee. It was primarily a location for solace, though as Cade would have it, he allows vampires to use their disciplines inside at will. The club is moderated by Brujah guards and bouncers, though even they involve themselves in bar brawls and punch-ups. Downstairs there is a bar and dancefloor with a plasma TV screen. The interior is lit with spotlights and strobe lights. The music blaring dance music. Off to the right is a black door guarded by burley Brujah vampires, leading to Cade's private room, which can be accessed by invitation.
Picture 1 (http://www.crimson-tale.com/Images/ClubDiebuk.jpg)


* Algernon: This is a combined bookstore and café not far from The Haven, owned by Ventrue Primogen Archon DeWinter. Julia, a Tremere, helps him run it, selling books and what not. There is also a Ventrue male that has an eye on the business.
It is intimate and cozy with comfortable armchairs, yet it holds a lot of books. Both new ones, and old ones. And also computers with internet connection. All clans are welcome here, therefore it is not as grand as you would assume a Ventrue establishment to be. It is modern, but with a touch of the old days. You can definatley find some gothic design as well as victorian; among furniture, wallpapers and decorations. There are three floors. The first floor contains the bookstore and café. The second floor is for VIP only, which means Kindred. No kine is allowed up there what so ever. It also has books and a comfortable setting, in order for the Kindred to socialize without the interruption of the kine. The books on the second floor are older, and more suitable for the Kindred that wish to engage themselves in search of information. If anyone is looking for more rare books, they would be wise to contact the owner or Julia. The third floor is Archon's private office. This is where he has meetings with other Kindred, and where he spends his time when he needs to work in the center of the city, without disturbance.
Picture 1 (http://www.crimson-tale.com/Images/Algernon1.jpg), Picture 2 (http://www.crimson-tale.com/Images/Algernon2.jpg), Picture 3 (http://www.crimson-tale.com/Images/Algernon3.jpg)


* The Dive/Posh: One of the many casinos owned by Falesyia Kermode, though this is the only one she considers home. The Dive (http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y225/Mila_Muromachi/SIMS2/CasinoFront.jpg) is one of her smaller establishments, consisting of only three floors. The bottom floor (http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y225/Mila_Muromachi/SIMS2/CasinoBottomFloor.jpg) being where you’ll find the usual casino amenities. Plenty of slot machines and tables to spend your wealth in effort to strike it rich. A buffet area is also on this floor. The second floor (http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y225/Mila_Muromachi/SIMS2/CasinoSecondFloor.jpg) hosts several suites for those who wish to stay in luxury, and can afford it. Falesyia's private suite is there as well as the offices and security personnel that can see everything going on below. Also located on the second floor is a set of doors that lead to Falesyia’s favorite place.
Behind these doors which are always guarded by two rather large bouncers, you’ll find a stair way leading to the third floor. The third floor is where you’ll find Posh, an invite only private area where only the elite of the elite, the richest of the rich are allowed. A much more intimate area, with only one table of each type is run. The stakes are high, the thrills intense.
While most who enter Posh are well known celebrities or business men, Falesyia keeps watch on the bottom floor. If someone catches her eye, or seems to be on one hell of a roll, they may be approached by her agents and invited to sit with the high rollers.

[AtropaMandragora]

THE PRINCE:

As mentioned in the first post, every major city has it's Prince. Los Angeles is no exception. Damian Alexander is a Ventrue elder, and has been the Prince of L.A. for well over two decades now. He will be played by me, and will not be taking up one of the character slots, meaning there are still 5 slots initially open for the Ventrue.
For more info on the office of Prince, please see the Glossary on the website (http://www.crimson-tale.com).

The Prince will have a Sheriff (see the Glossary), but as I'm not sure how active the Prince will be, the sheriff will be made an NPC, and thus that position will not be up for grabs, simply because I don't want to tie someone up with a semi-active character. Being the Prince's bodyguard pretty much means following him around like a dog.
Should it turn out that the Prince will be more active than I've anticipated, I might consider opening up the position as sheriff.
But for now, picture him being a tall, robust Brujah brute.

Now, without any further ado; ladies and gentlemen, I give to you your Prince, Damian Alexander III;

Clan: Ventrue
Name: Damian Alexander (III)
Age: Elder (578 years old, embraced in 1429, at the age of 28)
Disciplines: Dominate (level 5), Fortitude (level 4), Presence (level 5)

Bio: Born during the Hundred Years War, Damian was destined to end up on the battlefield. Being of noble birth he was raised a knight, being taught virtues such as courtesy and manners, cleanliness and religion, along with various battle skills before even hitting puberty.
At the age of 14 he started serving as a squire, aiding a highly respected knight in battle, and outside. He watched and learned, and at the age of 19 was knighted by his master for saving his master's life on the battlefield.
He served the English with vigor, earning himself a reputation for being the epitome of what a knight should be - couragous, just, merciful, and noble - until he one day was fatally wounded during battle. He was taken back to his tent, and in the dead of the night was Embraced by a Ventrue who'd been keeping an eye on him for the last couple of years. The Ventrue had wanted to wait another year or so, but with Damian on his deathbed, they didn't want him to slip through their fingers.
Since then he's spent his time indulging himself in the virtues of the Ventrue, and has thus become a powerful leader and a shrewd business man.

During the mid 1600's, he was lurking around the Spanish court when a young lady, caught his eye. She was still only a teenager, but already possessed the poise and manners of a queen. He had one of his ghouls, the King's physician, keep an eye on her and keep Damian updated with the on-goings of her life.
Only weeks after first seeing her, Damian had decided she would be granted the Kiss as she was clearly meant to be a Ventrue. However, he also decided to wait a few years, so that she would first reach her full potential.
However, she suddenly fell very ill, and fearing that they would loose her and that he would suffer the wrath of Damian in the process, the doctor quickly sent for the noble Ventrue.
Damian had no choice. If he wanted her, and he did, he had to Embrace her right then and there on her death bed, much like the way he himself had been Embraced.

These days he resides in Los Angeles, and some two decades ago, was elected Prince of the city.
He's still considered just, noble and couragous, but he no longer shows mercy on those who betray him or let him down in any way, and he's been known to plot and manipulate younger Kindred into serving his own needs.
The Ventrue blood has also turned him into somewhat of an arrogant snob, as he, like any Ventrue, considers himself a born leader with the duty to guide and care for the Kindred in his town.
If you're a vampire and you've just arrived in L.A., it is required that you look up the Prince and introduce your presence in his city, as is it expected that if you wish to Embrace someone, wage war against Kindred, or call a blood hunt you should seek his permission before doing so.

You'll be most likely to find him in his penthouse office, in downtown Los Angeles.

Picture:
http://www.vintagestars.com/river/Test2/DamianAlexander1.jpg



(((ooc: The spot as his Childe is open, for anyone who might be interested.)))


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THE PRIMOGEN:

A Primogen is an advisor to the Prince, a representative of each clan within a domain. Together, all the Primogen form the Prince's advisory council, and all serve as his connection with all the Camarilla vampires dwelling in his domain.
A Primogen is mainly an elder in good standing within the community.
For more info on the Primogen, please see the Glossary on the website (http://www.crimson-tale.com).

As each Camarilla clan in every town have their own Primogen, the positions as Clan Primogen are open to players in this game. There's one for every clan. The only requirement is that your vampire is an elder, and someone that would be considered suitable by others.
On this, it's first come, first served.

The Primogen council right now consists of the following;
Brujah Primogen: NPC
Gangrel Primogen: NPC
Malkavian Primogen: Seraphina Christou (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1206395&postcount=368)
Nosferatu Primogen: NPC
Toreador Primogen: TBA
Tremere Primogen: Mina Coles, NPC only to be used very carefully and only if there is no avoiding it.
Ventrue Primogen: Archon DeWinter (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1063744&postcount=808)




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GLOSSARY:

This is where I would've listed common words and phrases used within Kindred society, but as these first couple of posts are already packed with quite alot of information, I will only (yet again) provide you guys with a link to the website (http://www.crimson-tale.com), where you'll find the complete Glossary. You are not expected to learn everything there, it's merely there for reference.



:D

[Ghanima Atreides]

Moira Sushill - Clan Toreador

1. What clan you belong to: Clan Toreador

Name: Moira Sushill

Age: Elder (570 years old)

Disciplines: Auspex(3), Celerity(2), Presence(5)

Bio:

Seeing the light of day in 1438 in Târgoviste, Wallachia (the southern region of what would later on become Romania) Moira (born Moira Badea) was not born in a family of nobility – she was the daughter of an influential merchant in the area, who had acquired enough assets to make his family’s life comfortable, without being luxurious.

At the age of 16, Moira was wed to the boyar (nobleman) Mircea Sutu, 27 years older than her, a match her family considered extremely favourable and in which she had no choice, although the crafty girl saw a more considerable advantage than wealth in this marriage. As wife of Mircea Sutu, Moira convinced her husband –who, in his self-induced illusion believed she was in love with him – to let her see the only learned man at the court, a monk by the name of Arsenie and learn to read and write.

But learning was not all that Moira enjoyed doing; she took a deep liking to the arts of drawing, painting and music, but in a country forever under the threat of imminent wars, such trivialities were frowned upon and neglected. It was thus that soon after her 21st birthday that Moira once again compelled her husband into sending her to the Hungarian court, where she would remain with some of the Sutu family relatives for a month or two. The month became an year, fueled by Moira’s constant letters that the environment and climate did wonders for her health, which apparently had withered between the brick walls of the Wallachian fortress. In reality, Moira felt she would rather have drowned herself than return to the boring, tedious and stagnant life she had had at Mircea’s side, especially after encountering Matthias Cornellus, scholar and artist whose skilfully painted canvases decorated the walls of the Emperor’s palace. Seeing a bright spark of passion and talent in the young woman, Cornellus taught Moira more than old monk Arsenie ever could, the two spending countless hours into the night pouring over manuscripts and poetry novels.

Naturally, the young woman became fascinated with this man as well as his mystery: certain things about him raised questions, like the fact that he was never to be seen during the hours of daytime, and even after the two became lovers, Cornellus refused to talk of his past or tell her the reason why he was always away except the evenings and nights. But there was more than that: being close to him always, Moira started to notice her lover’s eerily perfect skin and features, a certain rich quality his hair had which she had never seen before, or his fluid movements that at times defied the laws of nature: lingering at her side until dawn one night, Matthias Cornellus leaped out of the window in his urge to find shelter before the sun rose, leaving Moira perplexed and astonished.

The following evening, she demanded answers, cried, threw a fit of rage which Cornellus withstood calmly, or rather with apparent calm: he compelled her to calm down using his Dominate powers for the first time on his lover, then explained the truth which turned out to be more frightening and incredible than anything Moira had expected to hear: that he, Matthias Cornellus was Kindred, vampire…member of the Toreador Clan. He also warned her that his mistake and her resolve to know his terrible truth left him with two choices: modify her memory that she would not remember he ever existed and leave her, or make her one of his kind. At the time, the Camarilla was in its cradle, and Cornellus desired Moira too much to kill her, but he would not risk his exposure by giving her such information without its inherit consequences. Not being able to bear the thought of loosing him, Moira accepted immortality under her lover’s fangs and thus became part of Clan Toreador. The couple remained together for nearly three centuries, traveling all across the civilized world and enjoying life’s finest pleasures that immortality could offer. For a long time, Moira was completely entranced with her new senses and heightened perceptions, and especially the way her artistic flair and talent became augmented by the Blood. However, even hers and Cornellus’s passionate lovestory came to an end once dissensions began to form between the no-longer young vampire Moira and her sire, dissensions that eventually ended with them parting. Moira was no longer content with just being the companion, the apprentice…she wished more than that and knew she was capable of it – thus after a painful separation from Matthias Cornellus, she relocated herself in Italy, where she remained for one more century. There, she encountered the girl who would inspire her greatest masterpiece, as well as her greatest failure: Josephine was her name, a runaway from the distant land of Poland, whose perplexing beauty and sweet disposition inspired Moira to begin a close friendship with the mortal woman, during the many nights she posed as Moira painted: it was not a sexual relationship, though perhaps as intimate as any love affair, Josephine playing the triple role of muse, friend, and ghoul.

During one such nights, the door to the studio burst open and an enraged, insanely jealous Matthias Cornellus stormed in, fangs bared, attacking and killing helpless Josephine where she stood, no warnings given. Shocked and filled with such a rage she had never believed she could feel, Moira challenged he Sire, who made the big mistake of underestimating her, forgetting his wits in his madness. In an impulse she would regret ever since, Moira drained Matthias dry, delivering her revenge and his final Death in a way condemned by the Camarilla: Diablerie was considered a heinous crime, in which only the Sabbat revelled, punishable by death.

Disgusted and ashamed, Moira fled Italy and settled in London, England, where she hoped to make a fresh start, changing her name to Moira Sushill to better blend in with the society. She became actively involved in Kindred politics, ascending to the rank of Primogen towards the mid 20th century; her masterpiece however, Josephine's unfinished portrait she never completed: her muse had died that night, and Moira had not been able to regain the heights of creative inspiration she had known then.

-for the purpose of this RP, Moira is visiting Los Angeles-

2. Picture:

http://i15.photobucket.com/albums/a356/Velvet_Velour/RPGs/moira_headshot.jpg

[Ghanima Atreides]

1. Name: Aeode Mallard

Age: 26

Willingness to be embraced: yes, if the story leads to a plausible embrace scenario

Occupation: something that pays the rent and allows her to keep a low profile (currently a bartender)

Short bio: Aeode is an enigma to most people she meets: a nomad who has been everywhere from Phuket to Istambul, has never kept a job longer than a couple of months and whose real name few know: secretive, insightful, and very opinionated, one can often get the feeling there is much she harbours to herself. But it hasn't always been this way, in fact, until her 18th birthday, life for Aeode had been very, very different. The Mallard family dabbled in may different ventures, some more legit than others, enough to ensure their lives remained carefree and privileged. One of their preferred investments was sponsoring talented artists: this stemmed from the fact that their own daughter, Aeode, had musical talents and a sweet, yet vibrant contra-alto voice which she hoped would one day place her name among the well known opera singers.

A lavish party was organized on the occasion of Aeode's 18th birthday, celebrating her passage into adulthood as well as her engagement to Thomas Caulfield, her childhood sweetheart. An unusual age for marriage by modern standards, perhaps, yet both Tom and Aeode were convinced it was the best decision for them. It all however turned to tragedy when a group of masked individuals bearing weapons and Molotov cocktails descended upon the gathering, incinerating and killing everything and everyone in their way. Aeode's parents died that night, as did many of the terror-stricken guests. In a frantic attempt to escape with her fiancé, Aeode sacrificed a few precious seconds to give Thomas enough time to reach his car and start it up; unfortunately, a few seconds too long for her. Two individuals captured her, beating her viciously, mercilessly, leaving her for dead: and indeed by the time they were finished, Aeode thought she was dead, and that the vague figure descending upon her in a glyph of pale light was the angel taking her away. She did not even register the moment when the stranger allowed several drops of blood to fall in between her parted lips, mingling with her own life essence and as they did, infusing her with a new-found strength and will to live. Even as the mysterious benefactor carried her to the nearest hospital, Aeode never saw his...or her face ( although her identity remained hidden, none other than Los Angeles Toreador Primogen Jessica had given her blood to the dying Aeode)

Despite her terrible wounds, and grim expectations, Aeode lived, and recovered which such speed the doctors were baffled: she was a walking medical miracle (she, of course, never remembered the blood she had received). She was left with a burning desire for revenge and an equally powerful fascination with the unknown person whom she remembered as though from a dream, but felt an inexplicable connection with nonetheless. She ached to see him or her, longed for it in a way that frightened her, but an even more acute urge dominated her mind: The young woman, an orphan, quickly realized the obvious: her family had been targeted by unknown factions who wished them all dead: she did not know why, and certainly not who, but for her only one option existed: she needed to disappear, hoping that with her gone, they would at least not harm Thomas, one of the few survivors, even though it would mean never having contact with her love again.

During the following 8 years, Aeode travelled far and wide; having emptied one of her father's secret bank accounts, she could afford to, keeping to herself, learning whatever she could from those she met on her way, most importantly how to fight. With the help of an ex martial arts teacher she became close to in Spain, Aeode diligently honed her skills, whether bare handed or using a wide range of weapons from guns, knives and even sword fighting. She then swore she would never again be a victim, and if she came face to face with them again, she would have her revenge on those who had ruined her life.

Eight years later, Aeode once again walks down the once familiar streets of Los Angeles, renting a small derelict apartment and working in bars, having long since exhausted the money taken from her father's account.


2. A picture of you:

Aeode, presently:

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v48/Ghanima/RP%20Contests/aeodeheadshot.jpg

18 year old Aeode, recovering after her attack:

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v48/Ghanima/RP%20Contests/Aeode_18yrs.jpg

[AtropaMandragora]

Clan: Toreador
Name: Valerian (doesn't use a last name)
Age: Neonate (Embraced in the 1902 at the age of 25)
Disciplines: Auspex (level 1), Celerity (level 2), Presence (level 2).

(Not so) Short Bio:
Valerian has always been a dreamer and a fan/lover of beauty. He'll find beauty in any and everything, and everyone. Born into a wealthy family in England in 1877, he was the youngest son of three, and thus the one with the least responsibility, which might explain his lack of interest in businesses, finances etc. Instead he grew up spending most of his time reading, writing, painting, daydreaming and seeking the company of others like him. And it was in this open-minded circle of friends that he first realized he was equally attracted by men and women. Both genders had their special qualities that he loved, though he knew better than to be open about his experiences with men.
At the age of 20, he had a falling out with his parents. They wanted him to mature and start taking responsibility, while Valerian himself kept insisting that he wanted to pursue a career as an artist; as a painter and possibly a poet. He wanted to attend the Chelsea School of Art, in order to develop his skills, but his parents refused to finance such a "waste of time". They even threatened to cut him off entirely if he did not bend to their will. Of course, he did not, and a short while later he was accepted by the school, ending up being disowned by his parents in the process.
Even from the very start money was tight, but luckily, Valerian had a wealthy "friend" who saw his potential and decided to help him out by not only paying for his education, but offer him a place to stay as well. It lasted only for a few months, until rumours started circulating. Valerian's friend claimed he couldn't risk his social status nor his good name, and thus Valerian was once again without a benefactor.
However, he soon found himself a cheap and shabby apartment, and took odd jobs in order to make enough money to be able to stay in school, even serving as a rentboy on rare occasions just to make ends meet.
Finishing his education, things didn't seem to look up anytime soon. He kept struggling for a couple of years, selling a painting every now and then, but it was never enough to make a real living.
Then one night, as he was sitting in the park, savouring the last dying traces of the sunset, he and the painting he'd been working on caught a certain someone's eye. A vampire. A Toreador, who instantly fell in love with the young man's talent. He approached Valerian, commenting on his work, and offering a few tips and tricks. Valerian was awestruck by the man's insight and knowledge, and a friendship was born.
Only a few weeks later, the Toreador embraced Valerian.

Nowadays, Valerian has temporarily settled down in Los Angeles, and runs a night club called The Haven. Or rather, he fronts and co-owns it. The other owner, and the one in charge of really running it (finances, hiring/firing staff etc) is a Ventrue female named Claudia, with whom he's having a relationship of some sort. There is a blood bond between the two, with Valerian being the thrall, and Claudia being the regnant. Thus, she does have him in her power, but does not completely control him. She's the dominant one, and he is her willing plaything, her boy toy. She can sometimes get impatient with him, as he's far too laid back and carefree, only seeking the pleasures of (un)life. He has little interest in how the business is run.

He can often be found at the club, either socializing at his usual table along with his ghoul Melody, or in the VIP lounge upstairs, where he willingly serves as a blood doll to both male and female vampires (mainly regulars). He loves the intimacy, and drinking from him is a highly sensual experience, even for vampires. Keep in mind though, that he is not a prostitute. Drinking from him doesn't hold a price, and he'll only share his blood with whoever he wants to.

However, he doesn't limit himself to sharing intimacy with vampires only, but will also on occasion indulge himself in real lovemaking, with mortals. Because, while vampires no longer have a sex drive per se, they can still perform the act of lovemaking, and being the sensual, sexual creature that he is, Valerian cherishes the intimacy shared with another beautiful being - be it a mortal or an immortal - even though the physical pleasure is not nearly as intense for him as for his parter (in case of a human). He simply finds his pleasure in pleasing others.

He doesn't care a whole lot about the feuds and disagreements between the clans, nor does he pay much attention to it. If he's up to date on things, it's simply because Claudia insists on trying to keep him in the loop. He rarely participates in any schemes, unless asked by her. He'll go along with running her errands every now and then, and help her succeed with whatever plans she might have. Be warned though, he's not naive; not in the way that he doesn't see what part he's playing in her (or anyone else's) schemes. He's usually very well aware of things, once he's gotten involved, even though he might not always seem to be.

As for the club itself, it is indeed a haven, like the name suggests, as it serves as an Elysium for the local vampires; a place where all fights and blood feuds are left at the door.
Except for the VIP lounge/office, the upstairs also holds Valerian's art studio and personal chambers, that he often shares with either Claudia, or his ghoul Melody.


Picture:
http://www.vintagestars.com/river/Test2/Valerian5.jpg



(((ooc: I know the club name is a bit cheesy, but it's me paying homage to "Kindred; The Embraced". :) )))

[AtropaMandragora]

Name: Adrien de la Cour
Clan: Tremere
Disciplines: Auspex (level 2), Dominate (level 1), Thaumaturgy (level 1)
Bio: Born a French nobleman in 1765, during the Enlightenment, Adrien was destined to have a talent for learning. At an early age he discovered the power of knowledge, and was taught a number of languages, sciences and arts. A romantic at heart, he found himself spending hours and hours playing and composing music. The harpsichord was his instrument of choice, and it was there he felt the most comfortable, and at peace.
However, late 18th century France was a turbulent time and place, and during the French revolution, Adrien's family were amongst the unfortunates that the people turned against. Both his parents and older siblings were arrested and executed.
Adrien himself, however, had caught someone's eye. And not just one person's. It was two people, who for different reasons desired him. Both of them vampires. One Toreador female, who had fallen in love with him while watching him perform one of his sonatas at a party. The other a man of the Tremere clan. Adrien's vast knowledge and hunger for learning tickled his interest.
But while the woman waited for just the right time to approach Adrien, the man wasted no time.
In a dirty back ally, attempting to escape from the angry mob, Adrien was embraced and quickly taken to a crypt at the cemetary. There he learned about his new nature, the Camarilla and the Masquerade, and he was delighted. He thouroughly enjoyed being a vampire. It opened up so many doors, so many new dimensions to life.
He's travelled the world, to study cultures and technology, and recently ended up in Los Angeles.


Yes. This was the story used to help decieve the Kindred of Los Angeles a long time ago, in the early light of the 20th century.
The truth of the matter was that Adrien was not born in 1765.
He did not experience the French revolution.
He was not a Tremere.
He hadn't even been Embraced.

Adrien de la Cour, was a vampire hunter.


Born the son of a mortal woman of the French court and a vampire, a so-called thin-blood, Adrien is a dhampir.
His real date of birth was in 1854. As a child he aged normally, but once he reached adulthood, the aging process started slowing down; with his body fully developed, his dhampir powers had kicked in.

Being the rare offspring of a vampire, Adrien was raised with tales of the Kindred, and to him, they were a natural part of life. Until they brought about an end to the (un)life of his thin-blood father. Only then did he see what they truely are (in his mind); monsters. Monsters that need to be exterminated. And he decided he would be the one to rid the world of them.
But in order to do that, he needed to learn more about them. With time being on his side, he began studying the Kindred, learning the basics of their society and their rules. Once that was done, he had to pick what clan he would pose as. He realized that killing Kindred would be easier if he managed to weasel his way into their society, as it would mean that he would be aquainted with his victims, instead of having to track them down from the shadows.
The Nosferatu would have been perfect, had they not been deformed to look on the outside what they truely were on the inside. All the information and knowledge they had would've made Adrien's mission alot easier. But they were simply impossible to imitate. And the same went for the Malkavians.
The nature of the Brujah and the Gangrel were both something Adrien couldn't relate to, and so trying to pose as either of them meant his cover would be easily blown. The Ventrue and the Toreador would be simple, and that was exactly why he dismissed them. If the Kindred started suspecting that they had a traitor among them, the Ventrue and the Toreador would be the first clans to be scrutinized.
But the Tremere, with their complex and mysterious ways, their strict hierachy and well guarded secrets... Even to the undead, they would be a challenge to imitate. And so they were the perfect clan. Adrien always did harbour an interest for the dark side of life, and actually fit the Tremere bill quite well.

Once he had learned what he needed to know in order to be able to present himself as a Tremere neonate, his vampire hunting days began.
This was in 1887. He had spent fifteen years studying, researching and perfecting his new persona, and was now 33 years old. Although his appearance and vitality was that of a man in his early 20's.
He spent a couple of months earning the trust of the Kindred around him, before he made his first kill. It was a Toreador neonate, so easily blinded by Adrien's good looks and charming ways that it took almost no effort at all.
After that, the number of Paris Kindred started rapidly decreasing. But before the risk of being found out got too big, Adrien bid his "fellow Tremere" farewell, telling them some excuse about wanting to leave Paris before he too suffered final death at the hands of this unknown vampire hunter.
However, unbeknownst to them, he stayed in secret to assasinate a few more Kindred. Because, if the killings ceased with his departure, it wouldn't take the survivors long to put two and two together.
And ironically, it was they who provided him with the perfect get-away. The turmoil caused by the many deaths had the same effect on Kindred as it would on humans; they started searching for a scapegoat, and even killed one of their own, a Brujah Ancilla, believing she was the traitor.
After she was dead, Adrien left Paris for real, leaving the remaining Kindred thinking they had indeed killed the hunter.

He repeated this pattern in various cities around Europe, before deciding the European Kindred had grown far too careful and suspicious for him to earn their trust. Instead, he crossed the Atlantic Ocean. The turn had now come to the Kindred of America.

By 1897, he had ended up in Los Angeles. There is where he met Mina; the first Kindred to ever spark an emotion in him. So much so that when came time to end her life, he hesitated ever so briefly. Not to take pleasure in the look on her face, not to savour the moment, but to apologize. If there had been one Kindred that could've made him think differently about their race, it would've been her.
But while it pained him to do this to her, he knew he had no choice. If he'd allow her to live, she surely wouldn't rest until she held in her hand his dying heart, ripped from his body by Mina herself. His betrayal had been too big for her to ever forgive him. She had confided in him, told him things she hadn't dared tell anyone else.

But, lady luck had been on Mina's side. Another Tremere interrupted just as Adrien was about to go in for the kill, and as it would've been impossible for him to take on two Tremere at once, he had to flee. Not just from the mansion they had been in, but from Los Angeles altogether. Staying would've been far too dangerous, as the Kindred now knew who he was and what he looked like.

Since that night, he roamed the various states of North America, tracking down Kindred and killing them when he got the chance. Though infiltrating the Tremere clan, or any clan, was no longer an option. He had long ago struck fear in Kindred society, as a nameless, unstoppable hunter. His anonymity had been his only protection. But with his appearance known, he would've roused suspicion the moment he waltzed into a Prince's domain, and so he'd had to settle for hiding in the shadows and striking when the right opportunity presented itself.

That was until three years ago.
In 2004, the Prince and the Primogen council of San Fransisco were informed that someone resembling Adrien had been spotted in their city. The Nosferatu were immediately sent to track him down. It took a while, even for these experts, but finally they found him.
Now, it was payback time.

Ambushed in a dirty back alley, to fit the story he had used to decieve so many of them throughout the years, Adrien was Embraced. And not just by any randomly chosen clan, but by the Tremere themselves.



Age: 150 dhampir years (appears to be in his mid/late 20's), three vampire years. Neonate.



http://www.crimson-tale.com/Temp/AdrienDeLaCour1.jpg

http://www.crimson-tale.com/Temp/AdrienDeLaCour2.jpg

http://www.crimson-tale.com/Temp/AdrienDeLaCour.jpg

[Shenanigans_SC]

Name: Falesyia Kermode
(Pronounced: fa-LEE-see-ah KER-mode)
Age: 26
Occupation: Owns several casinos
Willingness to be embraced: Perhaps eventually, if the time is right, by Toreador, or Ventrue
http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y225/Mila_Muromachi/SIMS2/Falesyia.jpg


Short Bio:Falesyia is the only child of a self made multi-millionaire. The only thing her father loved more than her was his growing businesses, casinos. She was seven when her mother disappeared, leaving her to grow in the chaotic world of gambling, shady dealings and greed. She was always by her father’s side, watching how things were run, deals were made, and money earned.

When she turned eighteen she thought she’d see how things looked from the other side of the tables. During the night, she had caught the attention of a mysteriously handsome man, something about him captivated her. Despite should have knowing better, she welcomed his advances. When the man, who said he was just passing through, invited her to his suite she went willingly. As they were in an embrace Falesyia was overcome by the most intoxicating feeling she had ever experienced. The man was gone by morning, leaving Falesyia craving the intense experience. A craving that has not been fulfilled in the eight years that have passed.

Now that her father has passed on, Falesyia is the sole proprietor of the rather large casino chain. Though she is beautiful, she is a business woman to the core. She’s a rather astute woman, usually forceful with her silent stare. She does enjoy the nicer things in life, however, they do not satisfy her completely. She can usually be found at Posh, the most exclusive establishment she owns.

About Posh:Falesyia owns several casinos, however only one she considers home. The Dive (http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y225/Mila_Muromachi/SIMS2/CasinoFront.jpg) is one of her smaller establishments, consisting of only three floors. The bottom floor (http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y225/Mila_Muromachi/SIMS2/CasinoBottomFloor.jpg) being where you’ll find the usual casino amenities. Plenty of slot machines and tables to spend your wealth in effort to strike it rich. A buffet area is also on this floor. The second floor (http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y225/Mila_Muromachi/SIMS2/CasinoSecondFloor.jpg) hosts several suites for those who wish to stay in luxury, and can afford it. Falesyia's private suite is there as well as the offices and security personnel that can see everything going on below. Also located on the second floor is a set of doors that lead to Falesyia’s favorite place.

Behind these doors which are always guarded by two rather large bouncers, you’ll find a stair way leading to the third floor. The third floor is where you’ll find Posh, an invite only private area where only the elite of the elite, the richest of the rich are allowed. A much more intimate area, with only one table of each type is run. The stakes are high, the thrills intense.

While most who enter Posh are well known celebrities or business men, Falesyia keeps watch on the bottom floor. If someone catches her eye, or seems to be on one hell of a roll, they may be approached by her agents and invited to sit with the high rollers.

[innoscenteyes]

Name: Beyonca a.k.a Bee
Clan: Ventrue
Age: Acellia 275 years old
Disciples: Dominate lvl 3, Presence lvl 3

Bio: Bee was turned at the age of 18. She was engaged to a man she was maddely in love with when she was turned and hated the fact that she was taken away from him and never ot the life she had dreamed of. She is unlike most Ventrues. She is beautiful and her mind tends to wonder a bit. Curiosity happens to get the best of her. Her sire was a women who she came to love and be great friends with. The were inseperatable and she was encouraged to find out everything she could, so now she watched humans from the shadows. Remembering her life. When her sire was granted a final death, Bees heart was shattered. She has never filled that void that was taken from her and is often feeling lonely and missing her sire.

Pic: http://i215.photobucket.com/albums/cc169/playslackert/vamp2.jpg

[innoscenteyes]

name:Kira McCree
Age: 23
occupation: Painter
willingness to be embraced:yes, very willing


Bio: Kira owns a art galley in doentown L.A. She is widely know for her artistic abilities and her gallery. Mostly she is know for her rich landscapes of Ireland . but does have a few portraits and other paintings out there. She came to L.A. from Ireland when she was 18 ans cherieshes her irish roots. So she has an Irish accent. Quite modest. Picture her wearing a silk blouse and black slacks. (As I said I want to her to be a modest person, but I liked the picture so just think of her in modest clothing. If she becomes a vampire she might wear something like what is in the picture. And her skin is tanned a bit, not gray, lol.) Oh yes I forgot to add that she is a virgin. Doesnt drink or do drugs. She likes to keep her body healthy and pure.

Pic: http://i215.photobucket.com/albums/cc169/playslackert/Fire_haired_drow.jpg

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: With a new thread, comes a new night. Everyone, it is now night #8.)))




http://www.vintagestars.com/river/Test2/Night8.jpg




(((Feel free to wrap up whatever you were doing though.)))

[Shenanigans_SC]

((OOC: Well... someone has to go first.))

Falesyia found herself sitting at the head of the long conference table in one of the offices on the second floor of The Dive. The meeting had gone on much longer than she had planned, each man insisting he have his time to be heard. These meetings with her top staff were necessary, as much as she’d hate to admit it. They had started out productive enough, but once she had grown tired of the constant drone of their voices she began to feel very much like Snow White. Each of them one of her little dwarfs. Only instead of a wicked step-mother handing her a poison apple, she felt as if her dwarfs were going to kill her.

“Okay gentlemen.” She said at a slightly lower volume level than normal. Falesyia was not one to holler to gather someone’s attention. Each and every fellow sitting in the room with her now had already learned that it was far more beneficial to hear her the first time she spoke, no matter how softly it was.

She leaned back with her legs crossed under the table, slowly swiveling her chair from side to side. “I do believe that any topic of importance has been discussed. You each have your areas to improve on. I expect nothing but good reports at our next meeting.”

“Yes Ms. Kermode” was the general answer as the men gathered their briefcases. Falesyia herself stood, allowing the skirt of her dress (http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y225/Mila_Muromachi/SIMS2/blackdress2.jpg) to slide down her body, back into its proper position.

“Mr. Muldrow” she called one of them by name. She had come to the side of the table, her body weight supported by her left hand firmly planted on the table, her other arm bent with her right hand upon her hips. “I would like to see you please.”

The look in the man’s eyes reminded her of a young boy whose mother called for him. He had the look of one who had done something naughty and was hesitant to obey for the fear of having been caught. Despite whatever it was that he had been feeling, he decided it was better to take his chances than to flat out disobey and soon uttered a simple “Of course.”

The man finished packing his briefcase, and as the rest of the men hurried out of the office he made his way to stand before Falesyia who now sat on the edge of the table, her legs crossed as she inserted a pen behind her right ear. “I am concerned with your profit reports.” She began rather bluntly.

“Yes mam… it’s like I said earlier…”

“I heard what you said earlier.” She interrupted the man whom she hoped would not continue, as that would annoy her very much. She placed her palms on the edge of the table leaning forwards towards him, wrapping her slender fingers around the edge. “I am just letting you know, if the next months reports are not better, I will have to come down to the establishment I have trusted you with and fix things myself.”

“Oh, I’m sure that won’t be necessary Ms. Kermode.” His tone was obviously a forced confidence trying miserably to hide his inner fear.

Falesya sat up straight, her hands reached out taking a hold of the lapels of his suit jacket. “Good.” Her voice was much lighter now. “Is this a John Varvatos jacket?” she asked suddenly. The man seemed to be caught off guard as he was unable to find an answer. “Uhm… Uh… I'm afraid I don't know, it was a gift from my wife.”

“Well,” she slid off of the table nearly silently and now stood just inches away from him. Her eyes locked onto him, much as a lioness would eye her prey before pouncing on it. “You better get to work then, so your little wife can continue to buy you such excellent clothes.” Her head was tilted just slightly, it had been her cue it was his time to leave the room, but the man seemed frozen in his spot. It took his mind a few seconds to process what she had said, suddenly he grasped it and turned towards the door, walking with just a bit more speed than normal.

Falesyia turned on the balls of her feet as she watched the man leave the room, an amused smile on her face. Mr. Muldrow was the newest member of her team, and as the many before him he took some breaking in. She was sure though that he would be just fine, once he survived the initiation period of sorts.

She glanced to the clock on the wall and tried to decide what she wanted to do now that her meeting was over with. She finally settled on stopping by the security offices. She was in a rather good mood and hoped there would be someone down stairs she found vaguely interesting.

((OOC: Okay, worthless RP post in a way, because it doesn’t leave any opening for interaction with other players. *shrug* What can I say… I’m still fleshing her out.))

[veldagia]

Clan: Tremere (Primogen)
Name: Mina Coles
Age: Elder
Disciplines:
Auspex: Level 4,
Dominate: Level 3
THAUMATURGY Level 4

Bio:
Mina was born in into a typical English Middle Class family; her father treated her well despite the questions around her conception. So whilst her brothers were educated at Cambridge she studied at home and was allowed the luxury of choosing her own husband. She married a wealthy artist, opting for an easy life rather than one of love. They lived comfortably but the marriage was fruitless.

During the reign of the Queen she was initiated into a stem of the Dark Arts. It was here where she first met with the Secret Chiefs. Just after her 21st birthday she completed her initial instruction and drew the eye of a notable scholar. She resisted his advances for several months but eventually he wore her down as her heart turned from her morals to his enchantments. But she never understood what she was letting herself in for and one fateful night she was reborn. She lost everything she treasured in the world other than him but with the rebirth a new fire was set alight.

Mina spent centuries faithfully bound to her sire’s side as the spent the years travelling together or hiding out in Vienna watching and waiting, as the wars took their toll and new leaders arose. The time passed easily whilst she discovered for herself the wisdom held in the Tremere laboratory, rituals and ancient texts. As she mastered the arts of the elementals, the pathway of the tarot and the evocations of the spirits she realised that there was something missing and this thirst for knowledge drives her still. For the last few decades she resided in their English Mansion until her sire’s mysterious disappearance from Tremere society a few years ago. The mere mention of his name now brings the cold glare of Mina’s wrath.

Mina slowly worked her way up the Tremere hierarchy, finally establishing herself among likeminded others who had been embraced but all the time she kept a careful eye upon those who hold power amongst the Camarilla Although the home of her heart is still the English Isles she moved to LA to acquire the seat of Tremere Primogen. Here she resides in the loft apartment of the Museum Hermeticum.

Mina has a studious nature and respects knowledge for within it lies power. Her enemies would describe her as an ambitious, cold, elusive killer who trusts no-one. True she possesses these qualities, lacking any sense of true morality but she also has fire buried deep within, stirred by her vampiric senses and intense loyalty to her clan and those she treasures.



Painting of Mina which hangs above the Museum's Great Fireplace
http://i165.photobucket.com/albums/u61/veldagia/vampire/MinaColesnew1.jpg

[Ghanima Atreides]

Moira Sushill - The Ritz, suite #812, awaiting Valerian [Night # 8]

The smooth trickling of falling water permeated the silence of Moira's hotel suite, disturbed only by an occasional, distant car horn blaring in the street below. Rivulets of rain trickled down the glass panes, blurring the ample view of Los Angeles' skyline visible from that altitude.

Steam billowed out through the open bathroom door, carrying a fresh scent of bath oils and perfumes; moments later, Moira's nude frame emerged from the tub, entirely dripping with water. Reaching for a towel, she proceeded to slowly dry her hair, her eyes fixated upon her reflection in the floor length mirror which dominated the bathroom; as the steam gave way to fresh air, the image grew clearer, revealing her body inch by inch, a vision of pearly whiteness untouched by the rosy hues human skin attained after a hot bath.

Moira's feet carried her soundlessly across the soft carpeted floor in the bedroom, where upon the bed awaited her outfit of choice: a deep purple chiffon blouse which gathered tightly around her waist and breast, with loose transparent sleeves, and a mid-length satin skirt of the same hue. Moira added a pair of the finest thread fishnet tights, a pair of elegant pumps, some light silver jewelry and her usual makeup which accentuated her eyes and lips. Her hair she clasped at the back of her head, letting it flow freely down her back while the shoulders remained bare.

A quick glance at the clock hanging on the far end wall informed the London Toreador Primogen that Valerian should be arriving shortly; exiting the bedroom, she emerged into the living room, adjacent to the temporary studio where all her work materials, recent sketches and the object of the visit were located. Although it was dark, Moira's eyes sought out the exact location of the painting, blinking away the familiar image which superimposed itself over reality in her mind: she knew it so well, seeing it was not entirely necessary anymore.

And soon, it would be revealed to another.

[PennyTheCorgi]

Clan: Tremere
Name: Ada Von Vita
Age: Neonate (186yrs)
Disciplines: Thaumaturgy (lvl 2), Dominate (lvl 1), Auspex (lvl 2)
Short bio: Ada was oldest and only daughter of
a distinguished professor. Her mother died giving birth
to one of Ada's younger stillborn siblings and her father,
a very intelligent but flighty man, quit his job at the
college to open a book store.
Ada took care of her father and younger siblings for a
few years until the spring of 1821, when her father met
a mysterious woman named Celeste. He became obsessed
with her, spending all of his money on gifts and trinkets
and neglicting to pay his rent. Not long after, the bank
came to forclose on their bookshop. The banker took an
instant liking to Ada and her desperate father traded her
to him in exchange for the deed to the bookstore.
Ada's new husband, along with being twenty five years
older then her, was abusive. One day, after being married
for barely a year, Ada stole away during the night to
visit her father and siblings. She arrived at the bookshop
only to find Celeste La Morte, draining the last drops of
blood from her father, having already done the same to her
siblings. In a rage, Ada flew at the woman. Celeste could
easily have killed her but was attracted to her spirit and
instead embraced her.
After her embrace, Ada traveled Europe for quite a few
years, traveling with another vampire, Andre Delucian,
for part of that time. She eventually came to America in
the 1940s.

http://i75.photobucket.com/albums/i288/PennyTheCorgi/AdaVonVita.jpg

[PennyTheCorgi]

Clan: Ventrue
Name: Andre Delucian
Age: Ancilla (291 yrs)
Disciplines:Dominate lvl 4, Fortitude lvl 2, Presence lvl 3
Short Bio: Andre was born to a prostitute in a
moderately sized coastal village in France. His mother, a
woman with a love for alcohol and gambling and a dislike
for children, spent most of her time in the taverns. This
left Andre plenty of time to run wild along the beaches
and warfs. When he was ten, Andre stowed away on a
ship bound for Spain. Shortly before reaching port, the
ship was attacked by pirates. Most of the crew resisted
and were killed. The rest, including Andre, were
captured. Andre grew to love living on the ship and formed
a close bond with captain Lai Choi San. Years later, during
a raid on a Belgian trade ship, captain Lai Choi San was
grieviously injured. Shortly before his death he made 19
year old Andre the new captain. Neither of them ever
knew they were father and son. The crew didn't like
the idea of such a young captain and mutineyed,
stranding Andre in a small Irish village.Five years
later Andre fell in love with a young irish woman
named Grace.One night while he slept she
embraced him, hoping to make him stay with
her forever. Terrified of his new powers Andre
fled to his birthplace, disappearing into the french
countryside for many years. He spent a few year
traveling with another kindred, Ada Von Vita, and
eventually came to America in 1938.

http://i75.photobucket.com/albums/i288/PennyTheCorgi/AndreDelucian.jpg

[innoscenteyes]

Beyoncas eyes fluttered open sowly while awaking from her days sleep. The sun had just went down. At first she just rolled over in her bed, not wanting to get up. Then knowing she wasnt going to go back to sleep, she slowly pushed her self out of bed and went to the sink to rinse her face. Wiping the water off, she strode to her computer to check all her emails and stocks. She might not always act like a Ventrue, but in her mind had the buisness skills of one. Like other Ventrues she only wished for the finest things and they come with a price.

After finishing her works on the computer, she shut it off and went for a shower and dressed. Once again tonight she let her raven waves fall around her. To night she wore some khaki slacks with black heeled boots and a white blouse. Her jacket was matching to her pants. After she was done dressing she walked out into the night.

At first she wasnt sure of where to go, but she soon found a spot where she would be comfortable. A fire escape in an alley outside of a popular bar. She sat there and watched as the humans went by. Most of them were just arriving. Conversations floated to her ears and she listened to them. Sometimes she had to hold in a chuckle at what was reaching to her ears. No human would probaby spot her. The only thing one could spot was the way her amber eyes shone. Almost like an animal who belonged in the night. It was somewhat true, she was like an animal. The nights belonged to her and her kind. This was the time the vampires ruled. Humans are unaware of the battle that surrounds them. The creatures that lurk right next to them on the streets. If they knew there would be a hunt all over again. So they must never know who watches them.

((ooc: ok so it isnt all that good. But Beyonca is approachable, if someone would like to talk to her.))

[Psyche_SC]

/// ON HIATUS \\\

Clan: Tremere

Name: Carmilla Le Fanu

Age: 275 (Ancilla, Sired by NPC Seath; a 513 year old Elder.)

Disciplines: Auspex - Level 3 (Revealing auras within a large distance. Lasts 28 seconds.)

Dominate - Level 4 (Trance, Brainwipe, Suicide and Possession.)

Thaumaturgy - Level 2 (Blood Strike and Purge.) Carmilla is in training for level 3.


Bio:

The first memory she had after the embrace was the soft sound of a nightly breeze, in the drapes by a window. This was soon joined with the small clinc of metal against fragile glass. She was lying on a large bed of satin, in a room with the moon as the only source of light. Her body felt heavy, sore. And she could sense the smell of blood. The clincing sound became appearant among all the other impressions that came over her. On the other side of the room, veiled in obscurity - in the dark aswell as in every other aspect - a man awaited her awakening. Although she was sure she had never seen him before, he felt familiar. He was holding a glass of wine, taping his little finger with a silverring against it. This was Seath, she was yet to learn.

When he first saw her in the streets of Pauge, or Hradčany as that part of Prauge was called back in 1732, he instantly fell for her. She was not of noble blood, but had such grace and nobility about her. Atleast in his eyes. He desired her, and had always wanted a companion. Carmilla, on the other hand, had no dreams of eternity. She was a young, godfearing christian who frequented the church. She believed in God and the Devil, and was scared to death of the latter. When she woke up in the satin bed, just a few feet from Seath, she thought he was the Devil. Her scream was muffled under his hand. He moved too quick for her to see, and that didn't help things. The long minutes of terror, waking up to this unknown life, turned into a never ending night. He calmed her down. Partly because it was in his nature, even before he became a vampire. But mostly it was in their common bond, as Sire and newborn. She belonged to him now. The blood rushing through her veins, claming her body to the undead, gave her a kind of serenity she had never felt before. He told her all her worries were gone. Poverty were no longer a problem. Death could never touch her. And she would never be alone.

Carmilla entered the life as a vampire with virgin eyes, and the trust for Seath grew with the decades passing by. But as the years turned into centuries, her outlook on life changed. Seath were no longer the Sire who protected is willing neonate. As long as her will coexisted with his, she were free. But as soon as she wanted to walk a different path, trying out her wings, he turned into a dark father who never wanted his daughter to take part in the world. He had trained her, nurturing her discipline skills. But he had never intended for her to leave him. Not even if she was to return. She was too important to him. From being his companion, to have her use her dominating skills and what not, to aid him in his quest to be an Elder to reckon with.

The betrayal was too hard to bare. He had let her blossom into a talented Tremere, only to keep her for himself. But under his watchful eyes, her talent grew into cunning. He could lock her up, shield her from the universe and only let her out when it served his purpose. But he could not anticipate how cunning she'd become. And she waited, like the sleeping beauty, for someone the set her free.

Seath had an iron hand in a velvet glove. He took her all over the world, where ever there be vampires. Eventually they returned to the city of angels, where he had his main residence. Carmilla often wondered if he mistook her for a porcelain doll, dressing her up in lovely gowns. And he highly praised her when he took her to vampire gatherings, like they were equals. She had no choice but to do his bidding, meanwhile she hoped he kept underestimating her and never discover she had a mind of her own. She had caught the eye of a Nosferatu. Normally a vampire would never seek out the Nosferatu, if not for information or other business, but Carmilla let her eyes scream for him to come to her. A Nosferatu was the only one who could creep through the shadows and reach Carmilla, without Seath knowing about it. This was her sanctuary, when he gently knocked on the window one night, and became her friend. Their friendship grew strong, he was the one who told her about Ancilla, when she became one. Carmilla saw beyond his appearance, his frightful look didn't scare her. She trusted him enough to tell him about something that she had always wondered about. After the embrace she had a scar over her left eye. She had never had that when she was a human, and she learned that vampires skin healed. So were did it come from? Seath surprised her with the truth. She always knew when he told lies, and this time he did not. The night he embraced her, another vampire had spotted her aswell, and had become furious with Seath. When trying to get in his way, in order to prevent him from claiming Carmilla as a Tremere, the violence that occured fell upon her instead. If she had become a vampire or a corpse that night if the other vampire had had his way with her, the tale does not tell.


Picture:

http://i205.photobucket.com/albums/bb309/PsycheStyx/Carmilla.jpg



_____________________________________________

((( ooc: The Nosferatu was going to be Esther, but Skylark seems to be missing in action, so I guess I will let it be an NPC. )))

[Fayreview]

1. What clan you belong to: Malkavian

2. Name: Caraltian Heresa (Cah-ral-tee-an Heh-ree-sah)

3. Age: Elder ~ 436 years.

4. Disciplines: Auspex (Level 4), Dementation (Level 3), Obfuscate (Level 5)

5. Short bio:
Caraltian is happy in the cobweb, however unhappy about the term cobweb due to his Phobia of spiders, his phobia extends in other directions to normal things, but in strange circumstances. He is happy, he thinks, but vibrates for one end to the other on most spectrums, be it sanity, competence or mental age. His pull is strong and his eyes confuse most people, they vary from clear to mirrored. His affinity for plant's holds the key to shifting through the muddle of the Malkavian sole, or at least he believes, or i believe at least, no he... wait... we?
Whatever, it's too much to think about now, plus one cannot go baring their sole to everone it just doesn't make for good "person" to "person" connections....

6. Picture:
http://www.madelinesmodels.com/images/310_chase.jpg

[Psyche_SC]

Presenting Lord Archon DeWinter - the Ventrue Primogen

http://i205.photobucket.com/albums/bb309/PsycheStyx/ArchonDeWinter1.jpg

Clan: Ventrue

Name: Lord Archon DeWinter, Primogen of the Ventrue Clan

Age: 508 years old Elder (Sired in 1499, when he was 35 years old.)

Disciplines: Dominate - Level 5 (Mass Suicide)

Fortitude - Level 4 (You can withstand a great deal of damage.)

Presence - Level 4 (Mesmerizing targets)



Biography:

Many battles were fought in the year of his birth, making sure Archon would have the blood of both a warrior and a nobleman. The Battle of Hedgeley Moor shed blood on his very birthday, taking the life of his father on the Yorkist side. Some used to say that is why baby Archon screamed on the top of his lounges.
Being from a powerful family, adressed as a Lord, the sky was the only limit. In his fathers absence, Archon grew up in great haste and became a intolerable youth, soon to take over his heritage. Archon lived with kine for 35 years, demanding aristocratic rank and had control over a portion of land and the produce of labor.

1499 would be the Julian calender year Archon drew his last human breaths. This was the year Perkin Warbeck and Edward Plantaganet were executed for treason against the English trone, and for attempting to excape the Tower of London. To Archon, these two men were examples for everyone who thought they could just rise up and overthrough the nobility. If you had it in you, you were either born with the heritage or you took it on the tip of a sword. You took it successfully, you didn't fail. Failure is not an option, and if it occures men are defined by their actions to redeem themselves. It was notions like this that made Archon enticing for the Ventrue clan, and the vampire that was about to sire him had followed him for weeks to make sure he was a appropriate specimen. She also believed in being thorough, and wouldn't dream of seeking audience with the London Prince, also a Ventrue, based on a whim.

The blood of the Ventrue clan was the last piece of the puzzle. Archon had just the right constellation for a aspiring Kindred, and one bite from a undead perfected it. Most newborns found the transition difficult and often horrible. But Archon was only too delighted to learn that he would live for ever, having the world at his feet. It was becoming of a true Ventrue. The only imperfection was the vampiric nutrition. "Blood?" Archon would utter the word as if it was the first time he tasted it on his tounge. He said it with contempt, as if his beautiful Sire asked him to conduct himself in a shameful manner.
Archon had never loved anyone, although 35 years at that time was almost a whole life. But when he met his Sire to be, he felt for her. It might just have been the lust of the human flesh, aching only to be touched by her, but to Archon this was sufficient to make his sharp business intellect scatter. And he had been around beautiful women before, surronded by them actually as his outlook on the world made for a charming gentleman in some women's eyes. But he had never deviated from his goal before. When he learnt of what she was, what he would become, that offer became bigger that his passion for her.

Archon lived through the ages, seeing more than his share of historical events. His nature prevented him from sharing the fate of others. Be it natural causes as well as sickness and additional quirks of life. He might take part in their demise, being both a highbrow illuminato and a man of sometimes vast antipathy, but he would never breake the Masquerade. Archon's Sire walked beside him from time to time, making sure he blossomed into a spectacular vampire leader some day. Altough the leaders of man are great, the leaders of vampire's are even greater. This was all most welcomed by Archon, as his taste for excellent distinction had no end to it. And the Ventrue blood would in time only make it stronger.

Even though Archon raised his brow now and then, wondering what on earth made some clans tick, he did in fact appreciate the contrast between the clans. Because if they were all Ventrue, who would the Ventrue lead? In his book Nosferatu were information, Tremere mystery, Gangrels integrity, Malkavians well disguised wisdom, and Toreador beauty. The Brujah added anarchy to the mix, being the nemesis of the business men and women of the Ventrue clan.
Above all, Archon appreciated something being well done, regardless of lineage. Being excellent was clanless, no matter how he sometimes flattered himself and his brethren with thinking no other clan held a candle to the Ventrue.

Archon sometimes enjoys giving humans vampire characteristics. He would simply point out to himself who would go with what clan. It was like playing a puppeteer, a vampire master. Not many would be given the honour of even the mere thought of belonging to the Ventrue. Historical landmarks were one of his favourites, like the Gunpowder Plot in 1605, instigated by Guy Fawkes. It was such Brujah behaviour. Trying to blow up the House of Parliament - what a discgrace! It was an oxymoron to say the least. They wanted to overthrow leaders, but of course the anarchy scum couldn't organize themselves in order to choose the perfect plan, stick to it and execute it flawlessly. Archon had a good laugh at that, and when the Guy Fawkes Night passed by each year he remembered the unsuccessful assassination attempt with a smile.

Although he travell throughout the world, his main residence now resides in L.A. He still adores London, where he was first made Primogen. They had been waiting for him to turn from Ancilla to Elder, in order to lead the Ventrue of London. This pleased Archon for a great deal of time, but he was still not entirely content. Being a member of the supreme clan, he had to choose his Prince carefully. Damian Alexander III was an excellent choice, making it not only tempting but an offer he could not refuse when crowned Primogen of the L.A. Ventrue. Besides being Prince no other title in the world, kine and Kindred alike, is as dignified, chivalrous and aristocratic as the Primogen title - of the Ventrue clan. Archon believes he is put on this earth for no other reason.


http://i205.photobucket.com/albums/bb309/PsycheStyx/ArchonDeWinter2.jpg

[SwirlyHill]

Clan: Ventrue
Name: Jayden La Tristesse
Age: Ancilla (313 yrs)
Disciplines: Dominate lvl 4, Fortitude lvl 3, Presence lvl 3
Short Bio: Jayden's entire family was killed in a flood, she fell into a deep depression and became a creature of the night at the tender age of nineteen.
She has been a vampire for a relativly short time, yet puts most of her efforts into training, though often reads and paints.
Known to be quiet and mysterious, Jayden can easily be revealed as an interesting and funny woman with as little as a 'Hello'.
She was embraced by her first love but found it hard to accept the solid fact that she was a vampire. People soon grew suspicous in her local community when she failed to gain a single wrinkle after over ten years. Fearing her powers would be discovered, she travelled from town to town, eventually making America her home in the 1930's.

http://i26.tinypic.com/35a0q4o.jpg

[Ghanima Atreides]

((ooc: Okay, enormous post but I had to explain some things about Aeode's doings. Atropa knows about it and so does Elektra. ;) Anyway I know Valerian's not available just now but Aeode doesn't heh heh. Elektra, feel free to have Jessica show up if you want (it's ok if you don't) and if antoher vamp wants to approach her, that's also fine. After all she's going to be looking for two vampires. (but not just vampires. Anyone's free to approach her)

Oh and innocenteyes, the woman Aeode bumped into was meant to be Beyonca but I don't know if you want that so she remains unnamed :) ))


Aeode Mallard - Night # 8 - Dez' basement -> Arriving at The Haven

Grunting sleepily, Aeode's jaws stretched into a wide yawn and her eyes blinked repeatedly, stung by the light flowing from above. Wriggling free of the sheets wrapped around her, the young woman drew herself up into a sitting position, running her fingers through her tousled hair – her head pounded painfully, and a vile taste clung to the back of her tongue. Aeode peered guiltily at the empty bottle of whiskey on the bedside table, recalling that morning's events: after having returned to the basement underneath the biker bar, Dez had finally revealed his discovery; unfortunately, he had little to actually show her then.

“Well, that's one hell of an anticlimax,” she had commented, peering darkly into computer screen filled with coding that she did not understand. “What is it?”

“That's a decryption software that's been running all night. I gotta say, for a while I thought this was a dead end...and then I figured I could try and pull the footage from the security cameras and check it out for myself. That was the easy part, the police still had it in their database, and I already have an, shall we say, “entry point” installed there. Anyway I watched it over and over again and found something odd: according to the schematics, there were fifteen different cameras installed around the perimeter, but I could only find feeds from thirteen of them. The other two...not a trace, and here's the interesting thing: they were the ones in the east side of the parking lot, where you were found half dead. So, I ran the files through a couple of recovery programs, see if anything was deleted from them...the result wasn't very conclusive, and my best guess was that the remaining files weren't simply deleted, they were moved to a different database, somewhere. Finding which one was an extremely long shot even for someone like me, but hey...had to try a few things. And here comes the best part. My search kept bringing me back to a server which I've encountered before and lemme tell ya...whatever it is, it's huge and it's got more encryption and security devices than the Pentagon. I know, because I've hacked into the Pentagon! I mean, breaking in would have taken days, weeks, but the thing's dynamic and it's got more dead ends, fake servers and traps for hackers than I could probably avoid. Although “databases” would be the better term to describe it...apart from the mainframe there are perhaps hundreds of satellite min-databases, and what interested me was hidden somewhere in one of these. Knowing what to look for made it somewhat easier and either there was a glitch in security or it simply wasn't as heavily protected as the rest of them, but after a couple of -rather painful- failures...I managed to salvage the missing files before the system's programming activated the self-destruct sequence and deleted everything that remained. Or at least...I hope these are the missing files.”

“What do you mean?” Aeode croaked; she felt as though her heart was about to leap out of her chest with anxiousness. “You haven't seen them?”

“Well...no. They're also encrypted. But I think I've managed to pinpoint an algorithm and I should have them done in a couple of hours, give or take. Oh by the way...your guy, deLucian...couldn't find his name anywhere on the guest list but he wasn't lying: I watched the tape, he did dance with you.”

“Yeah I know...that part I do remember” Aeode muttered sourly.

“I looked him up and found nothing: no birth certificate, no medical records, no school diplomas; it's like the guy doesn't even exist. I can only guess it's an alias, and he must be good: even those leave traces. How about you? What did you find?”

Slumping into a nearby chair, Aeode sighed heavily, shaking her head in disdain; after having anticipated the moment of truth with such ardor, having to postpone it even longer felt like an added stone to the burden she already carried. She glanced tiredly at Dez and retrieved her phone, typing hastily.

“This.” she said at last, holding it aloft, Jessica's face staring through the small square screen. “I met her at work tonight, she was ordering water of all things. And guess what's her name? Jessica.”

Dez leaned forward to have a better look, but his gaze bore a cautiously incredulous look:

“An odd coincidence I agree, but 'Yodey, there is little chance it's anything more than that: a coincidence. You know that.”

Drawing in a stiff breath, sudden anger flashed in Aeode's eyes and she pocketed her phone, standing up and preparing to move away.

“Yes well...since I don't have your mad hacker skills, I do what I can.”

However, before she could go any further, Dez' fingers clasped around her arm, holding on gently though tightly.

“That's not what I meant. I know this is all so insane and it must be so tough on you...but we need to keep a clear mind. You might be growing a little too obsessed with this Jessica. I am trying to help, Aeode.”

“Yeah I know,” Aeode whispered, all anger drained from her voice; bitter, silent tears streamed down her face. “It's just that I feel so bloody useless and...helpless! I can't get it out of my head, that someone out there is playing us like some goddamn puppets on strings. Thank you...for all the help. I appreciate it, more than you think. I mean that.”

She turned around brusquely, staring fixedly at Dez's from beneath a curtain of tears that hung to her lashes in droplets. Despite that, grim determination was etched in each line of her face. The man seemed taken aback by the sight, unsure what to say, although the words forming on his lips were obliterated by Aeode's ravenous kiss.

All of these memories crept back into Aeode's numb consciousness; she was alone in bed, and the rapid clicking of Dez keyboard told her he was already at work. Reaching out for some clothes, her fingers discovered a large T shirt, one Dez had been wearing, and pulled it over her head. It fit her like a huge dress, reaching past her knees.

“Morning” she grunted, dragging her feet across the room and massaging her sore forehead.

“More like evening. You've slept all day.”

“Lucky it's my free night then. Is there any coffee around here?”

Dez gestured towards the small niche which served as his kitchen and focused his attention to the harsh glow of the computer screen which gave his skin a sickly, pasty colour. A couple of minutes later, sipping a large mug of steaming coffee, Aeode sat on a chair next to him, a newfound rush of adrenaline lifting her hangover a little:

“Is it done?”

“Almost. Maybe a minute or so longer. I was just about to wake you.”

Aeode stared in silence at the progress bar slowly filling up on the screen; it switched from 98% to displaying “99% Done”. She swallowed dryly, sweat forming on her palms, mentally counting down...9...8...7...6...5...3..2...1....with a sharp beep, a small window flashed into existence before their eyes, informing them that the decryption process was complete. Steadying her mug and inhaling deeply, Aeode continued to watch avidly as Dez prepared the video player and clicked Play.

Erratic, poor quality images took shape on the screen, some parts fuzzier than others, but linear enough to make sense. Even though they were not showing the central point of the massacre, chaos reigned supreme: people fleeing for their lives, men supporting panting women, friends and strangers alike motioning each other to run faster. Aeode instinctively closed her eyes when a masked figure emerged into view, holding an automatic weapon which he unloaded onto a small group of her old school friends, who fell to the ground like puppets whose strings had been severed; the fact that there was no sound made it no less difficult to watch; little by little, she was being transported back into that hellish world. She did not need sound; her mind recalled the clamor, the screaming, the gunshots with painful clarity.

Not a minute later, two familiar figures ran into view: one of them was a young woman with waist long coppery curls, wearing a turquoise party dress; a young man with shaggy brown hair in a black suit held her hand as they ran. Aeode stifled a gasp, her shaking hands struggling to find a solid surface to place the coffee mug on.

“Perhaps you shouldn't watch this,” Dez said, glancing from the images on the screen to the older Aeode at his side. They both knew what was about to happen.

“No, I have to” she answered very quietly, balling her hands into tight fists. She felt giddy, fascinated by the movie as was someone unable to look away from a terrible sight. Less than a minute...it had felt so much longer to her. It had felt endless. As they watched, the 18 year old Aeode gesticulated wildly, obviously trying to convince Thomas to leave her and get the car. The argument took seconds, Thomas darting away towards the end of the parking lot, fumbling in his pockets for his keys. And then, two of the masked attackers came out of nowhere, circling Aeode. She tried to dodge them and follow her fiance, but they closed in upon her like two nefarious birds of prey. One held a metal bar, the other a rifle balanced between their hands and poised to attack. The strikes came down mercilessly, viciously. Specks of blood flew in the air, fanning around the fallen figure curled helplessly on the pavement, her arms locked over her head. Aeode recalled each blinding surge of pain, the pure terror of each frantic heart beat, the sharp knowledge that she was about to die. Even after she had lost consciousness, the blows kept raining down on her bruised and bloodied body.

At last, the gruesome scene ended and the attackers departed. Aeode knew from the police reports that assistance had arrived to the scenes in less than five minutes; five minutes too late for everyone whose life had been lost that night.

“Are you okay?” Dez whispered, struggling with his own rising nausea.

Aeode nodded briskly; her chest rose and descended heavily and she looked pale and drawn; tears once again trickled down her cheeks. She felt certain her knees would not be able to support her if she tried to stand, but sheer determination kept her glued to the screen. In a few moments, her mysterious saviour would appear and then...

A loud curse escaped her lips; having relatively clear until that point, the images grew fuzzier, noise spreading across the screen like a grainy virus. Both Dez and Aeode leaped out of their chairs, giving voice to their frustration, outraged at the new way fate had decided to mock them.

“Wait wait it's coming back!” Aeode said shrilly, flailing her arms. Slowly, discernible images jittered back into view, the quality however remained frustratingly low, like that of a badly recorded or aged video, but the scene depicted partly compensated that: Aeode was no longer alone and dying in the parking lot; someone else had knelt next to her. Their back was turned to the camera, hiding their movements from view. No matter how close she stared or from what angle, Aeode could not see the person's arms, or most of her own upper body.

“Don't you have a view from the other camera? You said there were supposed to be two of them!”

“There were...but these are just bits and pieces I could recover, Aeode. I'm sorry. But wait, maybe she'll run this way!”

“She?”

Yes, that must have been correct; their view of the person revealed a shoulder length bob cut, and though crouched down, the body had a feminine waist and narrow shoulders. Moments later, the woman stood up, took a quick look around herself and turned to leave, but not before Dez' finger bore down on the Pause button, freezing the frame: a woman's face was revealed, one which was unmistakable despite the grainy layer of noise obstructing it: Aeode recognized it, having seen it only a day before: Jessica, virtually unchanged down to the same haircut.

Aeode kept staring at it in disbelief; it all felt like a psychedelic nightmare weaving its tangled webs around her, choking the air out of her lungs. At long last, the ghost haunting her for eight years had stepped out of the shadows: it had a face, and a name. Jessica. The very same woman she had jokingly dubbed The Lady in Pink and chatted to only hours earlier, never guessing the knowledge hidden behind that pleasant smile. It maddened her even more, realizing Jessica had sat there at the bar, knowing all of this and more, and had done absolutely nothing.

“Why? Why?!” was all she could say, but the words fell dead: it was an empty question only Jessica had an answer to.

“The better question is, what in God's name did she do to you?” Dez replied.

“That's what I'm going to find out.”

“Where are you going?”

“The Haven.”

Despite Dez' best efforts to change her mind, Aeode's decision was immutable: The Haven was her only link to Jessica if ever there was one, although she could only hope she would find her there again. If not, there was Valerian, her employer, someone Jessica had claimed was her friend. If she wasn't there, Aeode was determined to speak to Valerian instead. One way or another, she would not leave without an answer of some sort.

“Do you want me to wait for you?” Dez asked when his bike came to a halt in front of The Haven's busy entrance. Aeode shook her head and with a final nod she hopped down on the pavement, but instead of joining the throng of people waiting to enter the club, she disappeared into the dimness of the alley running alongside the building, nearly knocking down a woman in her haste. Muttering an excuse, the redhead reached for the service door, knocking three times.

“You're not on duty tonight” the bouncer observed. “You'll have to get in through the front like everyone else I'm afraid.”

“Come on, please....I left my bracelet behind the bar yesterday. Can't I just hop in and get it? I don't feel like waiting in line just for that. I'll pay the entry fee if that's what you're worried about.”

Minutes later, Aeode's heavy boots trotted down the Haven's corridors, eager to reach the club proper; the heavy beat of the bass reverberated through the floor, vibrating dully, mingling with the loud cacophony of voices. As inconspicuously as possible, although nobody seemed to pay any attention to her, the young woman joined the throngs of patrons, navigating the crowd until she reached a quieter spot on the far side, searching for a glimpse of the person she was so eager to speak to.

[veldagia]

Application for human:
Name: Zillah
Willingness to be embraced (if so, by what clan) or a ghoul
Not right away but might be persuaded eventually
occupation: Financial Affairs and Business Representative
age: 23
bio:
Zillah ran away from home at thirteen years of age trading one miserable, unwanted abusive life for another. He spent two years selling himself and any substance he could get hold of on the streets until one day he was approached by a young man who saw in him the cunning and drive to prosper. Although he was only fifteen at the time Zillah knew that there was another world out there, just waiting for him to dive head first into like a bath of custard, and seized the opportunity.

At the man’s instruction he began making deliveries, small transactions for which he was profitably rewarded. Through the years he gained more influential and profitable work as he showed himself to be dependable and more importantly willing to do just about anything for the right price. His looks and charm soon drew others to him and he discovered, with the man’s firm guidance, a far more profitable business venture.

Zilliah now runs a team of girls who do most of the dirty work for him. Leaving him to reap the profits and spend his time haunting the streets of LA seeking out new thrills to push his desires to the limits. His position of Business Representative affords him a hefty salary and at twenty-three he relishes the rewards, a pad in the most exclusive district of town, fast cars, deluxe holidays, every dream he had made reality by the unending expanse of money. Which gives him the arrogance to believe that money or charm will acquire him everything he wishes.

He can be cruel, insensitive and violent to anyone who gets in his way. Yet Zilliah has a softer side, the child within him that sometimes fights to the surface, persuades him to give a coin to the beggar, to buy a meal for the hard-up girls. So he is often distortedly respected by the underworld of humans he haunts amongst.

Zilliah can often be found around town where he can be approached for the services of one of his girls. He doesn’t believe in vampires, they’re just some “sick freaks” who get their kicks a different way. Some of his clients like nappies others like to bite, its a wierd world out there. He himself can be bought for a hefty price, although often it is not money he craves but information.


Pic (subject to change as I lost my characters on an old PC).

http://i165.photobucket.com/albums/u61/veldagia/vampire/Zillah.paint.jpg

http://images.quizilla.com/D/discoranger/1059958615_oulszillah.jpg


His name's an obvious tribute to Poppy Z Brite.

[SwirlyHill]

Jayden awoke to the sound of foxes screeching outside her window.
'My version of birdsong' She thought, stretching.
She heaved herself out of bed and went to apply her make-up, the usual red lipstick and black eyeshadow before flinging on a randomly selected black dress (http://static.zoovy.com/img/summitfashions/W180-H250-Bfdfdfd/5709_black_dress_1.jpg) and long lace gloves.
She didn't bother with her hair today, she simply let the jet curls falls to her middle naturally.
The usual brushing of teeth and additon of jewellery followed, deciding today to wear one of her many ruby necklaces (http://www.fashionjewelry24.com/images/arcon/H69-43/default.jpg) as a headband.
She grabbed her car keys, closed the front door and sat herself down in the car.
It later ground to a halt outside The Haven, rumor had it that others like her came here. She had never really made an effort to find others vampires, she didn't avoid them, but she certainly didn't go out of her way.
She strolled toward the bar and ordered a Smirnoff Ice, scanning her surroundings as she leaned against the bar.

((Approachable))

[Fayreview]

Amongst the dark buildings of Los Angeles there stands a warehouse, it is dark and cool, but nothing remarkable, it stocks, predominantly, antiques but is also a haven for plants, it's greenhouse is small, and holds a range of orchids which like at most 4 hours of light, automated shutters provide it with this. The room, whilst cool, is also very dry, antiques have a habit of responding badly to water and to light, as they damage polished services and crack paints not to mention fade colours.

From the locked up building attached to the back of the warehouse shifted the tall deep green eyed being, he strode from the rrom, he had never saw the point in laying in, he had been a morning person, and in truth he missed it, the glory of the colours of the world, the warmth of the air, it had been so long. One of these days perhaps it would become too much, the longing. But for now he could stand it, he had been for years... and years... and years.... He sighed, and picked up the docket, nothing noted for delivery tonight, there generally wasn't unless it was coming right across the country or from overseas.

He twisted the silver band on his finger, he moved the gap, bigger and smaller, bigger and smaller, the dolphins tiy silver face meeting it's tail, slipping away from it's tail he did it 17 times and set the spray for the orchids for 12 minutes, and 12 minutes only. The loss of most first orchids was via drowning, some people didn't even understand the needs of plants let alone beings. He stepped out into the cool air and slipped the bolt across, Dahlia would open up at nine the next morning as she always did and wonder, as she always did just what her boss was really doing.

Caraltian slid into the darkness and moved quietly amongst it, pausing only once he found a chip of concrete on the pavement, he glanced up it was from a statue on a pillar at the entry to a apark he didn't recognise, he shrugged and reached to touch the wing of the goargoyle, examining it and wondering which solvent would be best to repair it.

((Approachable, guess i'm trying to find my feet in this new dark Roleplay world.))

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: Just an ooc to welcome our new players. :) Glad to have you, and I hope you'll have fun!)))

[Fayreview]

((Me too Atropa, dark isn't normally my style... I'm more of a bitch roleplayer... but I shall try))

[AtropaMandragora]

Pale sapphire orbs lazily tracing an intricate pattern through heavy lids; thin lines and swirls, smooth edges and soft turns, shallow furrows and tiny protrusion, all irregularly blurred by sooty lashes descending from time to time. A pattern at first almost invisible to the naked, untrained eye, but an everlasting story woven to the current beholder.

Valerian had awoken from such a rare thing these nights, as a full day's rest. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been allowed a deep sleep so peaceful, not roused awake and chased out of bed by his sudden, sometimes almost suffocating need to create. He loved it dearly, in fact, he loved it above all else. But during the times when it never seemed to cease, when he was held captive in its relentless grip, eventually he would become exhausted. Never drained, but exhausted.

It seemed last night had given him peace. Moira's ability to understand him, and most of all her kindness to express it and not keep it to herself, seemed to have enveloped him with harmony, and left him with a much needed chance to breathe and gather his thoughts. His inspiration and creativity were still there, always his faithful companions, tugging at the string of his artistic soul. But they were no longer forcing him into submission, they were allowing him to reflect and and to ponder. To relax.
And the young Toreador was enjoying every moment of it.

He had been awake for nearly an hour now, just laying there, cherishing the sensation of just lounging about in his giant king-sized bed, and letting his mind wander lazily, from the secretive tale told by the ceiling tiles, to something that filled him with excitement and anticipation every time his toughts touched the subject; Moira's invitation for him to see what she had referred to as her greatest work. He was so very eager to see it, to be allowed such a generous glimpse of her own artistry, of her history, and who she was. There was no amount of words in this world that could tell him more about her inner being, her very essence, than even the briefest glimpse of her creation.

Glancing at the clock on his bedside table, he realized it was now time to finally get up and get ready, lest he'd end up being late. Accompanied by a slight yawn, ivory limbs languidly started to untangle from the gentle embrace of dark satin sheets, and moments later naked feet padded softly across the equally dark carpeting, towards the large walk-in closet. Soft, black leather pants and an untucked, black long-sleeved shirt with thin grey stripes soon encased the smooth marbled body, as Valerian finally exited his chambers to take his leave of The Haven through the club entrance. Even though he had his own private door outside, he couldn't resist the call of his beloved club. The atmosphere invigorated him, kissed his senses alive, and every single one of the warm smiles and appreciative glances sent his way as he gracefully manuevered himself through the club, felt like a soft caress in his chest and drew his usual, dazzling smile from his lips.

Once outside, he stood for a moment while adjusting as the thumping beat faded and gave way to the sounds of the L.A. night life; traffic, human voices, laughter, the clicking of heels against the pavement, even the faint music streaming out of other establishments nearby. Then, he stepped forward to hail a cab, having decided that tonight, he didn't feel like driving himself. He wanted to watch the people on the streets and the multitude of neon lights that passed by outside the car window, and he always welcomed company, even if it was 'just' a haggard cab driver making polite smalltalk.

Sliding into the worn, musty backseat of the car that was to be his ride, he gave his intended destination, and then sat back. Before long, they arrived outside Moira's hotel, The Ritz, and Valerian stepped out onto the pavement once again, leaving behind a more than generous tip for the cab driver, who had turned out to be a really nice old chap. Instead of going on and on about the usual tpocs such as the weather and the traffic, he had taken an interest in Valerian's profession, without being nosey. Valerian was grateful for that, as his profession left him in far higher spirits than the currently very rainy weather.

Minutes later, he was walking through one of the beautiful hallways of the hotel, taking it all in with his usual but often well hidden, almost childlike curiousity. If ever there was a walking contradiction, Valerian was the one.
Easily excited, enthusiastic, vivid, innocent, naive, and yet always suave, charming, sensual and confident. A child and an urbane gentleman, all at the same time. Which would explain his appeal, his ability to draw out the desire in almost anyone. Though it was only Kindred that realized what it was about him, as only Kindred could see both sides, and not even all of them did. To most, Valerian was simply the "hot" and strikingly sensual owner of The Haven. A description that, although simple and rather poor, Valerian himself found amusing, and flattering.

Watching the numbers of each door that he passed, he started counting down the seconds to when he would find the right door. Number 804... 806... 808... 810...
There. There it was. Suite #812. As Valerian came to a halt outside the door that looked just like all the rest, but was so very, very different to him, he could feel his body tingling with excitement, as though life was dancing over every inch of his skin, to a more frenzied melody than in a long time. It was a feeling he truly enjoyed, so much so that he even hesitated for a few moments, before reaching out and delivering a soft but firm knock.

[Ghanima Atreides]

Moira and Valerian - The Ritz, Suite #812

The ornate clock adorning the space above the fireplace slowly ticked time away, each minute bringing Moira closer to the moment the visit would commence. She had not been idle however; as she waited, the London Primogen added the final touches to this impersonal space she had no choice but to dwell in for the moment. In contrast with the way Valerian and The Haven were so closely connected in spirit and appearance, this luxurious hotel suite, despite being more than pleasant and comfortable, held little of Moira's personality, which she did her best to rectify, as well as time and resources permitted. Earlier that evening she had ordered flowers to be brought to her room: lilies and roses, both symbolic for the Toreador Clan, ranging from hues of deep, vibrant red to velvety black, among them the pure white of lily blossoms. Moira herself had placed them strategically around the three rooms, filling those unpleasant voids in the décor, and no matter where one moved to, a subtle hint of their sweet scent followed in their wake. Number two on the list was the nearly empty room which served as her studio in Los Angeles; since she permitted no maid to touch her drawing utensils and tubes of paint, Moira tidied the working table herself, leaving the better drawn sketches within reach should she require them.

Which left only Josephine's portrait; since she did not wish a theatrical introduction, Moira left it in its place upon the easel, the black lace cover hiding it from view. The chandelier light dimmed to a rich amber glow, the final touches were nearly in place: as with the flowers, a plethora of candles of various shapes and sizes were spread around the room, particularly the shelves, mantelpiece and coffee tables, adding their sensuous, flickering flames to the ensemble. Candles were one of the weaknesses Moira had carried with her since the times predating electricity; firm in the belief it was the perfect addition to a nocturne environment; sadly, electricity had all but replaced them.

Sweeping a critical glance across the room and finding it acceptable, Moira was ready for Valerian's arrival. The sweet, barely audible intonations of the Moonlight Sonata quivered in the air as she sat into one of the comfortable leather arm chairs, abandoning herself to her thoughts. The young club owner was on his way to the hotel, awaiting the promised unveiling of the painting Moira had dubbed her greatest work. Whatever he was expecting to see, she knew for a fact reality would come as a surprise, for what painter called an unfinished creation their masterpiece?

And yet, it was. Not only because of its artistic value which was visible despite it having never reached completion, but because it told such an intricate story, a story which had not ended with Josephine's death in 16th century Venice. Its tale had been woven through the ages as Moira carried it along, each new decade and century affecting the way she viewed and felt about it. At first, it had been a glorious creativity-driven project; later it became a shattering heartache, turning to frustration, disappointment, and finally a lasting sense of loss and sadness. At last, Moira felt she was ready to end this long chapter – but why was it that she wished to share it with another?

Loneliness, perhaps, the desire to share something genuine, and even the feeling that it would help her in the end, and perhaps offer something Valerian could use as well. Not truly a lesson, but an experience, and the foundations for friendship. Moira Sushill, Moira the Primogen, ever surrounded by her shield of professional, well guarded secrecy had lived many years without receiving, or offering trust. Politicians rarely genuinely trusted one another, and underlings were instinctively suspicious of their higher ups, which had made her life grow sallow and stale. She had never Embraced another after the debacle with Matthias, and both Renato Cristoval and Robert Falconbridge, two of her most beloved friends, had met their final deaths a long time ago, like her sire.

Her sire. Matthias Cornellus was another reason Moira kept her distance from others. Since his demise under her fangs, she had never allowed herself to partake in another Kindred's blood. Not because she feared the insight they might acquire from the exchange; the blood did not transfer memory, and too much time had passed since the incident for any sensory imprints to remain, but because she feared once she began drinking, she would not be able to stop. An almost human chill trickled down Moira's spine at the thought, remembering the night she had felt her sire's ancient, powerful life essence gurgling down her throat like liquid fire, like the moment of her Embrace only so much more potent, conjuring an explosion of feelings and sensations that surpassed anything she had ever experienced in the arms of a lover or feeding from mortals, particularly in that instant when her lips sucked out the final drop from the open vein. The Beast which Moira feared had worn her face then, brought to the surface by the Frenzy, and despite the sickening dread which had followed later, there was no denying the exquisite pleasure she had taken in the act.

That was a story no ears would ever hear, not even Valerian's, or perhaps especially not him. Diablerie was a crime among their kind, something considered vile and monstrous. That was her cross to bear and hers alone.

A firm knock on the door cleared the mists of ancient musings from Moira's mind, returning her firmly to the present. Valerian had arrived. In one fluid motion, she left her chair and paced the floor swiftly, greeting him with a soft smile:

“Good evening, Valerian. Thank you for coming. Please, come in” she motioned. She remained silent for a few moments while her guest got his bearings, taking full advantage of this time to observe him: the same boundless youthful enthusiasm and feline grace, laced with a powerful magnetism that must have turned the heads of many a woman (and probably men too). She could understand why, there was something ageless about him, too – Moira could have easily pictured him in a baroque court, or her long lost Renaissance era.

“I trust you are well tonight and I haven't whisked you away from any important business” she began, approaching Valerian with small, light footsteps, a sly smile accompanying the same words he had used the previous evening when inviting her to his chambers. “My rather humble studio is this way, if you wish to see the reason I invited you here tonight – unless... you prefer waiting, or seeing something else first?”

[Psyche_SC]

#25 [Eighth Night]

Time and time again. Tossing and turning. Nothing gave him peace of mind. Archon awoke with eyes darker than the bottom of the deepest sea. Now and then he had nights that did not care for him at all. There were no nightmares, only an abysmal sense of horror. He could feel it, with every fiber of his being. Every time it occured he wondered why, and every time he had only one answer; The Tremere he killed when he was still so very, very young. It had taken a toll on him, he was sure of it. And no matter how hard these kind of nights were, they were nothing compared to the ones after the killing. Archon had even had a wish for death, in the darkest hour of despair. Of course, he did not mean it, but the agony did not seem to have an end at the time. Even though the pain has weakened, it still resides within the Ventrue Primogen. And some nights, like the present one, he would be held accountable by any energy the Tremere left behind. Still swirling in the world.

Archon got up, feeling like he must look the part of a filthy Gangrel, just risen from his dirtnap. Nothing improved this notion, when he took a look in the mirror. The long raven hair hanged in tangeled tresses, almost covering a ferocious face, filled with ill will. This was not the man he remembered from yesterday, the man in the mirror looked like the Ventrue avenger he once was. He rememberd that pale skin, tainted with blood.

Once in the shower, unlife returned to Archon's corpse, taking him back to the modern L.A. nights where a proud man like him had to hide in the shadows. Every now and then, the dark side of Archon visualized a world where the kine were only needed to water the earth with their blood. Of course, sanity always took him back, since he knew only mayhem would follow in such a dream. Without the kine, without the Masquerade, there would be nothing left but to conquer the world and then go mad when nothing was left to master. And madness, was not becoming of a Kindred. Mad vampires were taken down, like a rabid dog in the streets.

As soon as he felt like his very old self, Archon left his chambers and joined Roe on the first floor. Now that was a sight, after such an awakening. The one that really was a Gangrel, seemed more cultivated of the two, as he stood and studied one of Archon's grand paintings - while listening to classical music. Archon could not help but be amused, smiling a bit, as he made his presence known.

"I swear, you become more like a Ventrue each night. You have consorted with us far too much."

At this, Roe smirked, and greeted him with a nod. The vision did not tell the truth, not really. Although he had picked up a few of Archon's habits, Roe's own remained the same. He did not sleep in a bed, nor on a couch or something of that sort. Instead, Archon had built him a room suitable for a Gangrel. It had a deep hole in the middle of the floor, filled with glorious cold soil. That was where Roe slept, when he did sleep within these walls. He did have his solitary nights, and then he sought to sleep where ever the nature outside would let him find peace.

This night greeted Archon with a fullmoon, and a silent, humble rain. Roe brought with him a large rectangular wodden box. It was white, with beautiful carvings and gilded edges. It had a lock of pure gold, but it was more of a decoration than an actual safety precaution. The night had just been born, Archon could smell it in the air, and feel it in the chilling rain before he got in the car. A new night meant new possibilities; new ways to further Ventrue interests. The box in the seat next to Archon was going to get a new owner, the highest Kindred in their distinguished city; Prince Damian Alexander III. Above him laid only myths and legends.
They had much to talk about, Archon had things to tell from his journey, and he also wanted Damian's view on what had happened in the city in his absence.

The only Kindred that could walk into the Prince's penthouse without close scrutiny was the Ventrue. However, the Ventrue garding their most esteemed member would do a cardinal mistake if they would let anyone in with a parcel without inspecting it. Ventrue or not; Primogen or not. While Roe held the box, Archon took out a golden key on a golden chain and opened the lock, and then the lid. The Ventrue leaned forward, took out the content and gave it a thorough inspection, since they did not want the Primogen to complain to the Prince. When satisfied, the box was again closed and locked, and Archon was allowed to enter. Roe had to hand over the weapons he had on him. He would never be considered to be anything else but a simple Gangrel, by the Ventrue that did not know him very well.

The secretary, however, greeted them both with a smile. Archon had always appreciated her, since he knew Damian was in good hands. He took the time to exchange a few pleasantries, before he asked to see the Prince. The secretary gave him a slight nod, and then went to let Damian know of their presence. Unlike other Kindred, Archon was not made to wait. She came back a brief moment later, and showed him in at once. Roe followed with the box, the only Gangrel that could enter in such a manner, but he was not above the watchful eyes of the sheriff. No one was. Archon had never spoken with the sheriff, as he saw it as a way to steal precious time from the protection of the Prince. All he had ever done, was to trade a nod or a look. This was no exception, he gave the robust man a nod and in return he got a nod back that was so faint in its motion that you had to be undead to notice. This was done in an instant, as they locked eyes before Archon was close enough to the doors to see Damian himself. Otherwise, he would have greeted their imperial leader first.
Then, when he enter the grand room and saw his beloved Prince, a sincere smile graced his lips. Finally, there was no one else to interfere. He would have his full attention, and would be able to bestow the same in return.

"Damian", he said and laid his hand over his heart as he took a slight bow. "My Prince."

[AtropaMandragora]

A hushed whisper of footsteps behind the door alerted Valerian that he was mere moments away from once again standing face to face with the fascinating goddess of a woman that with a few single words last night had made him feel forever grateful towards her. His Queen of Fire and Ice. No longer just the Queen, but now his Queen. Like no other, she had understood him, and granted him what only a true Queen could; the confirmation and acknowledgement that he had sought in others, but never truly found. She had given him peace, a delicate, fragile ray of light to vanquish the darkness of doubt that had been lurking within him for so long. And for this, she had gained his loyalty, as a fellow Kindred with no political strings. This was a loyalty that went far beyond the frame of society. Though Moira herself was most likely unaware of it, as it would seem to most only a fool would pledge allegiance based on something so fleeting and intangible. Even if it was a pledge taken in silence. Valerian knew that to others, there would've been little logic in his feelings towards her. But that was just it, they were feelings, and feelings only rarely had anything to do with logic. And in Valerian's case, what any common person felt, he tended to feel ten fold. He was ruled by his sensitive nature, and felt that the vast comprehension Moira had shown was a gift like no other, a gift of something that to him had felt vital.

He hadn't dared believe it at first, afraid that her keen-eyed observation of the painting that hung behind the bar at The Haven was just the kind of bull's-eye anyone could score in a mere fluke. But then she had seen the other one, his most recent work, and the evergrowing darkness that had started to become more and more apparent in his work lately. There had been dark creations born under his brushes before, but not like this, with one unsettling work after another, where death was coiling in the shadows, and doom seemed impending. However, to most, it could only be hinted, an unnerving feeling creeping up on them and perhaps sending a chill or to up and down their spine, but to Valerian himself... and to Moira... What had formed the beginning of a delicate thread, an embryonic bond between them, was not the art alone, but the darkness, the foreboding they had both sensed in it. Together, and apart. Despite the fact that their interpretations of it's causes differed, they both still felt it. And for all Valerian knew, it might be his own youth and inexperience that veiled his eyes to a truth that Moira saw clearly. Many Neonates may dismiss the worries of their Elders, but Valerian was not one of them. In life, he had been a firm believer of honoring your elders, and that was a sentiment that stuck with him in unlife as well. Especially in unlife, as Kindred Elders had seen and experienced far more than any elder kine ever would. Valerian had passed one human life time years ago, and he still often felt that he knew very little, and he was deeply humbled by those that had been around at the dawn of the Camarilla, at the dawn of the civilized world.
If this world could be called civilized... There were times when Valerian felt it was more barbaric than the Dark Ages.

All these thoughts had rushed through his head in the few moments it took for the footsteps to cease and the doorknob to turn, but they were instantly pushed aside by the soft click that announced that the door was about to open.

"Good evening, Valerian", Moira greeted him with a soft smile on her ruby lips, and motioned her invitation for him to enter. "Thank you for coming. Please, come in."

As always, Valerian returned the smile with one of his own, along with a soft "Thank you" as he stepped past her and into the room. In doing so, he was met with the view of a most luxurious suite where no expenses seemed to have been spared to ensure that it possessed the best possible comfort any guest could ask for. But it was not the lavish furniture and decorations that he noticed first. It was her presence. Despite it in essence being nothing but a sterile, albeit elegant suite, made to fit a wide range of personalities, her own touch was evident. The rich contrast of dark roses and white lilies, their scents filling the air around them with fresh sweetness, intermingling with the faint smell of candlewax. Secretive shadows cast by a myriad of flickering lights, dancing and whispering tales of spiritual seduction.

"I trust you are well tonight and I haven't whisked you away from any important business", Moira's voice came from behind him, and he turned to face her as she drew closer.

Her lips now donned a most endearing smile, curved by mischief and a playfulness he had just barely caught a glimspe of the night before.

"My rather humble studio is this way", she continued, "if you wish to see the reason I invited you here tonight – unless... you prefer waiting, or seeing something else first?"

A soft chuckle made its way past Valerian's lips, as he was certain that she was teasing him. His eagerness to be honored the sight of what she herself claimed was her masterpiece had been evident upon his face the previous night, and had to be even more so now. Though this offer, to see 'something else first', held a strong appeal as well. In fact, he doubted there was anything she could share with him that he would not love to see, no matter what it was; things that had been created by her hand, wisdom and knowledge that she held, her wide range of smiles, stories from her past, more sides of her personality, or even one he had already seen.
In this case, however, she was most likely talking about her art, but even though that narrowed down the field of options, they all still appealed to him.
Ah, the predicament she had presented him with!

"I'm afraid you're forcing me to confess one of my many flaws", Valerian said, with an amused and slightly sheepish grin playing on his lips. "I must advise you not to ask me such questions, as I have been known to be quite impossible when posed with having to make such decisions."

He couldn't help but to think of the many times Claudia had thrown a fit out of pure frustration with him, simply because he didn't make up his mind fast enough. Where she used her head to quickly weigh the pro's and con's of each option before making her decision, Valerian took the time to be introspective and feel his way, which, oh horror, usually took a few seconds longer.

"I will leave it up to you", he concluded, "as far be it from me to decide for a fellow artist what work to display first."



(((ooc: Sorry if it's rambly. A bit of a headache and alot of distractions. Also, sorry for not having him make up his mind, Ghanima, but I just couldn't picture him being able to pick one option over the other in this case. *lol*
And yeah, the whole loyalty thing is probably a touch much, but... Valerian speaks to me. :) Not my fault.)))

*edit* (((ooc2: Can't help but to notice that there are quite a few of you that have mentioned your characters being approachable. Perhaps if it takes the rest of the players some time to get started in this new thread, you could approach eachother? You don't have to, it's just a friendly suggestion in an attempt to prevent anyone getting bored.)))

[ElektraNatchios33]

((Jessica's App (original) (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1019293&postcount=12) ))

Tired and somewhat mopey, Jessica climbed out of bed. Her thoughts tied to what she was going to do tonight. She most likely was going to The Haven, but things could change during a shower. The warm, not scalding hot, water dripped all throught her hair and over her body. Her thoughts now wandered to Annie. She was glad she saved her, but there was always the risk.

Now decided to go to The Haven, Jessica got dressed, quickly, and headed in that direction. Annie was there, but not at the bar. Completely accros the room form the bar. She navigated a path through the mass of people, eventually getting across the room to the halfway quiet spot hse was at. Annie looked like she'd seen a ghost, but she also looked pissed.

"Hi. Are you okay?"

((Ugh. Tired. Jessica sim nearly done! On a seperate note, I'm going to have to put Sarah on hiatus for a while. I might think of a new replacement character. I seem to have lost insperation. ))

[Ghanima Atreides]

Aeode and Jessica - The Haven

Aeode could have sworn time was conspiring against her, slowing down to a maddening crawl; it felt as though she was trapped in a bubble, while the rest of the world rushed by. She glanced at her wristwatch more and more frequently, clicking her tongue in annoyance each time she realized only seconds had elapsed. To make things worse, she did not even have the comfort of a quiet vantage point, bodies constantly pressing around her, intruding into her personal space. Tapping one foot idly into the floor, Aeode leaned stiffly against the railing which separated her from the main club dancefloor, squinting her eyes through the haze of smoke and strobe lights, well aware she was very likely to miss either Valerian or Jessica in that crowd of bobbing heads and gyrating shapes, even if they happened to be there.

Just when she was contemplating going straight for Valerian's office upstairs, her gaze fell upon a familiar figure making its way towards the exit: the man himself! A surge of adrenaline quickened Aeode's senses, guiding her movements as she abandoned her place near the railings, following in his wake as quickly as she could, not even bothering to excuse herself whenever she collided with someone else. Unfortunately, the crowd, thickening progressively as she found her way to the heart of the club, closed in around her like a web of living, shifting matter, barring her way. Aeode struggled for freedom, attracting quite a few irritated glances and even a few harsh words. Pushing a man firmly out of her way, the exit finally shifted into her view range, Valerian nowhere in sight. Her heart hammering wildly against her chest, the young woman sprinted down the corridor as fast as her feet could possibly carry her, staggering to a brusque halt on the edge of the pavement, cursing loudly: puffing out noxious smoke, a cab drove away into the night, the back of Valerian's head just visible through the rear window.

Cheeks flushed and bearing a deep frown, Aeode found her way back into The Haven, slowly beginning to doubt coming there had been such a good idea after all. It felt like such a waste of time, and yet it remained her best lead, the only place she knew Jessica frequented. If need be, she would stand there all night.

And then, just as she was approaching her previous vantage point, Aeode leveled her downcast gaze, all colour draining from her face: none other than Jessica was making her way towards her:

"Hi. Are you okay?" she greeted once they were face to face.

Aeode did not respond immediately, her mind full of words she was yet unable to link into sentences; part of her wanted to accuse, another urged her to wait, and allow Jessica to explain herself. She felt angry, frightened and intrigued at the same time, but above all was her overwhelming desire to know, to finally understand what had happened to her.

“Frankly, no I'm not.”

“I was looking for you,” she said coldly, drawing herself at her full height. She kept a perceptible distance from Jessica, pursing her lips tightly together. “Do you mind going somewhere a little more quiet? I have to talk to you.”

[Ghanima Atreides]

Moira and Valerian - Moira's suite at the Ritz


"I'm afraid you're forcing me to confess one of my many flaws.” Valerian said in reply to Moira's invitation. “I must advise you not to ask me such questions, as I have been known to be quite impossible when posed with having to make such decisions. I will leave it up to you, as far be it from me to decide for a fellow artist what work to display first."

Donning an empathetic smile, Moira inclined her head slightly; in all honesty, she did not mind being the one who decided the sequence of steps leading to the unveiling of Josephine's portrait, she enjoyed taking control of situations she was in, it was what made her feel most comfortable. That was a characteristic of the other side of her personality, one which for the moment remained subdued, hidden beneath the surface, but always there.

She had realized a while earlier that simply showing Valerian the painting, without some sort of insight into its creation and what impact it had had over her life would not suffice. If was more than just art she wished to share – it was a glimpse into her own personality, of who she truly was.

“Very well, then.” Moira said, one hand resting upon the ornate handle of the door leading into the studio. Giving it a light squeeze, she pushed it aside, revealing a room lit entirely by candles, tiny flickering flames surrounded by a diffuse amber glow. It created a pleasant, lulling feeling in Moira, but it was not enough for their needs, so she added electric light to the mix – not because they were unable to see, but because candlelight invited her senses to relax when she needed them fully awake.

“I also have a small confession to make,” she began, locking her fingers together as her eyes flickered like two tiny lavender-blue flames themselves. “The painting I have promised to show you comes with a tale of its own. Or better said, my own. A man much wiser than myself once said: “to gain insight into the present, one must first understand the past”. Before we can speak of the past however, I feel it necessary to show you a glimpse of the present. Last night I felt we have been honest with eachother and I wish to remain that way.”

Knowing that Valerian must have been realizing by then this wasn't going to be just a straightforward art discussion, Moira hastened her movements as she did not wish to exaggerate the suspense. Reaching for one of the cardboard tubes on her working table, she retrieved a sheet of paper from within, unrolling it carefully and placing it in Valerian's hands with just a simple explanation:

“The banquet sketch I spoke of yesterday”.

She then fell quiet, allowing the young Toreador time to look at it and form his opinion, all the while recalling the epitaph etched in her memory so clearly, stored along with the myriad of similar mental inscriptions given to everything she had ever created:

“...it was a pencil drawn sketch of a wonderfully decorated ballroom, populated by elegant and graceful figures. The detail was impressive, and no effort had been spared in pouring as much life into it as possible: everything was in movement: the violinist's bow bouncing lively upon the string, the couples joined in dance shown in full motion, clothes and hair billowing around them...but even the standing silhouettes along the sides had not been excluded: each was positioned differently, each face retained a distinct, telltale expression, whether they were watching, walking, or talking. However the truly remarkable thing lay beyond the immediate vision; if one peered closer, they could notice something lurked beneath the gilded exterior: subtle yet chilling shadows obscured certain figures, smiles turned to snarls almost before one's eyes until one could not be certain of the difference; resplendent, inhuman faces stared through the paper and into the viewer's very heart and mind. Humanity did not live there, only an illusion of it. Once aware of it, one would notice it all throughout the room, in each of its inhabitants. It was the Beast which rattled the bars of its metaphorical cage, always present, the way Moira had experienced it at the Ventrue Primogen's banquet, stirred awake by the presence of a hunter...”

Before Valerian could answer, however, Moira had one more thing to add, something which pained her but was necessary to be brought to his attention:

“From a technical point of view, it's masterful,” she commented and a note of bitterness rang in her voice. “From an artistic one, it's rubbish. It brings no improvement, nothing innovative; the same piece I've drawn countless times, the setting being the only real difference.”

At long last, the unspoken sadness subtly expressed by Moira on several occasions, her silent fascination mingled with the sting of envy towards Valerian's bright spirit and boundless creativity had been put into words, revealed. One sketch alone was not enough for her guest to realize that vital difference; in fact, most kindred and kine alike passed right over it, unable to look past the obvious, the surface, however beautiful the images or flawless the technique. Moira herself had perpetuated that illusion for a long time before deciding not to display her art any longer, ashamed of her own inability to create from her soul and only from her hands, and afraid that someday, someone would discover her ruse and be disappointed.

Disappointment was a reaction she feared from Valerian as well, of seeing that eager light fade from his eyes when realizing all he had before him was a beautiful shell of a whithered soul drained of creativity, unable to offer him anything he did not already have, no ancient insight – he already possessed all he needed and five centuries of unlife could not replace that.

“This is my present” Moira concluded simply. “Perhaps this darkness we have both felt is nothing more and nothing less than the representation of our darkest, most intimate fears, the kind which are so deeply embedded in our consciousness we may not even be aware of their true source. A long time ago, when inspiration was still at my side, this is what I feared: stagnation. What is it that you fear, Valerian? Maybe your answer lies there."

A moment's silence later, she continued:

"Now I would like to show you the difference, my greatest achievement and the moment I lost it.”

That being said, Moira gestured towards the canvas positioned besides the windows several meters away, the long covers hiding what lay underneath. Before unveiling it however, she wanted to allow Valerian the time to process the information she had given him, curious what his reaction would be, faced with this side of her few indeed had ever glimpsed at, wondering if he realized what a rare occasion that was.

((ooc: Not rambly at all, Atropa, I love it and Valerian! :D Unlike Moira, I'm really inspired lately, heh heh))

[AtropaMandragora]

In accordance with his usual routine to rise early, Damian had been ready to take his place behind his robust desk just as the sun was setting. He was the kind of man that found sleeping a most burdensome necessity. There was always something that required his attention, something he needed or wanted to do, that made him feel the hours of the night were not enough. Especially this evening, since what he wanted to do had already been postponed once, when the previous night brought with it a sudden emergency regarding a deal that he was just reeling in. It had hardly been an important deal, but as Damian didn't tolerate to be on the loosing side, he hadn't hesitated to counter the bold, unexpected, and according to Damian downright foolish move made by his rival. The gloves had come off, and he'd been quite busy the entire night, making sure everything went according to plan.

Which was why he was now eager to get this night started, so that he might get on with what he would've preferred to do with his time the previous one. That, and the time difference seperating him and the people he wanted to talk to. The night had only begun in Los Angeles, but was already drawing to a close in London. Time was of the essence.
No sooner had he sat down behind his desk than he picked up the phone to his secure line, and dialed the number out of memory. He didn't use it very often, but always made sure he had important names, numbers and addresses memorized. Partly because you never knew when you would come to need them, and partly because he didn't want such things written down when there was even the tiniest chance of an outsider getting their grubby little hands on them.

He spent nearly an hour and a half on the phone, trying to locate the right people to speak to. Most of them were already difficult to get in touch with when night had just fallen over their city. Imagine the difficulty to get in touch with them when their dawn was rapidly approaching. Still, he did manage to get one of his preferred contacts on the line, and recieved the first taste of the information he had been looking for. Though it did little to satisfy him, as it merely confirmed what he himself had already observed. However, confirmation was important when sorting through what information to trust, and what information not to trust, so at least it hadn't been time totally wasted. He now knew what earlier he had only suspected, and before they hung up, he had requested of his contact to dig a little deeper. Not to snoop, exactly, as Damian's curiousity was by no means ill-intended, and it was bound to get back to the subject of this minor investigation sooner or later. He simply requested that his contact would find out a little more of what was considered common knowledge. At this point, his contact had hinted towards knowing more, but dismissed it from the conversation by saying that he wanted to look into it a bit more before he said something. One might think Damian would've been annoyed by such a comment, but really, he was quite the opposite. He appreciated that his contact did not share ill-founded, far-from-certain 'I've heard this' and 'I've heard that's. Facts, that was what he was after. Maybe a rumour or two. Gossip pure and simple, was rarely interesting, unless it dealt with something of importance. And the nature of gossip was that it rarely did.

Approximately ten minutes had passed since that particular call was over, and Damian had left a few messages for other people whom he was interested in speaking to, when there was a gentle rap on the door.

"Yes?" he answered, as he put the receiver back in its cradle.

His secretary rarely knocked instead of using the intercom, which told him it was either a matter of a very delicate nature, or he had a prominent guest, whose presence deserved more reverence than to be annouced by a simple buzzing noise.

"Lord DeWinter is here to see you", the sweet but correct young woman told him as she slipped inside.

"Ah, yes", Damian replied with a faint smile forming on his lips. "Please show him in."

He had expected a visit from his esteemed friend, and was pleased that he was taking the time to pay it so soon, considering he must be quite busy picking up where he had left off a couple of months ago. Damian had tended to his Primogen duties with an ability that left nothing to be desired, but there were many other matters that did not concern Archon as a Primogen, but merely Archon as a business man, and a friend. Those matters could be dealt with by no one but Archon himself.

Giving a curt nod of confirmation, his secretary retreated to the outer office, only to step back in a second later and hold the door open to Archon and the Gangrel that followed him like the sheriff followed Damian. Both were immediately targeted by the sheriff's scrutinizing eyes, as he trusted no one, regardless of gender, bloodline and status. Roe especially recieved a close inspection, since he was the one carrying the white box.
Damian, however, welcomed them both with a smile, although his attention was mainly focused on Archon. Naturally.

"Damian", the Ventrue Primogen said when he reached the desk, and gave a slight bow with his hand on his chest as a sign of respect. "My Prince."

While he had been approaching, Damian had stood from his chair, offering his own sign of respect without showing even the slightest hint of submission.

"Archon", he greeted his friend, and held out a hand for him to shake, before motioning towards the comfortable armchairs on the opposite side of the desk. "It's good to see you. Please, take a seat."

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: Sorry for the double post, but it's been more than 24 hours, and the previous post was kind of long, as is this one. Also, everyone, the site has now been moved to http://www.crimson-tale.com )))



Adrien had allowed himself to sleep. After two days of only moments of slumber here and there, he could no longer fend off his needs. He was mentally worn out, drained from always being on guard and from resisting the nocturnal instincts that beckoned him to go to sleep when the world around him was basking in sunlight. Soon he would pose more of a threat to himself than any Kindred could. He was vulnerable enough as it was, a mere whelp facing Ancillae and Elders who all felt he had wronged them. To say the least. If he didn't keep his mind and senses alert, he would be setting himself up to be taken down, soon.

So he slept. Not sitting in the armchair, dozing off every once in a while like before, but in the bed, embraced by the soft sheets and pillows.
At first.
To anyone else, they would've felt welcoming, and comforting. To Adrien, they were suffocating, entangling his limbs and trapping him. Within half an hour of going to bed, he had thrown it all off, and spent the rest of the daylit hours on his back, with one hand resting on the handle of the dagger he always kept protruding from under the mattress, or whatever else he might be sleeping on. He still didn't regard the Museum as a safe place for him. Far from it, with Mina and her subjects all around, along with their wretched ghouls.

But, what he knew about Mina, what he had learned so long ago when he had played her like a fiddle and earned her trust, told him that her revenge would not be as simple as having him attacked in his sleep, or even attacking him herself. She was far more cunning than that, and was likely to take pride in being as imaginative as possible, in pulling just the right string at just the right time, and watch as the trap she had set slowly closed on him. There would be nothing quick about the method she chose, of that he was certain. It would be slow and painful, every moment an agonizing torture. And he doubted it would be a physical one. At least until she, and everyone else, was done with him, and their only remaining desire was his Final Death.
First, however, it seemed they wanted to break him, force him to yield, to submit, and crawl before their feet like the reptile they all considered him to be. They all wanted the satisfaction of seeing him forced down on his knees, 'knowing' that their twisted sense of justice had been done.
Well...
Let them try. It would be a cold day in Hell before that ever happened.
He would never cower, and he would never show any fear. Over the years, he had learned to control his feelings. Or rather shed them. The only feelings that remained were those that fueled his mission, his purpose. At least that was what everyone was lead to believe. He was an exceptional actor, with such a talent for deception that no one had been able to see through him fully yet. Mina was the only one that had come even remotely close. During their... reunion the other night, some of the old feelings long forgotten had surfaced in him. And he had hated it. He had hated that he had allowed her to see that deep, deep down within him somewhere, there were feelings of something other than hatred, anger, and contempt. Feelings, or rather the innuendo of feelings, whose existance he refused to acknowledge, even to himself.

Not even in his sleep did they tend to appear, for indeed, he rarely did dream. Even before being Embraced, the times when he dreamed had been few and far apart, and it was an ability that had followed him from life into unlife. Something for which he was grateful, as when he really did dream, it was never a pleasant experience. It was as though his dreams would open up the gates to his mind, and allow the tormented souls of all those he had killed to reach him, to reach for him. Nightmares, in their purest form.

Many months had passed since last he had awoken with the feeling that someone was whispering memories of their last agonizing moments alive in his ear, and choking him with their cold, dead hands at the same time. He feared that time was now drawing near, that his next day of nightmares was just around the corner. But it wasn't the nightmare itself that he feared. It was what would come of it, the traces of it lingering on his features, even if just for an hour, for perceptive eyes to notice. Or that he might make a sound in his sleep and someone would be around to hear him. A groan, or a whimper was all it took for someone to possibly realize that there were things that got to him after all, if they were close enough to his door to hear him. With all the ghouls sneaking around, it didn't seem unlikely. In this Museum, his privacy felt non-existant.

This day, Lady Luck had been on his side, and his first time of actual rest since coming here had remained peaceful, leaving him to awake with his strength renewed.
Still reluctant to dwell within the walls of Mina's domain more than absolutely necessary, it wasn't long before he left his room and made his way towards the entrance. A few ghouls and even fewer Kindred lined his path, but as he strode past them with his firm, purposeful steps, he could feel the eyes of each and every one of them boring into his back like daggers, their fruitless attempts to burn his skin with eyes full of hatred.

It didn't bother him. Much. He would tolerate their hate, he would even revel in it, as long as they were afraid. Fear was his ally, part of what kept the Kindred on their toes around him. As long as their eyes spoke of the caprice, the unpredictability, the danger they saw in him, he would be in control. And when they started doubting that he would do something, when the fear subsided, that was when his tactics would change. Then he would use their doubts of his power to act to dull their suspicious minds.

Everything was a game, now more than ever, and Adrien played to win. Perhaps not the war, as there were far too many Kindred and only one Adrien de la Cour, but at least the battle. He would go down in Kindred history as the scourage of their beastly kind, and their numbers would've decreased considerably under his hand.

Seemingly unfazed he left them all behind once again, and stepped out into the cool evening air, welcoming the space, the noise, the hustle and bustle that allowed him to easily slip away along the sidewalk, and be on his way to take care of a little bit of business. Literally. He needed to spend some time looking over the affairs that still remained in the mortal realm; his finances. He probably no longer seemed like it, judging by his current clothes and over-all appearance, but he was still a wealthy man. His parents had left him with the family fortune, and even though hopping back and forth between countries and continents for over a century was hardly cheap, he had found ways to support himself. Some money had been invested in stock and bonds, some had been invested in art and estates that gained value over the years and brought a nice little profit once sold. And then there was the thing that he actually took pleasure in, the one thing that would resemble something he did for fun; gamble. Though Adrien being Adrien, he never did anything without a purpose. While he might find a good game of poker fun, he also made sure to make the most of it; not only did he earn money, but he also improved and polished his poker face and his acting skills. No matter what he did, it always seemed to be somehow connected to his main objective.

During his reconnaissance the previous night, he had passed by a casino that looked promising. An elegant and respectable establishment, and not some seedy little den with obscure characters around the table. 'The Dive' had been it's name, and tonight it was his second destination. His first; a phone booth from which he called his broker, instructing him to make some adjustments to the stock he currently owned. It was a short conversation, consisting of little more than a hello, the instructions, and a goodbye. If he was being followed, Adrien didn't want to give away too much information. The more he could keep to himself, the better.
With the phone call done and over with, he stepped out of the phone booth and continued down along the sidewalk without looking back.

Minutes later, he stopped outside the casino, and studied it much like he had studied the church the previous night, before entering. It was a beautiful building indeed, with arches and columns lit up in the dark night by soft spotlights, beckoning anyone that passed by on the street to step inside into the welcoming foyer, only to be lured further into the spacious ground floor by the seductive, intoxicating sound of money being made. It seemed none of the new arrivals ever heard the subtle, melancholic harmonies of fortunes lost.
Except, of course, Adrien. But unlike most of these other fools, he didn't put all his faith in luck. In fact, he put none of his faith in luck. To him, it was all about skill, plain and simple. Luck didn't tell you when to raise, and when to fold. Luck didn't see the manic twinkle in the eyes of the man with a full house, or the pearls of sweat forming on another's forehead as he realized he was about to loose everything he'd brought to the table.
Only skill did that. And only skill kept your eyes, face and body language from betraying you. Some experienced poker players tended to wear sunglasses during the game, as a way of keeping their opponents from reading the looks in their eyes. Some even called themselves professional gamblers. But to Adrien, such things were for amateurs. He prided himself not only with the ability to keep his eyes and facial expression devoid of all emotion, but also the ability to show signs of an emotion he wasn't feeling. Sometimes, it made all the difference. If there was enough tension in his eyes, his opponent would choose to go all in, when he should've folded. If there was a tiny crease forming at the corner of his mouth, the opponent would fold, when he could've won the hand.
Yes. Tiny, tiny details could make all the difference in the world.

Slowly, Adrien started making his way through the crowded casino, taking a moment to adjust to the intense atmosphere. Perhaps on a first impression, it was a little too noisy for his liking, but he knew that once he had gotten into the game, he'd hardly hear all the plinging, blipping and chiming of the numerous slot machines. Finally he reached one of the poker tables, and sat down to watch the remainder of the hand that was currently being played. When the next hand was being dealt, he was in.
Before long, the amount of chips infront of him had nearly doubled.

[Shenanigans_SC]

Falesyia walked down the corridor between the meeting room and the security offices; the plush carpet cushioning her every step. She was bored tonight, something within her was pleading to have a little excitement, wanting to come out and play. As she pushed open the door to the camera room she felt the darkness welcome her. This room was always a hub of quiet activity. The right wall housed a little more than fifty monitors, the light they gave off being the only illumination in the room. Little figures on the screen pulled handles, placed bets, and lost money. All of it a testimony to the charm of The Dive.

As odd as it may sound, the building, the atmosphere, the life it seemed to breathe each night, it all held a certain charm for Falesyia. She managed her other establishments from a distance, only caring if the house didn’t come out on top. But this place, it was different. She knew the names of most of it’s employees, she knew it’s every nook and cranny. It was her home.

Not a single person looked away from the screens when she walked in. They were used to her presence, the privileged few that had seen glimpses of her softer, more human side. Though they may have seen her often, all but one still called her Ms. Kermode. At a large table behind all the personnel studying the monitors sat the one man who was not restricted to such formalities.

“Hey boss.” He addressed her, adding a wink as she got closer.

Falesyia’s lips turned up slightly as she returned his greeting with her own “Hey Niko.” He stood to welcome her and partake in their usual greeting of brief kisses on the cheek. “I’ve sent my little dwarves to bed”, she continued, “so I thought I’d see what’s going on here.”

She sat on the corner of the table, her eyes roaming the many images of the action below them. Nicholas stood beside her, his body leaned towards her as his palm was planted firmly on the table behind her. “Not much yet, but the night is still young.” He replied.

“Hmm… that’s disappointing, as I was hoping for some excitement.” Her gaze was still fixated on the screens two yards in front of her.

“Well, boss… if it’s excitement you want…” his voice was filled with innuendo until Falesyia turned her head to face him. Her eyes communicating that his point was taken, and denied. A playful smirk came across his face as he shoved off with his left hand, his body weight returning fully to rest upon his feet. “There is one table that seems to have been noticed tonight.” He gave instructions to one of the men in front of him to focus a camera upon a certain poker table.

Falesyia slid off the table, walking towards the monitor to get a closer look. The people surrounding it looked normal enough. “The man in three seems to have lady luck on his side tonight. We haven’t spotted anything fishy though.”

“Perhaps it’s not luck, maybe its skill.” Falesyia peered at the image on the screen. The man wasn’t the type that usually gathered her attention. There was no expensive suit, no impression of wealth about him. He was quite the opposite actually. Black hair that needed to be cut, his clothes a bit dark, not someone who seems to care that he stood out just a little. A faint smile hid behind her lips as she recalled the woman she had met the night before. Ada she had introduced herself as. Falesyia imagined the two of them could very well hold the same social circle.

While Falesyia had been studying the screen, Nicholas had continued talking. “Sorry to disappoint you boss, but that is about as interesting as it gets tonight.”

“Well, like you said”, she stood up straight and backed away from the monitors. Raising her brow she looked at him and continued, “The night is still young.”

She slowly began to walk towards the doors, Nicholas’ gaze followed her as she did. “Who’s pit boss tonight?” she asked without looking back.
“Dylan.” He answered quickly. “Inform Dylan that the table needs a new dealer in fifteen minutes.” She spoke, nearly to the door now.

“What are you up to?” his voice lingered in the air.

She turned to answer him, her hand resting on the door handle. “I am going to find out what our young patron has going for him. Is it lady luck, or is it skill?” A new expression crept onto her face, a smile and quirked brow to match. “And hopefully I’ll have a little fun.”

=====

Once again she walked down the hall of the second floor, this time to her suite. She checked her reflection in the mirror, touched up her hair and makeup, and picked up what she had termed her dummy purse. The small black bag had a long thin strap, other than the cell phone and a couple hundred worth of chips, there really was nothing of value in it. It was simply a prop to keep up the appearance that she was just yet another customer.

Satisfied with her counterpart in the mirror she made her way down the stairs, completely unaffected by the lights and many sounds of the slot machines. She went around them so she would approach the table of her destination from the opposite side of the raven haired stranger. She wanted to see him from a distance, and perhaps he’d see her coming.

She walked between the tables, feigning curiosity in each table as she walked by, giving the impression she had no destination at all, and was trying to find something that interested her. When she came to her intended table, she chose to stand back beside a woman that sat opposite of the man of her curiosity. As the dealer called it was his last, she watched all the players at the table as the hand was played. It was another hand that provided more chips for his stack, and nothing but frustration for his opponents.

As the woman that had been in front of Falesyia threw her hands in the air in surrender, another man in a freshly pressed suit stood to leave as well. As the dealer gathered his things in preparation to be replaced, Falesyia took the seat that was now empty across from the dark haired stranger. He seemed to survey the shuffle of players at the table. Falesyia’s gut doubted it was simple observance, as most likely it was displeasure at the thought of having new people he’d have to learn to read. When his gaze came briefly across her form she simply greeted him with her eyes. She had yet to learn what type of man this was. Some men were weak to a beautiful woman’s flirtations, other to her seeming determination and challenge. It would take a few hands, but she was sure she’d be able to crack his code eventually.

As the new dealer called for bets to be placed Falesyia slid in her stack of chips. May the games begin.

[PennyTheCorgi]

Ada strode silently down the moonlit street. She loved winter, it always got dark so much earlier. A quiet scrapping noise caused her to turn. Down a dimly lit sidestreet stood a dark haired man gazing curiously at a gargoyle statue. Ada placed one slim hand on her hip, staring at him for a second. She had never seen him before around here, was he new? Or had he appeared during her absence? Ada strode boldly towards him.

[SwirlyHill]

Jayden grew weary of the club, wandering down the street, an Emily the Strange hoody now over her dress, she saw two people admiring a gargoyle.
She knew a bit about the gargoyle, made in 1733, the stone Hindhead sandstone and bleached white...
She began to stroll towards them, tucking a strand of hair behind her ruby adorned ear.
'Hi, it's lovely, isn't it?'

(( Approaching Ada and Caraltian ))

((P.S. Here's the hoody, I can't hyperlink for some reason :S http://www.cloggs.co.uk/content/ebiz/cloggs/invt/1791/emily_hddy_mdlv_l_01.jpg))

[Fayreview]

Caraltian sensed something, something cold. The havy concrete wing chip in his hand seemed to vanish from existance, he turned around to see a woman striding towards him, his urge was to fade away, from this person, but he could not, could not make himself. So he decided to be bold as well, false confidence was the only thing he could muster for the moment.

"Good Evening," his tilted his chin up and his eyes were deep, he could stand strong for the moment.

It was at that moment another woman appeared, she seemed friendly, and this caused Caraltian to stand back, "it is I suppose." He was blunt, friendly was strange, she clearly was kine, she could not be anything else to speak like this, unless she had not sensed he was kindred, or indeed she had just not realised he was Makalvian. Friendliness confused him.

((Oh dear encountered two Vampires, both of whom by their clans very nature should treat him badly, ah well I guess thats ok. ;) maybe more fun this way.))

[PennyTheCorgi]

Ada strode closer to the mysterious darkhaired kine and the woman who had now joined him. They appeared to be admiring a chipped gargoyle statue. The man stiffened for a moment, turning to stare into Ada's eyes. "Good Evening." he said, before quickly turning back to the statue. "Good evening." Ada answered back, coming to a stop directly behind him. She couldn't fathom why these two would be so interested in a decaying gargoyle statue. To each there own, she supposed.
Ada stared at the statue for a moment. She had to admit, on further study if was somewhat facinating. Minute carvings covered its wings and body and the talented artist had made the eyes look as if they followed your every move with careful scrutiny.
Tearing her eyes away, Ada turned to the man. " I have'nt seen you around here before, have you been here long? I'm Ada, by the way."

[Fayreview]

"I have been here, for five minutes, sixth months or many many years depending on what you mean. I have stood exactly here for five minutes trying to work out how and whether to fix this gargoyle, I have been in Los Angeles for 6 months, but of course i have naturally been of this worlds for many years." Suprisingly Caraltian was actually trying to be wierd as he sometimes did he actually was not sure as to what the woman had been asking about, though he felt it was the second one, this woman had the distinct air of one of the two clans that put every self respecting Makalvian on edge, Tremere.

He suddenly worried about what he had already said, it was quite likely it would mark him as Makalvian, social retardation frequently did.... but maybe she wouldn't realise, or maybe she wasn't Tremere afterall.

[Psyche_SC]

#26 [Eighth Night]

Ever so sovereign, the Prince stood before him with his head held high. Despite being the best of friends, they would never be equals when it came to ex officio. Archon had no desire for the royal throne within their society, nor did he find any weakness in Damian that defied the notion that he would always be the ruler of this city. The only thing that could change that, would be if Damian himself would have a change of heart. Eternity could be frustrating, and once in a while, some Kindred needed another set of scenery. However, if that was even a possibility, it would be in a time far away in the future. Right now, Damian was right at home. This city, and this seat of power, was as if it had been made with him in mind. Archon thrived in this era, the chess table was set to his liking, and the Prince would have everyone on their toes but him. Damian was a man after his own heart.

That was why he had put a great deal of effort acquiring the content within the white wodden box in Roe's arms. Too often, the Kindred settled with giving high praise with just words, as if they were still kine. Archon wanted to make sure the Prince knew he had a friend, and a supporter in his Ventrue Primogen. That knowledge needed to be reassured every now and then, both for traditional reasons, and because a great friendship and business contact deserved no less. The few selected ones that got close to Archon would learn, if they did not already know, that when it came to this, he spared no energy to make it perfect. And he did not only include his own taste for what was elegant and classy, but would always make sure the gift held something of the reciever. Since he did not want Kindred to get to comfortable, these gifts were not given in dozens, but now and then when it seemed appropriate.

Whether the Prince expected to be presented with anything or not, no one would know. Since he knew Archon, he could have suspected as much, but that would not take from his appreciation. The art of recieving was just as important, as the art of giving. The Ventrue knew this, if anyone. So, when Damian greeted his good friend and asked him to take a seat, Archon remained standing after he had shaken his hand. Damian did not assume the box was for him. Normally, Archon would have kissed the hand of his Prince. But since Damian himself took it upon him to make the greeting informal, Archon followed in his lead. This was a token of their friendship, a much appreciated one by the Primogen.

"Thank you, my friend", Archon said with another nod. "But may I first present you with this gift from my journey."

He held out his hand, motioning towards Roe, and at that moment the Gangrel took a few steps closer to the Ventrue men. The sheriff did not take his eyes off him, Roe could feel it to the bone and it made him uneasy. No matter how many times he had been in this situation, keeping close to Archon in the presence of the Prince and the sheriff, the sheriff did not trust him any more than he had done the very first time. Even if one had to be a madman beyond Malkavian insanity to have the slightest thought of attacking the Prince in the heart of this building, the sheriff never made an assumption to have faith in anyone besides Damian. Anyone could be bought, anyone could have a personal agenda. Anyone. It was upon this notion that the very safety of Damian rested, and the sheriff would have it no other way. Even if some were a safer bet than others. Roe knew this, and also Archon. But when it bothered Roe, it did not have much affect on Archon. He saw it as a sure thing; one could never penetrate the mind of the sheriff. Archon had no intention to do so, or need. And the sheriff did protect the most precious thing in the city, since the city would not be the same without Damian's firm ruling. It was the concern of everyone that the sheriff did his duty. However, he was not the last thing between Damian and Final Death. That would be pure madness to assume. If one managed to get pass the sheriff, one had to fight Damian. Archon would prefer to fight just about anyone before he would fight Damian. He had not become Prince by kindness alone. And to be on the gracious side of such a great man, was an honor.

Since Damian gave his silent approval of shifting the attention to the mysterious box, Archon took out the golden chain with the golden key. Everything laied in the details, as well as in the gift itself. He placed one hand on the lid, as the other put the key in the golden lock and opened it. The room was filled with silence to the brim, anticipation of the content concerned them all, as Archon slowly revealed it. On a bed of thick white satin, almost providing itself with light, laid a sword. The blade was made of the finest steal, and though it was rather thin, it looked as strong as any other. Regardless, there was none like it. One of a kind, just like the Prince himself. The handle was as white as snow. Experienced eyes could tell it was made from bone, and polished to get a smooth finish. Emerald gems had been embedded in the blade, close to the handle, as if it was made for ceremonial use and not warlike ones. The shimmering green stones invited every source of light in the room, just to reflect it at once; sending out an atmosphere of elegance. On the top of the handle, there was a carving of a lion head, and near the tip of the blade, there were chinese letters.

It had not been easy to come by. It did not matter how many contacts you had, or what your name was. Not everything was accessible. Now and then, you had to work for it. Archon had spent alot of time and effort to claim the sword. He had approached despicable members of the undead, talked his way through some stubborn Kindred minds and trusted his instinct when the surroundings communicated nothing. All this, because of a name on a piece of paper. He had asked the young Toreador, that made the mask for Valerian, where he could find a truly rare sword. Rare, in the pure definition of the word. The boy had written down a name on a piece of paper, and said a single word in the matter: "Singapore". Such an old Kindred, in such a young kine body, with a unsuspected mind of knowledge. When Archon later had returned, to collect the mask, the boy had smiled as if he knew of the trials and tribulations Archon had gone through in the search of the Kindred with the name he had given him.
Never the less, anything worth having, takes time and patience.

"The inscription says; 'My rightful owner hath no need for me' ", Archon said with a smile. "It is a token of my loyalty. You will always have it."




_________________________________

((( ooc: Atropa - I hope this works for you. :) )))

((( ooc: EDIT - I added a sentence to his line. Atropa knows this. )))

[PennyTheCorgi]

Ada smirked. The man, who hadn't mentioned his name, had the quirks of a Malkavian. "Smart-ass" she muttered, teasingly. Being the Tremere she was, she should have been annoyed at his comments. But something about him fascinated her. "Six month's, eh? Apparently you aren't fond of the kine friendly clubs around here." Ada ran her fingers over the rough texture of the broken statue. "I like it the way it is." She murmured. " Flawed, imperfect. It's like me in a way."

[Fayreview]

"No, I don't seem to be do I? Walking into a new place is somewhat, shiver-some to be honest. i suppose I just haven't had the guts, it's hard my clan seems to be non-existant around here. And whilst I have only just come to this part of Los Angeles I've been around quite a while, long enough indeed to be sure of that." He turned around abruptly, perhaps she had not realised his Makalvian roots yet, no Tremere were intelligent. She was presumably just humoring him.

The gargoyle chip felt heavy in his hand, but the woman was right. The gargoyle did look better and despite his overwhelming desire for perfect, whole things he handed her the chip. "You know, I think you are right." He was not sure what he expected her to do with it, perhaps merely dispose of it? "Oh and I suppose I should tell you, I am Caraltian Heresa." He continued togaze at thegargoyle in order to partially avoid making eye contact.

[ElektraNatchios33]

“Frankly, no I'm not.” Jessica took this as a suprise. She thought Annie would respond the way anybody else would. Yeah I'm fine...when they're really not.

“I was looking for you,” Her voice was solemn and dark. something really was wrong with her. “Do you mind going somewhere a little more quiet? I have to talk to you.”

"Sure, I don't mind." They started to walk torwards a door leading outside. The music and chaotic sounds drifted away as they approached the door and went outside. A breeze swept over her. Maybe the wind was actually warm, but felt cold compared to the heat of the club.

"What do you need to talk to me about?" Jessica's tone hinted at innocence and a sweet, caring soul (which she did have), but what was innocence and sweetness was replaced with anxiety and worry.

((I tried. No boldy button. I'll work on it... I hope you don't mind me having them go outside Ghanima.))

[veldagia]

Zillah tapped his fingers upon the smooth polished surface of the bar. The short pale fingernails that had ben expertly manicured that morning provided a sharp contrast in their neatness to the fine gauze of ash-blonde stubble that now broke through the smoth line of his jaw. His jade eyes were just starting to suffer the glaze of alcohol but still this did not fully dim thrir intense green glare that pierced through the room as though tearing every item apart. He had taken care with his apperance that day. His usual jeans and t-shirt discarded in favour of atire designed to impress his client. A sharp black suit threaded with the finest red pinstripe skimed his slender muscular frame, accompanied by a black slightly sheer shirt and a tie the colour of freshly spilt blood.

As his arm moved drawing the glass of jack to his lips a flash of opulance was revealed. Stylish platinum cufflinks set with exquisite cut diamonds reflected the light of the room. Although a gift from his prestigious client, Zillah had earned them twice over. Not for arranging the serious of meetings which allowed the man to fulfil his unconventional desires although this was how he had initaly gained the attention and favour of the client whilst allowing Zillah to gain the snipets of information gleaned by carefully observing both the man and his company. There was also the issue of the infernal fire that had spread through the competitors warehouses like a plague from god. Ravaging through the stock, causing disruption and chaos on the ground and to the nubilous world of stocks and shares. A series of smaller contained fires in the residential areas of town diverted the fire engines until the warehouses were reduced to soot and rubble. The legal goods were covered by insurance but the real kick to the competetiors was the destruction of the stock that was never declared on any customs forms.

The cufflinks were his reward for a successful mission, meant to bind his loyalty, but Zillah had learned long ago that true loyalty was only for himself. Zillah had despised the job, prefering to work on his own as a solitary avenging angel, rather than being the brutal commader of a small army. Teamwork did not suit him, he could not muster the mutal respect necessary. So he had laid the plans, given out the necessary orders and then lounged in the back in his merc watching as a divsion of the city was transformed into his own lurid vision of Devil's Night.

Zillah turned his attention back to his client. The short man laid another heap of chips onto the table accompanied by a round of loud, rautus laughter that resonated with the gluttony which was often possessed by the ostentatiously rich. . Like Zillah he was dressed in a dark expensive suit but his stretched over the generous frame and heavy gold jewelry was gaudly displayed on his wrists and neck. His large pudgy hands squeezed a skiny blonde bombshell beside him. Her quiet demure manner and the wilingnes to submit and please were displayed in a returning coy smile. Her eyes hid the desperation to break into the world of fashion behind a champagne glaze. She had impressed Zillah enough for him to give her the chance on the job. He did not doubt she would fulfil her end of the contract and their obligation to the client. She would simply close her eyes and visulise the runway later that night.

A small smile brushed across Zillah's lips as he observed his client throw away chips on the table as though he was playing with matchsticks, carelessly disgarding his wealth into the casinos pocket, yielding an average persons annual salary to the spin on the roulette wheel with the ease of wishing upon a penny. He was in a good mood, pleased by Zillah's choice of relaxation and no doubt the good times would be remembered when it came time for him to sign a proportion of that cash over to Zillah. Sweeping up the bottle of champagne and his own glass Zillah strode back over to his clients side. Topping his glass back to the brim with the gently bubbling liquid, performing the waiter's duty with the grand gesture of a lavish host. His lips curled further with pleasure as his client took a large gurgling gulp of the champagne. Soon he would be free to slip away and pursue his own pleasures for the night.

((OOC Just a background post whilst I try to find Zillah again. ))

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: Everyone - Please try and remember the rules, guys. Posts should be no less than 8 lines. (No, 7 lines won't get your head chopped off, but please do try.) If you find it difficult to write 8 lines, try exploring your character a little further. What do they see, what are they thinking of, what are they feeling? And every so often, what are they wearing? You know, elaborate a little. It makes it easier for the rest of us to get a feel for them. ;)

Penny - "Kine" is the Kindred word for "human". Caraltian is Kindred. :)

Ghanima - Sorry for taking so very long. When I went to post this early, early this morning (try 4 AM) I couldn't connect to the Internet. Meh.)))



Valerian had been unsure of what reaction to expect from Moira upon hearing him confess to being the indecisive type. While he felt a strong connection with her, the fact was they didn't know eachother very well yet, and so he couldn't be sure that what his instincts told him - that Moira wouldn't mind his inability to make a choice - was right. Maybe it was just a wish, so deep and dire that it seemed like a premonition. He was so used to Claudia's impatient sighs and the sharp glares that would often let him know that even though she cared for him, just then he was getting on her last nerve. She had never understood his need to go with what felt right, to take the time to taste each possibility mentally before he made his decision. Unlike her, he wouldn't focus as much on where he was going and more importantly how fast he could get there, but rather how he would get there. Which path offered the better view? Which path would better satisfy the needs of his soul? Was one option really better than the other, and if not, why pick one over the other?
Given Claudia's impatience with such musings, it would be no wonder if he really did harbor a wish to be allowed his hesitation by someone else, a wish so strong that it paved the way for what seemed like the most convincing of observations.

But, even if it was, it was a wish that, much to the young Toreador's relief, was granted.
He knew it the moment he saw the look on Moira's face. The smile on her lips, vague, but so full of understanding that it felt like a breath of warmth into his unbeating heart, a feeling that for just one moment, it was once again pulsating with life. She not only accepted, she understood. Again, she understood. In less than twentyfour hours, she had shown him more understanding, pure and genuine understanding, than he had felt in years. Or perhaps ever. And everytime it happened he felt a rush of joy, a hearfelt happiness unlike any other, that he knew would soon have him addicted to her company, for how could he possibly not keep seeking it, when it made him feel that finally, finally someone understood him, all of him. Not in the way that they were exactly alike, but in the way that they were different, but that the pieces of their individual puzzles, their personalities, fit together perfectly.
He hadn't wanted to take the lead, he had declined. And she had accepted, and even seemed quite content with remaining in charge.
A perfect match indeed.

"Very well", she said as she lead him to the door to an adjoining room, and opened it.

What spread out infront of Valerian's eyes as he followed her through was a spacious area, apparently a temporary art studio, basking in the soft, warm light of another sea of lit candles.
Valerian couldn't help but to smile, as this was very much the same way he preferred his own studio. His whole living quarters really, though it kind of went hand in hand, since it was all one big joint space. The seductive glow of a room lit only by candles appealed to him both as an artist, and as the sensual creature he was, despite the desires of the flesh having been purged from his loins by the Embrace. It beckoned him to relax, and see the surroundings the way they were meant to be seen. Artificial light could be a blessing at times, but it was just that; artificial. Things weren't really meant to have all their flaws exposed to the world around them by such unforgiving rays of light.
At least, that was Valerian's firm belief. It had its advantages, of course, as it allowed the viewer to better grasp the details in a painting, but it took away from the mystery. It was a kind of light that could no longer be used to blend with the colors and become a part of the painting itself, in the way that candle light or even sunlight could. But sunlight was no longer a part of Valerian's world. He now only had candle light, and the obscure, colored spotlight of The Haven. Granted, that too was artifical light, but at least it was artificial light at its best.
However, much like Valerian himself the previous night, Moira seemed to want to offer him a view of her artwork where no possible flaws were hidden, and no details easily overlooked, and so when they had both entered into the room, she flicked the light switch, immediately banishing the lure in the atmosphere, and with it the hushed whispers that beckoned Valerian to succumb to his own, always affection starved nature by attempting to work his charms on Moira, seduce her senses, and make her hunger for him.

"I also have a small confession to make", Moira continued while Valerian looked around the room curiously.

There seemed to be quite a few works in here, and even though he would love to see them all, there was one in particular that caught his attention. His gaze had instantly been drawn to the covered canvas in one corner of the room, his instincts telling him that was the one, that was the painting she had referred to as her masterpiece. It was the reason why he was here.
But as soon as she spoke, his eyes turned from it to lock with hers. A confession?

"The painting I have promised to show you comes with a tale of its own. Or better said, my own. A man much wiser than myself once said: "to gain insight into the present, one must first understand the past". Before we can speak of the past however, I feel it necessary to show you a glimpse of the present. Last night I felt we have been honest with eachother and I wish to continue that."

Valerian nodded slowly, with a growing twinkle in his eyes. She wished to share with him, to become even more personal. She wanted words to go along with her work. She wished for him to understand, like she had understood him. Oh, how he hoped that he would, that he wouldn't disappoint her, and leave her without what she had so graciously given him.

In silence he watched as she quickly reached for one of the cardboard tubes on table, and slid a rolled up sheet of paper from inside of it. With gentle fingers she unfurled it and then handed it to Valerian, who accepted it with the same care as though she had handed him a newborn baby.

"The banquet sketch I spoke of yesterday".

Words she didn't have to speak. Already at the first glance, Valerian had recognized her source of inspiration. Now his eyes were dancing across the sketch, taking in as many details as possible, lingering momentarily on every single face, and every single movement depicted with such skill it left him in complete awe. It was so full of life that it had ceased to be a just a sketch. Instead, it was as close to a moving picture as a drawing could possibly get. Never before had he seen anything like it.
But there was also something else, something that at first was intagible, a mere feeling, that grew into realisation the longer one viewed the sketch. When his eyes moved over the faces, he could've sworn there was something monstrous stirring underneath their pleasant, cordial exterior, something that twisted their features into predatory snarls. But as soon as his eyes locked one such a face, it looked just like the face of someone who was simply enjoying themselves at a Ball. It would seem Moira had the same talent as Valerian himself for making things appear out of the corner of ones eye, but be nothing more than a memory when the viewer tried to focus on it.
However, the movement... That was a skill he could not pride himself with. At least not yet. But maybe... just maybe... Moira would be willing to help him evolve. Not to copy her, but to evolve, to perfect his own talent, and make it grow.
Little did he know she was just about to say something that would make such a humble request feel like hitting her below the belt.

"From a technical point of view, it's masterful", she said, and he couldn't help but to note the hint of bitterness in her voice. "From an artistic one, it's rubbish. It brings no improvement, nothing innovative; the same piece I've drawn countless times, the setting being the only real difference."

The statement broke Valerian's gazing at the sketch, and turned his eyes to look at her once more. All of a sudden, the sadness in her eyes, the grief that faintly stained her voice made sense. The realization hit him full force, causing his baby blues to widen with surprise and disbelief, which then slowly morphed into pained compassion, when she continued to speak and her words sank in.

"This is my present. Perhaps this darkness we have both felt is nothing more and nothing less than the representation of our darkest, most intimate fears, the kind which are so deeply embedded in our consciousness we may not even be aware of their true source. A long time ago, when inspiration was still at my side, this is what I feared: stagnation. What is it that you fear, Valerian? Maybe your answer lies there."

As she spoke, Valerian's gaze returned to the sketch once more, as if to look at it with different eyes, to look at it in the light she had just shed on it. But despite her words, he still couldn't view it as anything but an amazing piece. The only difference to him now, if he looked closely, was that he could see a certain deftness about the strokes, as though it was indeed not the first time the feeling had been portrayed. Though he did realize that his opinion was based on seeing one sketch, and being told there were many others like it, and not actually seeing the same theme in one sketch after another, like Moira had been forced to do.
Stagnation... The thing she had feared the most. The draining of your inspiration, that left you empty and hollow, without even a sense of pain. For while pain was harsh and harrowing, twisting and squeezing your heart, at least it could be used. In fact, pain was as much a driving force to artitst around the world - the Kindred one as well as the mortal one - as love.
But to not even be inspired by pain... or having no pain to draw inspiration from...
Oh, how his heart ached for her. As he looked up at her sad, beautiful face once more, he found himself having to fight back the urge to pull her closer to him, to embrace her in an attempt to comfort her. An attempt that would most likely prove meaningless, and perhaps even invasive.
Instead, he forced himself to wrap his mind around her last words, her question. What did he fear? What was it that filled him with dread more than anything, by just thinking about it? He didn't need to ponder very long. He knew the answer well. Now more than ever, as meeting her had vanquished it, made it dissipate into thin air. For now.

Though before he could speak, Moira herself continued;

"Now I would like to show you the difference, my greatest achievement and the moment I lost it."

A soft motion by her hand brought his attention to the covered canvas. But she made no move towards revealing it just yet, giving him the impression that perhaps she was waiting for him to answer her question first. Or to simply react. Although his reaction was already visible on his face, in the fair features currently twisted by empathy, and mourning of her fate.

"I...", he started, but stopped, as though he found himself too overwhelmed to speak. "I have never thought of stagnation as a possibility... I've just assumed... I've just assumed inspiration would always be there..."

He paused, and glanced up at her with a sad, almost apologetic smile darting across his lips.

"You must think me terribly naive...", he said. "I've always felt my inspiration as a part of me. As tangible and real as my arms and legs. I can't imagine what it would be like to... I have never thought of it as something that could be lost."

Another few moments of silence passed, as he tried to focus on how to answer her question, wishing to show her the same sincerity and candor as she had shown him. It almost seemed he had forgotten how being open and trusting came natural to him.

"What I fear," he said finally, as his gaze found hers again, "is loneliness. Not necessarily being alone, but being lonely. To have no one to relate to, or to relate to me. I know there are many that enjoy my company, and while I take some comfort in that, I've come to realize that to many, it's simply because I'm different. I don't scheme, or avenge, or plot, or stab someone in the back. I'm "easy to be around". And so they relax. But they don't understand."

A final pause settled briefly between them, as he simply looked at her for a few moments, seeming to almost be searching her eyes to see that an indication of what had made him feel so at peace around her, was still there.

"You do."

With that, he put the sketch of the banquet down on the table, gently allowing it to re-curl, as a sign that he was now ready to see her masterpiece.


(((ooc: Sorry if it's... well... whatever. Like I said, 4 AM. :D )))

[Ghanima Atreides]

Aeode and Jessica - Outside The Haven

The thumping cacophony of bass-heavy music and voices hammered its way into Aeode's mind, oddly in rhythm with the heavy, dull beatings of her heart as it circulated heated, adrenaline-laced blood throughout her body. Strangely disconnected from all the distractions around, her thoughts took shape clearly, hell bent on a single purpose: receiving the answers she so longed to find, regardless of method or consequences. Eight years' worth of memory loss frustration, of constant searching for answers and bitter disappointment culminated that night, with that vital encounter. At long last, the veils had been shattered and Aeode's ghost stood before her, in plain view, so near that she found herself fighting the urge to unleash a whole deluge of questions.

"Sure, I don't mind." Jessica nodded and both women found their way towards the exit. In contrast with the warmth inside the club, Aeode found the nighttime breeze chilly though reinvigorating, dispersing the haze of any remaining doubt: she felt absolutely certain this needed to be done if she were ever going to find peace, and move on with her life. She had to know.

"What do you need to talk to me about?"

Aeode's alert senses detected worry in Jessica's voice, although that could have been feigned, just like that touch of tenderness hinted at beneath the immediate surface. Empathy, and trust were emotions Aeode felt unable to offer this woman, this veritable ghost who had intruded in her life and left such a deep imprint, before vanishing without a word of explanation that would ease her turmoil. It didn't matter; vitriol or honey, Aeode was prepared for both, a small part of her even welcoming a conflict. At least then her frustration would find an outlet.

“There is no easy way to say this, so I'll just go ahead and say it,” she responded at last, crossing both arms on her chest, two restless, keen eyes scrutinizing Jessica's face. It dawned on her then just how young the woman looked, no more than 25 years at the most, younger than Aeode herself.

“She was a kid eight years ago” Aeode mused silently, unable to keep the thought from re-surfacing, as she remembered the footage from the security cameras: poor quality images or not, there had been no doubt that the flash recorded depicted the features of a fully grown woman, and not a teenage girl. Perhaps Jessica was one of those fortunate few who retained a youthful appearance in spite of their years, or maybe she had resorted to plastic surgery. Aeode knew she was grasping at straws with those theories, as flimsy as they were vital for her own sanity: she would deal with Jessica's apparent agelessness once her current thirst for answers was appeased.

“I know it was you, eight years ago”, the young woman continued after a prolonged silence. “I've seen the recordings, Jessica. From the party. Someone did a pretty good job of sweeping everything under the rug, but that's the beauty of cyberspace: some traces will always remain behind.”

A bitter, mirthless laugh shook her for an instant.

“Who are you people? Do you know anything about the attackers? Or am I supposed to believe you just happened to be there to save the day?”

“I want to know what you did to me.”

A deafening silence descended following those last, toneless words laden with utmost determination as uttered by Aeode who kept her feet firmly planted into the ground, legs slightly apart, each muscle tightened underneath her deceptively fragile-looking exterior.

((ooc: sorry, kinda crappy. I'm really tired and there's some tension IRL but I didn't want to leave you hanging, Elektra. Moira will follow tomorrow when I'm hopefully more inspired))

[ElektraNatchios33]

"There's no easy way to say this, so I'll just go ahead and say it." Jessica was confused as to what she was going to say. She couldn't know, there was no way possible. She deleted the data from the tape herself. Annie mumbled something under her breath. Jessica couldn't make out what it was.

"I know it was you eight years ago." There was a silence. Jessica was in near shock. How could she know. How?

“I've seen the recordings, Jessica. From the party. Someone did a pretty good job of sweeping everything under the rug, but that's the beauty of cyberspace: some traces will always remain behind.” There was no way the data could be found. Encryption was used. Unless she had a hacker from the CIA, the data couldn't be decrypted.

“Who are you people? Do you know anything about the attackers? Or am I supposed to believe you just happened to be there to save the day? I wan't to know what you did to me." How was Jessica to explain this. There was multiple options. Run away, tell her the truth, lie. Run away seemed the smarter option, but there was no way around the dark, serious woman infront of her.

"If I told you, you would never believe me. It's too complicated to explain, Annie." She thought, there was an option. It wasn't smart though. Not smart at all. Annie would have to figure out what she was herself, rather than her telling her. Then Jessica couldn't be blamed entirely for the breach.

"I did save you. I wasn't behind the attack. I was leaving the party. They were beating you. Hurting you. But you were so young, I couldn't let them kill you. So I hid until they left, and I gave you..." She trailed off for a few seconds. Screw the Masquerade. "...blood."

((If changes need to be made, I'd be happy to make them))

[AtropaMandragora]

The table he had chosen had been a good one, with opponents just gullible and inexperienced enough to provide him with an easy start. The first few hands proved to be much like taking candy from a baby, and even though he took little pride in defeating such opponents, they did make for an easy way to warm up, and get into the spirit of the game. It had been some time since he had last played, as his current... situation... rarely gave him the time or opportunity, and so he had decided to ease his way back into it. He started with a straightforward approach, using none of the tricks he had to throw people off. The other players around the table weren't the type that had learned to pay attention to their opponents, but instead were completely engulfed by the game. Every now and then, one of them would attempt to read the other players, and sometimes they seemed to be successful. Though not continuously enough for it to be anything more than a decent observation helped along with a little bit of luck.

Every now and then Adrien would look up from the ongoings at his own table, and glance around the rest of the casino, to see what was going on around him; by the other tables, and around his own. He knew by now he was most likely being watched, because even though it was still early, casino personnel were trained to recognize his sort before it became obvious that he was a skilled player who was there to make money, not loose it.
He mostly limited himself to glancing up in between hands though, as when he had been dealt his cards, his focus was on the game. With eyes in the back of his neck, of course. He was used to always being on guard, expecting an attack any second. Mostly out of habit, for he doubted anyone would be so stupid as to attack him with dozens and dozens of cameras around. But never the less, he couldn't allow himself to falter.

It was during one of these episodes of looking up from a recently finished hand, that his eyes landed a redhead that was slowly approaching, making her way between the tables while eyeing them with open curiousity. At first his gaze had merely swept across her like it did everyone else, but returned moments later as there was something about her that had caught his attention. Not her beauty - although beautiful she was indeed - for lord knows the casino was packed with young, pretty distractions like that, who all failed to catch his eye, but because she exuded a rare kind of elegance. Not the usual superior one of the snobbish socialites, or even the cheap, faked one of the rich kid wannabes, but an elegance born from the calm kind of confidence of someone who didn't have the useless need to flash their wealth and/or good breeding to anyone who happened to cross their path.

Though his gaze didn't follow her for very long, as soon the cards that started landing infront of him while the dealer announced that this was his last, demanded his attention.
As it turned out, it was yet another "lucky" hand for Adrien, who ended up earning another couple of hundred dollars in chips.
But it also appeared to be the last straw to two of his opponents, who took the change of dealers as an opportunity to withdraw - one with a little more grace than the other - perhaps with the intention to try their luck elsewhere.
Poker face still intact, Adrien watched them leave before turning his eyes onto the new blood that had decided to join in their place. And lo and behold, if one of them wasn't the redheaded beauty he had noticed a couple of minutes ago. He'd caught a brief glimpse of her when she had stopped by the table to give it the same curious look that she had given the others, but he'd assumed that she had then continued on her way from this one as well. But apparently, for some reason, this one had appealed to her more than the other ones. Not that Adrien minded. Despite her elegance, the curiousity that had been displayed on her face signalled that like the players that had just left, she wasn't all that experienced. Experienced players would rarely stroll aimlessly, but rather head straight for one of the tables where their game of preference was being played.
This one hadn't even started yet, and he was already trying to read her. Though her faint greeting, if that was what the look in her eyes as their gazes briefly locked was, gave him mixed signals. It wasn't the soft semi-smile that non-professional female players usually gave, nor was it the curt nod, or the wide confident show of pearly whites. It was just a look, and a look that recieved an equally abstract response, as Adrien returned the greeting with nothing more than a blink of his eyes in acknowledgement.

And true enough, the lady soon proved his very first impression to be wrong. For once. She played with the instinct of a rather experienced player. Even though she took enough risks not to be labelled overly careful, they were never careless or unwise ones.
Alright then... This called for some new tactics on Adrien's part. He still played to win, and started out just as straight forward as he had in the last game, only to eventually, on the rare occasion, start making moves that caused him to loose when he could've won, thus keeping his opponents thinking that he was just lucky most of the time, and not as skilled as he really was. It would keep them at the table, keep them betting, as they would all figure that sooner or later, his luck would run out, and he'd be just a fool playing cards. And those that saw through his little deception - that would be the redhead, if anyone - and realized it was just an act, would still be none the wiser, as just when he seemed to have created a pattern, he made a move that shattered that pattern into a million pieces.
Try as they may, they would not have him pegged any time soon.

It took him a little while, but eventually he had gained most of the chips that the other players had brought to the table, and he decided it was time to wrap things up and move on. He didn't want to bankrupt them all, as by doing so, he'd bring too much attention to himself. As a Kindred, keeping a somewhat low profile was the better thing to do, and he really didn't feel like being accused of cheating by the other players. One never did know if among the opponents there hid the worst kind of of loser.
However, he couldn't really avoid bankrupting a man in his early 40's, who'd been at the table since before Adrien had joined. The man seemed to be quite confident to win this hand, and decided to go all in, only to end up realizing what a major mistake it was. Adrien's hand was better, and as all his chips were pushed over to the young raven-haired man, the now chipless man stood from the table, muttering to himself as he wandered off towards the slot machines.

Seeing as how Adrien had decided to retire as well, he finally allowed himself a faint smirk while he organized the chips into neat stacks to have them exchanged into higher value ones by the dealer. Once that was done, he stood from his chair and dropped the chips into the deep pockets of the long leather coat that he was now carrying over his arm, and with a parting nod towards the other players, he left the table.



(((ooc: Ghanima - No rush. Take your time. :) )))

[Ghanima Atreides]

((ooc: sorry, huge post again. I really wanted to get this one sounding as good as I could...and not leave you hanging even longer. lol))

Moira and Valerian - The Ritz, Suite #812

A mournful silence persisted, both Toreador momentarily preoccupied with their own tangled thoughts. Having observed the look of pure disbelief emerging into Valerian's blue eyes, Moira witnessed it being slowly replaced by compassion. A pained sigh rose in her throat, one which she had been quick to restrain from ever spilling its tale upon her lips. Although she had been anticipating it as possible reaction, Valerian's pity stung her, precisely because she had accomplished to defeat that omnipresent joy ever residing in his smile and replaced it with sadness. Pity, and with it self-pity, was a dangerous commodity, particularly for one as old as Moira, faced with countless years ahead during which she could nurture it and let it ensnare her mind and soul. She had all but fallen prey to it once, devolving from a prolific artist into a true lifeless shell only a step away from Torpor, but something had quickened her once more. Her other talent, which resided in the field of business and politics, had served as compensation for what she had lost, allowing her to resume the endless trail of never ending life, and slowly become something like her own self again.

"I...I have never thought of stagnation as a possibility... I've just assumed... I've just assumed inspiration would always be there..."

At this, Moira's lids descended heavily over her glowing lavender-hued orbs in a flutter of thick black lashes; Valerian's voice carried a definite strained tone and the words struggled to come out. She nearly regretted ever telling him all she had, fearing she might have disturbed that still fragile bond weaving its way between them. From the moment they had met, a smooth understanding had flowed freely, hastening that otherwise lengthy process two individuals went through when forming any kind of relationship. Moira had felt at ease around him, growing firm in the conviction that both had much to share with eachother, knowledge and companionship alike, which was precisely why she wished to offer Valerian an unaltered glimpse of who she truly was before going any further.

"You must think me terribly naive...I've always felt my inspiration as a part of me. As tangible and real as my arms and legs. I can't imagine what it would be like to... I have never thought of it as something that could be lost."

Moira shook her head slowly, a few auburn curls bouncing lightly against her neck as she did so. She did not think him naïve; she herself had lived with the same certainty for so long. Any artist would, as long as they still felt that wonderful rush of inspiration. It would have been odd to think, and particularly feel otherwise, or dwell on some dark possibility far into the future. It wasn't naivety, but a natural state of mind, and that was the message her silent, understanding smile hoped to convey.

"What I fear," he said finally, as his gaze found hers again, "is loneliness. Not necessarily being alone, but being lonely. To have no one to relate to, or to relate to me. I know there are many that enjoy my company, and while I take some comfort in that, I've come to realize that to many, it's simply because I'm different. I don't scheme, or avenge, or plot, or stab someone in the back. I'm "easy to be around". And so they relax. But they don't understand."

That one statement alone comprised so much insight into Valerian's own soul, Moira felt her senses tingle with the rush of confirmation; she had seen the exterior just like everyone else: the easygoing demeanor, his open, affable nature combined with that seductive magnetism that invited even the most taciturn of beings to lower their defenses and share a bit of themselves with him. Moira however wanted more: she wanted to truly get to know him, to learn what he desired, what he feared, the way his mind worked. She felt eternity would not suffice.

"You do."

Moira's eyes trailed away from their current focus and searched for his own, unyielding in their scrutiny as though they were searching for traces of doubt. She felt the intensity of Valerian's keen gaze as their eyes met, feeling as though he had been awaiting that silent confirmation. Those final two words danced inside her mind, giving rise to a sense of relief mingled with satisfaction: he believed she understood him. That affirmation served to dispel the webs of doubt pressing in closer and closer, and encouraged her to continue with her story.

“Then I am the fortunate one,” she answered quietly, that otherworldly smile of hers curling into a slight grin. “Immortality hardens the soul, Valerian, it reminds us we are no longer human. Eventually, most of us end up alone, one way or another. Unable to relate, to take comfort in another's company, even feel. It is maybe why some feel drawn to your presence, because you can pour feeling into their unbeating hearts again, even if only for a little while. I wish to do more than that: not to create an illusion of closeness but truly achieve it, if you should also like that. I hope I haven't upset you with my tale, I simply did not wish to deceive you as to who I truly am.”

The moment was there, Moira had seen it in the finality of Valerian's gesture as he replaced her drawing back on the table, his gaze drawn to the covered canvas once more. Josephine's portrait, unseen by any eyes other than Moira's and Elise's in a century, was about to be unveiled, and no words could possibly form a better introduction than the sight of it. As such, the London Primogen inclined her brow and reached for the black curtains, swiping them aside, revealing what lay beneath, shielded by the kind of glass casing museums used as well.

In reality, the painting was closer to completion than the term “unfinished” suggested; the background was finalized, as was most of the figure centered in its midst. It depicted a lavish room, so full of detail that at a first glance, the eye would have difficulty deciding what to look at first: the left side wall, visible in perspective, was a small painting in its own right, illustrating what seemed a never ending row of people engaging in various activities. A closer look however would reveal the fact that those people, apparently pictured in the same place, belonged to different times in history. It began with a group Roman soldiers and their commander overlooking a defeated chieftain on his knees, long blond braids drooping heavily around his face. A horned helmet rested before him. This scene gradually bled into that of a shattered city wall, surrounded by broken weaponry and debris. Death was all around, and a wounded few stirred on the ground, shadowed by the statuesque shapes of three knights bearing the sign of the Cross, swords gleaming proudly in their hands. Before it became too distant, one could just make out the next installment, emerging gradually in sight: a king in full military livery, a gilded crown visible upon his brow. He was shown seated on the back of a beautiful white horse in the middle of what appeared to be a fortress town, surrounded by his subjects, each of them symbolizing one of the primary medieval social castes: a peasant, a merchant, and nobleman, each with a wife at their side. They had one common characteristic however: their heads were all inclined in submission before their king, whose keen gaze pierced the horizon.

As the gaze moved away from the wall, it passed over the remaining furniture and the intricate design of the room's architecture and eventually rested on what was obviously the centerpiece: seated upon a velvet-encased couch was a young woman in a long flowing gown of royal blue stitched with gold thread around the hemline, sleeves and bodice. Numerous patterns intermingled in the fabric, adorned also by white lace and silk ribbons, a garment typical for the 16th century lady, though obviously lavish enough for a king's coronation. Both her hands rested in her lap atop the fabric gathered in a multitude of folds, round sparkling gems seeping through her fingers: diamonds, each of them a speck of multifaceted light: some were frozen in motion as they rolled off the girl's fingers, others were already scattered at her feet. The diamonds symbolized tears and purity alike, a recurring theme present in tales from the folklore of Moira's native land, stories her own mother had whispered to her five centuries earlier, about the heartbroken princess whose tears were transformed into gems by her immortal lover so that they may never be wasted again.

However, that was the threshold where the trail of paint ended. From the base of the neck up, the woman's features faded into charcoal contours, a disturbing contrast with the rest of the composition. It was as though someone had irreverently blotted out her face, leaving it a blank, featureless mask of sketched features, Moira's brush having never fleshed them out. Behind her stood a magnificent wall-length mirror encased by a thick golden frame carved skillfully, reflecting the girl's back and a section of the room which lay ahead of her: a smooth marble fireplace laden with porcelain statuettes and the edge of a tall window decorated with flowers. This secondary vision revealed the faceless protagonist's back and her long chocolate brown hair, combed to a healthy sheen: the viewer might have expected her to turn around any moment and reveal the face which the portrait itself lacked.

“I know it isn't what you expected,” Moira spoke at long last, following a lengthy silence. “But I will explain. During the creation of this painting, I have felt more alive and overflowing with creativity than any other time in my life. Her name was Josephine and she was my driving force, my Muse; my dear, beloved friend. She was virtuous and pure and full of vitality, and I tainted her with my blood. I feared she might fall in love and vanish from my life, or wander to her death somewhere, so I ghouled her to keep her near me. Oh yes, I was very selfish. If there ever was a mortal I considered Embracing, it was her....but I waited. I wanted her to sample a mortal life first, under my guidance even experience a lover's touch, live in the sun, all those mortal pleasures no longer available to us. And then, one night, she was murdered in cold blood. The culprit payed dearly, I assure you...but the painting remained unfinished and my inspiration has been lost to me ever since.”

Turning slowly to face Valerian, Moira interlocked her fingers; a sense of relief percolating her smile which spread warmly and openly: it felt liberating, sharing that story. More than ever, she felt prepared to leave the issue where it belonged: in the past.

“Now you know. I think it is safe to say you know me better than most Kindred alive today, Valerian; please, do not feel regret or sadness, I have felt enough of both to last an eternity. Meeting you yesterday set something in motion, it made me want to live in the present once more. I realized that it wasn't Josephine's death itself that caused me to loose inspiration, it was my inability to deal with the circumstances it happened in. I now feel ready to rediscover it, and I have to thank you for helping me take that first step forward.”

[Shenanigans_SC]

As the dealer began the first hand Falesyia tried to read the young man that had brought her here. His demeanor was different than most, though her instinct told her that he was the type that kept to himself. Unlike the gentleman that sat beside her. The man in his early forties had noticed her arrival and was anything but discreet about it. “Hello.” He greeted her with a wide hopeful smile upon his lips and his eyes communicating that a woman of her type was most definitely welcomed at the table. While Falesyia found such simple minded men laughable, she was always one to keep up appearances, so she returned his greeting with a soft “hi” that was neither rash nor welcoming.

Once the cards had been dealt Falesyia instantly fell into her routine. From as far back as she could remember, even sitting upon her papa’s lap, she lived and breathed the business of cards. “If you want to be successful, you have to know how to play the game.” She recalled her dad’s familiar words. When she was little, she had taken them at face value. That he had intended to turn her into a marvel at any table in his establishments. But as she grew, and shed her innocence, she understood his statement to be far deeper and much more profound than that. Her father was talking about the game of life. It wasn’t the cards that needed to be read, it was the people, both friend and foe.

It was such discernment that kept her on top of the game. When her father passed in the night, there were many in his company that sought to rule in his place. They were confident that surely a twenty-two year old young woman could not handle the empire her father had begun to build. Thankfully she had been prepared, and they soon learned she was far more prepared to run the businesses, without them, than they had ever dreamed.

Now she found herself at the tables once again, her table. That was one of the freeing things about owning the establishment, it didn’t affect her in the slightest when she lost, because she knew in the end the house always came out on top. And this was her house. She however sensed that the young man across from her would soon turn bored with the company he had kept, so she decided to put up a bit of a challenge for him. Still she studied him, making sure to appear to be studying everyone at the table to avoid piquing his curiosity and bringing about suspicion. As the many hands played, there were several times she thought she had him figured out, when suddenly he’d change his tactics, proving she hadn’t pegged him at all. Every now and then a slightly amused smile would grace her lips when she realized he was on to her, playing her in a similar way she had planned to play him.

The man next to her however seemed all too eager to prove himself and went all out on a single hand. If Falesyia had been any other person, she would have shook her head in disbelief at the move he had made. It was a move which quickly proved to be his last at that table, as once again the raven haired stranger raked them in. That’s when she saw the first hint of humanity to him when a nearly invisible smile tugged at his lips. The satisfaction of winning was a feeling no one could deny, though he had done far better at hiding the satisfaction than most could.

As he left the table, Falesyia couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Her many looks towards him had bared no fruit what so ever. He was not interested in her ego stroking glances, he focused on nothing but the game. With his leaving the table, Falesyia had no desire to remain, but didn’t want it to be painfully obvious that he was her sole reason for having been there. She sat up straight, running her fingers through the front of her hair, causing it to fall on the opposite side. She knew Nicholas would have his eye on her through the camera, and that was his signal to call her on the cell phone in her purse which had a number only known to him. Right on cue the phone rang in her purse, giving her the perfect excuse to leave the table as well.

Though she was still intrigued with his stony manner, she decided against following after him. Instead she made it clear to Nicholas on the phone that she wished to be informed of his actions. If the raven haired stranger provided another opportunity she would seek it, but for now she’d busy herself elsewhere.

She soon snapped the phone shut, taking in her surroundings. The tables were busy, and the slot machines full, just the way she liked it. As she strolled to the bar, she eyed briefly a blonde man in a black suit leaving with a bottle of champagne and a glass in his hands. Though her face did not show it, she was pleased to see a patron enjoying himself, and making her money. When she approached the bar she simply nodded her head letting the tender know she wanted her usual drink. A cocktail that gave the impression she would soon be drunk though in fact there was not a drop of alcohol in it. Her life was all about appearances.

((OOC: veldagia - I'm assuming Zillah is at the Dive. If he's not then I'll edit my post so he'll just be an NPC. Approachable.))

[innocenteyes]

Beyonca watched the humans for some time. Soon though she had enough. For some reason it wasnt enough for her this night. Trying to stay out of the way of others was just boring to her this night. When the coast was clear and no one could see her, she jumped off the fire escape and started walking the streets once again. For a while she just strolled. Letting what little darkness there is in the city surround her. She wasnt paying much mind to those around her. For once in a long time her mind was actually blank.

Soon though she came upon a casino she had never been at. Shrugging sh walked in. The bright lights and noise hit her first. LAughter rang in her ears as she passed people. Looking around she took in the scene. She liked it. Not once had she even gambled, so the decision to try it came to her mind. Before attempting anything, first she watched them game that was going on. It was black jack. She knew the game so she decided to join in.

((ooc: srry so crappy. my other name wouldnt take for some reason and it wouldnt lt me reregister with that name, so it is a little different.))

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: Ghanima - Sorry it took so long. Oh, and, amazing post by the way. I loved it. So detailed. :) )))



"Then I am the fortunate one."

Upon Moira's rose red lips toyed a faint grin in response to his statement, so soft and calm that in moments the anxiety that had padded warily through his mind and body, was put to rest. He hadn't been sure of what her reaction would be, as he had learned long ago that he had an ability to read too much into things, when it came to Elders. Neonates and especially mortals were often easy enough for his keen senses to read, and even most young Ancillae. But the older the Kindred got, the greater their skill to hide their true feelings - to provide nothing but exactly what they wanted others to see - became. As did their need, it seemed.
It wasn't his observation of her understanding of him, that Valerian had doubted. His anxiety had had nothing to do with that. What he had feared, was that she for some reason would take offense by him telling her about her, by stating what he saw, and that what he saw was the truth. To some Elders, it would've seemed highly presumptuous, especially for a mere Neonate. But from Valerian's simple point of view, it was a compliment, and one that it seemed Moira registered and appreciated, once her velvety violet gaze had delved deep into his and she realized he was indeed being as genuine as always. If there had been a change, it was only one born from the strengthened conviction that he was right, brought by the gentle shaking of her head a minute ago; her silent protest to the possiblity that she would consider him naive.

"Immortality hardens the soul, Valerian," she continued. "It reminds us we are no longer human. Eventually, most of us end up alone, one way or another. Unable to relate, to take comfort in another's company, even feel. It is maybe why some feel drawn to your presence, because you can pour feeling into their unbeating hearts again, even if only for a little while. I wish to do more than that: not to create an illusion of closeness but truly achieve it, if you should also like that. I hope I haven't upset you with my tale, I simply did not wish to deceive you as to who I truly am."

As she spoke, her words took Valerian on a journey from the deepest of valleys, to the highest of mountains. The burdens of immortality - the hardened soul, the loss of mortality, the loneliness, the lack of not only a beating heart, but a feeling one as well - made him shudder internally. The mere thought of any of it laying in wait for him in his future, as he grew older, squeezed the insides of his chest with an iron hand. He truly treasured what he had, and so feared that it would some day drain from him, that eternity would start stripping away the many layers that made him Valerian, and turn the real him into nothing but a memory.

The only thing mentioned that did not fill his mind with distress, was the loss of mortality. It was indeed a true gift, given to all kine as soon as they were born into this world, but he could not mourn the death of his own. He could not weep over mortality lost, when what he had been given instead was a life that held equally many and wondrous things. Yes, it pained him to have lost the beating of his heart, the warmth of his breath, even the heat felt in his loins when in the arms of someone he adored. But in it's place he had been given a life of ecstasy in itself, one that opened up the world to him, and wouldn't have him thinking he knew it all, as jaded, aging humans often did. Since his Embrace, every year that passed had opened doors to things he had yet to learn, and Life never had a more eager student.

However, all thoughts of fears and gifts, paled in the light of the blessing hiding in the last part of Moira's statement. 'I wish to do more than that: not to create an illusion of closeness but truly achieve it, if you should also like that'... She wanted more from him, than just an hour or two in his company. She wanted the very thing he himself had sought for, but never felt the lack of as strongly as he had since meeting her. It was as though she had stirred something within him, awakened a need of which he hadn't been fully aware, but that was now tugging at the shirt sleeve of his consciousness, like a stubborn child starved for attention.
But, before he could answer, and let her know the joy that filled his heart at knowing she found him worthy of such an honor, she moved to bring the covers from the glass encased painting that had been her reason for inviting him in the first place. As soon his eyes landed on it, and all words were instantly wiped from his mind.

By surprise, and most of all by awe. It was indeed a masterpiece if ever he'd seen one, with details so vivid and clear that the sight overwhelmed his sense of perception, flooded it with visual impressions and nearly caused him to groan with frustration over the impossibility to take it all in at once. The background spanned various chapters from history, holding details and figures all with their own seperate tales. Valerian felt as though his mind and imagination were about to burst at the seams, trying to process it all. His eyes darted from one corner of the canvas to the next, drinking in the beauty of Moira's handiwork, savoring every brilliant detail, every hue, as if fearing that if he didn't hurry, it would all vanish into thin air before his eyes.
But as fascinated as he was by the beautifully elaborate background, there was that one thing, the most striking one about the entire painting; the part not painted at all. The face of the young woman, Moira's muse, the part that most viewers would deem the most vital one, was almost blank, only thin charcoal lines guiding the mind to imagine what it would've looked like, had they been joined by the same loving, masterly brush strokes as the rest of the painting.

"I know it isn't what you expected," Moira's voice came softly from beside him, as the painting had drawn him so close that had his body still been breathing, the warm air from his lungs would've clung to the glass. "But I will explain. During the creation of this painting, I have felt more alive and overflowing with creativity than any other time in my life. Her name was Josephine and she was my driving force, my Muse; my dear, beloved friend. She was virtuous and pure and full of vitality, and I tainted her with my blood. I feared she might fall in love and vanish from my life, or wander to her death somewhere, so I ghouled her to keep her near me. Oh yes, I was very selfish. If there ever was a mortal I considered Embracing, it was her... but I waited. I wanted her to sample a mortal life first, under my guidance even experience a lover's touch, live in the sun, all those mortal pleasures no longer available to us. And then, one night, she was murdered in cold blood. The culprit payed dearly, I assure you... but the painting remained unfinished and my inspiration has been lost to me ever since."

When she had started speaking, Valerian's eyes had briefly turned to her, only to return to the faceless woman's portrait when he'd been presented with her name, almost as though he expected her charcoal lips to form smile and her dark locks to billow in a nod confirming Moira's story. A story where every word resonated deep within Valerian, and along with the spirit of the painting, made him feel her loss as though it was his own. But not with the intensity of a recent one, but with the gentle, melancholic ache of a loss suffered a long, long time ago.
And at the same time, studying it left him breathless with admiration and enthusiasm, for never before had he seen something so magic. 'Unfinished' Moira had called it, but to Valerian, it was perfection in it's incomplete state. It was genius, portraying memories and loss on such an emotional level one could not help but to understand it, feel it, relate to it, without even knowing the story.

"Now you know", Moira concluded, with a gentle lightness in her tone that brought Valerian's gaze back to her face, and the genuine smile on her lips. "I think it is safe to say you know me better than most Kindred alive today, Valerian; please, do not feel regret or sadness, I have felt enough of both to last an eternity. Meeting you yesterday set something in motion, it made me want to live in the present once more. I realized that it wasn't Josephine's death itself that caused me to loose inspiration, it was my inability to deal with the circumstances it happened in. I now feel ready to rediscover it, and I have to thank you for helping me take that first step forward."

Had he still been able to, those were words that would've surely made him blush. Not out of embarrasment, but ouf of pure joy and pride, that he had been able to bring her something that she valued, that he had sparked something in her and... helped her. That she had let him, acknowledged him, and not just dismissed him as just the silly little pretty doll that some seemed to wish for him to think he was. Claudia, among others. She cared for him alot, but Valerian would be fooling himself if he thought it was as anything but a possession, an adornment, something that made her look good. In the intense, electifying presence of Moira, he couldn't help but to wonder how on earth he could've gotten involved with Claudia. Yes, he did care for her as well - like a man cares for his lover, a business partner for his associate, and a thrall for his regnant - but it had been foolish to allow her this much power over him.
Though in the midst of it all, he took comfort in knowing that while he might've been foolish to grant her a bit of control, he hadn't been foolish enough to grant her complete control. She had wanted it, she had tried to persuade him, tempt him. But it had always been him that had persuaded her instead, calmly and playfully reassuring her that she didn't need to have him on such a tight leash, since he was already with her by choice.
A choice of which he was now having doubts... The closeness he felt with Moira had him wondering if he by submitting to Claudia, had been too easy, literally, in his desire to connect with someone. After all, they didn't have much in common except The Haven. Claudia had never shown any understanding for him or his art. Interest, yes. Appreciation, most certainly. But she had never seen a depth to his art, nor to him. To her, they were both just pretty things to surround herself with.
Moira, on the other hand...

"If it hadn't made it sound as though I thought you simply meant to be kind, I would've said that you flatter me far more than I deserve," he said with a faint, coy smile curving his lips. "Instead, I will say thank you, for allowing me to have an impact, and for sharing this with me. I'm touched and deeply humbled. And...

His voice trailed off as his head turned to allow him another look at the mesmerizing painting, and silence had settled for a few moments before he continued;

"If you don't mind me saying so... I find that it does seem finished. Her face is left for only one person to truly remember, as it should be; the one person that held her face more dear than anyone ever could, and so is the only one deserving of remembering it."

With that, his head snapped back to face her, raven strands dancing across his cheek before settling as a gentle caress along his ivory cheek.

"But that is simply my humble interpretation", he added with another shy smile, and then swiftly continued, as there was more he was eager to get off his chest. "And as for your wish... Closeness is indeed something for which I yearn. With you more than anyone."

His voice carried the same distinct tone of open sincerity as when he had stated she was among the few, if not the only, that had made him feel as though she understood him. He really did wish to get close to her, to share more with her, things that no one else knew. Things that his soothing and seductively playful persona eased out of the minds of those around him, and made them forget, or simply not care about; the part of him where the sorrows and tribulations of his past were hiding, safely covered by that endearing exterior that so few managed to look beyond.
But he also wanted to share with her the sensation that with other Kindred was sweet bliss, but with her he felt would be so much more. However he wasn't sure of the right way to suggest it, or if it was even the right time, and so he lightly bit down on his lower lip, deciding to wait, for now.

[Ghanima Atreides]

((ooc: Thanks, Atropa :D I like yours as well, Valerian is too cute *lol*
Elektra - what you wrote is fine by me as long as you know there are probably going to be consequences. Oh and I know Aeode isn't exactly being sweet, but she's rather emotional at the moment and not terribly reasonable; also she's going to need some convincing where the blood thing is concerned;] ))

Aeode and Jessica - Outside The Haven

Had there been any doubt in Aeode's mind that she indeed had the right person before her, Jessica's persistent silence dispelled it. A tiny fragment of her had been expecting those rosy lips to tighten into a contradictory smile and tell her she had made a mistake; despite having seen the images with her own eyes, everything had a strong unreal feel to it, as though she hovered between two endless nightmares that pulled her back each time she struggled to awake.

Jessica's silent astonishment in the face of Aeode's confrontation also confirmed what she and Dez had uncovered, that someone had been extremely thorough in erasing any proof of the events that had taken place in the parking lot, even if it meant destroying possible vital information leading to the discovery of those responsible for the massacre. That sudden, heart-stopping realization fanned the fires of Aeode's anger, which Jessica's choice of words stirred further:

"If I told you, you would never believe me. It's too complicated to explain, Annie."

Drawing in a long breath, Aeode's eyes narrowed to reptilian slits, sparks flying out of them, her lips reduced to a thin, straight line. She could feel her jaws clenched together, the only stopper for the foul words which bubbled in her throat; threatening to unleash a deluge of vitriol. Unfortunately for Jessica, she had chosen the worst manner of answering possible given Aeode's state of mind, who restrained herself only though great efforts, what remained of her calm rationality rapidly ebbing away.

“My name is not Annie,” she began coldly, glaring fixedly at Jessica, seized by a perverse desire to shock this woman through any means possible, to throw her off balance and wipe that patronizing note from her tone.

Before she could go any further however, Jessica resumed her statement, succeeding in wiping all current thoughts from Aeode's mind, each word delving deeper and deeper into her mind, resonating painfully:

"I did save you. I wasn't behind the attack. I was leaving the party. They were beating you. Hurting you. But you were so young, I couldn't let them kill you. So I hid until they left, and I gave you...blood."

Eyes full of disbelief, Aeode blinked fast several times as though she was trying to clear her view, for a few breathless moments feeling certain she had misheard her: had the word blood really been spoken or was she beginning to hallucinate? She kept searching for any indication that Jessica was joking, a ruthless, tasteless joke but infinitely better than the possibility that she was being serious.

“Wonderful, just wonderful!” Aeode exclaimed, throwing her head back as a deep, tired sigh spilled off her lips before leveling her gaze with Jessica's once more. “Why do I get to meet every basket case in this city? Tell me, do I have “Idiot” written on my forehead or something?”

A memory surfaced unbidden in her mind, a place she had re-visited countless times in her nightmares: the parking lot, as she lay broken on the harsh pavement, blood slowly pooling underneath her. The pain was gone then, replaced by deaf silence and numbness; she could feel herself grow remote, her mind slowly being extinguished as her heartbeats slowed down. Aeode remembered thinking she must be dying, and that it wasn't that bad after all, until the moment an electrifying jolt shook her awake, pulled her back from the abyss. She had struggled a million times to pinpoint an identifiable reason for it, the source of that exquisite wave of heat that revived her body and senses and for which she had secretly craved for a long time since. Nothing she could think of made sense, the doctors had said no drugs were present in her bloodstream, but a drug had remained Aeode's best theory. And then, there was the mystery of her miraculous recovery, which when analyzed closely was just as staggering as Jessica's words.

“You're not serious. Are you...?” the young woman added quietly; she no longer sounded enraged, only astonished. “What do you mean you gave me blood? I mean, what am I supposed to believe, that you gave me blood to drink, like some...vampire, and it fixed me?” A brief hollow laugh shook her. “Do you realize how insane that sounds? Look...I know that you probably don't care, but it is very important for me to know the truth. I've been searching for answers and the person who helped me ever since: if it really is you, please don't do this: don't lie to me.”

[AtropaMandragora]

"Thank you, my friend."

Simple and subtle. The communication between the two friends, the two Ventrue, embodied an implicit understanding of small words and gestures. To anyone else, it might not seem like a greeting between two friends, but rather that of acquaintances, or maybe even nothing more than business associates. But there were subtleties that to the keen-eyed observer would reveal that there was indeed a display of not only mutual respect, but camaraderie. Although Damian's words were polite and his posture that of an emperor in the presence of an esteemed subject, his tone held a certain lightness not often heard within the four walls of his office. Archon had not been made to wait outside, like any other visitor would most like have to do, regardless if Damian was busy or not. Further more, the way he greeted Archon with a simple but firm handshake proved that he felt there was little need to require any indication of the Primogen's submission.

The signs in Archon's reply were simple and subtle as well; he thanked his friend for the invitation to sit, not his liege. He had understood Damian's delicate show of respectful friendship, and unconcern for making a show of their difference in status and title. This was a social call, not one meant for business or Kindred affairs.
However, as despite the invitation to sit Archon chose to remain standing, so did Damian, while the dark-haired one of the two gentlemen added;

"But may I first present you with this gift from my journey."

He motioned for Roe to approach with the white wooden box in his arms, and once close enough, Archon retrieved a small key from within the folds of his clothing, and unlocked it, only to then push the lid open and reveal a most exquisite sword of on a bed of white satin; a sight so bright for a moment it almost blinded its beholders. A shiny blade of steel, decorated with delicate emeralds at the base and chinese symbols at the tip, a grip of pure white bone, adorned by a pommel in the shape of the most noble and suitable of animals; a lion.
A gift, where the item itself was as much a compliment as the gesture was.

"The inscription says; 'My rightful owner hath no need for me' ", Archon explained, with a smile upon his lips. "It is a token of my loyalty. You will always have it."

The smile was met by one forming on Damian's own lips, both at the gift, and the words accompanying it. Had it not been because he trusted Archon completely, and knew that he did so with good reason, such a gift might have made him suspicious. As a Prince, as a previous Primogen, as a Ventrue, even as a prominent knight, Damian had learned there were ever so often times when people would try to blind him, make him relax in the face of someone who was after earning his trust while harboring ulterior motives of the darker kind. It was a mistake they only made once. Damian Alexander was not a man that would ever fall for such inane tricks. Something of which Archon was very well aware, and so even if the two hadn't formed a friendship and a mutual respect over the years, he would know better.
However, Damian still found it most fortunate that they were indeed friends, for Archon himself was a man of many fine qualities. A man that brought pride to his clan, and his Prince, and honored him with such a gift along with words of everlasting loyalty.

Though the Prince's only first reaction, was that faint smile, and a graceful inclination of his golden-haired head. No empty phrases of "You are too kind", You flatter me", or other generic, well-rehearsed statements usually offered when presented with a gift. No, nothing of the sort. Just his ever gracious demeanor, with that vague but almost warm smile to go along with it, to let Archon know that it was greatly appreciated.

Then, Damian slowly rounded the robust but elegant desk, to closer inspect the sword, and feel it's weight. Deft hands lifted it from the satin bed, exploring it, handling it with the skill of a natural born warrior. Many centuries had passed since last he had set foot on a battlefield - a real one, and not the metaphorical kind of a conference room or a board room, or even a conclave - but swords had not grown unfamiliar to him, nor had his skills been forgotten. His right hand still gripped it firmly, balanced it with ease, and every small movement of his wrist sent it cutting smoothly through the air. Yes, it was a ceremonial sword, but it was also nowhere near useless. If the occasion called for it, it would serve well as a real weapon.

When satisfied with his examination, Damian carefully returned it to the box in which it had been brought, and then motioned a request for Roe to put it down at the large conference table to his right.

"A most generous gift", Damian said, as his eyes returned to gaze at Archon, and the look therein suggested he was not only talking about the sword itself. "I will treasure it dearly."

With that, he once again motioned for Archon to sit, while he himself returned to his place behind the desk.

[PennyTheCorgi]

"No, I don't seem to be do I? Walking into a new place is somewhat, shiver-some to be honest. i suppose I just haven't had the guts, it's hard my clan seems to be non-existent around here. And whilst I have only just come to this part of Los Angeles I've been around quite a while, long enough indeed to be sure of that."

Non-existent? Now Ada was almost sure he was Malkavian. Not that it bothered her, this quiet kine seemed uncharacteristically unmalkavian. Of course, that didn't mean it was a sane as he seemed, but he appeared harmless enough to her.

"You know, I think you're right." The man's low voice broke through her thoughts. He stared curiously at the chip of concrete, seemingly unsure of what to do with it.

"Oh and I suppose I should tell you, I am Caraltian Heresa." He said, gazing still at the gargoyle. Ada nodded in acknowledgment, unsure of what else to do.

"Ah. Well, even if you do find the clubs somewhat intimidating, you should come some time. The Haven in particular is wonderful." With this said, Ada adjusted the edge of her dress (http://www.fredericks.com/images/2/20799_lrg_8201.jpg) and walked purposefully down the street, disappearing into the darkness.

[Ghanima Atreides]

((ooc: I just wanted to let you guys know my posts may have a delay from now on, my boyfriend's PC broke down and until we manage to fix it we're sharing mine. But I'll do my best to get a reply in ASAP, Atropa.))

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: Ghanima - No rush. Take your time. I don't mind waiting, as I have a few other RPs to write in the meantime. ;) Besides, your posts are well worth the wait. So no hurry.)))


Just like Adrien had predicted, the noise around him had faded as soon as his mind had become focused on the game, all the chatter and cheerful little dittys from the slot machines blocked out by the cunning whispers of his thoughts. His full attention had been in the game, and its participants. There was nothing trivial that could disturb him when he entered that mind frame. For if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was concentrate on whatever task lay ahead of him, and to let nothing slice through it, unless it was something that was a possible cause for alarm. If there was danger, he would most likely see it coming, no matter how involved he was in his current doings. When still mortal, when still a hunter, his senses and his instincts had been the only things he ever fully relied on. They had been sharper than most, even sharper than the senses of some Kindred, that had yet to take heed to their dark gifts. His 'profession' had required it, and his dhampir nature had provided it. It had bestowed a few blessings on him, other than just a slowed down process of aging.

The moment he stood from the poker table, however, the stillness lifted from his mind, and the cacophony of sounds returned with a vengence. Again the constant and incessant noise intruded on his senses, and caused a slight frown on his face. To him, it felt much like waking up to the merciless blaring of a relentless alarm clock.

Casually he started strolling along the various paths in the casino, giving off the impression that he was just exploring the rest of what it had to offer. In reality, behind the dark, green-tinged eyes, he was scanning the other tables for one that seemed like it would offer a bit more of a challenge. The previous, although providing him with a good start, had soon bored him with it's all too predictable players. There had only been one that he had found to be a remotely interesting opponent for more than ten minutes. The redheaded female that had joined when the dealer had been switched. She had offered a bit of a challenge, not just when it came to the cards themselves, but also being read and analyzed. Like him, she'd had a couple of tricks up her sleeve as well, ones that on quite a few occasions had been the demise of the fool that had been sitting next to her, and who had left the table empty-handed. She had put one of the many powers of her gender to the best of use; giving glances that signalled an interest, without being overly flirtatious and thus obvious attempts to distract. No, she had kept it on a barely noticable level, that left the reciever of those glances wondering, hoping, and in the long-run far more distracted than any blatant flirting ever could, as it took far more brain power to try and discern whether or not she was really taking an interest, or if it was just your imagination. Musings like that would take away from a man's concentration, and turn him into nothing but a big sap. She had tried it on Adrien as well, but alas, his century long solitude and near abstinence had left him close to stone cold to a woman's advances.

After about twenty minutes of passing by various tables, catching glimpses of the players' skill as he did, Adrien finally settled for a table where everyone seemed to be experienced enough to offer more of an overall challenge.
Much to his satisfaction, after a few hands, his suspicions had been confirmed, and decided that this, this would be his main game for the evening. His opponents were wealthy, experienced, and in some cases quite cocky; all qualities that fuelled his desire to beat them.
This time, he was going to play it rough.

[SwirlyHill]

(( Heya, I'm gonna drop out of this, I'm a bit lost and just not really into it, thanks :) ))

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: Swirly - Thanks for letting us know, though I do have to wonder why you joined in the first place, when after only two posts, you decide you're not into it... Sorry to see you go though.)))

[Fayreview]

((Hey, I am not going to drop out but I'm gonna sit and wait for a little longer before I attempt to enter any proper roleplaying, I wanna get my facts straight and get to grips with the roleplay style. I must say this roleplay is not exactly the usual me :P))

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: Fayreview - Glad to hear you're not dropping out. If you feel you need help though, don't hesitate to ask, either here on via PM's. I'm here to help. :) )))

[Psyche_SC]

#27 [Eighth Night]

There was no higher love, than the one for your clan. At least not in Archon's opinion. However, he was a man who had never been in love with anything or anyone else. Being an undead, a baronial Ventrue, could not have happened to a more suitable man. It was as if being kine at all was redundant, although not a complete waste of time, since those years defined him as a Ventrue and built the base of the man he was to become. And he had come a long way since then. He had worked himself up, to the finest surroundings a man could ask for in one single lifetime alone. It was not a coincident, that he was standing tall even in the presence of royalty. He had prooved himself, served his time, and no one had a reason to doubt him. Not even the Prince himself. Archon was the kind of clansman that gave the leaders peace of mind. The future of the Ventrue was safe, as long as there were still members like him. The thing that put leaders at ease, leaders like Damian, was the fact that Archon did not aspire to reach higher than his current state. Even if he one night could and would make a city some where in the world a great Prince, he did not desire it. Archon was, not matter how rare, content. Therefore, there was no tension between him an other Princes, between him and Damian. Even if Damian was not one bit worried that Archon would want to claim that particular throne, it always helped the relation, if there was no such ambition at all.

Being Primogen was burdensome enough. Archon had his share of work, picking up where he had left off when he went away, and also learn what had happened since then, during Damian's reign as Primogen. No matter how much information he had recieved on his journey, it was not as good as hearing it directly from Damian. His Prince and good friend always had a way to view matters, a way to turn the tables, that was not evident to just anyone.
And when Archon spoke of loyalty, he meant that word in every sense of its meaning. He was careful with words, and did not fling them around like a predator reckless with the carcass. Oh no, he even saw beauty in some of the things he said. Almost like if he had tried on the Toreador skin, he could sculpture sentences like a true artist. However, using them like nothing but a Ventrue. That blue blood of theirs, ran clear as crystal through Archon's veins, ensuring its claim on him.

Archon was pleased with Damian taking his time. Instead of speaking bluntly, offering the first random thought that came through his head, he always let silence grant him a moment to think. Another sign of a greatness. Much like Archon had been thorough with his search for the prefect sword, Damian executed his notions without negligence or omissions. The very thing that could instill fear in others, gave Archon warmth. He watched the Prince rounding his august desk, to claim the gift with just the right knack. When he picked it up, Archon could picture him wielding it skillfully in the face of an enemy about to run for his life. It brought an amused smirk to his lips, both for the vision and the memory of a time when a sword was only a decoration for those that could not handle it. In these damned nights, they had all had to learn how to fight without weapons. And also, without diciplines. The kine grew cunning, they were not as superstitious anymore, forcing the Kindred to grow even more cunning. Hence the Masquerade, hiding their special powers and dreadful ways.

The Prince seemed pleased. Very much so. Mission accomplished. The maker had really been a genius, creating a sword centuries before the rightful owner would have it in his possession. It had been stored away, in a dusty old place, filled with legends and myths. For a Ventrue, the appreciation for the past could make them grateful for such a place, even if the state of it did not appeal to their dignified ways of unlife. Remembering what had been, prepared them for what would come.
This sword would always tell the story of the unique loyalty from a Primogen to his Prince, a bond forged with deeds that seperated great men from the rest. Archon had acted on the behalf of the Prince, making this item only a symbol of what they both already knew.
In Damian's faint smile and nod, there was knowledge to gain. What Archon knew and felt, this subtle recognition confirmed. In Ventrue blood and sovereign supremacy, they remained friends.

When Damian finally spoke, he said it all in just a few words. First, he waited for them to find him, and then, he did not use too many of them. A great man did not need to persuade his listeners, with words upon words. And Damian did have a way with them, giving the reciever a feeling of being selected.

"A most generous gift", he said, clearly with more than the sword in mind. "I will treasure it dearly."

Archon gave a nod in return, pleased with his Prince, pleased with himself. An everlasting strife to succeed had not disappointed him in this matter, but rather granted him pride. If anyone deserved the respect and faith of the Prince, it was indeed Archon. And no one would hold it more dear to their heart, than him.

Again, the Prince motioned towards the chair. Yet another offer to sit could not be denied, for there would not be a third. Archon smiled, inclined to do so. He turned to Roe, gave him a slight wave with the hand, before he sat down. This caused the Gangrel to back away from the table were he had just placed the box, and not turn his back to the Prince until he was ready to exit the doors.

"How have you been, my Lord?", Archon asked, resting his elbow on the sidepiece of the armchair, while the hand placed two long fingers under his chin. "And our city?"

[Ghanima Atreides]

Valerian and Moira - The Ritz, Suite #812


Since the moment of its conception, Josephine's portrait has been received quite differently by each of those Moira had granted a glimpse of it. Excluding Valerian, Josephine herself and Matthias Cornellus, that number remained exceedingly small: only three others had ever seen what lay beyond the black veil which shielded the canvas.

The first was a Toreador Elder by the name of Renato Cristoval, Moira's second closest friend during her stay in Venice, several centuries her senior as well as Prince of the city at the time. He had stood witness to Moira's first enthusiastic brush strokes driven by boundless inspiration and had been there to experience the heartbreaking loss of it, remaining firm in his conviction that it was a natural, temporary response to a traumatic event. His untimely Final Death only years later had prevented him from ever revising that point of view.

Afterwards, the painting remained concealed for nearly four centuries until Moira had found herself persuaded to unveil it for another: Robert Falconbridge of the Ventrue Clan and monarch of London during the greater part of the 20th century, a good friend as well as business associate. Like most of his Clan, Robert had scanned it with his critical gaze, glimpsing its artistic value while at the same time failing to fully grasp the reason why it mattered so much to Moira. A great appreciator of her art, Robert was firmly convinced there were nothing but ancient, illogical fears which stopped her from surpassing its greatness.

The third of these was a promising Toreador by the name of Elise Meyers who had just reached Elderhood, ascending to the position of Whip under Moira's guidance and support. Quite the opposite of Robert, Elise strongly believed that her benefactress' artistic prowess depended on the painting's completion, that it was the final, vital step in achieving closure.

For a long time, Moira too had subscribed to the same point of view; lately, however she wasn't sure anymore, a dissension growing stronger with each night, reinforced beyond doubt by Valerian's reaction:

"If you don't mind me saying so... I find that it does seem finished. Her face is left for only one person to truly remember, as it should be; the one person that held her face more dear than anyone ever could, and so is the only one deserving of remembering it."

Each word resonated with almost painful clarity in Moira's consciousness, as though someone had at last given sense to the reluctant fragments of thoughts tugging at her for so long. “It does seem finished”...contemplating that one sentence, the Primogen inclined her brow several times in silent agreement, her gaze lost among the multitude of colours etched into the fabric of the canvas before her. Almost effortlessly, memories superimposed Josephine's real life features on the round oval contoured in the center, the way she remembered her: a young, delicate girl with long brown hair, striking green eyes and a smile always accompanied by two small dimples on either side of her heart shaped mouth.

And then, unbidden, a very different glimpse surfaced before Moira's eyes: a young woman sprawled on the floor at an odd angle, chocolate brown hair fanned around her blood stained face forever frozen into an expression of pure disbelief, as though she still wished, beyond the grave, to question the reason why she had been so brutally murdered.

"But that is simply my humble interpretation. And as for your wish... Closeness is indeed something for which I yearn. With you more than anyone."

The sound of Valerian's voice plucked Moira out of the maze of her thoughts, returning her to the present, the the briefest tightening of her brow being the only outward expression of the disturbing scene briefly summoned forth. As soon as it had lowered itself across her gaze, the darkness passed and Moira's lips spread into a soft smile bearing both gratitude and joy.

“Perhaps you are right,” she agreed and they both exited the studio, re-emerging into the candle lit living room. “I've held on to the past so tightly, it has kept me away from what the present has to offer. And guilt, perhaps. I loved that girl dearly, but she is dead and I cannot change it. She is part of my past, and I am very glad to have you, Valerian, a part of my present. It can be as simple as that and not any less true for it.”

At length, Moira lowered herself onto a soft velvet cushioned sofa, leaving enough room at her side for Valerian to sit if he so wished. She yearned to know more about him, and at the same time did not want to rush it; time was a commodity she had in abundance.

Or did she? Los Angeles was not her home - her duties as Primogen awaited back in London, and not even her newly-found companionship could distract her from that fact. Granted, Elise was only one of the very capable Toreador who could have replaced her if it came to that, but Moira was much too accustomed to that lifestyle to simply abandon it without compensation; the enterprising politician was as much a part of her as the artist Valerian had come to know.
It was a thought which reminded her of Damian Alexander's invitation and allusions towards a business proposal, something Moira decided not to mention to her new companion just yet; not until she had something concrete to tell. For the moment, she satisfied herself with just enjoying the newfound relaxing honesty they shared, experiencing even a twinge of desire to share more, to feel their very essence intermingling inside their veins as closely as their minds did, something she had avoided for many centuries out of fear.

“Everything returns later in its changed form,” she said softly, her head inclined slightly to one side as she followed each of Valerian's movements. “I wasn't sure what I was searching for when I decided to visit America, but now I believe I am, in more ways than one.”

“Valerian...will you pose for me sometime?”

((ooc: feel free to have him hint at sharing their blood if you want to, I just didn't see Moira as being the one to suggest it first given her deep set fear of what might happen.))

[AtropaMandragora]

Always the Prince. Whether in the company of a friend, foe, or mere indifferent acquaintance, Damian Alexander always remained with one foot in his office as Prince. At least. Over the years, it had grown to become so deeply rooted in him that it was now part of him, a part of his personality. In fact, one could say that in a way, it always had been. Even as a child he had known he was destined for great things, great deeds, born to be a man of vast power and importance. As a Neonate, just passing over the threshold to eternity, he had known that given time, for the noble blood in his veins to strenghten, he would excel to one day be able to claim as his domain the city of his choosing. It had been written in the stars that whatever he set about doing, he would accomplish.
At least, those had been the prophecies of the oracle that had been an ever present member of his large entourage as a human Lord. During her service to him, she had told him a great many things that later had come to be. Success in achieving what he set his mind to, was one. That he would be even greater in death than he had been in life, was another. He had rarely suffered defeat, and as the Ventrue Prince of Los Angeles, he was pulling far more threads in the realms of both mortality and immortality, than he had been able to even hope for as a human. Many predictions, and so far, the oracle had not been proven wrong. Not even once.

But with greatness came even greater responsibility. He had an entire city - one of the biggest in the world, not just in physical size - and all it's inhabitants under his wings. It was up to him to keep the peace, to keep the order within his domain, with all the quarrels and animosities among the ample amount of kindred that dwelled there. It was up to him to uphold, and enforce, the laws of the Camarilla. It was to him they came with their desires to Embrace another, to ask for help, to dupe. It was him that would have to bear the burden of having the Kindred resent him for not granting their wishes, and to be blamed for the possibly detrimental outcome when he did.
He wore the crown, the sword, and the bull's eyes.

It was knowing this, that partially rendered him unable to step out of his role as Prince completely, and be "just" Damian Alexander, a noble Ventrue. Only a lucky few had been granted glimpses of what laid underneath the surface. He could not afford to let his guard down, to fully relax, and just enjoy himself. Most anything he did would be closely monitored by others, and judged. Mistakes and weaknesses would be flaunted if ever he showed any, and no matter where he went, there was always the chance that someone would seek him out in his position as Prince. If he would step out of it, he would never know just when he might be thrown back in, especially against his will, and he simply refused to leave himself open to be taken by surprise.
And so it was only natural that eventually, there was no telling the Prince and the man apart. They had become one. Deliberately. He had made himself a willing prisoner in a golden cage. Always the Prince.

Thus, it came as no surprise that politics would often manage to sneak its way into any conversation, even when mere friendship was concerned. There simply was no way around it.
Having accepted Damian's invite this time, Archon soon sat down in one of the chairs on the opposite side of Damian's desk, though only after dismissing his Gangrel bodyguard. Damian himself was already seated in his own exclusive and stylish office chair, comfortably leaned back with his hands clasped together loosely across his abdomen, studying Archon and allowing him to open up the conversation that was to follow.

"How have you been, my Lord?", the Ventrue Primogen asked, with the polite correctness of their clan, and then added; "And our city?"

A question so seemingly simple, and yet so very, very wide. Archon had been away for a few months; a time long enough for many things to have happened, even if one didn't count the minor ones. Though most of the fairly interesting ones had seemed to happen during the recent nights; the blood hunt, Adrien de la Cour's sudden appearance, and the matter of Carmilla and her Sire; the result of Mina asking a favour of him. Though that was one event Damian would choose not to share, even with Archon, for he would not under any circumstances betray Mina's trust. It was better then, to have everyone believe that the unfavorable relationship between Carmilla and Seath had been brought to Damian's attention by one of his many informants.

"The curse 'May you live in interesting times' came to mind a few times during your absence", he said with an ironic curve to his lips. "Though I suppose in retrospect, it would seem a bit of an exaggeration. What at the time appears to be a most just cause for distress, will later often seem like nothing more than a slight bump in the road. Though I am inclined to believe that speaks more clearly of one's ability to deal with the situations that arise, rather than the situations themselves."

Not that he had been posed with something he had found any difficulty in handling, but a city was so much simpler to run with a bit of peace and quiet. Or at least the lack of any major matters or incidents. There would always be the constant myriad of minor problems that he would never be rid of. Sometimes, they reminded him of a hydra; chop of it's head, and it grew two new ones. If every dilemma was a grain of sand, each night he inherited a desert.

"Never the less," Damian continued, "I am pleased to have you back, as I find the offices of Prince and Primogen do not mix well. While I believe that it was the best option - circumstances being what they were - I do hope it is not a situation that will arise again any time soon. My instincts tell me it was just a matter of time before the whispers of my partiality would grow into most bothersome barks."

[Burnziiy]

1. What clan you belong to: Toreador

2. Name: Sorén Alessandra Varvatos

3. Age: Ancilla 343 years (embraced at 24)

4. Disciplines:
- Auspex: level 4
- Celerity: level 2
- Presence: level 1

5. Short bio: The daughter of an affluent Englishman, Sorén grew up among the opulent streets of London in the mid 1600s. She was given prohibitive teaching from a peculiar old man seeing the last of his light from 6 years old till the age of seventeen. Although this man, by the name of Mister Vincent Bouchard, had no interest in educating young Sorén about the common subjects - writing and spelling, his mind was set on the power of music; the eloquent tones of the soothing composition he played out on his violin to her on the cold nights.

Mister Bouchard, a highly respected man in the community, was thought to speak nothing but nonsense since the death of his wife. However, this did not tarnish his status nor the way people admired him. Only months after Liena Bouchard’s final breathe, or so the story goes, Vincent took up the rare hobby of playing violin which had not gained all too much prestige in London as yet. He talked of the ardor and the love this music gave him, the only meaning left in his life. People nodded and smiled, though no one who crossed his path truly understood him. Seven years since Liena’s passing, he began to teach six year old Sorén all of what his mind could now comprehend; the marvel of music. Every evening after sundown, with the exception of Sundays, Sorén had a lengthy visit from the man in which he would talk of such wonders and she would listen with much anticipation. As the years passed by, the two of them began to weave an invisible tie, a bond that could not be broken. In secrecy, he taught her how to play the violin, the instrument made for gods. The base of their friendship strengthening by each living moment.

In 1665, another black death pandemic broke out in London, a spreading virus known as The Great Plague. In the center of the city, Sorén and her family had a high risk of being infected, and within months of sighting, her dear mother fell sick. Although twenty-four, Sorén was sent away to stay with Mister Vincent Bouchard immediately, nonetheless she was still not entirely safe. The plague was expanding in area, and nowhere in England was a sanctuary. With prudent thinking, Vincent came to the conclusion that if he was to protect Sorén, he would have to grant her the beauty and poignancy of immortality. In a single night, the Toreador shared the undisclosed knowledge of his race and an eternal life. The real cause of his gothic mistress’s death, the reason behind the night visits and the wonder of his history was exposed to Sorén. She understood his ways, reasons and this new manner of living in which he gave her.

Together, hand in hand, they watched two centuries slip away. Unearthing her broad talent in the arts of violin, piano, and harp through these prolonged years, the years of which were only the initiation of immortality. Her heart, lifeless for over two hundred years now, felt as if to palpitate as her eyes danced over Percy Bysshe Shelley’s delicate words of nature, love and liberty. The poet’s words spoke to her; they breathed intensity, illuminating her deep beige eyes as she delved into his poetry and began to take an interest into reading and writing.

March the 23rd in the year of 1884, the comrades welcomed a new home in Paris. Three years of tranquility soon came to an end as whispers of a vampire slayer began to pass from ear to ear. The unknown portrayer held a strong supremacy, in which made the Kindred so weak and powerless. At nightfall on one distinct evening, Vincent sat by the fireplace delicately drawing the bow across the violin’s strings with little awareness of a perilous body lurking within the shadows of the house. On his final note came a severe blow to his fragile body, crushing his bones. Perhaps the murderer enjoyed listening to the music, perhaps that’s why he waited. On the moment of her Sire’s final death, she’d been walking down the street in which they lived, holding a bouquet of flowers. At the sighting of their house, she bumped into a tall raven haired man with a sneer plastered to his face, unconscious that the man previously took the life of her beloved friend. When Sorén found Vincent’s body, she swore on vengeance and since that night, much of her doings have been in search of his killer.

Recently taking an impermanent flat as home in the vigorous city of Los Angeles, she is determined to make more ground in her pursuit. She’s most likely located at the Algernon, Club Diebuk or the Haven. Don’t expect a courteous greeting from her, or an invitation to confide in her though behind her façade of crude language and potent defence, anyone who dares to near closer will detect her sincerity, warmth and perpetual passion for music and writing.

6. Picture:

[veldagia]

Zillah's thoughts returned to the same silent memory he dwelled upon night after night. The face that haunted his dreams, a few stolen moments that had left an impression upon his soul. It was a memory that could have, should have faded beneath the sea of faces he had met the past week. Yet still her face remained sharp and pure, appearing each time his jade eyes closed to descend into the realms of sleep, as though tattooed upon his eyelids.

With a persistant arrogance he knew that fate would present Carmilla to him once more. He just needed to bide his time, but patience was not a virtue he possessed. He liked his pleasures instantanuous, on demand. A child of Generation x, the world of MTV and internet, he wanted everything for nothing. Little was sacred to him, after seeing it all before but the imagine he held onto like a talisman, reminding him that there was something in the world that could still make him feel. A woman that could stir his senses and make him dream of a future.

Casting the thoughts aside Zillah scanned the menagerie of thrill seekers each and every one looking for the fast buck. They were all so absorbed in themselves, drenched in the delight of watching money flow. He moved in closer observing his client downing the champagne as though it was water. His client threw more chips onto the table with a greedy flurish that flushed colour to his round cheeks. With his clients gaze distracted Zillah's hand slid slowly out and he placed it face down as though carassing the fabric lining of the table. At just the right moment, a flick of the wrist and he slipped one of the larger chips into his pocket. The whole process took a matter of seconds, too quick for the eye to follow, the skill of living on the streets which he still turned to, robbing those who wouldn't even miss what was stolen.

His prize gained he slipped away from the table. Turning his back on the decadance he wandered through the crowds. Seeking to loose himself amongst them. Just another punter, another pretender, willing to surrender his cash to the great coffers of the casino. But the thrill of the games called to him so after cashing the chip he still did not leave. With the chip reduced into smaller units of currency it was time to have some fun himself.

Glancing around he was lured towards the card tables, to test his skill against those that gathered like vultures around the carrion. He slid onto a chair opposite a pale dark haired man with a face of stone. Eager to test his streetwise face against the wealthy, cocky hands that gathered around one poker table. But Zillah had an advantage over them. He wasn't playing with his own cash. Win or loose it was all the same to him. The only thing that mattered was the game. And the game wasn't about the cards on the table but rather figuring out those that sat around it. Deciphering which ones he could turn a profit on later.

((OOC hope you don't mind Zillah joining Adrien's poker game :) ))

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: veldagia - Not at all. *s* Wasn't quite sure what to do with him, honestly.

Ghanima - Will have a response for Valerian up in a little bit, I promise! Was going to get it up yesterday, but work suddenly got in the way, and then all the techincal stuff was against me (A conspiracy, I tell you!)

burnziiy - Welcome! :D Glad to have you!)))

[Anne_SC]

((I'd like to join, but I'll need some serious help with it xD The whole thing kinda confuses me. Oh! And I don't know if I can write such long posts as the ones above this.))

[Ghanima Atreides]

((you could start with a human, Anne, and go on from there...maybe eventually get Embraced. Sounds like the simplest way to start and gradually get into it :) Just a suggestion though.

Oh and feel free to PM me if you have questions.

Atropa - *dons tinfoil hat and peers around suspiciously* don't worry about it, take your time.))

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: Anne - What Ghanima said. :) And yes, do please feel free to ask questions. We'll be more than happy to answer them.
Also, don't worry about writing posts as long as the recent ones. The rule is 8 lines, so as long as you can do that, you're fine. :) )))


Together, in unison, the two Toreadors gazes lingered on the masterful painting - their reason for being here, and now - following Valerian's statement, only to shift to meet over the small distance seperating them, at the sound of his next. Bright sapphire locked with light lavender, adoration meeting a whisp of bad memories in the form of a tiny furrow creasing the smooth skin between dark auburn brows, moments later banished from Moira's features so swiftly it left Valerian wondering if it had even been there in the first place. It seemed almost unlikely, given the soft joyous smile, laced with acknowledgement of his words, that was now dancing merrily on her lips. Yet he knew of the memories that were bound to surface, when one beheld the timeless features of a dear one lost - be they as fleeting as a mental image, or as tangible as a painted one - even though he did not know the memories themselves. He too suffered a heart bleeding from the shards of grief that pierced right through it. Though in his case it was from a dear one gone away by choice, and not one taken away by the murderous deeds of another. Two very different scenarios, bound together by the shared feeling of loss.

Following Moira's lead as she started moving towards the doors, Valerian took one final glance at the painting, making sure to drink in as many details as possible to be able to conjure it from memory when he wanted to remember and relish its beauty without having o impose on Moira again, before turning his back to it and following her out of the room, back into the dimly lit living room with all the flickering flames and dancing shadows.

“Perhaps you are right,” Moira said, her velvety voice flowing like a melody on it's own, no longer carrying any signs of the sorrow or the bitterness he had heard minutes ago, only thoughtful, sapient reasoning. “I've held on to the past so tightly, it has kept me away from what the present has to offer. And guilt, perhaps. I loved that girl dearly, but she is dead and I cannot change it. She is part of my past, and I am very glad to have you, Valerian, a part of my present. It can be as simple as that and not any less true for it.”

The young Toreador nodded slowly. He knew what she meant by what she said, he understood, even though he himself had been guilty of doing the exact opposite of what she had done. While she had clung to the past, he had thrown himself into the present with heart and soul, without looking back, to keep from lingering on the part of his past that only brought him pained confusion, the memories that clouded his starlit sky. Though it was perhaps not the only reason, as he so loved to keep up with the many whims of the human world. But it was a part of it. A part long buried, so deep within him it took this extraordinary encounter with Moira, the first other Kindred in a very, very long time who seemed to understand him, to remind him of it's existence.

The nod he gave, however, was mostly to himself, as he was trailing half a pace behind her, thus leaving her unable to see the faint gesture. He trusted she would simply sense his understanding, and his mututal delight of having her in his present as well. The bond between them was fresh still, and yet in mere hours it had grown and blossomed to reach a point where every now and then it would feel like there was no use for words between them, the only communication needed being the silent comprehension brought by sensing each other's state of mind, sensing whatever feeling was pulsating in the air around them, in their aura.

It was that very phenomenon that soon set his own mind back on the track it had been on only a minute earlier, just before they had left her temporary art studio behind to return to the living room, and its comfortably relaxing ambiance. Slowly he followed her towards one of the luxurious sofas, his eyes travelling along her body, watching her move with the elegant femininity of a true lady, and as she sat down and relaxed against the back of the inviting piece of furniture, she watched him in turn. In the gentle caress of her gaze, he sensed something, as fleeting and brief as the tiny crease he'd thought he'd seen between her delicate eyebrows earlier. It was only a glimpse, but a glimpse he knew too well not to recognize it. He had seen it many times, in the eyes of others, who had come to enjoy the sweetness that he so willingly offered, in the process that granted him and his various and temporary partners pleasure unlike any other. Had she sensed his own desires, and his doubts thereof, his hesitation to express them to her? Was she trying to encourage him, to urge him on and have him speak a wish she would grant? Or were they simply that much in tune with one another, that their individual desires had connected on a barely conscious level, and were moving together towards a common goal?
Whatever the reason, his hesitation was being laid to rest, and his mind had been made up. He would find a way to ask, for, as they say; nothing ventured, nothing gained.
But first, he would let her speak what else was clearly on her mind, in a more tangible shape than the bond weaving its cobweb of fragile threads between them.

"Everything returns later in its changed form", her voice came softly from the sofa, while he loitered to claim the empty space next to her, his dark form seemingly pushed forward slowly by the light of the flickering flames. "I wasn't sure what I was searching for when I decided to visit America, but now I believe I am, in more ways than one."

For a moment, his stride had slowed to an almost halt, as her words had sent his mind reeling. He didn't dare think of what she might mean. And yet, he couldn't help himself. She had spoken of Josephine, this young mortal beauty, as a muse. A muse that had died. And now she spoke of things returning, of being reborn in another shape, of finding clarity in his company...

"Valerian... will you pose for me sometime?"

Soft, gentle words, with a meaning so unmistakable that they seemed to explode in his mind, rupturing the thin veil of doubt and apprehension that he had used to keep his thoughts from running away with him. What he had dared not think, was now impossible to fend off, even if he had wanted to.
But, why would he? The words were the sweetest music to his ears that he had ever heard, they filled him with such a wide range of emotions that even he, who was usually so very familiar with his feelings, could not pinpoint them all.
To an outsider, it must've seemed most amusing, the way each thing she said and did overwhelmed him just a little bit more than the last.

"I'd be...", he started, but his voice trailed off mid-sentence, as even he realized the phrase 'I'd be honored' was starting to get quite watered down, and might not ring true in her ears even though he had always meant it in the most sincere of ways.

And so, instead of running the risk of repeating himself all too much, he sank down right next to her on the sofa, his lips curved with a soft smile that conveyed his feelings quite clearly, and started over;

"I'd love to."

It would be his first time posing for someone. Quite a few had posed for him over the years, eager to be immortalized even further by his talented hand, or had simply talked into it by his vivacious enthusiasm. And while Melody had made various sketches of him, they had all been made while he slept, or was otherwise unaware of her attempts to draw him. Never had he actually posed for another artist, and now he found that he couldn't wait to see how Moira saw him. Did she see what he himself saw, or did she see something else? Did her keen eye catch what was underneath the surface, that no one else seemed to? Not just the light that she had already acknowledged, but the darkness as well?

He wanted her to, he wanted her to fully know him. He was greedy, and he was generous, wanting to know everything about her, and wanting her to know everything about him. Unlike most, who often wanted to know everything, without sharing or offering anything themselves.

With his gaze locked with hers, he slowly inched closer to her, studying her face and her eyes as he did. He knew what he wanted the next step to be, knew how to offer yet more insight that mere words were simply not strong enough to deliver. It was an insight, a closeness he had offered many others before her. But none of them had shared the bond that was weaving silent tales between her and Valerian now, making what he offered so much more potent, so much more revealing of what and who he truly was.

Still saying nothing, he gently scooped up her hand in his and brought it to his cheek, his eyes still locked with hers as he brushed his soft skin against her knuckles. Then he lowered her hand unto his neck, where if he had been human, she would've felt the thumping of his pulse underneath the thin layer if alabaster white. An unspoken invitation, a naked surrender of himself to her.



(((ooc: Hope it makes sense. Sleep deprived and hungry. *lol*)))

[Psyche_SC]

#28 [Eighth Night]

As far as Archon was concerned, a conversation with the Prince was always a reward in itself; no matter the subject under discussion. They were both great men, and great man had a tendency to achieve greatness when having the same goal at heart. However, they did disagree at times, but given their friendship and intelligence it merely amused them. It was rather a spark to their debate, than a cause to worry. They had never found themselves on different sides of a tiebreaker. Yes, they were both headstrong specimen of the aristocratic clan, always looking for the golden lining, but they also knew their places. Damian knew the city like he had built it himself, and he knew the clans and their interaction with each other. Archon knew the Ventrue, and of course, so did Damian. But he trusted Archon to keep his eye on the details, know the members like they were his very own children. After all, Archon was the only Primogen he could really trust, hence the responsibility he had delegated. So. When their indifference regarded the territory the Prince was in tuned with more than Archon, the latter had to give in. And when they disagreed regarding intimate issues within their own clan, the Prince sometimes took Archon's word for it. He could always view it like he himself had choosen a great Primogen, with a brilliant head on his shoulders. In the end, it was the Prince's decision, when something needed to be done.

Archon had the highest respect for the Princes, even the ones that were not of Ventrue descend. But one did not need the uncanny wisdom of the Malkavian clan, or the sorcery of the Tremere, to know that Damian was the one he respected the most. Arhcon supported Damian's notions, even if he himself did not always believe in them to the core. Although, that was not something that occurred very often. The Ventrue mind was not as predictable as one could assume, but for a Ventrue, their path was given. If you would not be crowned the winner, there was no need to bother. And if they did indeed not prevail, they could always find something within their defeat that helped them see their aim with more certainty. A Ventrue out to redeem himself could be even more dangerous, than one that was just there to bring home the prize.

Like the first time he gave his immortal kiss to a kine, he remembered his first meeting with a Prince. It was not the London Prince, the one that had granted his Sire the permission to embrace Archon. Instead, he found himself in the company of an old arcane Prince, ordained by the very clan that would haunt Archon in due time. The Tremere. He had been visiting Archon's birthplace, around his embrace, and although they never officially met he would always remember the moment when their eyes did. Archon's Sire, Victoria, had brought him to a place where all sorts of Kindred used to gather back in those forsaken nights. He had felt just like a little boy, trying out the world, the secret hidden world of the undead. All the enchanting vampires had dazzled him, made him feel more alive without a pulse. And they had picked up the scent of a newborn, like dogs looking for a treat. The Toreador sent their most ravishing creatures to charm him sensless. Only to be followed by the Malkavians, turning diamonds into spades and clubs into hearts. This madness did not end, until the Gangrels came along, hovering around him like he was a prey. And if they did not want to go to town, the Brujah surely would, and their interferance almost caused a fight over the newest catch. Then the Nosferatu finished the job, by scaring Archon half to death. It was all just a game to them. To him, it was a lesson of unlife. He appreciated it, even when he thought he would die a second time around. But the appreciation took a while to immerge.
By then, he thought that was it, that he had seen the most prominent examples of each lineage. Oh well. Guess again.

In a corner, wallpapers red as blood, lit with a purple light that almost caused more darkness than brightness, a vampire had been seated. It was not a grand abode, but this one looked like he owned every single thing there, and took much pride in it. He had dark hair, almost as long as Archon's. And he had on a black robe, made of velvet, covering him like he was a magician. It was as if he possessed something from every clan, joint together in a center where he held the depths of his own bloodline. Insanity without the madness, beauty without the gentility and brutality, yet with something subtle. In short, a puzzlebox more intricate than a Malkavian mind, but in another manner.
Victoria had saved him from that gaze; it was so intense that Archon could not help but stare, loosing himself in the maze.

Back then, it was so easy to be amazed, to feel that each new thing was so astonishing that nothing could ever top it. This had been proven wrong to Archon, over and over again. But it would be a while, a long while in Kindred count, before another Prince would capture his gaze like the Tremere had. Prince Alexander III, an amazing Ventrue claim, that gave Archon a peak into the promised land. Archon believed in him before he got his royal throne, and he had offered his support when he had realized they had different tastes in greatness. While Archon saw much to gain from the Primogen domains, Damian aimed higher. And this way, they could co-exist. A city would never, as long as the dead walked the earth, be big enough for two Princes. Fortunate enough, they were destined to be Prince and Primogen - friends, instead of foes.

"The curse 'May you live in interesting times' came to mind a few times during your absence", the Prince said

His irony, well placed and easy for Archon to tap into, caused the Primogen to smile. It amused him, that Damian still found their city to be a challenge. It would be dangerous if he was bored, both for the sake of the balance of power, and to make sure he would actually stay with them just a while longer. That undead while, that could reach over aeons of time. And, if this city could not put its Prince to the test now and then, it was just not worthy of him.

"Though I suppose in retrospect, it would seem a bit of an exaggeration. What at the time appears to be a most just cause for distress, will later often seem like nothing more than a slight bump in the road. Though I am inclined to believe that speaks more clearly of one's ability to deal with the situations that arise, rather than the situations themselves."

These words caused the concentrated Primogen to nod, in agreement. He was well acquainted with the approach, with the hindsight. Although they were alike, they were very different. One thing done by the Prince would seem totally different, if done by Archon. The approach could be similar, but the execution set them apart.

"Never the less," Damian continued, "I am pleased to have you back, as I find the offices of Prince and Primogen do not mix well. While I believe that it was the best option - circumstances being what they were - I do hope it is not a situation that will arise again any time soon. My instincts tell me it was just a matter of time before the whispers of my partiality would grow into most bothersome barks."

Another smile, this time a bit harder for others to decipher, graced Archon's lips. He had been missed. There was a demand for his work, not only by the clan itself, but by the Prince. The latter meaning more, and also asking for Archon's most excellent performance. Nothing could be more inspiring, not for a Ventrue.

"Thank you, my Lord", Archon said, most obliged. "Although I have appreciated the opportunity to take care of business overseas, this is my home. It is hard to really enjoy new scenery, when you know the familiar one still depends on you. I am most grateful that you did agree to take my place, although I know the work of a Prince is never done. However, that can also be applied to the work of a Primogen. Despite all of our accomplished members, I must say it gave me peace of mind to know you would act on my behalf."

All along his excursion, Archon had had L.A. in the back of his mind, never letting go. When he had not had the time to keep in touch, through phone calls and the lap top, Roe had taken over. Although, there were some things even Roe would not have the privilege to know. After all, he was a Gangrel, and could not be completley trusted by the whole Ventrue clan. Although Archon trusted him with his life, he could not take it upon himself to let Roe have the existance of the whole L.A. clan in his keep. Archon's personal affection could never interfere with what was best for the Ventrue.

"There is much to tell from my journey", Archon continued. "But we might have more pressing matters right here in our city, that could perhaps benefit from being addressed at once. I suppose there is something you could tell me about de la Cour, that your grand banquet did not reveal? I assume his presence was not entirely up to him, judging from your lack of surprise."






____________________________________

((( ooc: Atropa - "bothersome barks" :) So british, so Ventrue. Awesome. ;) )))

[Shenanigans_SC]

As Falesyia waited for her drink, she leaned against the bar, her elbows propped atop it, her gaze lingering at the sight before her. Out of curiosity her eyes followed the blonde man with the champagne bottle to the roulette table. She watched with curiosity as he poured a drink for a rather large man that wore a nicely pressed suit, and donned flashy gold jewelry. He was the type of man Falesyia had come to dislike. Most likely born into his riches, he had no respect for the person that had earned the money he so freely threw away. With his hands all over the chips and a petite blondie, he laughed with great enjoyment. The only thing stopping Falesyia from throwing out such types was the amount of money they brought her. As she figured, he wasn’t all that deserving of it anyway. If anyone had been looking into her eyes, they would have seen her plan form, her plan to help rid him of his money, since he seemed so careless with it. Unlike the raven haired stranger earlier, she was certain this man would prove to be an easy target. Blonde bombshell attached to his side or not.

With one swift moment she lifted her drink from the bar, making her way towards the roulette table. As she walked closer, the blonde man she seen earlier took his leave of the man, practically giving Falesyia the perfect spot to operate from. With her usual grace she approached the table, being sure to give the man a friendly smile as she took the now empty spot beside him. She pretended not to notice how his gaze took in her form, lingering much too long on certain areas of her body. All of this just fueled her desires to play the man like a fiddle. For though he had the poor blonde in his grasp, he was the type of man that thought the world belonged to him. Besides, two beautiful ladies by your side was much more satisfying than just one, no matter how willing she was.

With ease that should be alarming she taunted him with her feminine mannerisms. With hardly a word, she managed to distract him to the point that the nearly nonexistent care he took with his bets soon dissipated into nothing entirely. Once his mind was not able to even follow the game, he was destined to lose his money. While roulette is mainly a game of chance, played by those who wish to just socialize and have a good time, there is still the logic side of figuring out the best odds, the best ratios to place your money on. The man proved easy enough to distract as his words and focus seemed to be on proving to her that time with him would be time well spent.

His words and ogle’s simply ran off her back, as she watched his stack of chips diminish before her very eyes. However when his stack proved too small for his pudgy hands, he decided to try his luck at placing them on Falesyia. She had no problem leading a man of his type on, but once a man laid his hands on her uninvited, she quickly changed from a polite woman, to a fierce one. Just as she lifted his hand, taking it off her waist, she was about to lay into him when her phone rang. While she sometimes laid into a man who thought he had the right to take liberties with her, she felt as if this one really wasn’t worth it. Besides, she had already gathered much of his money. So instead she opened the phone and while looking into the robust man’s eyes she simply stated, “My, my... It looks like your stack is a bit small. I bet it’s not the only thing of yours that lacks in size.”

She turned from the man, walking away while she answered her phone. “Niko, while I appreciate it, I don’t need you to call me every time a man puts his grimy hands on me.” She listed to him as he told her of his observations of the raven haired stranger she took interest in earlier. It seemed that though he had moved on to a more difficult table, he still managed to do quite well. He ran the man’s face through the database, and he appeared nowhere in the LA Black Book. The man intrigued Falesyia. Though she had seen her share of skilled and gifted players, this man didn’t fit the bill. And even so, most men had a weakness of some kind. Either he didn’t have one, or she just had not discovered it yet.

She thanked Niko for keeping her updated, and walked slowly towards the table he advised her of. As she walked closer, she debated if she should pursue the man or not. The last attempt she had made was completely fruitless. What else have you to do? She soon asked herself. It was enough to make up her mind. As she neared the table, she saw the only seat open was that beside him. She sat gently atop the seat, sliding her body onto it fully. The cards were just finishing being dealt, which was the perfect opportunity for her to say hello in her own way without distracting the man.

She simply looked towards him, a faint smile upon her lips. Not to wide as to appear too eager, yet not to small as to appear simply cordial. It was a smile that was meant to be a signal of her intentional choice of seat, despite it being the only one at the table. In return she simply got a look of acknowledgement. Stating he recognized, and knew she was there. She wondered if it would continue to go on to ask why she seemed to choose him, but his gaze was much to brief to portray such a thing, as the cards had been dealt and he was once again focused on the game at hand.

While the hand played out, she studied the people that sat around it. She was surprised to see the blonde man in a pinstripe suit that she had seen earlier besides the arrogant man she had just successfully coerced money out of. She watched the players and their mannerisms, preparing herself to join in the next hand once it was dealt.

[Burnziiy]

Sorén delicately touched the keys with the tips of her fingers, carefully curving them into an arch. She deemed the antique piano was made of fragile glass, glass which had been shattered into countless pieces and glued back together. The treasured item grasped such profound importance to her, essentially for its history. It had once belonged to dearly loved sire, Vincent, and till this day she could still find his scent upon its surface, hear his soft hum with the soothing tones and feel his fervour as she played. Her eyes veered their gaze, focusing between the dusted grey blinds onto the lustrous sphere sinking behind mediocre buildings. Deep cerise and ginger hues streaked the dimming sky, notifying the dynamic city, and immortals particularly, of the soon onset of nightfall. She had intentionally situated the piano in this specific position so she could gape out the partially covered window at all times of the day without the sun’s rays directly gleaming on her skin. An admirer and believer of beauty, love and nature, it was imperative for her to experience as much of this as she could, since each moment she lived could be her last. Nothing in a mortal or immortal life could be taken for granted, including the insignificant pieces.

Pressing down with a diminutive force upon numerous keys, her eyes flickered over to the lightly penciled in notes that stretched across the brittle paper in front of her. Amongst her visits to various suspects and Kindred with likely information, she’d been writing an oeuvre, the foremost reason to release her increasingly intense thoughts and feelings. The notion of sharing the piece, once it was finished, had crossed her mind several times, perhaps at a place such as The Haven, where others, both living and dead, could experience what she has and appreciate the depths of its beauty. But each time the concept entered her train of thought, she dismissed it, afraid of too much exposure and what some may find. Her fingers with minds of their own adeptly played through the eight already completed pages, her luminous orbs wandering till the newly written notes were entailed. After hearing the last melodic sound played, she lifted her fingers off the keys and slid off the wooden stool, coming to face a barely lit apartment, shadows dancing about the room.

Caring little for lack of vision and knowing she’d be leaving soon enough, the fragranced candles remained unlit. As her slender figure passed through the doors and arches of the flat, the sun vanished completely from sight, drawing a dark amethyst curtain spotted with vivid pinpricks of light to replace it. In a compact box she called a bedroom, Sorén acquired a tightly fitted coat and slipped it on, departing shortly after. The quiet and peace of night had begun to take its effect on the city, dwellers finding their way home and cuddling up next to a familiar face, the proverbial warmth from their body. Treading upon sodden concrete, sweet air underfoot, Sorén found herself yearning for an intricate friend or lover to join her, matching her stride. This was no revelation nor an infrequent thought, but one that came all too erratically. She had never exchanged unbinding beliefs and affection with anyone in her entire long-lived life. Her sire would have to come the closest to anything as such, she loved him but wasn’t in love. Though she believed, within reason, that love was spontaneous and could not be searched for no matter how desired it was.

She’d walked out into the young night to visit the Algernon where time was inconsequential, where she could lose hold of her mind in each page in every book. Its aged walls came into view and suddenly she no longer wanted to leave the bitter cold, the whispering grey wind as it danced with chains untied. When the air swirled beneath her skirt and rushed through the tears in her stockings, up her legs and spine, her body responded with violent shiver, only she was adrift in a trance where she was ignorant to reality. Sorén exploits all that life bestows her, from the mind’s eye to the company offered by the lonely pigeon that sits on her outside windowsill. Hence with edging closer to the building she began to study the details of each and every red brick, the texture and structure then viewing the whole body before pondering of its history. She’d do this with everything and everyone, a habit she’d caught from Vincent.

The aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans floated through the air and up her nostrils. It had neither a delicious nor garish taste, nevertheless the scent was intense. Awakening to her surroundings once more, Sorén carried herself through the doors and ascended the stairs to the higher level. As she paced across the aisles lined with heavy dusted books, the echo of her heels hitting the worn wooden floorboards pierced sharply through the air, against the silence. Scanning the rows of precious tales, her keen eyes instantaneously settled upon a thick, deep scarlet cover, the layer of dust wiped clean. Sinking to the floor with the book in tight grip, she began to flick through the pasty white pages, sliding the bookmarker from the page she left it in. Burying her face into the articulate words’ conferring of rapture, the shaded letters glistening with light, Sorén let the hours slip by.

Well into the midst of night, she walked the city paths over, the streets soulless and empty. Outside, the air stale and still, she hastily found entrance to The Haven. Gazing about the room, searching for something or someone of interest, Sorén rested against a wall mulling over the very few recognizable faces.


[[ooc: The last few stanzas are a bit rushed, sorry if it doesn’t make sense. Feel free to approach her. I’d have her do that herself though it doesn’t seem to be in character. As everyone is already well into their own scene, I don’t mind waiting for the time being.

Out of interest, what is the approximate time?]]

[Fayreview]

((Finally someone with whom I'm not scared to interact! Your as good as everyone else but your new too thankfully so it feels like less pressure!))

Caraltian closed his deep green eyes and bowed his head as the women moved out of sight. The Haven? It sounded vaguely familiar didn't it? He couldn't remember his head began to ache, he began to sway. It felt as if his brain was slowly nudging more and more forcefully against the front of his skull. He clenched his fists around the parks railings to stop himself falling and yet the pain refused to subside he moved back slowly until something cool and waxy pressed gently against the back of his neck, followed by something rigid pushing into his calf, and a crack under his foot.

Once the bush had engulfed him he disappeared, he felt the pain begin to slip away, he needn't check for people around, if there was someone he wouldn't be able to fade, this time however there was no one present and he did. He was thankful for the respite though it would be brief, he opened his eyes again....

His eyes shone like mirrors in the bright world everything was so bright he reappearred, Ouch his head hurt, where was he going? He bit his lower lip lightly and tried to remember, a word swam in his head. Hidden, Hovel, Hatchet, Hill, Heathen.... Haven.... that sounded right. He shook his head only to rewarded with more pain and tried to remember what this haven was.

A building, yes hopefully dark... his head hurt...

The building, the... haven... swam in front of him as he entered, his head still hurt, he backed into a corner and pressed his head to the wall, it was cool, he felt better, he smiled to himself and turned there was a woman near by, slim and dark haired.

"Hi" he muttered, smiling and closing his eyes again.

He opened them and the deep green eyes sought out activity, he turned to woman beside him. had he just spoken to her? he may have, or perhaps he just thought about it. Why couldn't he tell? He looked in her direction but not at her so whether he had spoken or not she couldn't really complain too much. The headache was gone thankfully. Why? He did not really know but with him that happened. What could he say?

[Anne_SC]

Name: Dorothy Darcy Bookers [Dorothy]

Willingness to be a ghoul (if so, by what clan): Yes, when I really understand the story and get the hang of it, she can be a ghoul

Occupation: Singer/Pianist she doesn't get payed alot, but it's enough.

Short bio:
Dorothy Darcy Bookers is shy, cute and doesn't know much about the world around her. From the day she was born her parents teached her to play the piano and made her sing little songs. Soon they found out, she had talent.
And so little Dorothy grew to grown up, still a little childish, Dorothy. With the voice of an angel.


Picture: Clicky! (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v296/Thesimsfreaky/Dorr.png?t=1202763306)

[PennyTheCorgi]

Welcome Anne, I hope you have fun here. Dorothy is gorgeous. :) If you need some help getting started, feel free to have Dorothy meet Ada or Andre' somewhere.

[Anne_SC]

Thanks for the welcome ^__^
Oh awesome :D But I have to go now, so I will maybe pm you later.

[Burnziiy]

She ardently hungered to be emancipated, released from the iron ropes confining her. To feel the sun’s warm rays prickle the fine hairs on her arms and cheeks, the caress of a friend, a forbidden friend. Aspiring for her blood to gush through her veins, a pulse and pounding heart notifying her that she was alive. With no companion by her side, Sorén could only find warmth and compassion within poetry and music. In means to grasp hold of the scarce love left within her lifeless heart, the barricade must be broken in which very few know how. Upon crossing the path of another, she’d insinuate anything except her hidden benevolence in way of protecting herself. And so it was, with every bar or club she visited in the wilds of the night, she’d find numerous Kindred and Kine returning to their seat beaten and bruised with Sorén’s blunt words. The pattern repeated each time, subtle discrepancy making the story as its own.

A swift current of air bushed past her tender skin, thick and damp. The ambiance in this particular club was like no other, potent, vibrant and enthralling. Sorén believed it was the mood that made the place to what it was, both serenity and elation filling the room. She could feel a pair of weak, fatigued eyes steal a glimpse of her face, now shifting their view. Stiffening her shoulders instinctively without much thought, anticipating the gaze of an unsolicited bystander, her pallid spheres darted from face to face, near and distant. To find a face, an identification code, is to see into their history and, if read carefully, their concealed emotions. Of course without knowing the person or speaking to them it is pure guess work beyond that point, even so, some comprehension is appreciated more than none. And employing any knowledge becomes a challenge since a face never explains the meaning behind it, but restraining curiosity was never something Sorén was good at.

Amongst the voices, laughs and movements of others around her, she heard a muffled and subdued "Hi", which my or may not have been directed at her. As a result of an immortal life with the Kindred, her senses, like every other vampire, were enhanced to assist her in hunting and alike. It was something she took pleasure in using quite frequently, especially in the likes of food. Since her body was no longer able to digest food or liquid, she'd indulge in their gentle aromas, soothing from the skin to soul.

Once settling her meandering gaze onto a man near her and examining his bold features, she raised her curved eyebrow, as if to question him on anything he’d be willing to answer. She could faintly smell the sweet scent of dry blood upon his lips, an unambiguous vampire indeed. Shrouded in mystery with a glint of confusion in his eye, the young man engrossed her like a novel, a concise moment of intimacy where she felt akin to him. His truths she would not know. His lies she would not heed. He a shadow in her world, she a ghost in his. Though Sorén could relate almost every stranger with herself, thus she saw him aching, but what reasons she did not know. She situated her eyes to linger on him for a second or two longer, her manner of greeting.

[[ooc: Fayre - Not at all smooth, though I hope it’ll do.

Atropa – The second floor at The Haven is mentioned to be private, does this mean exclusive to vampires or vampires of Valerian and Claudia’s choice?]]

[Ghanima Atreides]

Moira and Valerian - Moira's suite at the Ritz

Moira's gaze studied every angle of Valerian's handsome face as he paced his way towards her, intent of deciphering the subtle trace of his emotions, little by little expanding her understanding of this young Toreador who in a few short hours had managed what most Kindred could not: gain her trust and budding affection not through a display of skills or arcane wisdom, but simple honesty, and acceptance. Although Valerian's demeanor had not changed, and the same bewildering smile lingered on his lips, his eyes held a grain of something different, something darker which, much like the subtle images his art depicted, was gone as soon as the gaze shifted. Moira wondered if he reminisced at her story, affected still by its sadness, or perhaps it had stirred some painful memories of his own. There was no creature in the world who could say they had never experienced pain and loss, and although such things seemed alien when applied to Valerian at a first gaze, Moira did not doubt there had been darker times in the young Toreador's life. However, just as she had herself chosen the moment of her confession, she would allow Valerian the time to do the same, if he even wished to discuss it at all. Some preferred to live in the present and never dwell on the past, even though it meant they were denied the relief of sharing their burden.

Another reaction eagerly awaited by Moira had been his response to her invitation to be her model, the first in two centuries. She was well aware that evening had been filled with surprises, most of which purposefully manufactured by herself, adding up to a possible overwhelming number. That was not her intent, but merely her nature: when she desired something strongly enough, Moira acted upon it, and risks were at times unavoidable. She had orchestrated their meeting, steering it according to her desires and yet Valerian had been quite able of surprising her, adding his own unexpected revelations to the mix.

Although their interactions so far had reassured her that Valerian was just as willing to partake in all the knowledge and companionship they had to share, nothing could have conjured a more compelling smile upon Moira's lips than his answer:

"I'd love to."

It was the first tangible shift in the tone of their conversation; when the barriers of formality were lowered to allow the response of a friend instead that of a polite new acquaintance, separated by rank and many centuries of unlife. In their case, the two blended casually into eachother, and it did not end there.

“Thank you,” Moira replied, inclining her brow. “It has been a very long time, but for the first time in centuries I can recognize something that resembles inspiration.”

That newfound feeling exhilarated Moira, barely daring to believe it was there, tangible and real and not self-induced deceit: Valerian had dislodged something inside her, and brought the very first spark of true inspiration she had felt since Josephine's death. The flicker was weak, barely there, but it was something, something she felt more grateful for than she could possibly express.

And it did not end there.

Silent as a cat, Valerian edged closer to where she sat, his sapphire eyes full of an unspoken invitation that sent a very different shiver deep into Moira's core. Even before he gently scooped her hand up and brushed it against his cheek, the purpose was there, undeniable, and to Moira, startling. Her momentary throb of desire to drink from him had been so brief, most would have missed it, or mistaken its reason. Furthermore she herself had dismissed it briefly, falling back into her age-long habit of avoiding such an exchange with another Kindred: each time she contemplated the possibility, the memories of Matthias' Final Death overwhelmed her.

Valerian however appeared to have noticed it, and acted upon it without hesitation, the power of his observation once again surprising Moira. Few things seemed to pass over him, although, perhaps, having grown so attuned to eachother, even their unspoken desires passed through them as through a pane of glass. And maybe a tiny fragment of her had wanted him to notice it.

When the tips of her fingers were laid to rest on the side of Valerian's neck, Moira retracted them almost instinctively, letting them hover an inch above the skin, but the arm did not withdraw. The initial yearning seeped back into her consciousness, brought to a whole new height by the fact that he offered it willingly, and with it fear. A feral glow ignited in Moira's eyes, very different than her usual calm, appraising spark, and her features mirrored the feeling bubbling beneath the surface: it was something akin to lust, but also very different, stirred to a boil by that part of her which was irrevocably inhuman and which had only one desire: to kill and to devour - the Beast.

Having fallen prey to it once, Moira had spent many years reinforcing her mental shield against the Beast, little by little pushing it back into its cage and chaining it inside, but every now and then it lunged forth and tried its restraints. It was reassuring to defeat it each time through pure mental effort and willpower, but one threshold remained untested: the very thing that had once upon a time unleashed the monster in her: Kindred vitae. As she battled fear with wanting, Moira recalled the catalyst for that reviled episode: seeing Josephine murdered before her very eyes had ignited the Frenzy, but the rage and cruelty flowing in Matthias' veins as she drank from him had sustained it.

None of that was present in Valerian: he surrendered willingly, bared his neck to her fangs without fear, out of desire to share much more than words could express, the most intimate unity their kin could achieve. Moira had defeated one of the ghosts haunting her that night with his help – what if she could defeat another? Surprisingly, subduing the pure, undiluted bloodlust required only her usual techniques, not much more difficult than each time she fed – it became apparent the only true stopper were her ancient fears. With that victory, a new clarity shone in her mind, revealing precisely what she wished: the animal instinct was still there, of course, no Kindred could fully distance themselves from it and it was dangerous to try; but with it came a rational decision to experience the exchange on both a physical and intellectual level, to sample its bliss and insights, but as Moira and Valerian, not predator and prey.

With that thought in mind, Moira's muscles relaxed, and ravenous indecision melted away from her face: she was herself once more. Sliding close enough to Valerian that their hips touched, the hand still in balance above his neck slithered underneath the jet black tendrils of his hair, cupping the back of his head gently though firmly, slowly pushing it to one side. The other arm found its way around the young Toreador's waist, drawing him against her chest in what would have resembled a loving embrace and held him there. She was close to his skin then, closer than she had ever been, the scent of the sweet essence coursing underneath it inflaming her senses, coaxing a soft purr from her lips which parted slowly as they inched closer.

Some Kindred preferred to surrender themselves to another's hunger, others enjoyed taking that which was offered to them; but there was yet another option: drinking from eachother at the same time, locked into a tide of blood and bewildering ecstasy, giving and receiving all at once.

Moira did not know for certain which of the three Valerian was, or whether he enjoyed something different each time. Lowering her cheek on his shoulder, her own neck lay openly bent like a slender flower stem, an invitation in its own should he wish to take it – perceptive as he was, she felt convinced no clearer encouragement was needed. In the meantime, Moira's lips locked themselves onto the soft skin, exploring the area with her tongue, building up the anticipation as much for herself as for Valerian. The sharp tips of her canines emerged through the gums, tempting beyond restraint: in one fluid motion, they pierced the exposed vein, unleashing a crimson flow.

The instant she felt Valerian's blood in her mouth, Moira experienced something extraordinary: it was sweet beyond sweetness, liquid fire more intoxicating than any drug: it was his very essence passing into her, imbued by all the qualities she had experienced in Valerian's presence, but intensified hundredfold. With mortals, it was sustenance, with a Kindred so much more than that: it was no wonder that such experiences created an instant affinity between those that shared one another in that way through blood alone. Instinctively, almost spasmodically, Moira's grip tightened as her jaws opened wider to allow as much of it to pass through, careful not to spill a single drop, abandoning herself to her senses – but not quite fully. All the while she painstakingly isolated one small part of her consciousness from the ecstasy that so tempted it into a blood-fueled insanity, and with it kept the ability to stop. It also permitted her to translate some of what she felt into conscious thought, adding to her understanding of Valerian in ways words never could... and for the first time, something different followed the crimson stream, leaving its dormant state, stirred awake by Moira's intrusion: a pang of sadness, pulsating like a beating, bleeding heart hiding underneath the many layers which composed Valerian's psyche.

((ooc: I also hope this makes sense. ._. It becomes more and more difficult to tell everything I want in one single post lol))

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: burnziiy - Part of it is Valerian's personal chambers, and the other part is the VIP lounge. Both places are invitation only, though Valerian's 'regulars' have the freedom of going up there and wait for him, if they wish. As long as no one else is already there. Does that make sense?
And to answer your previous question, this night should've ended this past Sunday, as every night had been approx. 2 weeks RT time, but considering the pace we're keeping, I'm extending it another 2 weeks. So, the time in the RP should be about midnight, I guess. :) )))

[Fayreview]

Caraltian watched as the woman turned to him. Perhaps he had spoken, it was fuzzy, but her questioning look made it seem plausible that he had in deed prompted some type of interaction with the young woman. She did not speak, she maybe a dark person, a loner kindred being or some drug addled kine. No that didn't seem to fit her eyes were intelligent and she seemed in control despite her silence. She was indeed kindred her very being seemed to scream it to the heavens now he thought about it.

His train of thought haulted how long had he been standing simply returning her gaze? "I'm sorry I do not seem to know why I am here." Her look had seemed to be an invitation for him to talk rather than to question. In deed her looks were clearer than those of any kindred before, but at the same time deep and meaningful underneath. It was an admirable trait.

He flexed his fingers, there was somewhere he had to be later. He was not sure where, but he knew it eas somethign he must do, not yet but that night certainly. He had been feeling pulses of it for days now. But it was strong tonight, Lady Hester was at the web.

He forced himself back to the present time, he tilted his head to the young woman, trying to prompt her to speak, as she had made him do.

[ElektraNatchios33]

"If you don't want it, I'll take it back." She could tell that Annie was being 100% serious, but what was she supposed to do?

"I'm not lying to you Ann-- whatever your name is, but there needs to be a great level of trust in order for me to tell you, and -- it hasn't been reached yet." as if Jessica could get any more cryptic. Annie knew, she was in danger, and both of them will probably die within the sunrise of the next day. There was no avoiding the fate that was to come.

"If you tell anyone about what I'm going to say, and I mean anybody..." she trailed off, she didn't want to finish the sentence "...You see, i just can't trust you with the information."

((sorry for my prolonged absence. There was a problem with the internet billing and I couldn't get on.))

[Ghanima Atreides]

Aeode and Jessica - Outside The Haven

"If you don't want it, I'll take it back."


Aeode swept a suspicious glare over the other woman's delicate frame, puzzled as to what she had meant with it. For the moment, the message itself mattered less than the tone in which it was spoken: she noted the hint of a threat in it, the subtle warning it contained.

Her previous appraisal of Jessica had lead Aeode to believe she posed little threat to her, physically, should conflict ever arise, but that brought her little reassurance: any sort of deadly weapon could have been concealed underneath the folds of her clothes, not to mention the fact that the deeper she delved into this mystery, the clearer it became that she was nearing something greater and more dangerous than she had imagined at first: both Andre and Jessica's evasive, defensive attitudes suggested there was something they feared; even Dez' intuition had confirmed it.

Combat however was something Aeode avoided unless absolutely necessary, and in those circumstances nothing could have been truer: she did not wish to fight, or even argue: she simply wanted that for once vagueness was shed and clear, honest answers were given.

"I'm not lying to you Ann-- whatever your name is, but there needs to be a great level of trust in order for me to tell you, and -- it hasn't been reached yet."

Aeode's lips were pressed together into a frozen, cynical line as she beheld the woman before her, starting to doubt whether it was even worth trying to untangle the threads she stubbornly wove around the truth, pushing it deeper and deeper underneath. They kept going around in circles, one pushing forward while the other retreated, all the while avoiding the answers that mattered.

Just when Aeode was contemplating leaving and trying her luck with Valerian once he returned, Jessica spoke again, shifting the direction their conversation kept hurtling towards:

"If you tell anyone about what I'm going to say, and I mean anybody..."

Instinctively, Aeode's whole body inched forward, her expression rapt; she hardly dared to believe Jessica had been convinced to grant her the information she so craved. Like beats of a drum, her heart thumped loudly in her temples, flushing her system with the pinpricks of adrenaline.
And then, just as the elation was building up, a stifling grip snuffed out the hope, tossing her once more into that sea of frustration and doubt:

“...You see, I just can't trust you with the information."

A defeated sigh escaped through Aeode's parted lips; she felt as though a giant hammer had been lowered on the back of her head at great speed: it made her giddy. The initial feeling was of impotent rage, her fingers which painfully dug into the palms of her balled hands ached to reach for Jessica and extract the answers out of her by force, yet Aeode was beginning to conquer her anger. She realized it was useless, and destructive; it obliterated her rational thoughts and only served to alienate Jessica even more. As such, with much difficulty, she gathered her thoughts and attempted to put them together into a calm sentence that explained her feelings better than a tantrum would:

“You speak of trust,” she began slowly, “but we aren't exactly on equal terms, are we? You have all the answers and I have my questions and a few confusing memories. That inevitably puts the ball firmly in your court. Also, trust is a mutual thing; you say you cannot trust me when I've been quite clear about what I want: you, on the other hand, keep dangling the proverbial bone over my head, just out of reach, throwing me all sorts of cryptic answers that avoid the question and just when you seem ready to open up, you suddenly decide you can't trust me enough.”

Aeode paused for a moment, running the tip of her tongue over her dry lips: it had been apparent from the beginning that Jessica's derisive attitude, her unspoken fear of some unknown thing, was nearly identical to Andre deLucian's. Both of them must have feared the same thing, that much was obvious – the question was: what. And how did it connect to her.

“You are not the first person who's given me almost the exact same set of answers,” she continued – the more she spoke, the better her thoughts flowed. She decided not to mention Andre's name however; she had promised not to involve him – besides, names were not needed. All she wanted Jessica to know was that she wasn't the first she had come to for answers, nor the last. “I don't believe that to be a coincidence, already two people connected to my attack seem to fear a certain something: my guess is it's the same thing. But I understand fear, oh yes. My real name is Aeode Mallard; Annie is just one of the many aliases I've used over the last eight years. Do you know why? Out of fear that whoever tried to kill me that night and massacred every member of my family who was there would find out who I was and finish the job. It's almost as if the real Aeode Mallard, who was going to be an opera singer and marry Thomas Caulfield indeed died, considering I did loose my life as I knew it – and I want to know how, so I can start finding out why. Now, are you beginning to understand why it is so important to me to know exactly what went on that night?”

((ooc: No problem, Elektra, welcome back! :D))

[AtropaMandragora]

Judging by the faint smile that formed on Archon's lips as Damian expressed the convenience of having him back in Los Angeles, he was pleased to know his returned presence was appreciated. While Damian could've surely coped rather easily for quite a while longer, he really was relieved to return the duties of Primogen to his friend and associate, so that he himself might return to focus fully on the more important matters. He had spent what he himself deemed a time long enough as Primogen of the esteemed Ventrue clan, both in Philadelphia and in Los Angeles, and mourned little over the loss of the duties thereof. In a handful of decades, he had outgrown the title and the tasks and responsibilities that came with it. He was destined for something bigger, and grander. He knew it, and over the years, many had come to agree with him. He had always been a force to be reckoned with, though there were always those that realized it better than others. There always would be.

And he was not the kind of man that waited for the right opportunity to just come along, whenever that may be. Or even if it may be. If the right opportunity did not present itself soon enough, Damian Alexander III was the kind of man that created it himself. After serving as Primogen in Los Angeles for a few decades, watching and studying the then current Prince - a Toreador - and reaching the conclusion that the man, while not a dolt exactly, was simply incapable of challenging, and controlling, the city and it's inhabitants, and kept them from reaching their full potential. In the right way, of course. The ways of error were many, and tricky. Los Angeles, and it's Kindred population, needed someone stronger to keep the order, without causing war to erupt between clans and sects, or even rebellions. Especially ones directed towards the Prince himself. One needed to be a master of balance, ruling with a firm hand, yet one gentle enough not to suffocate what it held in it's grasp. Give with one hand, recieve (or in some cases, take) with the other, carry the prize, and the whip.

So, when the Toreador Prince of Los Angeles had proven himself unworthy, in Damian's eyes, Damian had started to ready himself for a take over. A most cunning and peaceful take over - the kind he liked the best - that would remove the current Prince, and leave Damian as the most prominent and logical successor. After all, a ruler did spare himself a horde of enemies, and trouble, if he was elected by his future subjects, rather than claim the throne with brutal force and bloodshed. It all just needed a little more planning and an excellent execution. With the patience of a saint, and the skill of a virtuoso, Damian had pulled one tiny string after another, manuevered himself and manipulated others into the right positions and circumstances, all with the purpose of setting the game board to his liking, and allow him to be at the right place at the right time, when the current Prince would decide or be forced to resign. And it would all just seem like a fortunate string of coincidences and circumstances, rather than the work of one single person's scheming. Though throughout the years, as Damian's ways of dealing with people and situations became more widely known, some had started suspecting that he really had had alot more to do with the turn of events than he took credit for. Damian himself, however, neither confirmed nor denied such rumours, but simply did what he knew would keep people on their toes; leave the myths to once again blur and sometimes even conceal the truth. Just like he did with the rumours concerning his "lack of need" to feed.

Of course, the take over had not been perfectly smooth - in the game of politics, few things were - but while far from all had supported him (the Brujah being the ones most vocal about their objections, as always), the majority had, and Damian had been able to install himself in the office as Prince, ruler of the city, peacefully. Now, some would of course insist that the Kindred position of Prince was merely the position of an overseer, however Damian would never settle for something so... passive. He was the Prince of his domain, and he would rule it as such. As well as defend it. Just like he himself had been, there were others that were hungry for the position, or simply hungry for ridding themselves and the city of him, and so he'd fought his fair share of battles over it. And the fact that he was still there was testament enough of his might, as was the fact that only a few of the rebels remained, especially within the city limits. Some had been run out, others had left with their tail between their legs, and others yet had met their demise. Most by the hands of the sheriff, but also a lucky few by the hands of Damian himself. He was a noble, an aristocrat, that favored civility and sophistication, but he was also a knight, a warrior, a swordsmaster born with weapons in his hands, as well as a Kindred, with Kindred powers and disciplines. He would not go quietly into the good night.

"Thank you, my Lord", Archon said, obviously recognizing the compliment despite it being somewhat simple and detached in nature. "Although I have appreciated the opportunity to take care of business overseas, this is my home. It is hard to really enjoy new scenery, when you know the familiar one still depends on you. I am most grateful that you did agree to take my place, although I know the work of a Prince is never done. However, that can also be applied to the work of a Primogen. Despite all of our accomplished members, I must say it gave me peace of mind to know you would act on my behalf."

At that, Damian's lips simply curved with a slight smile in return. He was well aware that the work of a Primogen that Archon referred to, kept him more busy than it had Damian during his time as Primogen, simply because Archon made it so. Archon involved himself in the unlives of their fellow Ventrue - some may even call it that he interfered - more than Damian ever had. In that position, he had remained more of an overseer, compared to Archon. He'd been a mentor, guiding spirit, confessor, someone the clan could turn to and lean on when needed, rarely telling them how they should act, but rather, if needed, making them see things his way by simple conversation and advice, sometimes discreet and judicious manipulation. He knew that by meddling too much, he might fade from overseer to dictator, in the eyes of the clan. And while as Prince he ruled with a firmer hand, he still always tried to keep in mind that freedom of choice, to a certain degree, was one of his greatest responsibilities.

"There is much to tell from my journey", Archon continued.

It was almost as if he had sensed the polite and friendly question that was forming on the Prince's tongue, and wanted to interject with another topic of conversation first.
And, sure enough;

"But we might have more pressing matters right here in our city, that could perhaps benefit from being addressed at once. I suppose there is something you could tell me about de la Cour, that your grand banquet did not reveal? I assume his presence was not entirely up to him, judging from your lack of surprise."

Of course. Adrien de la Cour. The subject was bound to come up, sooner or later, in most any conversation between Kindred this night, and the ones that were to follow, as it was a most extraordinary turn of events, even by their standards. And, while Damian had said most of what he'd had to say regarding the hunter-turned-Tremere the other night at the Ball, there still remained his sudden appearance in Los Angeles, and his decision to attend the event and bring everyone's attention to himself.

"Ah, yes", Damian replied with the faintest of smirks stealing across his noble, handsome features. "The infamous Monsieur de la Cour. Indeed, I was aware of his presence in my city. He had the courtesy to present himself to me the night prior to the event, believe it or not. And by appearing here in my office, no less."

Weighing back in his chair a bit, he allowed his gaze to wander the room, as if asking it what impression Adrien's aura had left, what details in his appearance and behaviour the walls might have percieved, that Damian might not. After all, his meeting with the man had been a rather short one, as the dominant gentleman part of him had wanted to leave Mina to adjust and react to the exceptionally unexpected circumstances without an audience. Though had he cared once ounce less about her on a personal level, he would've most likely remained in his role as Prince, and Prince alone, and stayed to learn as much as possible from the reunion. But perhaps Mina would recognize the respectful gesture, and offer if not all, then at least some knowledge in return for his kindness.
However, her involvement in what had transpired in the office that night, would remain a secret, at least on Damian's part, as he did not wish to reveal the obvious distress she had felt back then. Only if she herself spoke openly about it to others would he consider mentioning it himself, if needed.

"However," he continued. "As far as his reasons to attend the Ball are concerned, I can only speculate. From what I saw of him during our brief meeting, he is prone to wear his defiance and his contempt of us on his sleeve. He makes it no secret that he stil harbours no feelings towards us, except those of malice, hatred, and ill-will. Perhaps his presence at the Ball was nothing more than a mockery, a blatant provokation to test the waters. To test me, and my patience."

He paused for a few moments, and the smirk became more apparent by claiming the expression in his steely eyes, as though he found it most amusing and ironic to be challenged so openly, by someone so young, and despised by all other Kindred.

"I, however, have decided that for the time being, I will go along with whatever plans the Tremere may have in store for him. As long as they keep him on a tight leash, and see to it that he refrains from killing. While I do not particularly trust the Tremere of San Fransisco, I do like to think I'm on fairly good terms with the ones within my own city, and so I will bestow it upon them to keep him in line."

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: Sorry it took me so long! I completely forgot about Adrien. :( )))

Unlike at the previous table, Adrien found that the players that had gathered around this one, were at least fairly skilled. They paid attention to the odds, as well as their opponents; something the players at the last table mostly did not. And not only that, they posed a bit more of a challenge for Adrien to read as well. It took him more than five minutes to figure them out, and more than another five to confirm his observations. And it actually pleased him. It brought an added level of excitement to the game, that hadn't been in the last one, and it put his skills to the test. To Adrien, testing his skills and thus developing them, every chance he got, was of the essence. It was what helped keep him alive, and prepared. He had even gone as far as to starting to make an effort to develop his Kindred powers, his disciplines. But only when he was convinced he was alone, for never would anyone know that he had, although reluctantly, acknowledged even the slightest part of his vampire nature. If his enemies found out, they would surely see it as a sign that he was beginning to yield, to submit to his new existence. They would see weakness, and their drive to keep pushing him would grow even more relentless, whereas now, when seeing no sign of submission or deafeat whatsoever, they would eventually tire of their games.
However, to Adrien, using his powers did not mean he accepted his fate, merely the weapons handed to him. But it was a slow process, as his only tutor was his own mistakes and failures. He had no one to learn from. No one had offered, and even if they did, Adrien would dismiss them with little more than a sneer. He trusted no one, least of to teach him anything of value. He had to learn completely on his own. Even the books within Mina's museum was out of his reach, for as soon as he touched even one of them, Mina would know. She had eyes everywhere in that cursed place. Eyes of ghouls and fellow Tremere, that would register any minute sign he might give that he craved the information they held.

Luckily, a game of cards hardly called for the use of disciplines, or any other unnatural powers and abilities, and the skills that were required were a century old in him. He took his time studying each and every player - their faces, their manners, their quirks, their tactics - but never openly enough for it to be overly noticable. Unless, of course, they were the type that found such a thing unnerving, in which case he saw to it that they knew he was watching them, mostly by making eye contact every now and then. And even if he hadn't been Kindred, Adrien possessed the most piercing dark eyes. With a mere gaze, he could send icey chills padding up and down human spines, and, on occasion, Kindred ones as well. To those who were susceptible, it would prove most distracting and discomforting. Intimidating even.
At this table, Adrien would target one such player in particular; a young, cocky socialite, who, while he was a rather good player, soon found himself too irked by Adrien's scrutinizing gaze to focus properly. Before long, he was on a major loosing streak, helped along by the other young, gossamer-haired man sitting right next to him.
Adrien had just moved on to study him, when a presence closing on him from behind alerted his senses. Moments later, a creature of lily white, ebony black and firey red slid into the seat next to him; the young lady that had joined the previous table as well. With the faintest of smiles, she greeted Adrien, whose only ackowledgement of recognizing her was a swift lowering of his lashes. He couldn't help but to be a little suspicious of her, but at the same time, he knew it would be paranoid, even for him, to assume she was following him. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that for some reason, he had gotten her attention. Granted, it could be as innocent as her wanting another chance to play against him. Or, it could even be that she was determined to recieve some sort of response to the glances she had been giving him during the last game. As was the case with most men, there were women who got their kicks from pursuing someone that seemed unavailable, someone that was hard to get and thus challenged their skills and their drive to prevail.
But, there was also the chance that there was something more sinister in the works, something far more alarming hiding beneath that beautiful exterior. Adrien had no doubt that he was being watched, both by the casino security, and by the Kindred. But he had a hard deciding which of those categories this woman belonged to, or even if she belonged to one of them. She wasn't Kindred herself, that much he had gathered as soon as she claimed the seat next to his. He could hear the soft beating of her heart, and the coursing of the blood in her veins. But that did in no way mean she couldn't be somehow connected to them. She could be a ghoul, sent to examine him, or even just creep him out.

Whatever the case, Adrien gave only that short glance in her direction, and left his thoughts to be known by none other than himself. But he did keep an eye on the surroundings, and on her, to see if there was anyone around that she kept making eye contact with, or showed some other sign of being up to something of which he would not approve.
But, either she was as skilled an actor as he himself was, or her joining this table as well was perfectly innocent, for during the time he spent there, raking in another small fortune, what he saw seemed fairly harmless. She didn't appear to communicate with anyone else, but she was studying him, that much was evident to him. Once or twice he even caught a glimpse of approval flashing in her eyes, as though she was quietly applauding his tactics. Though neither of those things meant a whole lot. They were playing poker, after all. It would be odd if she hadn't been watching him.

None the less, he still had a feeling he was unable, and thus unwilling, to shake, a feeling that she was indeed watching him, for other reasons than just the game. And so he decided to call her on it, on whatever it was she was doing. If she really was following him, he would let her know that he was aware of it. And if she wasn't, then it would do no harm to question it anyway.

So, once he had reached the amount of chips he had set his mind to when first joining, he slid from his seat and started to turn away in order to leave the table, but paused, with his right shoulder almost brushing against her left one.

"I will be heading over to one of the blackjack tables now", he said, barely bothering to look at her. "Shall I be expecting to see you there as well?"

Though he didn't wait for her to reply, he simply left before she had the chance.

[Shenanigans_SC]

Falesyia found herself quite engulfed in the game at this table. Not that it had been the most challenging, as there were strong and not so strong players present, but she immensely enjoyed the game. Not the game of poker, the game of scouting for and acquiring fresh blood for Posh. Having both aspects, the poker game, and the raven haired gentleman on her mind was a welcomed relief from her previous boredom.

She held her own for the most part, though there were a few hands she had made less than impeccable decisions. Most of which ended up benefiting the man beside her. Rather than being distraught with such losses, she couldn’t help but lean back in her chair and smile approvingly. After all, he did deserve the acknowledgement that he had proved to be the most skilled player there.

A few times she flashed him a congratulatory glance, each and every time they would simply be ignored or dismissed, just as her glances earlier in the night had been. After a while she had begun to doubt her ability to get to this man. She had not come against his type before. Usually by now her target would have sensed she wished to speak to him alone. They would answer her glances with words, or looks of their own. But no, this time her target proved to be impenetrable. So she thought.

When he signaled to the dealer his intention to leave Falesyia felt a tinge of defeat. She had sat by his side for the most part of an hour, and now he was going to leave. True, she had not said a word, neither of them had, but she had attempted to communicate quite clearly. Perhaps they were each too dignified to speak. As Falesyia’s fingers caressed and toyed with a chip mindlessly, she had begun to make other plans. Perhaps this was not her night, maybe she should turn in early. A long soak in the tub with plenty of bubbles and a glass of champagne would be her consolation prize.

Just before she resigned to such a fate, the man beside her stood, finally breaking their silence with his words. There was no eye contact, yet there was no doubt in her mind that his words were intended to reach her ears. “I will be heading over to one of the blackjack tables now. Shall I be expecting to see you there as well?” Though he did not stay long enough for her reply, his words brought a sly smile to her face. Well hidden by her closed lips, her tongue caressed the upper ridge of her teeth. So her glances had gotten to him. He had simply applied his game induced self constraint to her as well. Though it was delayed satisfaction, hers was still just as sweet.

Just as the dealer was about to deal the next game, Falesyia motioned with her hand she would not be accepting any cards. She requested her small stack of a couple hundred in chips be given to the blonde man that had sat across from her. It was not a sign of sympathy, but rather an acknowledgement that he was the most likely to take over running the table.

Before her body had risen completely from the table, she had removed her phone from her purse, by time she stood and turned towards the bar she had flipped it open and pushed the familiar button. Two simple words were all she stated once Nicholas had answered. “Black Jack”. He would understand her perfectly, as this was by no means the first time she had operated. As she walked towards the bar, she recalled every little gesture, every little look, every motion the man had made. She had studied them, now she must finish analyzing them. Different men were to be approached differently if one was to obtain the ideal outcome.

Once she reached the bar she purposefully positioned herself with her back towards the black jack tables. If there was one thing he made obvious to her this night it was that he was not about to grant her an iota of control over him. No matter how badly she wanted or deserved it. He would govern every last detail of the when and if he would react to her. If he insisted on having the upper hand, she was glad to allow it.

She ordered her usual drink from the tender, as having something on the bar to fiddle with had become comfortable for her. If ever she wanted to encourage someone to speak, she would slowly take a drink granting them time to do so without seeming awkward. Just as she received her drink and took a sip from it she felt the presence of someone walking slowly beside her. As she lowered the glass her eyes looked up to take in his form. He had the clothes of a rebel, black jeans and a black tee, a combination that matched his attitude and seemingly unwillingness to accept society’s standards. Yet he held his long black coat over his arm, showing that he was not some young punk that didn’t know how to give respect. He simply held on to his respect, only granting it to those whom he deemed worthy.

When he came to a halt at the stool beside her, her eyes had already been anticipating his own. Though she had tried several times to look into them, he had never allowed her the opportunity until now. Though it was extremely brief, she struggled to make a connection of some sort, to penetrate his defenses, to get a fleeting glimpse of what it was that drove him. However his sooty emerald eyes proved to be like the rest of him, impenetrable. It was almost as if he was dead to the entire world, to feelings of any sort. It was a sense that sent a shiver down Falesyia’s spine, yet intrigued her all the more.

She waited just a moment, expecting him to take a seat, perhaps to order a drink. However he remained standing, undoubtedly declaring that though she had brought him here, it was only because he was willing. A brow soon arched in her direction. It would be her only invitation, his only admittance that he was listening. “I’d like to present you with a proposition.” She stated smoothly, replacing her glass back onto the bar. “An opportunity to finally play with equals.” Her own brows rose as to fetch his response.

Her eyes witnessed the shadow of a smirk come over his lips, much like the one she had seen when he gathered his winnings earlier in the night. “You’re not one of them then?” His words had sprung from his lips, uninhibited by any form of civility. They could have been words of disrespect if taken at face value. But if one was to listen closely with a discerning ear, they could hear the unintended words of flattery. So far this night, he had deemed her one of the few that was an admirable opponent.

With him still standing over her, daring her to challenge him, Falesyia didn’t budge. She knew who had the upper hand, even if he did not. She would not be the loser if he turned her offer down. Granted she would be disappointed at the loss of an opportunity to see this young man in his element. However, she was not about to grovel as some fool would. She had allowed him his positions of control, not insisting she have her way. Just as he now stood before her, simply because he was willing, she also remained sitting, simply because she was willing. Still, his question waited to be answered.

“Perhaps,” she offered her steely jade gaze in answer, “however I am but only one woman.” Falesyia lifted her glass effortlessly with her right hand as she continued, “One cannot sharpen their skills on dull blades. I thought you would enjoy the opportunity to find out how good your skills actually are. However if I’m wrong…” she looked towards him once again expectantly. Though he would not allow her to read his thoughts, she held no such guard. She was not about to be forced into some belittling game of words. She was not a misguided amateur, disillusioned as to what she had to offer. He would see it clearly in her eyes, her offer was genuine and would not be repeated.

[AtropaMandragora]

A sudden flash of an animal of prey, a starved predator, behind a veil of lavendar velvet. A hunger, a thirst for blood, the Beast building and raging inside of that slender frame, behind the bars of that gentle mind. It too was a look Valerian had seen before, in the eyes of many, when he had offered them only part of what he offered Moira now. But never, never had he seen it so raw and so pure.

He felt the shiver that ran through her, the apprehension in the fingertips that just barely retreated from the touch of his milky white skin, almost as though she was fighting back the urge to clutch his neck and sink her fangs deep into him, hungrily and violently, intent on draining him of every last drop he had to give, willingly or no. What he was instigating could be a dangerous thing, if the reciever lacked restraint, or the will thereof. In Moira's case he, a mere Neonate, would be no match, no match at all, should she want to devour him, or even just loose control to that inner Beast of hers, which was now making her eyes glow with craving for the crimson elixir flowing in his veins.
Yet he felt no fear, no sudden internal pang of panic or distress rushed through his mind, no survival instinct pulled him away from her. In his eyes, there was only calm anticipation and devotion, as his gaze beckoned her to grant him the Kiss he so yearned for.

Then, just as quickly as the predatory twinkle in her eyes had appeared, it vanished, and she was once again looking at him with her usual gentility, and ancient wisdom. She was now ready to accept his invitation, his desire for her to know him and for him to feel the addictive bliss of her bite, of the intimacy between their bodies and their souls. Fluid movements brought them closer, fingertips reunited with his pale skin and traced their way into his charcoal tresses, finding him more than willing to tilt his head slightly at their command, to allow her lips access to the very spot where they had just rested. A gentle, irresistible tug brought him to melt fully into her embrace, while his own arms found their way around her waist, and one hand slid up her back, coming to rest in the beautifully sculpted valley between her shoulderblades. There it lingered, as the soft purr from her lips vibrated in his ear and brought the quiverings of a faint smile to his own. He had done this so many times before, with other people, and yet this was unlike any of those times. The way their souls had already connected effortlessly brought a new electrifying intensity to the air, so strong it seemed to almost materialize into a soft hum.

For a moment, Valerian closed his eyes, revelling in the sensation of Moira's lips against his skin, in the anticipation of the last few seconds before he would feel her fangs pierce right through it, and his very essence would be shared with her. He had longed for it ever since they first met, and even though it had been barely twentyfour hours since then, it felt as though his desire had been building for an eternity, for eons of time, each and every minute passed having toyed with his imagination, enticed and awakened his senses, woven whispy thin threads that wound themselves around his mind, binding his wishes to his every thought. Sometimes so tightly the thought itself was ruled by his desire, sometimes so loosely it seemed to barely be there.
Now, the gates were about to open.

As her sharp fangs sank into his cool flesh, he couldn't withhold the softest of low, guttural moans, and for a moment, his already closed eyes squeezed shut. Not because of the initial stab of pain soon carried away on swift wings, but because of the first wave of pleasure that crashed down on him, so intense and strong it seemed to almost pain him physically, sending his mind tumbling until there was no clear thought in his head at all; his every expectation of the deed being met tenfold.
To him, each night offered passion, especially when in the company of another who took pleasure in his touch, his kiss or in his blood. But this, this was something else, something that went far beyond passion. Surpassing even anything that could be described as profound, it was something that reached not just into his unbeating heart, but into his very soul.

Though while the feeling never faded, never faltered, Valerian did slowly adjust to it. His eyes drifted open once again, and he awakened to the tingling closeness between his lips and Moira's own lily white neck. She had pulled him so close that there wasn't any longer even an inch seperating her jugular from the fangs that had emerged without him even realizing it. It was as though his mind and body had succumbed fully to the experience, and left his will power in the mere periphery of his own awareness.

Yet he registered the invitation she was giving him in return. Like him, she allowed a mere gesture to speak, to suggest that if he wanted it, it was within his reach and for the taking.
He couldn't refuse it, nor did he want to. Even though it was something he had never done before - he had always been the giver, and only in Claudia's case the reciever, never both at once - there was not one part of him that protested what he was about to do. It was as though there was no other option, it was the only right thing. Something had begun to stir within him, a yearning, a hunger known to every Kindred ever in existence. The softness of her skin as his lips brushed against it, nibbled at it, awakened the predator in him, just like it had in Moira, and his body trembled with its silent but powerful roar. Though he knew it would remain restrained within his mind, the chains would not break. It was a thought that only dwelled in the many folds of his unconscious, hidden but not lost in the waves of pleasure that raged through him. Waves that, no matter how forceful, would seem nothing more than ripplings on a calm surface when next his teeth pierced carefully through her skin, and the sweet, crimson liquid of her very essence filled his throat. The very moment it did, he felt his body twitch in her arms, as though violently lashed, only not by an instrument of torture, but with a thousand threads of the purest ecstacy he had ever known. It was searing light, so bright it would burn your eyes, materialized in the rich scarlet gush flowing into him. It was a warm, comforting embrace shielding him from the deepest, darkest burning pit of Hell, the soft, caressing breath of a lovers adoring whisper in his ear as he slept, the very epitome of everything that had ever inspired even the most minute feeling of rapture in his being.
And underneath it all, there was something else. A pitch-black darkness, so threatening and overwhelming his senses instinctively turned from it, and left him with only a faint, most intangible hint of a feeling that he had come close to brushing against something sinister, and all-consuming. Danger, in its purest form.

It was all the jumbled enterity of a life not his own, yet in this moment so vivid and real to him that it might've just as well been, even though it was so tangled he could make no logical sense of it. It was the essence of times long gone, a gathering of feelings felt and experiences learned, woven together with impressions of the present.

To one such as young and perhaps more importantly as sensitive as Valerian, it all was too much. He simply could not bear it, and so as his jaws released her, just as carefully as they had seized her, the shimmer of two tiny droplets caught in the gentle candle light, trickling their way slowly down his white marble cheek, streaking them with a rich contrast of ruby red.




(((Oooc: Yeah, yeah, it's cheesy, but I blame Valerian. He's such a softy. :D )))

[Ghanima Atreides]

Moira and Valerian - Moira's Suite at the Ritz

It felt like a stab delivered by an ice cold blade, tearing a gash into the blissful delirium which raged through every fiber of Moira's being, an unexpected cry of anguish and a sense of loss so deep it momentarily drowned all else. Moira's closed eyes flicked open and her lips all but severed their link with Valerian's neck, mind reeling with two powerful, opposite feelings that tugged at it from both ends, creating an avalanche of clashing sensations that pained her by sheer force.

Despite this sharp turn of events, Moira felt her own self awareness and the level of control she retained over herself and the devouring monster which swelled in her grow, as did her desire to peel away, layer by layer, the many barriers built around this hidden part of Valerian, to draw out its tale through the blood like poison from a wound, and surround it with her comforting presence, to let it heal.

That was until Valerian buried is ivory fangs into her neck and the whole world tumbled away in a whirlpool of euphoria once again, obliterating the fragile link with that hidden dark place deep within Valerian's psyche. Moira did not register the actual instant it happened, but its effects were felt instantly: she felt herself drop into a bottomless abyss of sensory insanity; time itself seemed to have crawled to a halt, the world around speeding by at blinding velocities while Moira and Valerian remained completely still, arms pressed tightly around eachother's bodies, locked together into a circuit of flowing vitae.

As her own essence passed into Valerian's veins, Moira felt something immensely powerful and altogether extraordinary awaken deep into her core: it was no longer just the ravages of pure, raw pleasure and alien feelings experienced as though they were her own, although they never waned. It was an old foe stirred awake by the fact that another's deadly fangs were buried into the pearly whiteness of her skin.

With this new change, Moira's motions became more frantic; she clung to Valerian's body like a drowning man to the thin rope that lead to safety, drinking in every crimson drop oozing from the two tiny wounds on his jugular with unprecedented relish, using lips as well as tongue to retrieve the sweet crimson liquid as efficiently as possible. Deep grunts rumbled in the base of her throat, not unlike that of a large animal of prey devouring a tender kill, mingled with the velvety softness of a lover's tone. In the meantime, her mind raced down the endless roads of times itself, omnipresent and omniscient, in the blink of an eye encompassing what felt like countless eons, watching the genesis of the world and all history flash by like one spectacular projection film. Moira felt exalted, truly awake for the first time in her life: she felt godlike, a being made of pure light, more powerful than the foundations of the Earth, ruthless, detached, indiscriminating.

The Beast was slowly forcing its way into Moira's mind, taking advantage of her current state of rapture to deceive her mind and widen the noose around its neck until it could break free of it and wreck havoc. To do so, it appealed to one of Moira's weaknesses: her lust for power and control, which she usually tempered with cool rationality, never allowing herself to cross certain boundaries, realistic in what true ambitions and expectations could deliver.

But not then. The act of sharing her own blood with Valerian pried open the gates to a dark and dangerous place, threatening to unleash an unstoppable, blood thirsty and soulless monster lurking beyond, poised to strike once the opportunity was ripe, and that moment presented itself when Valerian retracted his fangs from her jugular.

A low, rippling moan spilled off Moira's crimson smeared lips, her eyes narrowing to slits beneath a deeply creased brow, her features contorted into a vicious grimace. It resembled a perverse mockery of the delicate being that was Moira Sushill, a beastly menace that had crawled inside her and drove her to an unspeakable act for the second time. She was peripherally aware that if she continued much longer, Valerian's life would be put in danger, and that thought fed the Beast's growing thirst, seizing Moira with an irresistible desire to drain every last drop of blood he had to offer, to not stop until she could feel her lips sucking on a dry vein.

The pressure was enormous, so powerful that Moira's body spasmed several times as what remained of her own will battled with that awesome enemy she had unleashed upon herself and Valerian alike. Her own urges frightened her and at the same time drove her on: “Yes! Yes! Yes!” roared the Beast in delight, echoed by Moira's feeble “No”. She could feel her grip slipping until a very fine thread was all that connected her mind and body; she recognized that feeling, it was the beginning of Frenzy, the instant before the link was severed and all one could do is coil back into a dark recess of the mind while the Beast possessed them and slaughtered all those that crossed their path. It had happened once with Matthias, and although disgusted with the outcome, Moira felt her revenge had been warranted.

Valerian, however...what a different matter he was. He was an innocent, a remarkable young Toreador who had shared himself with her willingly, and who was growing dear to her, someone whom she did not wish to harm in any way. It was a split second's retaliation, the decisive manner in which Moira grabbed the Beast by its horns and pushed it back into its cage, battling the temptation it offered, distancing herself from its growls, all the while knowing she had little precious time to succeed before she was overcome. It required every last drop of her strength to tear her lips away from Valerian's neck; uttering a sharp, pained scream, Moira jerked her head back, lurching away from him and landing on the couch on her back, eyes round and full of horror. Blood smeared her lips and trickled down her chin, a couple of drops staining the soft fabric of her dress.

Although disheveled and stained with blood, she was Moira once more, the realization of what she had almost done beginning to seep back into her consciousness: the Beast was silenced, and Valerian unharmed. Her will had prevailed, even in that most vulnerable of moments, and that brought her an immense feeling of relief following such a disturbing mixture of ecstasy, pain, ravenous hunger and ultimately the turbulent battle for her soul and Valerian's life. She felt so exhausted, that for a few moments she failed to notice the crimson tears streaking silently down Valerian's face, which was even whiter than usual.

He, too, looked deeply perturbed which caused Moira to wonder whether he was aware how close she had come to devouring him utterly. A sudden pang of fear rippled through her at the thought, half expecting him to scramble away from her, fearful she might leap out and destroy him. As the seconds ticked by and that did not happen, Moira slowly pulled herself on her knees, inching closer to Valerian's sprawled frame, examining his face cautiously with her ancient eyes. Lifting one slender hand, she brought the tips of her fingers to his cheeks, gently wiping the crimson tears, leaving a faint reddish trace behind.

“I am...so sorry.” was all she could find appropriate to say. “I should have never...only the thought of what I almost did...”

Moira Sushill, a being older than five centuries, was lost for words. Valerian had come face to face with the darkest side of her and lived, and although he might not have realized his helping hand in overcoming her Beast, Moira did, a look of overpowering, all encompassing tenderness and gratitude emerging on her face.

"It was you that kept me from doing it."

((Ooc: Told you, long winded and wordy :P))

[Psyche_SC]

#29 [Eighth Night]

Even the nights were tricky, far more tricky than the days when they had to protect themselves from sunshine and mankind. It was ironic, how fragile they really were, and still called themselves immortals. A simple ray of the sun, an otherwise life-giving energy much needed by the earth, could burn them alive without effort. Their skin, flesh and bones would evaporate by its mere touch. Archon remembered when he, as a kine, would stand on a balcony of his home and feel the warmth of the sun on his face. He would close his eyes and imagine he was nothing less than a god, the owner of everything he had ever seen and felt and everything he had not. In some ways, he was more of a Ventrue back then, than he was now. Starting out, learning about Kindred ways and traditions, Archon had the aim locked on being Prince. He even saw beyond that, somehow longing for the Metuselah age to come upon him. The thought alone, of walking this earth for over a thousand years, was wondrous to say the least. And to know that it was not enough, that the Kindred had no end, was more than anyone could grasp.

Yet, Archon found himself as a Primogen, and quite content as such. There was no pressing need for him to aim higher, to leave and search for a city of his choice, a city where he would become Prince. He could not explain why, but he choose to accept in a way that was a bit unorthodox for a Ventrue. His heart was not in it, therefore he deemed it to be the right choice. In a few situations, Archon followed his hunch, his collected feelings - especially when they all aimed in a certain direction. There was a good reason why he was not aspiring to become Prince, and had not since before he met Damian. And although he could not point it out yet, he could not ignore it. All was not revealed, every turn of the tables of Kindred society - in the open and in the hidden - had not been disclosed. Just like the tables within Archon.

Growing up without a father had permanently scarred Archon's human soul, and some of the damage had been transfered into his eternal nights, with what was left of his soul. This entity, this invinsible kine creation, probably more incomprehensible than their notion of god. It had started at an early age, sitting in the pew and watching the people around him rather than the priest seated high above them. Archon wanted to excel the rank of the 'holy men', he wanted to command people without showing them the flames of hell. This became true, already before he became Kindred he had achieved a seat of power, that prepared him for walking the earth with more might than he could have anticipated. Back then, he became a man long before a kine was considered one by his peers in these modern times.

He never lost his way, he rarely got thrown off. Perhaps his broken mortal past had been the ideal constellation, a beautiful boulder of stone chiseled into perfection by the transformation. The first time he beheld the world, with his vampire eyes, he had been so in awe he imagined that this was the closest thing to falling in love and still remain sane. Archon and the Kindred world, it was a match made in a place somewhere dark and foreboding.
Losing the human touch; the breath of air, the aging and the weakness, was easy. It was a faded memory at best, an Achille's heel he was better off without. As were they all. And if he could take it back, he would pass it on to one vampire in particular; de la Cour.

"Ah, yes", Damian replied with the faintest of smirks stealing across his face. "The infamous Monsieur de la Cour. Indeed, I was aware of his presence in my city. He had the courtesy to present himself to me the night prior to the event, believe it or not. And by appearing here in my office, no less."

Although the hunter indeed had courage, Archon was not ready to rest at that conclusion in this case. He did not view it as much as him paying his respect, rather than being scared of the consequences of roaming the streets of L.A. without first asking for Damian's permission. If de la Cour really knew the Kindred, he would know that to be poor judgement. The real puzzlement was his appearance at the Ball, since it was really not wise for him to be a familiar face for every Kindred present, and then have them tell all the absent ones about his features. de la Cour could vanish from their world of darkness like he had never entered it. Even if he knew more than he should have even when he was now a vampire, Archon was sure he did not knew about everything that lurked in the acheronian side of the moon. He bet they could still scare him sensless.

"However," the Prince continued, as if he knew the question in his friend's mind. "As far as his reasons to attend the Ball are concerned, I can only speculate. From what I saw of him during our brief meeting, he is prone to wear his defiance and his contempt of us on his sleeve. He makes it no secret that he stil harbours no feelings towards us, except those of malice, hatred, and ill-will. Perhaps his presence at the Ball was nothing more than a mockery, a blatant provokation to test the waters. To test me, and my patience."

For Archon, it was easy to read the amusement on Damian's face. The growing smirk, taking over and ensuring that who ever thought they had the advantage would soon be thaught otherwise. None the less, Archon knew both himself and Damian never underestimated their foes. It was not how things were done, and it was not how the august clan had survived and held on to so many seats of power for so long. And it was not how they held anarchy at bay.

"I, however, Damian concluded, "have decided that for the time being, I will go along with whatever plans the Tremere may have in store for him. As long as they keep him on a tight leash, and see to it that he refrains from killing. While I do not particularly trust the Tremere of San Fransisco, I do like to think I'm on fairly good terms with the ones within my own city, and so I will bestow it upon them to keep him in line."

No Kindred should be surprised that most quirks of their existance, provided by vampires, was contributed by the Tremere. And wholeheartedly so. Archon guessed they would simply burst if they could not dabble a tad here and there, set energies in motion and put their mark on the Kindred society.

"If that is your wish", he said with a slight nod. "I will indeed support it."

This was a delicate matter, something that concerned them all. And even if de la Cour himself was the center of attention, when it came to this situation, he was not the eye of the storm. Their Prince was, and he was the one who had to handle this affair and take responsibility for the outcome of his stance of choice. Therefore, Archon saw it as his duty to stand by him. And with him came their mutual lineage. There was no doubt in his mind, that even if the members had crimson dreams of de la Cour's demise, the majority, if not all, would in the end see the importance of holding back for the time being. It was politics, and no one understood it better than a Ventrue. Killing de la Cour may very well prove to be more dangerous than keeping him just as close as enemies should be kept. Another Ventrue reality.

"Although, with all due respect, I can not help but wonder what de la Cour has in store for us. Is he willing to be lead by vampires, to obey our laws and live out his new life in peace? It would go against everything he stands for, and I gather it would be just as easy for him to let go of his need to hunt us, as it would be for me to join the Nosferatu. However. I could be wrong."

Voicing ones concern was also a sign of respect, and it was a door that was always open to Archon. It was his obligation to the Prince, to speak his mind if it was of any relevance, to let Damian know what his most prominent Primogen was thinking.

"Regardless, the Ventrue clan will stand behind you."





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((( ooc: Atropa - I am so tired I can't see straight... ;) But I hope it's all logical and nice. :) )))

[Burnziiy]

Her eyes, dull and obscure, twitched their vision inches to the left of the man’s face, lying upon the worn tar road outside. It was a ghost’s playground with summoned moonlight illumining an enigmatic path stretching further than the eye could perceive. Tracing over the avenue, she could hear the cadence of the piano, a melodic tune flowing into her mind. Sorén softly dropped her lids so her lashes would touch the tender skin beneath her eye and block out the invading light, musing on the sounds until everything else faded, everything else disappeared and only the music subsisted. She let her surge of innovative thoughts stain her paper brain then carried her gaze back to the vacant street. The pattern struck at numerous times, one of those arbitrary occurrences of imagination. Once she returned to her apartment, she’d remove the marked page from her mind and rewrite it into the form of music.

Not able to resist the temptation swirling before her, she procured a glimpse of the stranger for another second more. Her lips shaped a silent word prior to his string of speech, foretelling the action rather than his motive. It was an inevitable nature unleashed before god’s eye, compelled like the affable cat she had since she was five. House trained as much as one could be, though, one evening upon entering the house so did the limp body of a mouse, crushed in between the cat’s jaws. Nature would always take part. "I'm sorry I do not seem to know why I am here."

Sorén narrowed her maple hued spheres, barely furrowing her smooth brows. Was that a normal greeting? She ruminated of his intentions briefly, swaying to the side of his question of judgment from her previous glance. “If you were to stand over there, would you’re thoughts differ?” Her voice was raw in the midst of each of her words, visibly embellished in her rich French accent.

Pulling at a corner of her lips, offering him the blithe side of a smirk, she bowed her head indistinctly to the side, only for a moment to bequeath her respect. Once she was certain he’d taken notice of this, her eyes shot over to a person behind the bar. “A drink perhaps?”


[[ooc: So very sorry for the delay, I hope it isn't too vague.]]

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: Ghanima - :blink: .... Just... :blink: I'm in complete awe of that post.)))


There were multiple possible ways the woman, the redhead, could have reacted to Adrien's comment. If she was guilty of what he thought she was, she could've been embarrassed or even scared that he had obviously figured her out. Or she could be pleased that he had noticed her, for two very different reasons; either because she had been sent there to ruffle his feathers, or because she had a far more... carnal interest in him.
Not that it would do her any good. The last woman to enjoy a gentle touch by Adrien's hand was Mina, almost a century ago. Since then, his 'romantic' encounters with women had been few and far apart. Brief, and hardly romantic. Why bother?

Continuing down the list of possible reactions, there was also offense. Genuine, of false, depending on if she was guilty, or - not likely - innocent. Because, not only had Adrien's statement been arrogant, it had also been presumptuous enough to get most women riled up. Especially if they really had been after getting his attention.
And last but not least, she could've simply been surprised.

Whichever of the above, Adrien didn't care. He had left before she had gotten a chance to reply, because frankly, he wasn't interested.
That was, until his perceptive eyes landed on a man dressed in a dark suit, who just joined the blackjack table towards which Adrien was heading. Or rather, the man wasn't joining it as much as he was waiting by it, for Adrien arrive there. The way his gaze first roamed the people milling about, only to come to a perfect halt once it found Adrien, was a dead give-away, and the way he kept looking without his eyes diverting for more than a rare moment here and there confirmed it. However, even though he apparently wanted Adrien to know that he was the man's intended target, he seemed like he didn't want Adrien to feel too uncomfortable by staring him down completely. As if that would've been possible. Adrien had most likely participated in more stare-downs in the past three years than the man would in his entire life.
But the man didn't know that. Nor would he ever.

So... She wasn't somehow related to the world of Kindred then. Had she been, this guy wouldn't have been awaiting Adrien with such a fairly relaxed and casual look on his face. He would've been on his guard, and the look in his eyes would have been nothing like what it was. There would've been a fire burning, and he wouldn't have allowed them to stray even once.

Casino security then. That was Adrien's next bet. Though he wasn't sure why. He was hardly blacklisted, and he hadn't made a big enough stir to risk getting even close to changing that fact. He hadn't even won enough money to make them nervous. A small fortune, yes, but to a casino like this, it was still a fairly modest sum, not nearly enough for them to see a reason for asking him to leave.

The closer he got to the blackjack table, the more his stride slowed. But not from insecurity or hesitation. His calm, determined stride was still laced with his usual confidence, even when he halted, a mere couple of feet from the table.
His purpose?
Forcing the other man to move towards him to close the gap; a way of showing that no matter what 'they' had thought, he was still in control, and he would not let go. If they wanted something from him, they would have to come to him, literally. And spit it out, instead of playing the eyes' equivalence of cat and mouse.

Chin slightly raised, lids equally lowered in the process, Adrien stood and simply watched the man, his eyes now conveying more than they had during the entire evening; a challenge, a silent command. If the man wanted to follow the instructions he had been given by his superior, he would first have to submit to Adrien. Seeming somewhat uneasy, by clearing his throat with a muffled "Hmr", he took a few steps forward until he was what he deemed close enough for Adrien to hear, without anyone around doing it as well.

"Sir", he said, and handed Adrien a colorful slip of semi-glossy paper with writing on it. "Why don't you go get a drink?"

However, that being said, he didn't leave, but instead remained standing infront of Adrien, as though he was waiting for Adrien to look at the slip in his presence.
He didn't.
Adrien simply kept his eyes fixed on the man, making it painfully evident that he was waiting for the man to take a hint, and leave. Apparently not one of the sharpest tools in the shed, it took him a couple of seconds, and once the realization hit him, it took him yet another couple of seconds to decide if he should abide by Adrien's wishes, or make sure that he understood the opportunity he had been given.
Finally, he decided that Adrien would probably be clever enough to figure it out, and with another uneasy clearing of his throat, he slipped away, leaving Adrien to follow him with his eyes until his line of vision was blocked by a giggling group of tipsy young women. Only then did he lower his gaze to look at the slip he had been handed.
Hardly surprising, it turned out to be a voucher for a free drink at the bar; a token that was surely appreciated by many. Though once again, Adrien seperated himself from the crowd. Unless the bartender intended to moonlight as a blood donor, the slip was been pretty much worthless to Adrien. At least it would have been, had he not sensed there was a bit more to it than just a free drink.
And, even though he had remained in control, 'they' had succeeded with their mission; they had piqued his curiousity.

Folding the paper slip and tucking it away in his back pocket, Adrien turned towards where he knew the bar was located, his dimly smoldering eyes searching for a sign of what he could expect as he started moving towards it. Gradually, the bar appeared more and more the closer he got, the numerous waves of people in his path slowly diminshing, revealing one bar customer after another. With cautious scrutiny, Adrien let his gaze pass over each and every one of them, dismissing one after another as being of no interest to his. Until his eyes came to rest on a lady in black sitting by herself, her back with a familiar flow of cascading red hair towards him. It was a sight that coaxed his lips into a smug smirk, born from the satisfaction of once again having his instincts proven to be right; indeed her presence around him earlier had been neither a coincidence, nor innocent.

Even though she wasn't looking, and thus gave him no reason to show that he was in no hurry to accomodate her, his stride still slowed a bit. He was taking the opportunity to openly study her, without having to control the look in his eyes to prevent her from catching glimpses of what might be stirring in his mind. Despite his apparent lack of interest in her earlier, she was a very beautiful woman. The kind that moved with a grace and a confidence that would've seen her fit right in with the aristocrats of his time as a child, and even the centuries prior to his birth. She was the type of woman that could seem perfectly relaxed, yet doing so without shoulders slouching, without loosing an inch of her proud and regal posture. It would be interesting to see if it was a poise that ran through her whole behaviour, or if it was just limited to her appearance. There were many that could act a part without words, but as soon as they opened their mouths to speak, would shatter the illusion.

When he finally reached her, he continued past her, with his head slightly turned the other way, as though he was watching something among the wide variety of distractions the casino had to offer, and didn't see her. Of course, it was just another part of his strategy; to let her eyes settle on him and fill her with anticipation, before he would even acknowledge her. Once he felt her eyes on him, he stopped and turned in one slow, fluid movement, and looked at her with a gaze once again devoid of anything but calm scrutiny. He watched in silence as she placed her drink back down on the smooth, polished surface of the bar, and he waited, yet again forcing 'them' to come to him. For while he might've gone over here, like requested, it would be up to her to be the first to speak. He even remained standing, as if showing that even though he had been intrigued enough to come over, his interest in whatever it was she had in mind was not so great that he was not ready to turn and leave again in the blink of an eye. Though when she took a few moments to start speaking, he did quirk a brow at her. Not as a gesture of impatience, but rather a silent "Well?".

"I'd like to present you with a proposition", she started calmly, apparently confident enough about the nature of this 'proposition' to consider it his loss if he would turn out to be too impatient or rash to allow her to take her time.

Because of that calm confidence, completely lacking the boastful cockiness of people who thought far too highly of themselves and what they had to offer, Adrien decided not to dismiss her just yet. Instead, he remained silent and allowed her to continue;

"An opportunity to finally play with equals."

At the end of the sentence, her own delicate eyebrows drifted upwards slightly, making her words the inquiry her tone did not. Words that drew a faint smirk from his lips at what their unspoken peers suggested.

"You're not one of them then?" he challenged, clearly amused.

They were both well aware that in the two different games he had played so far, she had been his most worthy opponent in both of them. And now she made it sound as though she hadn't been. An attempt to flatter him perhaps? Or simple carelessness as her mind was focused on what lay ahead of them?
Frankly, he doubted both options. She was most likely just trying to tickle his curiousity. And she was doing it well.

"Perhaps," she replied, the look in her eyes and her dry tone of voice suggesting that she was not equallty amused. "However I am but only one woman. One cannot sharpen their skills on dull blades. I thought you would enjoy the opportunity to find out how good your skills actually are. However if I’m wrong..."

Her voice trailed off, leaving the question, and with it her offer, hanging in the air as she studied him while awaiting his answer. Thus she soon discovered that for whatever reason, he would now allow his eyes and his clean cut features to communicate with the world around him. But only by conveying feelings that seemed to have been approved by him first, and never any that showed signs of something genuinly pleasant. No softness, no joy, no excitement, or even humility, and even when looking satisfied, it would seem to always be with the one kind of smile to ever grace his lips; a smirk.
Like now.
Adrien had been studying her in return, analyzing her words in the light of the calm and confident firmness in her eyes, the look in them telling him that even if he turned her down, she would consider it no loss of hers, as then it would be evident that he had not been worthy of her offer in the first place.
He had to admit, that kind of conviction left him far more intrigued than the offer itself. Though that didn't in any way mean the offer was of no interest to him. It was, very much, as he welcomed any and every chance to sharpen his skills, and saw the many benefits of doing it in a way that while it may cost him a defeat, would not cost him his life.

"You are mistaken, but you are not wrong", he said cryptically, with that new smirk curving his lips ever so slightly, before he decided to indulge her in something as rare as an actual elaboration; "I know how good my skills are, and thus I would say it is someone else who wishes to find out. But by all means, I see no reason to refuse them the chance of doing so, nor myself the experience."

[Shenanigans_SC]

“However if I’m wrong…” Falesyia’s voice trailed off as she sipped from the glass that lay naturally in her right hand. She was allowing him time to decide if her offer was worth setting his self-sustaining pride aside long enough to see she did indeed have something to offer him. He was, dare she say, cocky to the hilt, yet he carried it in such a way that it was not entirely repulsive. She had seen many a man who thought they were king of the world, God’s greatest gift to women, but this raven haired gentleman was different. There was a fine line between being proud of one’s strengths and simple arrogance, a line which he seemed to be quite skilled in walking.

As she lowered her glass again she saw his sharp features soften just a touch, a satisfied smirk on his face. Finally he was going to allow her some satisfaction in this whole ordeal. “You are mistaken, but you are not wrong”, Falesyia replaced her nearly full glass on the bar once again, not allowing her eyes to communicate the puzzlement that lay behind them. “I know how good my skills are,” there he was walking that fine line again, “and thus I would say it is someone else who wishes to find out.” She had to give it to him. Under his stare she allowed her own lips to form in a soft smirk, her eyes admitting that she was indeed curious to see how good his skills were when put up against others well versed in the art. “But by all means, I see no reason to refuse them the chance of doing so, nor myself the experience.”

Falesyia’s lips pursed together, she didn’t allow much satisfaction to come through her eyes, though compared to his usual lack of even admitting life, undoubtedly the faintest amount seemed to be far too much. It wasn't a satisfaction in getting her way that she radiated, it was a pleasure she took in introducing someone new to her world, the anticipation of a gift given, and hopefully well received. As she uncrossed her legs in preparation to stand the words “Very well then.” escaped her lips. As she came to stand, she found herself such a short distance from him, her eyes nearly level with his own, she thought for a split second she saw something in them, something he hadn’t allowed nor intended. It wasn’t something in him as much as it was something in her. His eyes called forth a vision from long ago that he had unintentionally awakened in her. The fraction of a moment passed instantly, leaving a lingering memory just out of her grasp.

But now wasn’t the time to try to chase it down, she had gotten her wish, to see this man in his element. She tilted her head slightly to the side causing her long deep red hair to fall off her shoulder while sliding the thin black strap of her purse onto it. Her eyes spoke the needless words of expecting him to follow her. She turned towards the direction of the stairs to the second floor, not bothering to try to win him over with small talk along the way. If there was one aspect in which they were alike, she ventured to say it was that they each liked to tend to business, having no need to force conversation where none came natural.

Once they came to the second floor she turned towards the right, not keeping a brisk pace, yet not seeming lazy either. It was a pace that was as purposeful as it was leisurely in the dimly lit second floor corridor. As they drew closer to their intended doors one could see the two guards positioned outside of them. Once they neared, the guards did not greet her in any way, they simply remained in their positions, as if to not notice the man that accompanied her. As she placed her hands upon the doors before opening them she finally spoke, her voice was soft, yet her words were proud, “Welcome to Posh.”

No doubt it was easy to see that she took delight in introducing fresh faces to her little haven. If there was a crowning jewel of all her establishments, Posh was it. It was her baby, the one idea that had been born entirely of her own mind, she saw over every little detail of its creation and of its sustainment.

With that she pushed open the doors, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply as she steadily ascended the relatively short staircase. One could feel the cushy plush carpet beneath their feet despite the shoes they wore, the faint smell of a cigar wrapped around her tickling her sense of smell. The atmosphere was the complete opposite of the large sprawling floor they had left with its many lights and unending noise. With its dark mahogany wood and deep burgundy velvet the room nearly invited people all on its own to come sit and enjoy themselves. Coming to the top landing one would quickly ascertain that despite being nearly filled, the room was quiet, as those who sat in it concentrated on the game at hand. Falesyia was adamant that Posh was not a place to profit off of, instead it was her sanctuary from all of the businesses that supported it. An inside den of sorts where its occupants only had to worry about their opponents, not the house.

After giving ample time for her company to survey the room, undoubtedly drawing his own conclusions, she spoke once again. “I believe it was a game of black jack that you wanted?” She handed her purse to the employee that stood to her right, his type dotted the walls of the room, silently watching over the happenings in the room. She walked effortlessly to the Black Jack table, the current hand coming to an end as she approached. “Gentlemen,” she greeted those sitting around it, quite obviously enjoying being in her element. “I do hope you don’t mind a change of pace?” She leaned into the dealer, whispering something into his ear. The middle aged man dressed in a freshly pressed suit gave a swift nod of his head and made his way towards the cash cage, Falesyia now standing in his place. “I bring you fresh blood tonight,” she winked at one of the men around the table. The previous dealer returned handing her a new deck of cards and placing a thousand dollars worth of chips in front of Adrien. “Don’t be offended”, she spoke towards him while unwrapping the deck, “everyone is given a small welcome gift to get them started.”

“Yeah,” one of the men started, “you won’t ever get another dime out of her.” His companions around the table offered low chuckles, Falesyia’s own lips simply turned up in a satisfied smile. With one last look in the raven haired man’s direction she began to deal the cards.

[PennyTheCorgi]

Ada Von Vita - The Dive

Ada strode silently down the street. She was still twisting her mind around that strange and yet oddly interesting Malkavian, Caraltian. His face was that of a naive youth, yet he portrayed such intellectual incite. Not that age had anything to do with it, some of the oldest and most respected kindred looked hardly old enough to drink.
A bright flash caught her eye and Ada turned, the brightly flashing lights of the casino reflecting in her violet eyes. Ah, that must be one of the casino's that redheaded woman worked at. Falesyia, wasn't it?
Ada watched as men in silk suits and women in tight fitting versace dresses strolled through the heavy glass doors. She glanced down at her own dress, black lace over deep crimson silk. Somewhat more gothic then the usually casino patrons, but it would do.
Ada glanced curiously around as she entered, squinting slightly against the bright golds and plush reds of the entrance. It was much brighter then most of the places she frequented but still impressive. Nearby, Ada could hear the loud jingling of slot machines, the calling of table dealers, and the happy shouts of winners.
The person behind her shoved past, nearly knocking her over and Ada let out an angry hiss, digging her high heeled boots into the plush carpet. The woman was tall, with long carmel hair and the waifish form that only comes from not eating. She threw a scornful glance towards Ada, taking in her gothic wardrobe with a snort. Ada bristled, wanting nothing more then to wipe that insolent expression of the pampered princesses face. But no, she would have to live with the thought that she could snap the woman in two. It would shame her to no end to embarrass her kind and ruin the trust she had instilled in Valerian.Smirking to herself she brushed past her into the main casino.

Andre Delucian

Andre stared in silent contemplation at the glittering sky line, slow jazz music playing quietly in the background. It would be a shame to leave when he found a more permanent domain. He was growing rather fond of the plush hotel room.
Turning from the intoxication view, Andre strode to the closet. He chose a crimson silk shirt, black velvet jacket and a pair of true religion jeans and quickly dressed.
Several minutes later the elevator chimed and Andre climbed out, the noise of the casino striking his ears like a slap after the alluring quiet of his suite. He pushed his way past the clusters of well dressed, over perfumed kine, ushering a mumbled apology to those he neglected to dodge quickly enough.
With much weaving and ducking of elbows he managed to make his way to the heavy glass doors and slide quickly past the dark haired woman in the gothic dress, out onto the street.
The cool air was like the caress of a lover after the slalom course of the casino, and he smiled contentedly to himself as he walked briskly down the busy sidewalk.
The walk was not as long as he thought it would be and Andre soon found himself standing at in front of Algernon, the modern bookstore and haven of Ventrue primogen Archon DeWinters.
The bell dinged cheerily as he entered, a few tired eyed patrons glancing halfheartedly up at him as he strode to the counter. Although was fond of the clubs and bars of the area, Andre reserved a special place of affection for the bookstore. He loved the musty smells and smooth feeling of the books, the relaxing quiet that seemed to stop time itself, and comfort of the overstuffed reading chairs.
"May I help you?" a man at the counter asked. Andre turned back. "Yes, who would I speak to about acquiring some rare books?" He asked.

[AtropaMandragora]

Too much. She was taking too much. His blood, the savory stream of deep scarlet that at one point had been flowing into her mouth with what had almost seemed like a will of it's own, was now being drawn from him with a ravaging greed that tightened his veins, strained them as though every drop was to be drained from him. He had felt it shortly after his own fangs had released her from their gentle grip, when the feelings and impressions that had overwhelmed him and left him unable to withstand the force of it all any longer, had started to subside. Though still strong and breathtaking, they had begun to slowly fade, no longer causing him near pain with their intensity, and in their wake of slight shivers rippling through his body, there had grown a faint echo of a voice in his mind.
'Too much.'
He heard the words, but struggled to grasp their meaning. They were elusive, like dancing fairies in dawn's early light, playfully teasing his mind to reach for them. Every time he thought he was just about to catch them, they slipped away, evaporated, only to appear in their mistlike state somewhere else nearby, and yet each time a little bit further away from him.

His mind was still swirling helplessly in the vortex of pure, unbridled sensation of her bite, urging him on to remain her captive just a little bit longer, each passing second in her embrace begging him for another. Only for a moment did the thought flicker in his mind; what if he had misjudged her, and she had lured him to her with the only purpose of devouring him and everything he was? What if the sweet, gentle Moira Sushill was just a facade hiding a cold, twisted heart that yearned for the blood of her own kind?
But, even as that thought passed across the surface of his mind, there were stronger forces in motion deeper within it's walls. There was a part of him that simply didn't care, a part that longed for nothing more than to stay right where he was. Even if it did mean Final Death. But there was also another part of him, a larger part, where his trust in her remained deeply rooted. Even though it had been made a tiny, delicate seedling by his all-consuming daze, it was still the kind of strong and tenacious one only Valerian had in him. When everyone else in their right mind would've started fighting for their life, Valerian still trusted in the predator whose fangs clung hungrily to his jugular, buried deep in his flesh with a grip so strong it felt as though she might just tear him apart.

Then, suddenly, a sharp cry, much like that of an animal in agonizing pain, grew from Moira's lips, right by his ear, shattering the silence into a million pieces, and every single one of them piercing him to the very core with their raw, unrestrained anguish. It was as though an act of sheer will-power thrust him away from her, and sent her collapsing in the opposite direction - stained, smeared, and above all filled with his blood. A flawless embodiement of the Beauty and the Beast, all in one delicate woman's body. A vivid imagery of a goddess thrown from her piedestal, of perfection violated and soiled by her own deeds of depravity.

On the other end of the sofa, slumping back a bit himself, almost like rag doll tossed to the side and forgotten, Valerian simply stared at her, eyes wide. With amazement. Not anger, contempt, or even fear. Amazement, genuine and pure, intermingled with worry, and a growing portion of anxiety and... heart-rending guilt.

He hadn't meant to cause her such turmoil, such obvious distress. He hadn't even known that he could. His only wish when guiding her hand to touch his neck, had been to share himself with her, to open the door to his past and his present, and invite her in, to a part of him that had yet to be exposed to anyone but himself. In this world, there was only one other person that knew of the story behind it, but not the consequences, and not the pain. But by opening up to her in such a way, it seemed he had also awakened her Beast. He may not have seen it, he may not have seen the way it had twisted her features into something only vaguely resembling a person. But he had had felt it. In her firm grip, in her hunger, and in the battle that had raged inside of her with such force that it had seemed like the very air around her was vibrating, he had felt it.
But even though he understood the what, he didn't understand the why. Had his blood, thought by others to be sweet as nectar, had that effect on her? Or was it his bite? Had he somehow been more ruthless when drinking from her than he had been aware of, and drawn out her inner Beast?
What had he done wrong?

He wanted to apologize, to tell her he hadn't meant to do this to her... But since he didn't know what exactly it was that he had done, what he should apologize for, he remained silent, his lips only parting slightly, a movement so small it seemed nothing more than a way to let the air from his lungs filter through. Had there been any.
Instead he merely watched as Moira pulled herself to her knees, and carefully reached out to touch him, almost like one would with a skittish deer, fearing that even the tiniest hint of a wrong movement would scare it away. Finally, her fingertips brushed gently against his cheek, and it was only then that he felt the wet streaks on his face.

"I am... so sorry", she said slowly, seeming to struggle with the words, and yet voicing the very ones that longed to spill forth from his lips. "I should have never... only the thought of what I almost did..."

Her voice trailed off, leaving the mental visuals of what could've happened hanging in the air like tales untold yet known to everyone. In the silence, their gazes locked with one another, finding that the bond between them was still there, and so much stronger than before. Not just because of the their blood running in the veins of the other, but because of the experience itself, no matter how frigtening, and what it had entailed. As they studied one another, they saw something new in the other Kindred's eyes; a newfound knowledge of the dark side to them both. Valerian had felt the full force of the predator within Moira, and she had been shown the way through the gates to his psyche, past the thick and sturdy walls that shielded it from others. He could see in her eyes that despite the horrifying turn of his innocent gesture, and underneath the dwindling waves left in it's wake, there sprung the insight into his soul that he had wanted to offer her.
Though she still only knew it as a feeling, and not a complete story.
But she would, soon. When time was right.
For now, there was something else that imposed itself on his thoughts, and demanded his attention. Before his very eyes, Moira's anxiety slowly drained from her features, and made way for the purest look of affection, so warm it reached right into his cold, anemic body, and silenced the menacing purr of his own inner Beast; it's way of telling him that he would soon need to feed to make up for the loss of vitae he had brought upon himself.

"It was you that kept me from doing it."

At first, he simply looked at her, as though he was still dazed (which, in all honesty, he was) and had to struggle to make sense of her words, to understand their meaning. One after another they entered his mind, kissing awake his awareness with their tender tone, their soft melody comforting him much like a loving mother's softly hummed lullaby would a small child.
Slowly, slowly, the devastating guilt that had perched itself in his mind and clung to his pale features, had it's ice cold fingers pried away from his soul.

But, even though she claimed it was him that had kept her from going too far, he didn't know what that really meant; something he had done, or simply the thought of him? His thoughts and emotions were still in a tangle, keeping him from reaching through to his natural born instincts. It didn't matter, the way unlife had sharpened them. In this instant, they didn't manage to cut through that chaos in his young mind. And so, still unsure of what part his own actions had played in what had transpired, he lowered his gaze.

"I didn't know...", he started in a slightly hushed voice. "I didn't mean to push you so far... I didn't mean to push you at all."





(((ooc: Really sorry if this is incoherent and crappy. Brain went on vacation. Even though I know you're prone to working miracles, Ghanima, let me know if you can't work with it, 'k? :) And I promise I'll stop excusing my posts all the time.)))

[Ghanima Atreides]

And I promise I'll stop excusing my posts all the time.

((ooc: Good! :D Because there's nothing to excuse, the post is as per your usual standards and now I'm really curious about Valerian's story. I have plenty to work with!))

[AtropaMandragora]

"If that is your wish, I will indeed support it."

The Ventrue Primogen, as he replied to Damian's view on the matter of Adrien de la Cour, gave a slight bow to his head in acknowledgement. And really, Damian had expected no less from him, as Archon had been one of his most avid and loyal supporters since the two had first met, decades ago. Back then, Damian had already had his mind set on achieving the title as Prince of Los Angeles. In fact, he'd had his mind set on it even before relocating from Philadelphia to Los Angeles. While he had been the Ventrue Primogen in Philadelphia, he had sifted through the various large cities in the world, in his mind, deciding which one he wanted for his own. He had conducted careful research, examined facts, political waves and history - both human and Kindred - of the cities in which he found himself interested, as well as travelled to most of them, to experience them first hand. Information regarding facts, recieved from others, was all good and well, but when it came to atmosphere, feel and impressions, one could only rely on one's own senses and judgement.
Los Angeles, although a bit too noisy, in more ways than one, had eventually ended up appealing to him the most. It was a large and colorful city, one of the most influential in the world, and it held in it's womb so many different possibilities, on every level imaginable.
Tactical man that he was, he had established connections with the Los Angeles Ventrue, made himself known and respected among them, and then when the time came for another Primogen to take the place of the last one, he had been offered the position. With it safely in his pocket, he had re-adjusted his aim to his next goal; Princedom.
It was during the early preparations of his advancement that he had met Archon, and it wasn't long before they both saw the potential in one another. Even before Damian had been made Prince, Archon had, inofficially, been made his successor as Primogen.

Now, the two of them knowing and supporting eachother so well, also meant that they weren't afraid to voice their opinions and concerns to one another, and so Damian needed little more than to hear the somewhat pensive tone in Archon's voice, to gather that there was a "but" coming on - or, as most commonly expressed in the case of a Ventrue; "however".
And, sure enough, when Archon continued speaking, it was indeed to express his concern;

"Although, with all due respect, I can not help but wonder what de la Cour has in store for us. Is he willing to be lead by vampires, to obey our laws and live out his new life in peace? It would go against everything he stands for, and I gather it would be just as easy for him to let go of his need to hunt us, as it would be for me to join the Nosferatu."

At that, Damian couldn't help but to chuckle a bit. To him, who had seen Adrien not only at the Ball, but here in his office as well, standing tall and proud, refusing to cower or show any sign of submission whatsoever, it was clear as day that peace was the last thing on the former hunter's mind. He was currently nurturing his hatred, feeding it with every experience of his new life, everything he saw and heard, every Kindred encounter he had. Just waiting for the right moment to strike, no matter how long it would take it to present itself.
And while that in itself was little reason for comfort, Damian was pleased to see that Archon now seemed to have given his Prince's view on the matter some more thought. He, who at the Ball had claimed that he was not concerned and would loose no sleep, now seemed to realize that if there was one thing to currently loose sleep over, none would be more appropriate than Adrien de la Cour.

"However", Archon concluded. "I could be wrong. Regardless, the Ventrue clan will stand behind you."

In reply to such an evident show of support, Damian inclined his head ever so slightly in what looked like a gesture of humble recognition of what was offered, even though, again, he had expected no less. While the two may not always agree with one another, Damian knew he would always have the support of his clan, at least as long as Archon was their Primogen, and not some power-hungry young Ventrue. That, and as long as his duties as Prince didn't put him in a position where he had to favor the greater good of all Kindred, over whatever interest the Ventrue clan may have.
Though in all fairness, he had the ability and the wits to manuever things skillfully enough for that to never be made a reality.

"Monsieur de la Cour's tendencies, his efforts if you will, to show his contempt of us on any given opportunity, speaks not of a will to conform and live in peace, my friend. It is my understanding that he's obeying our laws simply because the Tremere still have a hold on him. And if that should turn out to not be the case, then I'll venture a guess and say that he's not obeying our laws, per se, but rather playing the game. Do not forget, in this case, he knows his enemy far better than we know ours."

Having said that, Damian made a short pause, as if to show that what he had felt needed to be said on the matter, already had been, and that he now had something else on his mind.

"I do hope you forgive me for changing the subject", he said, "but I have another matter I would like to discuss with you. Miss Moira Sushill. You've met her. Tell me, what are your thoughts?"


(((ooc: Ending is rushed (as is the whole post actually. *lol*), but it will have to do, as I have to go to bed. And for the record, this is not an excuse. It's a "this is fact, deal with it" comment. ;) )))

[ElektraNatchios33]

Tears wanted to form in Jessica's eyes. Now she had to tell her. Okay, goodbye "life". Goodbye beautiful penthouse. The pessimistic woman standing before her probably didn't care whether she lived or died. She just wanted answers.

"If you repeat what I am going to say, I will kill you if I'm not dead already..."

Jessica turned her head and sighed at the thought of dying. Her "life" slipping before her fingers.

"I am 'some sort of vampire'. A sleep through the day, blood drinking vampire. I told you it was crazy. And I told you that you wouldn't believe me, but you asked! We have this thing, called the masquerade. Its supposed to make you humans think we don't exist." She looked up and smiled. "Didn't work did it? You're lucky that your human. Do you know how long it's been since I had my last glass of water?" She paused for dramatic effect, hopefully the message would go deep into Aeode's skin.

"500 years. That's why I saved you, and didn't make you one of us." She was yelling now. "I wanted you to feel again like I couldn't."

((It's not great but I had to think about it.))

[Fayreview]

The woman's eyes narrowed they looked brownish, after over 400 years of being colourblind he was tired of it she continued her silence a little longer before speaking “If you were to stand over there, would you’re thoughts differ?” Her voice sounded French, very French. It was quite a nice voice he reflected. He wondered if she was originally from France or if she had just spent much time there, he mused on the womans history to such a deep degree he almost missed her slight smirk and gentle tilt of the head.

Her eyes shot over to a person behind the bar. “A drink perhaps?” Caraltian was suddenly confused was she recommending they found some kine or was she seriously suggesting that ingesting liquids that would cause them to vomit seemed like a positive thing to her? There were some strange kindred who felt like this apparently however he had yet, even in his advanced years, to meet one as such. It may well just have been one of Lady Hester's stories, his sire held strong control over the web and so her stories of Malkavian's were widely accepted whether they were truthful or not...

"I think perhaps I won't...." he paused and raised one eyebrow at the woman, as if to ask just what she would do next he wished to see quite what she was like and this was a good place to start.

[Psyche_SC]

#30 [Eighth Night]

The past held a great deal of charm for Archon, but a stroll down memory lane could be some what devious for a Kindred of such vast history. One had to put effort into remembering everything as it actually happened, and not be as soft as the kine, and either make a painful memory happier or a sad one more joyful. It was a weakness, as far as Archon was concerned. And he did not care for weakness, no Ventrue in his or hers right mind ever did.
This was probably why he had walked the earth for more than half a millennium, and still had not created a childe. He was too skeptical, too much into perfection to really wanna take a chance - no matter how great the potential. Although he had met many promising kine, even those he had admired to the extent one could admire a mere kine, he had never really considered to offer anyone the Embrace. Like a true aristocrat, he was looking for faults, and he found them too often to be pleased with the entirety.
Due to this troubled relationship with the humans, he had discussed the matter with his Sire; Victoria. He could not help but wonder what had gone through her mind when she layed eyes on him. Even though Archon thought very highly of himself even back then, he realized that he had still been a fullblooded kine, just like all the ones he did not care for. Of course, one could always trust Victoria to set him apart from them with haste, and with loving reminisce of the time around the Embrace.

They had both attended a social gathering with an overwhelming grandiose touch, and his posture had caught her eye. As well as his long black hair with the occasional curl, the well toned body slightly noticeable under the noble clothing, and the way he expressed himself. She had found such a delicate seigneur, a magnate that warmed the icy heart in her frozen body. He commanded the room, and he demanded her attention, without even knowing it. When he talked, others listened. And when he moved his hands, ever so gentle, to make a point, she followed their movement as if it had been the grace of a Toreador. He had worn a single ring, with a blue gem, that reflected every source of light that ever reached it. It only kept just the right amount, to illuminate itself. And the hazel eyes, they had put a spell on her. She watched him watching everyone in the room. He even glanced her way, but he did not allow women to divert his attention when he was taking part in a business conversation or in any other way engaged in an important matter. Not even when they were as beautiful as Victoria. He had not noticed her interest in him, but that was only because she showed none. If she had, she would not be able to study him, in order to evaluate if his first impression would indeed last and make him a promising childe.

In the weeks that followed, she was sure to watch him from afar most of the time, and listen to the kine closest to him. He did not fail, he did not betray her dearest hope and ultimate belief. If he did anything, he exceeded them. He truly was the one kine that would make her proud, and make the Ventrue of London a member with great potential and valor. Victoria could not wait until she was allowed to sink her teeth into his precious flesh, to bleed him almost dry, only to grant him her own empowering vitae. All that was great in him as a kine would be even greater after the Transformation, and all that was great in the Ventrue clan would complement him and make him into an astounding Kindred. When the Prince of London had been persuaded, Archon was the only obstacle. But she made him an offer he could not refuse.

When the nights of London grew some what weary, he left to venture the new world. Something was calling for him, and even though he would miss the Ventrue of London, he knew he had to look elsewhere to find where he belonged. His first Primogen reign had pleased him greatly, and it had prepared him for almost any other place in the world. Of course, there were a few he could point out, where he could visit but never linger.
The one place that had appealed to him every time he had been there though, was Los Angeles. It had taken a hold of him, something in the atmosphere called out to him. And this was where he first met Damian, the Ventrue soulmate that would help to brighten the spark that London had failed to keep alive at its peak. Everything within Archon would always love London and the heritage there in, but his Primogen bones would tell a lie if they payed homage to any other place but the city of angels.
In the beginning, this was a predicament. The city already had a Ventrue Primogen, and a great one at that; Lord Damian Alexander III. No matter how much Archon desired to claim the Ventrue clan of Los Angeles for himself, he could not act as if Damian was not worthy of the seat of power. He had to keep his cool, to test the waters most carefully. This, only to find out that the work was already in progress. When Archon was a trusted ally to Damian, the soon to be Prince included him in his plans. With Archon in the city, no one else stood a chance to be trusted the future wellfare of the Ventrue clan.
Two great men, it was only too fortunate that they wanted different things. Archon's taste for perfection and his unyielding love for the Ventrue made him the ideal successor. This way he could concentrate solely on the Ventrue clan, while keeping tabs on all the rest, to further his clan's interests and to protect them. He would also be the Lordship's most trusted Primogen, a man after a royal heart soaked in blue blood.

Even if they would not agree in all matters, they would remain friends for many years to come, to this date. They would share a friendship, as close as they would let it, and a respect found only among royalty. However, no great man, Prince or not, would waste his time on anyone that would not dare to voice an opinion in contradiction to his. Damian could always count on Archon to speak his mind, to test him. Beyond that, he could also trust Archon to never follow, but support his judgement. They had yet to find themselves in a situation where they disagreed in a manner that called for Archon to challenge Damian's ultimate decision.

"Monsieur de la Cour's tendencies", Damian commented. "His efforts if you will, to show his contempt of us on any given opportunity, speaks not of a will to conform and live in peace, my friend. It is my understanding that he's obeying our laws simply because the Tremere still have a hold on him. And if that should turn out to not be the case, then I'll venture a guess and say that he's not obeying our laws, per se, but rather playing the game. Do not forget, in this case, he knows his enemy far better than we know ours."

These words only confirmed Archon's own thoughts. The hunter had been put in a cage, and now he did his best to survive trapped in a vampire skin - in their god forsaken world. It seemed to Archon that they had a honest opponent on their hands.

"I do hope you forgive me for changing the subject", Damian said after a short pause, "but I have another matter I would like to discuss with you."

Archon let a hint of a smile skim over his lips, as a phrase of some sort entered his mind; "No rest for the wicked." It was such a kine statement, but it sometimes fitted their agenda well. They had nothing but time on their hands, yet they had a need to accomplish like there was a horizon after all.
But he did notice something one did not often hear from the lips of their Prince; "I do hope you forgive me...". Archon was probably one in a scarce amount of Kindred that had heard it, and he would bet that Damian most of those few time only used it as a phrase that suited the circumstances. It was common, hardly ever taken seriously, except for right now.

"Miss Moira Sushill", Damian continued. "You've met her. Tell me, what are your thoughts?"

The thing that actually made him wonder, and overtook what little amusement the excuse had caused, was the inquiry about Moira Sushill. If Damian bothered to ask, something must have come up regarding her visit in their city. Something that made the Prince change the subject from the hunter rather hasty.

"It is quite alright", Archon said. "I have never met her before, as I am sure you have gathered so far. Though I have heard some regarding her, I have not heard all that much to really assume anything for a cold hard fact. My contacts in London have informed me that she is an excellent choice as Primogen. It seems to me she makes her own clan proud, as well as she does not aggravate the others. After meeting her, I would say she holds a great deal of a business sense seldom found in a Toreador. She took part in our conversation like it really appealed to her, without letting her mind wander."

Now it was his turn to pause. He had not thought much about Moira Sushill since the night at The Ball, and he did not quite know what to make of her. Her visit could be that of curiosity, it could also be a parti pris; reasons hidden to the naked eye.

"Though I feel she is a conundrum", he concluded. "While she certainly holds the Toreador signature, she appears to possess a sharp intellect a lesser Ventrue would envy. I would not even speculate at this point, when it comes to her motives, if she has any besides the apparent ones, more than to say that I do wonder."

A soft smile graced his lips, that of sheer entertainment, when he added:

"And she did refer to herself as a 'practical woman'. Now, that is not something you hear very often, coming from a Toreador. I would say never."






________________________________________

((( ooc: Atropa - So I get the crappy post - for a fact? Gee, thanks alot! ;) Nah, just kidding. It's great, even when you're rushing it. :) )))


((( ooc: Everyone - The mistake I did in the text above, explained by Atropa in the next ooc-post, has been changed. I might wanna add something else instead, but for now I have just deleted it. It works for now. :) Sorry for any confusion. Archon does not know about Adrien's father. :doh: )))

[Ghanima Atreides]

Valerian and Moira - Moira's Hotel Suite

As Moira struggled to make sense of the cacophony of emotions tracing the angles of Valerian's features, a prolonged silence persisted between them, the realization of what had just transpired settling in deeper with each passing second.

Of course he knew; as soon as Valerian's blue eyes, awash with quiet amazement and an unspoken questioning met her own, Moira realized he was aware of her deed, and had probably been so from the very beginning. A glimmer of awe then percolated her own expression then, for not once had she felt him struggle, even as she had him locked in her grip of impending death. Kindred, predators par excellence, harboured a particularly acute survival instinct that should have taken over his mind and driven him to protect himself.

The fact that Valerian had not done what came natural to any creature posed many questions that Moira felt unable to answer at the time: was it the kind of deep rooted trust even she lacked in herself, and her own power of restraint, or perhaps while her mind was addled by bloodlust, he had glimpsed that narrow road to safety she had only noticed at the very last minute long before and guided her towards it.

As she pondered this, Moira struggled to quell the turmoil which still raged inside her. She felt warm, not unlike after any feeding, but much more so: if one could compare it to a human sensation, saying that she felt feverish would have come closest. Valerian's blood churned and flowed in her veins, mingled with her own, calling out wordlessly, ever so aware that the same mixture ran through him as well, an invisible bond that kept growing despite the recent events. Moira could feel it drying on her lips and chin like some grisly stigmata and that made her feel soiled, the harsh, undeniable proof her of her deed, and the rampaging monster buried deep into her core. The Beast sulked into some lightless crevice, defeated, but it was still there. It would always be there.

Reaching out for a nearby coffee table, Moira retrieved a soft towel she had previously used to dry her hands on after tinkering with the flower arrangements and proceeded to wiping the blood off her face. When she was done, only the small blotch on the front of her dress remained.

"I didn't know...I didn't mean to push you so far... I didn't mean to push you at all."

Moira's somber gaze settled on Valerian's features once more; there was sadness there, and guilt, amidst that sea of confusion, cutting like glass into her unbeating heart. She had expected some sort of accusation, if only in the form of a question. She felt she deserved it, and yet it did not come. But that did not mean she would not assume responsibility; if anything, Valerian should know the truth.

“You didn't”, she began softly. “I should have told you, but I thought I could handle it.”

Moira paused as she restructured her thoughts; she was nearing that episode in her past she never spoke of, that sickened and appalled her. Valerian was intuitive and perceptive; once she went down that path, no matter how evasively, there was the chance that he would guess the reason of her fear, that at one time the Beast had prevailed and consumed its victim. It was much too late to turn back however; facts spoke clearer than any words in that case, and there was little doubt Valerian had not guessed just how capable she was of killing. That in itself posed an enormous threat; if it became known that the London Toreador Primogen was a diablerist, regardless of the circumstances in which it had happened, her entire world could come tumbling down. Diablerie, the sin of the Sabbat.

Even Valerian's reaction was something she could predict with difficulty. But, since he had previously put his whole life in her hands unconditionally, she was willing to return his trust, despite all the instinctive alarm signals blaring, or the constant hum in her mind which warned she had made the greatest mistake of her life since Matthias' death.

It did not matter. It was done.

“There have been...centuries since I've allowed myself to share blood with another Kindred."

Share; the irony of that word did not escape her. There had been no sharing involved.

"I've been afraid, and now you know the reason. I cannot quite explain why I am vulnerable to this, I've simply come to accept it as my weakness. Until now I've feared I could not control it, but you've proven me wrong. I was able to stop, albeit at the very last moment. Your trust had something to do with it, that you did not fight me, and the thought of you, that harming you was the last thing I wished to do. Perhaps it was both; either way I was able to reach through to that part of me who is Moira Sushill and defeat the...other.”

After a short pause, Moira continued:

“Earlier I've said you know me better than most Kindred alive today; this is a side of me I'd rather not have let loose, but now you have seen something I have shown only one other. You know it exists and you needn't fear it, not anymore; that is something few could say.”

“I know you also have a dark side you keep locked away, but if I could defeat my monster I have the confidence you can as well. I can help you, if you would let me.”

[AtropaMandragora]

If asked, Adrien wouldn't have been likely to admit it, but this evening, and in this particular conversation, he found himself making an effort to be somewhat civil; a rare experience to him these nights. For so long, disdain and animosity had been the only sources from which his manners sprung. The only conversations he tended to have were either with the Kindred he so loathed, or humans he cared little about befriending, no matter how pleasant they seemed. They usually had nothing to offer the young Tremere, and so would often find themselves being brushed off or ignored by him. It wasn't that he had forgotten manners and courtesy, he just didn't have much use for it anymore, nor practice. It was so much easier to stay in total control of one's emotions and expressions, if one did not allow them to bounce all over the place. When it came to pleasantries, he was rusty, plain and simple.
However now, for once, someone of the human world did seem to have put something quite interesting on the table for him to grab, and Adrien was struggling to keep his viciousness from staining his tone of voice, and his words. So far, he had managed rather well, and only been his genuinely but not overly arrogant true self, without the ever growing defiant and condescending part of him interfering too much.
Not that his minor battle showed on the outside, in any way other than him taking a moment or two longer to react and reply, than he normally would. But had anyone known him - had any of the people that once did know him seen him now - they would've been the only ones possibly able to pick up on it.
But no one did, and for over a century, no one had. And furthermore, as far as Adrien was concerned, no one would, ever again. Many, many would be made to know of him. But that was it. They would know the myth, never the the man. No one would ever learn about his past, his plans, the dreams he'd had, or what went on inside his maze of a mind. No one would feel his affectionate gaze upon them, or feel the gentle touch of his caress. No one would ever feel loved or cared for by him, nor would anyone ever have their hearts filled with love and warmth towards him. It was the fate he had deliberately created for himself, long before the Kindred had put what they thought to be an end to his career, by ambushing him and embracing him in that dirty, godforsaken back alley. Some of them had thought they'd get to see time slowly peel away his human feelings, see him struggle to keep them, and the loss of one after another causing him the anguish and torment the Kindred so longed to see in his eyes.
Needless to say, they had been disappointed.

"Very well then."

The words came softly, and with effortless elegance the redhead stood from the chair in one fluid movement, ending up coming directly face to face with Adrien. His eyes locked with hers, and as he studied their faint glow of contentment over his recognizing the nature of her offer, he saw it flicker ever so briefly with something else. Something fleeting, something he could not quite grasp. The spark of a memory perhaps? A mental visual, or a feeling from long ago?
Whatever it was, it was gone in a flash. Apparently, this little lady was no more prone to distractions than Adrien himself was. Commendable, and all the more reason for him to be interested in whatever it was that she had in mind. With nothing more than another look - an obvious request for him to follow her - she turned, and started leading the way. With him barely half a step behind her, she sashayed through the casino with the calm, purposeful stride of someone that was highly familiar with the surroundings. Along with her confidence and her liberty at offering him this so-called opportunity, it made him think that she had to be somewhere in the top levels of the hierarchy of this place.

Up the stairs to the second floor they went in complete silence, reaching the lavish part of the casino where the hotel suites were located, for those who came to enjoy it's wide range of thrills for more than just one evening. Although not as grand and extravagant as the casino below, the second floor was still just as exclusive. Long hallways illuminated by a soft, dimmed luster from stylish ceiling lights, reflected in a floor of meticulously polished wood. Sparsely decorated, with an undeniable touch of pure class. Although a rebel of society on the outside, there was still an ever present aristocrat within Adrien. And at the moment, it approved. Very much. Unlike the usual flashy and often tacky interior of casinos, this one appealed to him. So much so that if he hadn't been bound to stay at Mina's Museum, he would've deemed this a perfect location for a Haven. Always busy, with people constantly milling about on the various floors, even during the wee hours of the morning, thus leaving a creature of the night like him to come and go as he pleased without bringing too much attention to himself. It would've been an ideal place to make one's sanctuary.
But alas, he was forced to stay in a place for rest that offered none.
For now.

Continuing down one of the hallways, it wasn't long before Adrien realized their destination. Part of it, at least. Soon a large double door with a burly guard on each side came into view, and the red-haired woman headed straight for it. Upon approaching, neither her nor Adrien recieved as much as a glance from either of the guards. Or a single word for that matter. Silence still ruled the atmosphere, much like it had done since Adrien and the redhead had left the bar.
However, that was about to change. As her hands came to rest on the door knobs, ready to push them open, the redhead finally opened her mouth.

"Welcome to Posh", she said, the words simple yet holding an element of pride that lead him to believe that whatever lay behind those doors, was something she truely treasured.

The moment she parted them and revealed what hid behind them to his scrutinizing eyes, Adrien's gaze instantly swept from one side of the room to the other, always prepared to spot any immediate danger. Even if he wasn't really expecting one. But he would never be caught off guard, and so he allowed himself to be ruled by his instincts rather than his sense of judgement. Once they had assured him there was nothing all too sinister waiting to pounce on him, his gaze made a second sweep, slower this time, to take in the scenery. It appeared to be another arena for gambling, although it was a room far smaller than the one on the first floor. Less noisy too, due to the fact that there were no slot machines. The gambling here was limited to the kind Adrien respected, and appreciated; cards, dice and roulette. Not even the fact that the room was full seemed to have too big an impact on the noise level, as the people in here seemed more focused than the common casino patron, and didn't feel the need to talk people's ears off, explaining how much they loved the game, why they were here, how much they had won or lost, how thrilling it all was, or just making simple-minded attempts to distract or psych out their opponents. Here, in this room of dark but inviting colors and whispy smoke trickling from the tips of cigars and cigarettes, silence was the weapon of choice.

"I believe it was a game of black jack that you wanted?"

Again the redhead was the first of the two of them to speak, bringing Adrien's eyes to abandon the scenery in favor of her. A natural reaction perhaps, when being spoken to, but not to Adrien. From him, who would've usually kept his gaze straight forward as to not appear impressed or interested when he was not, it was an intentional sign that what she'd had to offer did indeed appeal to him still.
Whether or not it was a gesture she registered, however, remained a tale untold, as the very next moment she handed her purse to a young man nearby, and then lead the way to the Black Jack table, where, after greeting the men around it, she dismissed the current dealer, only to take his place herself. The men greeted her back with polite nods, and Adrien as well, though he didn't fail to notice the initial odd glances he got, as his dark and casual appearance differed quite a bit from their own.

"I bring you fresh blood tonight," the redhead said with a playful wink at one of the players, and causing - surprise, surprise - another smirk to form on Adrien's lips.

'Fresh blood'. Oh, the irony of such a statement. If only she knew.
Still, he remained silent, and merely watched as the former dealer returned with a new deck for her, and a stack of chips - Adrien with his keen eye estimated it to be around thousand dollars worth - for their newest guest.

"Don’t be offended", the redheaded young woman said while deftly inaugurating the new deck. "Everyone is given a small welcome gift to get them started."

At that, Adrien simply inclined his head ever so slightly, to show his acceptance of this 'welcome gift'. Even though they both knew he didn't need it, considering his earlier wins, he knew it was a fact that was beside the matter. This was a sign of respect, and would start him off with a clean slate to the others, leaving only her to know a few details of the skill that had brought him to the seat he now claimed by this table.

"Yeah, you won’t ever get another dime out of her", one of his soon to be opponents commented, causing a few soft chuckles from the other men, and a smile from the redhead.

Ah. So, suspicions confirmed. She was indeed the owner, or at least one of the people closest to such a position.
But that wasn't all he gathered from the statement. Along with her deftness with the deck in her hands, it paved the way for even more suspicions. If the man's words were indeed true, Adrien had to wonder if she, much like himself, had been playing a game of deception down on the first floor, pretending to be less skilled a card player than she really was. It was either that, or the man that made the statement simply wasn't as good as her, even if she hadn't played modestly earlier. Either way, the man didn't just manage to compliment her, and tell Adrien a little something about her, it also told him a little bit about the man himself as well, and his opponents. Their chuckles following his comment were testament enough that they agreed with him, meaning every one of these players considered her a challenge.

"Good to know", he smirked, and gave Faleysia a glance as she started dealing the cards, but shifted his gaze back to the man for a few seconds, indicating there was far more hiding in his words than for it to be just some generic statement.

Satisfied to see a small crease form between the man's eyebrows, in puzzlement, Adrien then turned his full attention to the card game. Now, Black Jack wasn't really his forté, and his only purpose with telling Faleysia that he was headed over to one such table, was to test her. He had merely wanted to know her reaction and thus her motive for showing up around him. Though that didn't mean he couldn't hold his own in the game that now commenced. In any card game, if one could read one's opponents, one already had a head start. And even more so if one knew to pay attention to the odds as well.
Adrien had a talent for both.

Still, even though he did fairly well, albeit not as well as he did in poker, he soon grew somewhat bored. While he did take an interest in the other players - the redhead especially since he got the feeling from her way of playing Black Jack that she had held back a bit when playing poker with him earlier - poker was his game of preferrence. And so, after a handful more rounds than enough to not seem fickle or indecisive, he collected his earnings and excused himself, explaining what was in essence the truth; that he wanted to try his 'luck' at the poker table. He had kept a discreet eye on it while playing, and now saw his chance, as one player had recently stood from his chair and left the game, and no one else showed much interest in claiming the empty seat.

"Mademoiselle", he concluded his words of departure from the Black Jack table by turning to Faleysia with another slight but courteous bow of his slender neck, and leaving his French heritage to shine through in his accent.

Then he stood, and sauntered over to what he had decided would be his ultimate challenge this evening; the poker table in this exclusive part of the casino, and it's population of nothing but highly skilled players. Players of his own caliber. Players that made the feeling of winning so much more gratifying, simply because it didn't happen as often as it had in his previous two games of poker, and because winning over someone he knew was as skilled as himself made him feel that he was improving. It was that kind of multi-layered win that offered the most satisfaction, and the most experience.

Within a few hands having been dealt, Adrien made a discovery that almost made him smile with amusement. While waiting for one of the players to place his bet, Adrien took the opportunity to study the other players while they studied the one about to bet. His gaze drifted slowly from one face around the table to the next, but stopped suddenly when it landed on a face further back, appearing in the gap between two of his opponents, in the part of the room that stretched out behind them.
He was being watched. Again. It seemed the redhead had made quite a habit of leaving the tables he had been at shortly after his own departure. She was now standing on her own, watching him from a bit of a distance. Adrien couldn't help but feel amused, and even offered her a quirked brow, only this time, it didn't urge her to speak, and fast, but rather was more of a sign that he had indeed noticed her, and found her interest in him somewhat intriguing. And entertaining. He might've even glanced suggestively at the game, asking her to join, had he not noticed the time. Soon, he would have to retire, lest he be stuck here while the sun crossed the sky. That was something he could not afford, and so when the next hand was about to be dealt, he once again collected his earnings and stood while bidding the other players a good night.

However, as the redhead had succeeded with what to most humans would seem nearly impossible - to intrigue him - he decided to acknowledge it. In his own way. Having slid back into his black, heavy leather coat, with the help of one of the many employees that offered her assitance, he then strode towards Faleysia while adjusting the collar.

"Your offer has indeed made for quite an interesting and prosperous evening", he said, once he reached her, and he scanned the room as if taking one last look at it all, and then turned his eyes back to lock with hers. "I trust it was equally rewarding to whoever it was that wished to observe my skills?"

[Ghanima Atreides]

Aeode and Jessica - Outside The Haven

"If you repeat what I am going to say, I will kill you if I'm not dead already..."

Another dramatic statement, and the second threat Aeode had received in the last few minutes; if at first her anger and self preservation instinct were stirred, this time the shock was considerably dulled by the deeply foreboding tone of it. “If I'm not dead already” sent a crystal clear message, reinforcing Aeode's original impression of both Jessica and Andre: whatever they feared, it wasn't trivial, and it felt less like a joke with each passing minute. As Jessica's anxiety grew more and more obvious, Aeode began to wonder whether she was delving deeper and deeper into an affair more serious than it had previously transpired.

Despite the reek of unknown danger that swirled around them, pressing in closer and closer, Aeode's curiosity did not lessen: she listened avidly, arms wrapped tightly around her body, eyes focused, face grim. A barely noticeable yet constant tremor shook her: was it the cool, damp night or the anticipation building up? Perhaps both.

And yet nothing could have prepared her for what was to come:

"I am 'some sort of vampire'. A sleep through the day, blood drinking vampire. I told you it was crazy. And I told you that you wouldn't believe me, but you asked!”

Aeode's eyes snapped wide open, revealing the whites around her blue-green irises. Her lips parted in astonishment, frozen in a wordless “oh”.

Jessica was right. Aeode didn't believe her. And who could have blamed her? She had just been informed that she stood face to face with a real “sleep through the day, blood drinking vampire”. In 21st century world, it wasn't something most people were in a hurry to believe; furthermore, Aeode was a particularly skeptical person, stubbornly searching for the logic in every seemingly unexplainable situation. She didn't believe in ghosts, afterlife, or paranormal phenomenons, and she most certainly did not believe in vampires.

"We have this thing, called the masquerade. Its supposed to make you humans think we don't exist. Didn't work did it? You're lucky that you're human. Do you know how long it's been since I had my last glass of water?"

Jessica paused dramatically, but Aeode kept her silence as she pondered this. If at first the brunette's story about feeding her blood had seemed like some tasteless joke, it dawned on her then that Jessica actually believed she was a vampire. Not only that, but according to her, there were others as well, and they were probably the ones she feared.

"500 years. That's why I saved you, and didn't make you one of us. I wanted you to feel again like I couldn't."

Those last words, filled with desperation and what felt like genuine anguish summoned a sense of pity into Aeode's heart, mirrored by her deep, thoughtful gaze. She wasn't cold hearted or unsympathetic by nature, she simply hid those emotions beneath a cold, hardened exterior. It was the way life had shaped her, not who she truly was.

Aeode realized then that even though the reason was fantasy, the danger might have been real. She recalled an incident on the news several years back, about a group of vampire wannabe teenagers who, unable to distinguish between reality and fiction, ended up murdering their entire families. Although Jessica was decidedly no teenager, that was what she reminded her of. Perhaps she and the others were part of a dangerous cult which fed on people's fears and mental instability to use and control them; perhaps she truly was in danger of them.

“Wow, that is...quite a story, I don't know what to say.” Aeode began awkwardly, cringing inwardly as soon as the words left her lips. She wondered whether she should've made the effort to sound more shocked, but quickly decided against it: lying wasn't one of her talents, her bluntness being partly a consequence of that. Clearing her throat she continued:

“You said 'we'...so there are other, erm, vampires? I can tell you're scared, is it because of them?”

[AtropaMandragora]

By asking for Archon's thoughts, Damian hade made an exception to his usual and firm principles. He would rarely reveal even the slightest interest or concern regarding anything, unless of course it was a matter where interest and concern on his part would be expected, or have it's obvious reasons. And even then he would moderate the show of his level of involvement, how much he would let the world around him see of what went through his mind.

Asking his London Ventrue contacts about Moira Sushill would reveal very little. She was a Toreador Primogen visiting his city; of course he would be interested in knowing more about her, about whatever power players crossed the borders into his domain. Asking those usually around her would only be the natural thing to do.

But asking for the opinion of anyone around Damian himself, within his own city, who would know no more than him, and thus only be able to offer an opinion instead of the cold hard fact that the Ventrue tended to love so much, that was something out of the ordinary, and nothing he would've done, had it not been Archon, another of the few Ventrue he trusted, or perhaps, as of late, Mina. She was probably the only one outside of the Ventrue clan, whose opinion he would consider asking for on a somewhat more personal level.
However, he would not go out of his way to do so, and he had not been in touch with her since the evening of the Ball, and so had had no chance to ask her in passing. Nor was he sure the two ladies had even actually met. They had both seemed to keep themselves busy in different parts of the venue, and so he doubted they had exchanged words there. But that didn't mean they had never met before.

But, as a way of maintaining his appearance as omniscient Prince of Los Angeles, Damian never asked a question without knowing there was an answer. While he might not know the exact nature of the answer, he always knew that the question he asked, if answered truthfully, would not provide him with a shrug and a "I don't know".
And so Archon, his esteemed collegue, Primogen and friend, would be the only one in the Prince's 'court' who would have the honor and the privilege of being asked his opinion. For in his case, more than anyone else's, Damian knew that while Archon might have his curiousity piqued by Damian's rather unpredictable question, he would recognize the line and make sure not to cross it, either by being nosey, or by making inquiries or research of his own, regarding Damian's interest in the lady Londoner behind his back. If Damian had an interest in her, it was for a very good reason, and one that the Prince would reveal to Archon in due time. Until then, only Damian would know what went on inside his cunning, analytical mind. For no matter how much he trusted Archon, Damian was not a man who would openly discuss his affairs. He gathered whatever information he could get, he went over it, he pondered it, until finally he reached his decision.
Then, and only then, did he talk about it.

"It is quite alright", Archon said in response to the change of topic. "I have never met her before, as I am sure you have gathered so far. Though I have heard some regarding her, I have not heard all that much to really assume anything for a cold hard fact. My contacts in London have informed me that she is an excellent choice as Primogen. It seems to me she makes her own clan proud, as well as she does not aggravate the others. After meeting her, I would say she holds a great deal of a business sense seldom found in a Toreador. She took part in our conversation like it really appealed to her, without letting her mind wander."

That statement was followed by a slight pause, as Archon took a moment to gather his thoughts and delve deeper into his sense of observation. In the meantime, Damian was pleased to discover that his perception agreed very much with Damian's own, as well as the few tidbits the Prince had managed to get a hold of earlier this evening, through the contacts in London. Although he was still waiting for something further, something more than what he himself had already gathered on his own, it was all off to a good start. So far, he had only seen and heard things that pleased him, things that fit nicely into the vague plans that were forming in his head.

"Though I feel she is a conundrum", Archon continued. "While she certainly holds the Toreador signature, she appears to possess a sharp intellect a lesser Ventrue would envy. I would not even speculate at this point, when it comes to her motives, if she has any besides the apparent ones, more than to say that I do wonder. And she did refer to herself as a 'practical woman'. Now, that is not something you hear very often, coming from a Toreador. I would say never."

The last couple of sentences saw a faint smile steal across the Primogen's lips. Clearly, he was amused to hear a Toreador describe herself in such a manner. And indeed. It did seem lady Sushill seperated herself from most Toreador, in a way most admirable to the Ventrue.
It would be quite interesting to see if she and Damian could find some common ground, some way to profit together, from a possible business association. Damian already had a few projects in mind, to dangle infront of her and see if she'd bite. Because, if his intuition was right about her, she possessed two qualities that he had not found combined in anyone else; the business sense of the Ventrue, and the artistic sense of a Toreador. He had a need for such an acquaintance. Granted, along with Valerian, Claudia made a fine such specimen, but that was just it; along with Valerian. She did not hold the qualities he desired all on her own, and Damian would rather keep to involving as few people as possible. While it often meant larger the risk, it also meant larger the profit.
And Damian liked profit.
Further more, these projects, while sincere and serious in nature, were also just the prelude to what Damian really had in mind. They were a way to test the waters, to see if the possibilities that had appeared to him during his encounter with Moira, could be made into something more, something that would strenghten his control of the city, and it's Kindred inhabitants. While offering Moira something desirable in return, of course.
A classic win-win situation.

"Indeed", Damian agreed, with a faint smile of his own gracing his lips. "But then again, the Toreador are in essence performers, and they do so love to flatter themselves."

Now, although seemingly condescending, that was a comment that was by no means meant to belittle Moira's sense of self, nor whatever abilities she might have. It was simply a comment made to show that while her persona did seem promising, Damian was still not convinced. At this point, and in his position, only a fool would be.

"However, regardless, I do trust that you will keep me informed, should you happen to learn anything further about our prominent guest."

This time when he spoke, he did so with his usual tone of voice, that left it beyond all reasonable doubt, that it was not a request.

"Now", he then continued, having allowed another brief pause to follow his words and declare the subject closed, for now, and his tone changed yet again, into a far more casual and insouciant one. "Let's save the business talk for another time. You are back, and so I'm sure there will be plenty of opportunities. Right now, however, I wish to hear of your adventures these past few months. Please, indulge me."

[AtropaMandragora]

If asked, most people who had ever made Valerian's acquaintance, or simply just seen him from a distance, were likely to describe the youthful and sensual Toreador as a strapping young man, who never appeared to lack in confidence. Though of course, since it was Valerian, it was always a confidence that seemed worlds apart from the self-assured arrogance that would usually ooze from Kindred pores. It was a calm, quiet one, filled with contentment of being who, what, and where he was, with no need to shout it from the mountain tops. Despite his enthusiasm and his easily tickled excitement, he often came across as casual and urbane, and despite the gothic attire he usually donned, he left no impression of being the blatant kind of attention-seeker that would do anything to stand out in a crowd. He was what he was, and didn't mind being stared at for various reasons, or overlooked or even downright ignored, for other various reasons. He was comfortable in his skin, and carried himself with an inner sanguine glow.

Which made the contrast now all the more striking. Here he was, leaning heavily against the back of the sofa on the opposite side of Moira, not a shred of his usual confidence near him, but rather looking every bit a lost little boy, knowing he had done something wrong, but not understanding what it was. Guilt-ridden confusion dampening the ever vivacious sparks of joy de vivre in his pale sapphire eyes, growing to marr not only his pretty features, but to slowly claim his entire posture. It was a subtle change, to the naked eye it would be nearly invisible. And yet it was painfully obvious, in the air about him, in his aura. Once open and all-encompassing, it now seemed to be slowly shrinking the more he chided himself for doing what he had done, and thus causing her such turmoil, and to almost loose control.Not even for a moment did he blame her. He was the one that had instigated it. Careless and naive, he had intentionally tempted her, and the Beast right along with her, not thinking for one second of the risks. Only the pleasures.

Such was the pattern of his thoughts. Until... Until Moira reached out to him, the soft melody of her voice slipping easily through the tangle of thorns tormenting his mind, soothing words of comfort pulling them away, plucking them out, one after another.

"You didn't."

They came softly, like an aerial whisper destined not to be heard. And yet Valerian would've heard them over the most vicious of thunderstorms. He heard them through the tempest raging within the walls of his skull, and felt it start to slowly subside, and ebb away.

"I should have told you,", she added, her voice still a gentle breeze against the raw scratches in his mind. "But I thought I could handle it."

With those words alone, it was as if she had put her fingers gently under his chin, and lifted his head to bring him to look at her once more. Without even touching him. He studied her then, searching her face for even the smallest of signs that what he had felt had sprung from truth, from feeling that he was to blame.
He found none.
All that revealed itself to his eyes, was compassion, and a look of being deep in thought, as though Moira was somehow deliberating with herself over what to say, or perhaps what she was feeling. Though even is she was, the look on her face spoke clearly to him; whatever feelings were flowing through her mind and body, they did not support the ones he himself had felt, of rue and guilt.
She did not blame him.
And soon he would sense why.

"There have been... centuries since I've allowed myself to share blood with another Kindred", she started, hesitating only for a moment at first, before following through with the sentences that had begun forming on her lips. "I've been afraid, and now you know the reason. I cannot quite explain why I am vulnerable to this, I've simply come to accept it as my weakness. Until now I've feared I could not control it, but you've proven me wrong. I was able to stop, albeit at the very last moment. Your trust had something to do with it, that you did not fight me, and the thought of you, that harming you was the last thing I wished to do. Perhaps it was both; either way I was able to reach through to that part of me who is Moira Sushill and defeat the... other."

A short pause followed, and then she continued;

"Earlier I've said you know me better than most Kindred alive today; this is a side of me I'd rather not have let loose, but now you have seen something I have shown only one other. You know it exists and you needn't fear it, not anymore; that is something few could say."

While she spoke, Valerian sat in silence, having shushed the last of his lingering anxiety when the complete lack of disapproval in her eyes had reassured him that she was in no way upset with him. Instead he listened carefully to her every word, feeling the weight and meaning behind each and every one. The story ran deeper than it appeared, certain words hinted to a far darker side of it all, to a tale unspoken, and yet not untold. He learned, or at least he thought he did, that there had been another with whom Moira had shared her blood. A night a long time ago, that had seen the terrifying end of the ritual, that had just barely been avoided during the present one. An act not only frowned upon by the Camarilla, but an immediate death sentence, should it be made known what she had done.
She hadn't said it in so many words, but she didn't need to. The apprehension and the distress dancing like flickering flames in her eyes told him the story. And he knew that at that exact moment, when her confession dawned on him, those were feeling mirrored in his own eyes.
Diablerie. The most vile among acts within Camarillan society, punishable by death, no questions asked. Valerian himself had always shyed away from the mere thought of it. He had never killed anyone. No Kindred, no human, not even a larger animal. Ever. And while he might understand the urges behind the act of Diablerie, on a logical level, he felt that he would never understand it on an emotional one. Frenzied Beast aside, he simply could not fathom what may drive a Kindred to devour another. It was an act that belonged with the Sabbat, the ones that fully embraced their predatory nature, and, according to some, made themselves slaves under it. To Valerian, and many others, they were monsters.

But as he looked at Moira, a monster was the last thing he saw. He saw a stunningly beautiful woman, with a kind and gentle soul, and sincerity written upon her very face. Despite her deed, she was not evil, and she was not like the Sabbat. Unlike them, she had refrained from taking another's blood, in fear that she would be unable to control herself. She had not wished to harm him, Valerian, and she had found in herself the power to prevail over her beastly instincts, and wielded it.
And she had opened up to him, in a way that most would never dare to do with anyone. Not only had she shown him the painting of Josephine, which seemed to have been much like an open wound to her for a very long time, she had allowed him to see and understand her greatest sorrow.
Now, she had just all but openly confessed to a most horrific, despicable act. One of the most heinous crimes in the eyes of the Camarilla, that if revealed to anyone else would've surely have cost her her life.
But Valerian...?
Valerian only adored her all the more for it.
Not for the act itself, naturally, but because of the trust she put in him by confiding in him, for leaving herself so vulnerable. Whether it was because of the growing bond between them, or a desire to entrust him with her life after he had entrusted her with his, or even both, it didn't matter. He adored her all the same. And like always when it came to the young Toreador, every emotion that washed over him was plain to see in the features on his beautiful face. Back was the bright sparkle in his eyes, and the warmth of his smile, and the only thing that kept him from pulling her closer to him and gently wrapping his arms around her, was the feeling that she had more to say.

"I know you also have a dark side you keep locked away," she soon continued, "but if I could defeat my monster I have the confidence you can as well. I can help you, if you would let me."

Slowly, like snow melting away in the spring time, the warm smile faded from Valerian's soft lips, leaving a faint but sad one to claim them instead, as his thoughts once again returned to the part of his history that no one else knew - no one, except one - and that to this day tormented him, whenever he allowed himself to think about it. Mostly, he kept it locked away, and hidden so carefully that he himself could not reach it. Tonight, he had unleashed it, and even though he had known that she would pick up on it - he had wished her to - he hadn't been prepared for the opportunity to surface quite yet. He had waited for it, yet perhaps postponed it when an opening had seemed to appear, quickly dissmissing it when he had sensed that Moira might have more to say about whatever they had been talking about. As though he longed to tell her, yet feared the moment when he would, thinking that perhaps she wouldn't understand why it pained him like it did, and think that he was just being too sensitive. Lord knows it was a phrase he had been subjected to before, where other matters had been concerned.
But, now the moment was here, the opportunity brought to him by Moira herself, and he would dissmiss it no longer. Even if he could.

"My Sire...", he started slowly, and it almost seemed he had great difficulty just pronouncing the words, as though they were somehow unfamiliar to him. "He used to say that he embraced me partly because a compassion and a love for everything, like mine, if made eternal would make the world a better place to live. Only on a small scale, of course, but... even the smallest of things are part of the bigger picture."

He glanced up at Moira briefly, the saddened smile still clinging to his lips, though now it was slightly more than the shadow it had been earlier, as if somewhat strengthened by the memories.

"That was in the beginning", he said. "It changed with the time that passed. For some reason that I have yet to understand, it seemed that the things that made him Embrace me in the first place, later made him grow to resent me. He withdrew from me more and more, started avoiding me like one would the plague. Finally, he just..."

There his voice trailed off for a second, and as he looked up at Moira again, he gave a slight shrug of what now seemed to be a pair of tiny shoulders.

"He left."

[Ghanima Atreides]

Moira and Valerian - Moira's Suite at the Ritz

The warm, flickering glow of candlelight projected a myriad irregular shadows across the four tall walls of the room, accentuating every sinuous detail of Valerian and Moira's surroundings. Very unlike the harshness of electricity, it was as though a whole new dimension had revealed itself to the eye, carefully concealing the outer shell of things while allowing subtle detail to be brought into focus.

In Moira's perception, the effect was carried onto Valerian's own appearance and demeanor, although light had little to do with that: it simply offered the ideal ambiance to observe it. Having shifted from bemusement to heart-rending guilt to contemplation, his aura held a distinct difference from his usual warm glow that had the ability to warm even the coldest of undead hearts only by being in his presence.

Valerian was indeed the only Kindred Moira knew of who would sooner take the blame of the recent events upon himself rather than look for it in her behaviour. It was a distinct proof of his innocence which, to an Elder like Moira, felt immeasurably precious. The ability to transcend humanity and yet remain more human than many mortals she had met in five centuries, that was something unique and priceless and, oh, so fragile. It was his greatest strength and the source of his vulnerability, should ill intent ever reach and exploit it.

Moira's own demeanor had undergone changes, too. To those who knew her, she was a mystery without being necessarily mysterious. She was a recognizable figure of British Kindred society, a Primogen, the owner of a newly opened art gallery which sponsored promising young artists. Overall she was an active and involved member of the Camarilla, not someone who kept to herself, and yet there were very few who knew more about Moira Sushill than what she showed to the world. The information that was available about her was not concealed; it was available to all, which kept suspicion at bay. Her mystery was her past, her private life, but since none had ever found reasons to believe it concealed anything dark or dangerous, it was generally ignored or forgotten. None save for her friend and associate Elise Meyers knew what exactly went on behind the closed doors and windows of her elegant villa in Kensington. She did not organize parties and she rarely invited Kindred into her home, but those who had visited it could report nothing out of the ordinary. With her keen interest in business and politics and her well maintained privacy Moira Sushill was, granted, somewhat unusual for a Toreador, but after three centuries, her acquaintances and peers in England had uncovered no source of disquiet as far as she was concerned. And, with a plethora of more pressing issues to deal with, not to mention the constant flow of gossip that Kindred society never lacked, curiosity and concern slowly ebbed away from their minds.

What was even more interesting was the fact that Moira the politician was not simply a facade. She invested as much care and dedication into her other ventures that she would in creating a work of art. It was, however, very different than the artistic rush so familiar to a Toreador; it was a challenge of the mind that she enjoyed for different reasons. One was power and control; although not obvious, Moira harboured a desire for both. Another was the challenge of it, the intellectual stimulation it provided, and of being in charge of her own existence – what better way to do that than from a Primogen's seat, subordinate only to the Prince?

These were all things Moira had toiled for centuries to achieve and maintain. Secrecy was inherent to her efforts and yet within two days she had lifted the veil and allowed another to glimpse a side of her none, not even Elise, knew. She had had numerous occasions to stop, to close that door shut and distance Valerian from her secrets, to maintain the image and go on with her existence the way she had always done. That was the safe thing to do, the sensible thing, what her rational side had urged her to.

It was also the sordid thing to do. For many long years Moira's life had grown linear, routine and sallow. To the experienced mind, risks needed not have unpredictable results as long as one carefully weighed the situation. And so she did. Never venturing what she could not foresee, always remaining within known boundaries, calculating a careful margine for error. Slowly, her soul had begun to atrophy, leaving it a lightless, frigid place where an all consuming fire had once burned. It wasn't just her lost Muse, it was her whole existence.

Meeting Valerian had changed all that. Initially she had felt drawn to his youth like a moth to the flame, seeing him as the personification of everything she no longer was. It quickly became apparent however that it ran deeper than that: the spark existed still and Valerian, with his innocent, forgiving nature, his passionate, creative soul and supremely perceptive mind lit up the embers in her, fanning those inner fires of her Toreador soul. One thing let to another and the more she wished to know more about him, to delve deeper, the easier it was to lower her defenses and offer an unaltered view of who she truly was, the beautiful and the horrid, the compassionate and the beastly, culminating with her disturbing outburst and the unspoken insight it entailed. She was afraid and yet oddly regretless. Within the hour, both Valerian and Moira had consecutively placed their lives into eachother's hands and found safety, and few bonds could go deeper than that, giving her the confirmation that her gamble had paid off beyond expectations. Even when the situation had gone temporarily out of her hands.

A warm smile and candid glow illuminated Valerian's features, his way of communicating to Moira that he understood but did not condemn her. Even then, she was not a monster to him, and he did not scramble away from her in horror. The initial pang of shock had evaporated from his face like dew in the morning sun, taking with it Moira's own throbbing anxiety and replacing it with warm relief and unspoken gratitude. She felt alive then, more than she had been in centuries and for that alone she felt thankful, and exhilarated, as though she was on the brink of a wondrous revelation.

Facing one's fears and inner monsters and defeating them, as well as the comforting proximity of someone trustworthy could be liberating, one of the reasons Moira had decided to bring the topic of Valerian's own secret distress into focus. His blood's insight had revealed the feeling to her but not the tale; apart from wanting to learn what pained him so, she felt talking about it might ease the burden, if only by releasing it.

“My Sire...He used to say that he embraced me partly because a compassion and a love for everything, like mine, if made eternal would make the world a better place to live. Only on a small scale, of course, but... even the smallest of things are part of the bigger picture."

Moira gave a sedate nod, her attentive gaze encouraging him to speak further without intervening verbally just yet. His voice carried a painful strain, as though the words tangled in his throat and refused to come out. As soundlessly as a ginger feline, Moira inched closer to Valerian's shrinking frame, witnessing the brooding shadow brought forth by painful memories slowly descending upon his face as she pondered his words. The reason of his sire's decision to Embrace him did not surprise her, but the way Sires ultimately envisioned their progeny and reality often conflicted. Sire-Childe relationships were always tangled and often lead to painful separations.

"That was in the beginning. It changed with the time that passed. For some reason that I have yet to understand, it seemed that the things that made him Embrace me in the first place, later made him grow to resent me. He withdrew from me more and more, started avoiding me like one would the plague. Finally, he just..."

A momentary pause, a sad shrug.

"He left."

In many ways, it was the classical situation in which a Sire and their progeny drifted apart. Such was the case with most Kindred, and even the strongest relationship eventually went sour, particularly between two such uniquely linked individuals. There was no bond quite like that between a progenitor and their creation, the thing which determined one's ancestry, Clan affiliation, their unique abilities and characteristics. When reborn as an immortal being, the fledgling was almost as dependent on their Sire as a human infant on their parents, and until released, their life belonged to their maker. Often, the two Kindred's expectations clashed, or as the maturing childe developed and changed, the Sire either became unable to relinquish their dominance over them or was disillusioned with the outcome. Reasons were as many and varied as Kindred themselves, but one thing remained true in all cases: such rifts came with lasting scars and in many cases confusion. Moira understood it all too well, her own sire having morphed from lover to mortal enemy within two centuries, and it was that silent, saddened understanding that found its way into her eyes, and the lines of her face.

“Alas, the understanding of a Sire's reasons is something few of us ever fully grasp. Not unlike humans, we seek the approval of our progenitors, particularly in those first few years when they are who we know best, and their rejection is always painful to bear. That remains true for most even as we grow ancient; we have only one Sire, which makes them special. I do not know the one who Embraced you so this is only my interpretation, but I can see several reasons for his behaviour. Embracing a mortal to preserve their qualities for eternity is one of the most common reasons, but even Elders cannot predict how that childe will evolve once they are no longer human. Sometimes they are disappointed, for the outcome does not match their vision, other times they fall prey to guilt as they witness their humanity being chipped away bit by bit, and sometimes they are simply jealous of their childe's youth and cannot bear it. Also, there are some who hope that by Embracing a tenacious young mortal full of life, some of that humanity will be transfered onto them and grow bitter when it doesn't happen.”

Pausing for a moment, an bittersweet smile touched Moira's lips and her eyelids descended briefly, almost regretfully:

“I am afraid I cannot divine the reasons why your sire left you, and I know that is an ache that will require time and effort to heal, but I can tell you this: we are only responsible for our own actions, and his decision to abandon you rests with him as does the blame. You were brought into this world to better it with your nature and you are doing just that: your compassion and love and humanity have prevailed even when faced with the true nature of our kind, something which very few are able to withstand. It is your sire's loss that he isn't here to witness it.”

[Shenanigans_SC]

Falesyia’s movements were natural, toying with the deck of cards, her fingers dancing nimbly over them. It was plain to see to even the most casual of observers that they had become an extension of her body. Her eyes had no need to look at what she was doing, instead she allowed her gaze to hover over the men that sat at the table. In Posh she was not just some pretty arm ornament, each and every one of these men were here because of her. Having introduced them to this gambler’s haven came with a certain amount of respect. While she still got a few flirty glances from time to time, they were guarded, as the men knew better, most of them simply trying to hide the fact that she made them feel inferior. Falesyia found that most men, even if they’d never admit it, felt intimidated by a woman who had no real need for them. Though there had been a few that wished to tame her, they all fell short, their true feelings coming out eventually. Still she enjoyed standing where she was, the game was in her hands, literally.

Her eyes had drifted over the men sitting at the table, their chuckles bringing a proud smile to her face. She looked towards her newest inductee just in time to catch a short glance as he uttered “Good to know”, before looking towards one of his opponents. Though Falesyia’s mind wished to study his eyes for some hint of what lay behind them, the game was now at hand. Whether she was dealing or participating, when the game commenced Falesyia pushed everything else out of her mind. The only thing that mattered at that time was the cards and the players.

After several hands the raven haired man soon made his exit with a polite “Mademoiselle” and a bow of his head. It was a gesture that caught her by surprise, reigniting the interest that had brought her to his table in the first place. Though he had the appearance of a young rebel, his posture, the little gestures, and his mannerisms hinted to something else so much deeper and complex. She wondered if that outward appearance was a guise for protection. What she couldn’t figure out was the who or what was he protecting. Was he protecting himself from someone or something in particular, or was he just trying to defy society as a whole?

After he had taken his leave, Falesyia nodded for the previous player to return. She gave her polite smile to those that were still around the table, not bothering to make excuses for her behavior. This was her haven, her establishment, she need not answer to anyone for what she did. She would study whomever she wished to study, and make no excuses for it. First she grabbed one of the attendants and had them fetch her a drink, a real one this time, before standing a few yards back from the poker table. She studied the players, mentally putting herself in the raven haired man’s position, trying to predict his moves, what he would do. As if she were in a mental match with the man.

Somewhere along the way, the raven haired gentleman noticed her. Not one to shy away from the obvious truth, she made no small gesture of looking behind her, or feigning interest in something else trying to hide the fact she was watching him. She remained standing, her eyes not fleeing beneath his gaze, she had nothing to be ashamed of, curiosity was not a crime after all. His response was the quirk of his brow, a silent recognition of her curiosity. A recognition that drew from her lips a small smile. Not one hinting of flirtation or shyness, yet one that wasn’t stiff and cordial. It was a small sign of intrigue. One that apparently got through his tough exterior layers, as soon he would make his way towards her.

At the completion of another hand the man took his leave of his opponents, allowing an employee to assist him with his coat, he strode towards her. Her eyes watched as he walked with steady purposeful steps. “Your offer has indeed made for quite an interesting and prosperous evening,” he began before surveying the room once again. She wondered why he always studied his surroundings, a habit most befitting a man of paranoia. She took the brief opportunity to study his features, before his gaze returned to meet with her own. “I trust it was equally rewarding to whoever it was that wished to observe my skills?” With that Falesyia couldn’t help but give a slight smile, her lids giving way to a slow blink. “Satisfying yes”, she began, “but in comparison to the amount of money you are leaving with, not nearly as rewarding.” It had been a compliment, to him for his prowess, and to herself for her instinct.

Falesyia wished to get to know this man a little better. She took an uncanny interest in the men she allowed to enter her sanctuary. Each and every one of them had grabbed her attention for some reason, it was almost canny. Perhaps it was driven from an innocent desire to know those whom surrounded her, perhaps she was unintentionally searching for something deeper. Whatever it may be, she was adamant on at least knowing the names of the people she granted entrance to Posh on a regular basis. A knowledge she did not have of this man yet. “Would you mind some company on your way out?”, she asked, watching his features for any hint of surprise or amusement. Anything really that would show a shadow of the man he was yet hid so well.

Once they exited through the heavy double doors, they found themselves in the isolated, dimly lit second floor corridor. Falesyia peered down the hall making sure there were no undesirable ears around. Satisfied that the corridor was primarily empty, she began to talk, not looking at him but rather keeping her focus ahead of her. “As you have noticed, admittance to Posh is rather limited, to maintain the respectability of the place. I am satisfied after this evening that you meet all the requirements of its standards, with only a single exception.” She paused briefly to look towards him as they walked leisurely down the hall. “I require the names of those who frequent on more than one occasion. Something I hope you will consider doing.” Her eyes were serious, her offer genuine. She made sure he understood the intent of her words before she once again diverted her gaze, this time to the artwork on the wall. “I doubt you are inclined to give something as personal as your name without there being something in it for you. All I have to offer is my own in return, should you require it.”

[Fayreview]

((Guys, burnziiy, I am sorry but I am announcing my desertion from S2C, well my almost desertion I still owe one particular roleplay my time as I took on a big responsibility when joining it last year.

As to how long my departing will last I am not sure, but until i know can I go on hiatus? If not its all cool I just don't want to completely sever my ties yet.))

Atropa i hope you will forgive me for deserting here!))

[veldagia]

((OOC Guys I'm really sorry. I know I start doing posts then disapearing off on you all for ages without explanation. I'm trying to sort my life out at the moment and put the pieces back together again etc. and its taking a lot longer than I expected.

Anyway good news is that I do have posts mostly written for Zillah and Mina ready for when the next night rolls round. Reading the fantastic posts you've all been writing has given me back my inspiration. :) ))

[Psyche_SC]

#31 [Eighth Night]

Predictable. Stoic. Reserved. Cold. These were all words within the same realm, from where many Kindred derived the foundation to their notion of the Ventrue. Business men and women, all out to get what they could, even if they had more than they needed. They wanted to rule them all, like they owned the world, no matter who got in the way.
Now, it was not far from the truth, but Archon found it to be prejudice none the less; more decayed than the Ventrue had ever been or sought to be. They did not all do the biddings of the teachings of Zeno of Citium, the Greek philosopher, who said that "tranquility can best be reached through indifference to pleasure and pain". The Ventrue were not indifferent, not in Archon's opinion, but they did possess a great sense of discipline. And they did find pleasure, but maybe not in the same things as others. A well planned business meeting could bring joy to the heart of a Ventrue. Was that still not pleasure, even if considered stale by other means? Maybe no one else but a Ventrue could see the true Ventrue beauty, within the clan and its great history. Maybe not even a Toreador. It could perhaps only be considered beauty, when seen with noble eyes. And many did trust the nobility to have a great taste. However, their taste for themselves might be viewed as some what narcissistic.

Still, some of the time most of them deserved those words. Even their Prince. What Ventrue had not been cold, in order to deal with a situation? What Ventrue had not been biding time, to wait and see what their opponent would do? And was it even possible for a Ventrue to exist upon this earth, without having the capability of detachment. From anything but the Ventrue.

Even when Damian shared personal thoughts, Archon knew his friend's analytical mind never rested. He suspected that Damian was always on guard, from the second he woke up til the second he fell asleep. He probably analyzed everything everyone said, including Archon. The trust he recieved was not permanent, and the only one who knew for absolutley deadly certain if Archon really deserved it, was Archon himself. Though the Prince had a great judgement, and knew to the core of his heart and business sense that Archon was to be trusted, a Prince for the ages could never ever rest. Within the respect Archon was shown, the Prince was also sure to stress what position they both had. Although he could have simply asked Archon to keep him informed on anything related to Moira Sushill, one could always expect Damian to insert his imperial weight. If not there, then anywhere in the conversation. Because when it came to Archon, he did not need to make it obvious.

"Now", Damian continued, after another brief pause that declare the subject closed, for now, and his tone changed yet again, into a far more casual one. "Let's save the business talk for another time."

No sooner had Archon commented on the matter, before Damien changed the subject yet again. It was rather remarkable, to see the Prince take charge of the discussion. He seemed to have a path all lined up, ready to be executed. Since Archon did not mind, it made no difference to him. Why dwell, when they clearly understood each other enough not to linger. Even if it had to do with de la Cour and new blood in their city. The Prince and the Primogen apparently saw eye to eye, otherwise the Prince would have made this known. And well, so would Archon.

"You are back", Damian declared. "And so I'm sure there will be plenty of opportunities. Right now, however, I wish to hear of your adventures these past few months. Please, indulge me."

This was actually one of the main things he had been looking forward to, upon having an audience with the Prince, to tell all about his journey. Even if this 'audience' of theirs was too informal to really suffice for that sovereign remark, it would be called one in Archon's mind. How he loved the royal traditions.
Though, he felt that there was not enough time to indeed speak of everything he had experienced, but he could probably pick out the most interesting occurrences.

"I feel that I have taken much of your time already", he said. "But your wish is my command, my Lord."

The last words made him give a slight nod, with mirth in the corners of his eyes, as his lips formed into a smirk. One would certainly need a position like Archon's, in order to joke with the Prince in such a blatant manner. Any other Kindred might have given Damian reason enough to doubt, but Archon had a good judgement on these things. They found themselves on the right level, instigated by the Prince himself.

"I do not instantly know where to begin", Archon continued, now without playing with the words. "The world has changed, yet stayed the same."

Having said this cliché, he smiled softly and gestured with one hand, as if to ignore its commonness and be left with the meaning that was still true, no matter how often it had been used.

"As I usually feel when I have been away", he added. "London is still dignified and amiable, even if some of the kine influence has been taken into a direction I am not particularly fond of. The Kindred, however, still care for the city the way they did when I represented the Ventrue. No matter how much time I have in London, it never seems to be enough. This time around was no different in that regard. And Paris, yet another city one could venture for a decade and not be done with. It is no wonder, that I find the Toreador are strongest over there, as they have an abundance of inspiration. I think our dear Valerian would be lost to us, if he ever sat foot on french soil."

He paused, to let the Prince take in the information so far, and not just go on and on as if there was no end to his words. It was good etiquette, something Archon of course took pride in. The Ventrue never tired of formality, the same conversational substance that could bore the minds of others. How about taking pleasure in others pain, would that not be a puzzle for the Stoics?

"Transylvania was... interesting", Archon said when the silence had played its part. "No Draculia in sight this time either, but in all regards the kine would probably wish for him to be real, rather than what actually dwells in their city. It is only too ironic, that the Malkavians claim to power has only recently been answered. I guess they have been too busy being mad, to have been able to assemble the members sooner. I am afraid we might have a Malkavian Prince on our hands in due time, hailing from Romania's most obvious seat."

Another pause took hold of the room, but not its inhabitants. It took a great deal more to rattle the foundation of two mighty Ventrue. Although silence was a strong force, strong enough to evicerate the kine, it was not enough to have any real affect on the undead. It was, after all, one of the main ingredience in their destiny.

"And I must say your reputation still precedes you in the world", Archon continued. "You needed no introduction in Hongkong, even the stark mad ones knew whom I represented. And in Singapore, where I finally came upon your sword, I believe your name opened one of the doors I had to enter on my path. And they have not forgotten you in Rome."

After his conclusion, at least for the sake of letting the Prince have a chance to comment, Archon was not only silent, but silent also in the eyes. The Ventrue Primogen seemed to let his thoughts go on, evaluating his journey, in order to locate information the Prince would find relevant or just plain interesting. Some of it would also give Archon concern on a more personal level, and that was the main reason for the lack of expression in his eyes all of a sudden. He almost regretted his visit to Vienna.





_____________________________________________

((( ooc: Atropa - Let me know if something in the post doesn't work for you/Damian. :) )))

((( ooc: Footnote: Zeno of Citium (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zeno_of_Citium). And "new blood" mentioned in the post is Moira Sushill, if there is any doubt. :) )))

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: Fay - Sorry to see you go, but I completely understand, and hope we'll see you back here soon. In the meantime, I'll put Caraltian on hiatus. It's all perfectly cool. :)
veldagia - Glad to see you post, as always. Even if it's just an ooc. :) Was starting to fear we'd seen the last of you.)))



Years had passed, since last Valerian had allowed himself to open up what to him had become much like a Pandora's box. He had kept the memories of his Sire - Richard Gardinar - buried deep within him, and embraced everything that was the present with every fiber of his undead body. Revelled in the novelties, cherished every new acquaintance, and marvelled at everything life, and unlife, had to offer. However, contrary to what one might have believed, had one known, it was not an act, a way to keep up appearances. It served a purpose, but it had never been an act. Merely a part of him that had been left to blossom to such an extent that it would one day hopefully suffocate the few weeds that caused him the pain he felt he could not bear, the pain that if left to roam freely in his mind, might some day numb him, and leave him unable to feel at all. That, to Valerian, would be a fate worse than death.

Only on a few rare occasions in the past, had he, without ever telling the full story, hinted at what lay beneath all the layers upon layers of creativity, purity and kindness. Though he had never done so willingly. As with all secrets and repressed memories, there had been times when it had all surfaced from the dark pit it had been banished to so very long ago. A simple word that slipped from his lips, or a look that he could not hide, and for a moment he had feared that someone would be able to see right through him, and put their finger on something that he was not ready to reveal or discuss. Or even noticeably avoid.
But, his persona of light and affection, had always proved so strong that it blinded those around him from seeing what he had wished to keep from them. Even those that had caught that rare glimpse of melancholy in his eyes, had seemed to dissmiss it as a figment of their own imagination, or perhaps and even more likely as his empathetic ability, thinking that what they had seen, had been him sensing something within them. It wasn't a far fetched idea. After all, whenever there was saddness in Valerian's eyes, it was mostly because he had been able to sense their own personal tragedies, and feel their well concealed anguish. Or rather, he'd been unable not to. Even after a century as a predator, that would feed on the blood of others, he was still ruled by empathy.

However, the infinite sorrow that was now filling his eyes, seeming like it would practically spill out at any moment as the barriers of his mind crumbled in Moira's presence, was his own. It mirrored only the torment that nothing but cruel experience itself could force upon such a gentle soul. He struggled with the words of his story, as though they were a foreign language of which he had only learned an odd phrase here and there, and it almost seemed like he could not bring himself to meet Moira's gaze for more than a moment, like he was somehow too ashamed to do so.
Yet, the way understanding and compassion once again claimed Moira's flawless features at every glance he did manage to give, and the way she carefully inched closer to him once again, told him that she knew of what he spoke. Eventually it comforted him and reassured him enough to dare to look at her again, and allow their gazes to lock for a few moments longer. But, at the same time, it all also told him that she was not surprised, and he struggled to understand why, if he truly appealled to her as much as it seemed, it would be so obvious to her why he had been abandoned. He himself had never understood it, despite pondering it night after night in the beginning. Many theories had made their way into his thoughts, but none of them had ever offered the full explanation he needed. Each and every one seemed much like a puzzle with many vital pieces missing, never leaving him with a complete, comprehensible picture.
What he himself didn't manage to see, was that much like he had just done with Moira's almost-Frenzy, he had always looked only to himself for reasons and blame. Not Richard.

"Alas", Moira began, still with the same soft understanding evident in her eyes. "The understanding of a Sire's reasons is something few of us ever fully grasp. Not unlike humans, we seek the approval of our progenitors, particularly in those first few years when they are who we know best, and their rejection is always painful to bear. That remains true for most even as we grow ancient; we have only one Sire, which makes them special. I do not know the one who Embraced you so this is only my interpretation, but I can see several reasons for his behaviour."

There it was. The statement that he had already seen in her eyes, before she had even parted her lips to speak; her understanding of why Richard had been driven away from him. Slowly, a shadow of fearful anticipation crept upon Valerian's face, blending with the sorrow still lingering there. What would she say? What had she seen in him, that so easily explained to her why his Sire had chosen to reject him? Was he too weak, in that he harboured no apparent desire for power, or interest in the politics of the Camarilla? Was he too sensitive? Too needy? He was eager to know, yet he wasn't sure if he could bear to hear the words. To hear them spoken with clarity by Moira, one he had grown to adore, explaining the dissmissive actions of another for whom he'd felt nothing but the deepest kind of love.
Though at the same time, what she said made it sound as though it was not a rare occurance for a Sire to abandon their Childe... Words that suddenly shed a little bit of light on an dimension of it all, entirely new to him. A dimension previously shrouded in darkness that had made it invisible to him; a glimpse of the realization that there was perhaps more to it all than simply his own insufficiency and inability to remain pleasing to his Sire.

"Embracing a mortal to preserve their qualities for eternity is one of the most common reasons", Moira continued, "but even Elders cannot predict how that childe will evolve once they are no longer human. Sometimes they are disappointed, for the outcome does not match their vision, other times they fall prey to guilt as they witness their humanity being chipped away bit by bit, and sometimes they are simply jealous of their childe's youth and cannot bear it. Also, there are some who hope that by Embracing a tenacious young mortal full of life, some of that humanity will be transfered onto them and grow bitter when it doesn't happen."

Following those words was a small pause, as though Moira hesitated for a moment, reluctant to tell Valerian something that would not truly answer the unspoken question that was so clearly haunting him. But she had little choice.

"I am afraid I cannot divine the reasons why your sire left you, and I know that is an ache that will require time and effort to heal, but I can tell you this: we are only responsible for our own actions, and his decision to abandon you rests with him as does the blame. You were brought into this world to better it with your nature and you are doing just that: your compassion and love and humanity have prevailed even when faced with the true nature of our kind, something which very few are able to withstand. It is your sire's loss that he isn't here to witness it."

For a moment a tiny smile, a mere quiver, danced across Valerian's lips, in gratitude of such comforting words. Such sincere, comforting words. He knew from the compassion lacing every syllable that they were more than just a simple way for her to try and make him feel better, and even if he had been unable to hear it, he'd have a hard time believing someone such as her - a sophisticated and insightful Elder with many wisdoms learned - would insult anyone by simply telling them what they wanted to hear, for no other purpose than to make them feel better.
And had the story ended there, at what he had told her, he would've been inclined to fully embrace what she said, and allow it to help him slowly come to terms with it all, as it had provided him with a whole new way to view it all. It wouldn't have happened over night, for like she had said, time and effort were required if the wounds would ever stand the chance of healing.
But, the story did not end there. Or rather, it did not begin there. Richard's abandonment, while having been the biggest and the hardest to bear, had not been the only one. The story, and the hurt, ran so much deeper than that, and dated as far back as to Valerian's mortal years, where the small string of devastating rejections had begun in the shape of his parents, only to move on to assume the form of his 'benefactor'.
Then; Richard.
Total abandonment, by the four people he had so desperately needed, and relied on. But while his parents hadn't chosen who was to be their son, and his 'benefactor' had been but a human, with the fickle nature thereof, Richard had represented something definate, something complete and eternal. And he had chosen Valerian. He had Embraced him, and made him what he was.
Thus, try hard as he may, he still could not rationalize it all to the point where being abandoned by his Sire no longer felt like the rejection above all others, the ultimate one; the rejection of a creation, by it's creator. A work of art deemed not worthy to recognize even as one of your least accomplished ones, as one of your failures.

It was a part of his history that wielded so great a power over him, that it still affected him and his everyday actions. It was the darker side of him, the other side of the bright coin that was his drive; the all-encompassing love and affection for everything and everyone. It was part of his unwillingness, his inability to commit to just one person, his need for intimacy and closeness with everyone that would share it with him. All for the simple reason that should one leave, there would still be someone for him to turn to.

But, unfamiliar with telling this tale, he was unsure of how to go about it without sounding as though he was pitying himself - though perhaps he was? - and so he simply remained silent, for the time being, and instead allowed the small smile still lingering on his lips to speak what needed to be said; that she had indeed offered an insight he had not previously known, and while not having managed to erase the hurt, she had at least managed to ease it, just little bit. Perhaps not as much with her words, as with her mere presence and desire to help. And it meant the world to Valerian, who over the past decade and contrary to popular belief, had trusted only a few, and relied on no one.
Until now.

With a feline caution, much like Moira's own a few minutes ago, it was Valerian's turn to scoot a little closer, continuing down the path she had already started, and doing what he himself had wanted to do ever since she had opened up to him, and allowed herself to be vulnerable. One arm slid tenderly around her waist and pulled her closer to him with little and gentle effort, into his embrace, while nestling himself into hers. There, with heavy lids descending over pale blue eyes, soft lips brushing gently against her cheek in a fleeting, almost kiss, and his nose buried in the sweet smell of her firey locks, Valerian found peace. In the dimly lit hotel suite, Moira became shelter, and refuge from the nails of sorrow that were clawing at his heart at the memories stirred awake by his desire to share with her what no one else knew. He could feel the tension seep out of his body, out of his every limb, leaving them languid and resting heavily against her, almost as though he was about to fall asleep, had it not been for the way he absent-mindedly let his fingertips trace their way up her spine, all along her slender neck and into her hair, only to retreat down along the same path again.

He felt as though he could have stayed there forever. Had she asked him to, he probably would have. But alas, life of the undead was not quite that simple, and they both had duties thay had to return to sooner or later. And judging by the shifting of colors in the night sky, from black velvet to deepend blue, 'later' was now.

"Dawn".

It was barely even a whisper, but with his lips to Moira's ear, it didn't have to be. And this time, it was his voice that was marred by regret. Reluctantly, he let his arms drop from Moira's delicate frame, feeling as though he had to pry them away from her to let her go. In fact, he couldn't bring himself to do so completely just yet, and so as he pulled back to gaze into her eyes with all the gratitude and awe brought by the events of this remarkable evening, his hands slid down along her arms, and seized hers in a gentle grip.

"'Thank you' seems such a feeble thing to say", he smiled vaguely. "And yet I find it is the only thing I can say."

With that, he brought her hands to his lips, and planted a soft kiss on each set of dainty knuckles, before finally letting her go.

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: Just giving a head's up that we will be moving on to the next night on WEDNESDAY. This will give you ample time to wrap things up. :) )))


Even when looking in another direction, and seeming to be focusing on something else, Adrien was rarely unaware of what was going around him. He was constantly seeing things out of the corner of his eyes, never letting his guard down, always ready for whatever situation might arise. And so, when he gave the exclusive club and it's equally exclusive clientele a final glance, it did not pass him by, the way the redheaded beauty seized the opportunity to study him even further. Despite no longer being seated at the poker table, or the black back table, he was being analyzed, his face searched for even the tiniest flicker of emotion, his body language scrutinized in hopes that it would reveal... something.
At any other time, with any other person, he would've most likely been amused by their efforts, and maintained his deadpan expression just to spite them, and watch the frustration rise in their eyes. Over the years, his had become a world where nothing was given for free, or without ulterior motives; usually ones that would include violent death, or at least something in that area. When making a move, he had already thought several steps ahead, and now went through unlife the exact same way he had mortal life; like playing a game of chess. If he opened up a possiblity for his enemy - meaning, in short, everyone - there was sure to be a catch.

But... Tonight, this little lady had succeeded where most others had failed miserably, where most of her predecessors had crashed and burned. She had intrigued him, by showing her interest in him, and analyzing him as more than just a player. That, by itself, made her not only a good player herself, but an excellent one. Only a truly accomplished player realized the value of what one might learn by studying her opponents outside of the game. In-game, the possibilities were limited; the opponent knew he was being studied, and the actions themselves were often repeated throughout the game, one way or another, leaving little room for genuinly new observations.

He felt as though she was somehow worth a little reward. Although he also felt it was against his better judgement, he had decided to offer her just a little bit of what she wanted. It was a risky thing to do, but she HAD proven to be only a human, without any obvious or even suspected connections to the Kindred. However, he could not know for certain, and so would still remain cautious and reserved, only not to the point of being unfriendly. Besides, it had been a long time since he actually tried to be civil and pleasant, on a completely sincere level, and so it would take him a while to find his way back to it. He would surely loose interest long before he even got there.

"Satisfying yes", the redhead started in response to his comment, giving a small smile which he - lo and behold - actually returned.

Despite the fact that his lips were highly unfamiliar with the soft curve of a genuine smile rather than the venemous tug of his usual smirk, and despite him knowing that if she paid as much attention to it as he thought she was, she would catch how alien it was to him. But, it only showed because he allowed it to. Let it serve as a test, he figured, to see if she was as perceptive as she'd like to think.

"But", she continued, "in comparison to the amount of money you are leaving with, not nearly as rewarding."

At that, a hint of smugness snuck it's way into the fading smile, as he clearly recognized the compliment she paid not only him, but herself as well. Not so much by her words, as by her tone of voice. Whatever expectations she had had, he had met them, and her judgement of him, then based only at what she had seen on the first floor, had proven to be dead on.
That, however, along with the opportunity to watch him in action here, playing with equals, apparently was not enough for the young lady. She still wished to further her knowledge of him.

"Would you mind some company on your way out?"

Adrien would have to admit, it all amused him, and damn well near flattered him as well. Though at the same time, he was scolding himself internally. Having an outsider, a human, grow so interested in him, was undesirable. If not nipped in the bud, it would grow to complicate his upholding the Masquerade, and as Kindred hunted by 'his own', he felt he was better off keeping a low profile altogether. No matter where he went, trouble would be sure to find him. He didn't need to actually seek it out.

"Very well", he replied, after a quick delibaration with himself, and turned to walk towards the door through which they had entered.

Undesirable interest in him or not, he had decided that at this point, declining her offer to accompany him was more likely to spark an idea to check up on him, than simply agreeing to it, and have it appear as though he was not quite as aloof as he had seemed at first. Another deception, and another game. As always.

The walk back through the corridors, towards the stairs, started much like it had when they had been going in the opposite direction; in silence. And much like before, it didn't seem to bother either of them in the least. They both appeared to be confident enough about themselves, to not feel the need to fill the void between them with meaningless chatter. Besides, Adrien was very much aware that the redhead had more to say, and that she would do so only when time was right. Judging by the way she glanced around, she was making sure they were out of earshot of anyone else roaming the hallways, and so even though he was somewhat curious of what she could possibly have to say that would require such secrecy, he waited patiently.

"As you have noticed, admittance to Posh is rather limited, to maintain the respectability of the place", she soon said while turning her gaze straight ahead of her, apparently content with their near complete solitude. "I am satisfied after this evening that you meet all the requirements of its standards, with only a single exception."

There she paused, and sent a glance in Adrien's direction, leaving him with a chance to reflect on her words, and try and guess what she would say was missing. Though frankly, it seemed obvious. Upon comparing himself with the other guests that had recieved the honor of being invited to the exclusive player's club, and instantly seeing one big difference, Adrien needed but a few moments to come to the conclusion that the 'exception' of which she spoke, involved his appearance; the longish hair with all it's rogue strands, and the less-than-chic clothing. He had stood out much like a sore thumb in the room of well-dressed high-rollers.
However, for once, it would seem he had misjudged his 'opponent', as when she opened her mouth, what she had to say did not include one single word regarding his appearance;

"I require the names of those who frequent on more than one occasion. Something I hope you will consider doing."

As they moved along side one another down the corridor, she turned her head to look at him as if to make sure that he registered the meaning of her words, and hadn't been offended by her previous remark without knowing whether or not he had a reason to. Adrien, in turn, had already been looking at her, since the moment the words 'with only one exception' had eased their way past her lips. Thus, their eyes locked briefly, and she could catch the expression on his face just before she diverted her gaze again. Earlier, she had searched his features for surprise, and found none. Now, it seemed she was no longer searching, and now was when it appeared, in the shape of a slight twitch of his eyebrows.
His name? She didn't desire to see him in a tailor-made suit and with neatly trimmed hair in order to welcome him again, should he choose to return? Only his name?
Did she realize it was a delicate matter to him, to give his name? Was that why she desired to learn of it? To see how much he was willing to put at stake for what she had offered him a taste of this evening?
Why, yes, it seemed she did, as with her next breath, she moved on to comment on just that;

"I doubt you are inclined to give something as personal as your name without there being something in it for you. All I have to offer is my own in return, should you require it."

Despite her no longer looking at him, Adrien had kept her firmly fixed with his gaze, constantly re-evalutaing and analyzing her, over and over again, taking every small detail into consideration when forming his understanding of her.
His name...
It would be a risky thing to give her, should she decide she wanted to know more about him, without him present to offer her the knowledge himself. Running his name through any database, no matter what it was, would be a waste of time, and more likely to raise numerous questions to which there was no good answer.
For a moment, he considered giving her the name 'John Smith', as a way of letting her know he didn't feel she needed his real one. But, not only was it likely to exclude him from any possible future visits to Posh, it was also likely to tell her even more about him than his actual name would. She would be presented with a clearly forbidden area of his persona, and there was nothing as tempting to mankind, as the forbidden. He would do himself more harm than good, by being so bluntly evasive.

"Adrien", he finally ended up saying, having decided to indulge her, but only partly so.

At the same time, it was a bit of a trick. As he once again raised an eyebrow, encouraging her to speak, he was setting a trap. Granted, it was a simple one, but one that wouldn't cost him anything even if she recognized it, and sidestepped it.

[Ghanima Atreides]

Moira and Valerian - Moira's Suite at the Ritz

Valerian was a creature of such compelling emotion, Moira could not help but wonder as his sorrow reverberated in waves, causing it to ripple through the air in ever widening circles. A mere human, with their limited awareness, would not have gone unmoved by it, and Moira was no mere human: the tide of anguish reached her with the force of a veritable tsunami, crashing mercilessly on top of her, each new one stronger than the last.

Time remained suspended around them; Moira and Valerian's gazes were leveled together in complete stillness, their eyes offering the insight words lacked. A new kind of understanding mingled with honest compassion -not pity, but empathy- in Moira's lavender-blues, the confirmation that she had just gained a new comprehension of the depth of Valerian's secret pain, and of its enduring effects on him. Certain things suddenly made sense better than they had: his efforts to overcompensate by embracing a world of pleasures, his bright, tenacious youth...and all the while a poisonous thorn remained buried in the core of his heart like a splinter that one was afraid if removed, it would cause a deadly wound.

That thorn had been pulled closer to the surface, releasing some of its poison. While Valerian had strenuously put into words a tale that caused him much obvious discomfort, his derisive tone combined with the depth of his telltale gaze suggested it was only the final, most painful drop in a glass already full of bitterness, yet the London Primogen had gathered that was a story meant for another time. Moira understood, then, his need for companionship and intimacy that went beyond that of most Kindred: it was a response to rejection. While some in his position would have withdrawn within themselves and allowed none to reach through, he did the opposite. But the ache remained, and even Moira's ancient wisdom could not offer the magical solution she wished she could provide him with, an instant remedy to wash away the hurt. No; there was only one person in the entire world who could do that: Valerian himself. She, however, could assist, with her advice, her observations, and ultimately, with just her presence.

It was the reason that when Valerian's arms coiled themselves around her waist, drawing up his slender frame against her own, Moira's arms nestled him on her lap as tenderly as a mother, or a lover, would, two alabaster statues molded together for eternity. Leaning in to place a brief kiss on his forehead, her right cheek descended softly atop Valerian's head, burying her face in his raven hair, twirling her nimble fingers around some of the loose tendrils on his back, loosing track of time, content to simply submerge into a sea of inner peace.

The word “Dawn” tugged at the threads woven around her awareness, like a mother's gentle hand awaking her child early in the morning. Moira knew that part of that warm lethargy spreading throughout her limbs was due to the approaching dawn, but at the same time she felt extremely reluctant to disturb that careful balance of comfort and serenity she and Valerian shared, and did so with some hesitation.

Drawing herself to a sitting position, Moira's arms remained in Valerian's clasp, a bemused smile lingering on her lips, only the softest of sparks visible through her lowered eyelids. There would be other nights; an eternity of nights even.

"'Thank you' seems such a feeble thing to say. And yet I find it is the only thing I can say."

Tilting her head languidly as she observed him, Moira replied:

“If it is what first comes to mind, then it is the right thing to say. I thank you as well, not only for helping me come to terms with the past, but for giving me the incentive to begin living in the present.”

With a final goodbye, the two Toreadors parted. Alone once more, Moira retraced her steps through the room, putting out any remaining candles and lowering the blinds over the windows, plunging the entire suite in near complete darkness. Not once did she return to the studio to glance at Josephine's painting as she had done every morning for the past three centuries and a half; although the impulse was there, she no longer felt the craving. Instead, she merely began preparing herself for bed, her mind full of that night's memories.

((ooc: Let me know if the ending works for you, Atropa, I kind of took the liberty to have them say goodbye for now but I can change it if you want to post Valerian saying something))

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: Ghanima - Sounded just perfect to me. :) )))


A slow, languid motion shifted Damian's weight in the exclusive but remarkably comfortable chair behind the equally exclusive desk, and caused it to weigh back ever so slightly, adding to the air of leisure that Damian allowed to surround him at the moment, as he listened to Archon's tales of his travels. It was such a simple movement that most wouldn't even have paid attention to it, yet it was thouroughly felt in the ambiance of the office. Even when still just a mortal, Damian had possessed an uncanny ability to command the atmosphere of an entire room - be it the smallest of nooks or the grandest of ballrooms - with a mere glance or a gesture. His electrifying presence did not go unnoticed. It hadn't back then, and after having grown and prospered since his Embrace over five centuries ago, it didn't now. He regarded it as one of his most powerful weapons, one that would often strike down rebellion and contradictions before they even had a chance to surface in the deeds of those around him, be they kine or Kindred. While he could not control their thoughts - at least not without going against his own principles, or making a ridiculous amount of enemies - he could still influence them, and make his opponents and other foes get an idea of what they would be up against, should they choose to somehow cross him. Power was in his blood, in his life force, emanating from his very body. And at this very moment, he wielded it in a way that shed the businesslike cloak of the room, and lightened the mood to better suit the presentment he had requested.

It was all a part of his silent response to Archon's comment regarding taking up his time; a simple gesture to allow the Ventrue Primogen the knowledge that at the moment, Damian had little else that required his attention, that could not stand to wait a little while longer, in favour of Archon, and what he had to share of his most recent experiences abroad. The Prince really was genuinly interested. It had been a long time since he himself had gotten to travel and explore the development of the various corners of the world. Granted, he kept himself up to date with the recent events, through TV, the papers and his personal sources, but there was no comparing that to the insight and knowledge gained by experiencing it all first hand.

But, he could not afford to leave Los Angeles. He felt that much like a imperturbable and responsible parent, he had to be around to keep the children - the clans - from going at one another. Or worse; go after Damian himself. With him away from the city and thus no longer monitored by his keen and watchful eyes, there was always the risk that someone would try to overthrow him, and claim the office as Prince for themselves. Damian could think of a few Kindred likely to take advantage of his absence in such a manner. It would, of course, be foolish and doomed from the start, but nevertheless, it would be a nuisance, and a mess that would be left for him to clean up once he returned. And since it wasn't imperative that he explored the world once again, he had decided long ago that the wisest thing to do, was to keep a close eye on his city. However, it wouldn't stop him from amusing himself by toying with the idea of touring Europe and Asia like he had once done. There was so much to learn and observe - the power dynamics within each larger city, the expertise and the errors of other Princes - and so many new acquiantances to be made. It would provide not just simple entertainment, but valueable opportunities as well.
Which would explain his interest in Archon's tales, beyond the usual friendly curiousity.

Listening attentively as the Primogen mentally retraced his route, Damian gave a slight nod here and there, either in agreement or encouragement, showing that he was paying attention and reflecting on what Archon had to say. When reaching the part of the narration where his notoriety was mentioned, there came a look of pure satisfaction on his noble features, and the corners of his mouth tugged upwards in a slightly smug smile. He was clearly pleased to hear that regardless of the nature of the memories these Kindred had of him, they did consider him worth remembering, and took a moment to revel in it. In the meantime, Archon studied him, as if trying to determine what else there was to tell that Damian might have an interest in, and a brief silence settled between them.

"I do say, it seems you made good use of your time away from Los Angeles", the Prince finally said, and his gaze settled on his friend once again, after a quick, assessing scan of the room, as though he was confirming his own might based on the grandness of his office. "Not a minute wasted."

Having said that, he made a slight pause, but judging by the way he opened his mouth again, he had more to say. And, he would have continued speaking, had the intercom not buzzed and cut him off before he had even started.
With a slightly annoyed sigh, he leaned across the desk and pressed the button that allowed him to speak to his secretary in the outer office.

"Yes?" he impatiently demanded.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Sir," came the secretary's voice, "but Mr Valdez is on line one, insisting that he must speak with you at once."

At that, Damian's eyes narrowed slightly, and a tiny crease appeared in between his eyebrows. Eric Valdez was an ambitious young Ventrue and one of Damian's 'representatives', who knew far better than to insist on anything, unless it was of the uttermost importance. Whatever it was, it must be urgent.

"Excuse me", Damian said to Archon, but gave him a glance that offered him permission to stay, before picking up the reciever. "Yes?"

With one simple word, completely devoid of any pleasantry, he made the message clear to Mr Valdez; 'You're walking on thin ice, so make it good'.
Apparently, the young man did just that, for while Archon watched Damian's face as he listened to what his employee had to say, the shallow crease deepened with growing concern. Whatever news he was recieving, it was far from good. It also seemed to hail from a source he deemed to be reliable, for he did not question what he heard, nor did he ask for any details. All he did was listen, and once he had heard all he needed to hear, he gave a curt, firm 'Thank you', and put the reciever back down.
Then; a few seconds of complete silence as he gathered his thoughs, before returning to look at Archon.

"My friend", he said, and stood, clearly about to end Archon's visit prematurely. "I'm afraid I must cut our meeting short. It seems whenever I have a few minutes to spend on personal pleasantry, one can always trust the Kindred of this city to get up to something to interfere with my plans."

Not a minute later, the two friends had said their goodbye's and Archon had exited the office, leaving Damian to sit back down while concern spread from the tiny crease between his eyebrows, to claim the look in his eyes as well as the corners of his mouth, giving his features a somewhat grim expression.
There was trouble ahead.

[ElektraNatchios33]

“Wow, that is...quite a story, I don't know what to say.” Aeode talked with what sounded like no expression. Either she was a bad liar, or thinking about something else. Jessica knew she was a decent liar because she had lied about her name. But she said herself that was because she was afraid of her parent's murderer finishing the job.

“You said 'we'...so there are other, erm, vampires? I can tell you're scared, is it because of them?”

"I am scared, because I'll probably be dead in the morning for telling you that." There was fear in her voice, but it was not the main emotion. It was sadness. Sadness that her life was suddenly going to be taken away from her without a fight.

"There are other vampires. Did you seriously think I was the only one? There's a lot to know about our kind, but I'm not in the position to explain it all now." Jessica could sense the night about to end. She pulled out her slim phone and checked the time. Sure enough it was nearly sunrise.

"It's nearly daylight. I have to go." Her phone was still in her palm. She stared at it momentarily and thought. She reopened it. Navigating through the various menus, she deleted everything from the phone. Then, opening a new contact, she entered her home phone number on the contacts list. She handed the phone to Aeode.

"I'm sure you have a cell phone, but it's a secure line. Dial 457 and then dial the number. I put my home number on it." Her tone was caring now. "If you are ever in danger, or need someone to talk to, just call me okay? I'm not dangerous, I'm just not allowed to tell any humans about us. Please don't tell anyone... Please." Jessica took one last look at Aeode and ran off into the alley, home.

((okay, corny ending, but she had to leave. If there's any changes, let me know. I wasn't quite sure what to say.))

[spiderviveka_SC]

Vampire

What clan you belong to: Nosferatu

Name: Morta Adomas

Age: Neonate (153 years)

Disciplines: obfuscate level 3

short bio: Little is known about Morta. She was born and raised in Lithiuania. Her father was a locksmith and her mother owned a small baked goods shop. She had six sisters and two brothers, and her family was always quite poor. When she was eighteen, and soon to be married off to a local farmer, she was embraced by a Nosferatu whom she had befriended when she was eighteen.

For a great time after this, she traveled through europe under the cover of darkness. It was difficult to blend in with her obvious disfigurement, so she took to wearing bulky clothing and scarves as well as wigs when in the presence of humans. At some point in time, around the 1920s, she migrated to the united states where she resides today, in the murky depths of the Los Angeles sewer system.

It should be noted, however, that she is especially clean, particularly in comparison to her Nosferatu brethren. She has many unusual traits, including her unique bond with the rats of the sewer. She also quite enjoys modern "hip hop" music.

picture:

http://i169.photobucket.com/albums/u226/spiderviveka/Copyofsnapshot_94d66274_34da2a7e.jpg

[spiderviveka_SC]

what clan you belong to: Malkavian

name: Irvin Murdock

age: neonate (roughly 50 years)

disciplines: auspex level 1, dementation level 3, obfuscate level 1

short bio: Irvin doesn't remember much of his life before becoming a vampire, including specifically how, when, where, and by whom he was embraced. He only remembers waking up one morning in an abandoned apartment building, covered in terrible blisters from where the rising sun began to shine through the broken windows over the tattered sofa where he lay.

He did not know what city he was in or how he got there. He knows vaguely that the year was 1983 or perhaps 1985. He found an identification card in his pocket, he recognized the face and name as his own, he was apparently 25 when the picture was taken.

He also doesn't quite know how he got into the habit of dressing as a catholic priest, he doesn't remember ever having any religious affiliation. He knows that he continues to do so because he likes the way people treat him. When wearing normal clothes he is just treated as a vagrant, but as a priest, he is a holy figure.

At some point in time shortly following the incident in the abandoned apartment, he found that he was having very strange, painful cravings. He couldn't stand the idea of acting on his compulsions drinking the blood of others, and what of the fangs he had formed? He was soon recognized by some of the members of the Malkavian clan. They determined that a recently killed member member of the clan, whom was often seen with Irvin, and other humans, had at some time shortly before her death, performed the embrace with him.

Since then, he has been a member of the Malkavian clan. He still has rather severe long term memory loss as well as a tendency to slip into delusional states, hallucinate, and become extremely paranoid, not that this is unusual for the Malkavians. He finds the act of feeding directly from another person to be revolting and overly intimate, so he avoids this at all costs. Despite his psychological issues, he is indeed quite intelligent and has literally filled books with his ideas regarding the universe. Which include some very unorthodox views regarding vampirism.

picture:

http://i169.photobucket.com/albums/u226/spiderviveka/Copyofsnapshot_94d66274_74da2b55.jpg

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: spiderviveka - Glad to have you! You are most welcome! :) )))

[Ghanima Atreides]

((ooc: Yay, welcome spiderviveka! They both sound awesome and I can't wait to see them in play!))

Aeode and Jessica -Outside the Haven --> Aeode leaving

Despite her better judgment, Aeode could not help but feel herself being slowly drawn into Jessica's bizarre story. While at first she had dismissed it as one woman's insanity, a fanciful tale one could listen to with detachment, the emotion surrounding it was beginning to affect her personally. Rationally, she knew it could not be real, her mind rebelled against the very possibility, and yet it felt inexplicably genuine.

"I am scared, because I'll probably be dead in the morning for telling you that."

For someone so certain of their own demise, Jessica sounded surprisingly calm, like a person who had already accepted their fate: sadness overlapped fear in her voice, a kind of bitter fatalism that projected a sudden disturbing image in Aeode's mind: grim gallows beneath an overcast morning sky...a bent figure being escorted up the rickety ramp to the platform...with the same look of pained resignation etched on her features....a noose swaying in the wind.

A brief shudder coursed through Aeode; she shook her head from side to side in an attempt to banish the vision from her mind, a chill creeping up her spine, invading her tired limbs with its frigid touch. She had just realized what Jessica was speaking of: execution.

"There are other vampires. Did you seriously think I was the only one? There's a lot to know about our kind, but I'm not in the position to explain it all now."

In all honesty, Aeode did hope Jessica was the only “vampire”. Comprehending one person's fantasy was far simpler than accepting there might have been an entire contingent of dangerous individuals lurking somewhere in Los Angeles' underground, linked by similar insanity or projecting it onto others, ready to commit murder in order to keep their existence a secret. If Jessica's story held any truth, they might as well have been vampires as far as Aeode was concerned: they were exploiters and possible murderers, reasons enough to account for the increasingly vivid anxiety that slowly seeped into her consciousness.

"It's nearly daylight. I have to go."

Shuffling on her spot, Aeode ran her fingers through her tousled hair, finding it cold and damp; tiny droplets of rain had been falling incessantly from the ink black sky far above their heads, hanging in beads on her face and forehead. She was cold, very tired, feeling as though trapped between the proverbial hammer and anvil, searching aimlessly for a way to discover what truth there was in Jessica's story and how it all connected to her. She struggled to speak, and try to delay Jessica, to suggest they both go to the police where she could be offered protection from whoever was out there that wanted to hurt her, but words fell like lead on her tongue, refusing to emerge in comprehensible speech. In the end, all that she managed was a guttural groan, observing Jessica fiddling with her cellphone. The events of that evening simply refused to make sense.

"I'm sure you have a cell phone, but it's a secure line. Dial 457 and then dial the number. I put my home number on it. If you are ever in danger, or need someone to talk to, just call me okay? I'm not dangerous, I'm just not allowed to tell any humans about us. Please don't tell anyone... Please."

Having managed a bemused “Ok”, Aeode retrieved the phone and held it in her palm, staring at it as though she had never seen one before. Before she could recollect her wits enough to add anything else, Jessica turned on her heel and began running in the opposite direction and was quickly swallowed by the darkness gaping between the walls of two tall buildings.

Almost immediately, Aeode was seized by a haunting sensation that her recent conversation with Jessica had all been an illusion, and she was the lunatic. The cellphone however, with its blue glowing screen, remained as real and palpable as ever, as did the number written on it. Still holding it in her palm with the caution of someone transporting a very fragile thing, Aeode began her slow march home. She could have called Dez to pick her up, but she did not feel strong enough to relate everything that had happened to another just yet. With apathetic movements, the young woman slowly flipped the lid on Jessica's phone and pocketed it, rubbing her frozen hands together.

A disturbing parallel was taking shape in her mind, between the ruthless, dangerous entities in Jessica's story and her own faceless nemesis, a group of individuals as elusive and bloodthirsty as any fictional monsters.

What if...?

[innocenteyes]

Beyonca played the cards a while before deciding to leave. This night was a slow pace and unevenful, which for an odd reason humbled her a bit. It was almost as if she was normal. Nothing strange or odd happened, it was just leasurly relaxing and a good time.

Saying her goodbyes, Bee left the table and started her way out of The Dive. It was a place she decided she would like to come again. The atmosphere was friendly and somewhat electric in laughs. All threw the night she heard shrills of joyous laughter coming from humans. It brought a smile to her own lips. But now it was time to go home. The sun would be rising soon. She could feel it in her. A paniced feeling to seek shelter rested in her. So quickly but casually, she left and started her walk home. Letting the events and sights of the night settle in her mind.

When she finally walked threw her door, she took no extra time to lock it and strip her cloths and fall in bed. Also it took no time for her to drift off to sleep.

((ooc: I know it is short and not all that great, but I wanted to get an ending out. Sorry I have been gone for so long.))

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: Everyone, it is now night #9.)))




http://www.crimson-tale.com/Temp/Night9.jpg




(((innocent - Glad to see you back. You've been missed.)))

[spiderviveka_SC]

((OOC: Thanks everyone! I'm new to this whole vampire thing, so bare with me.))


Morta- at a table in Algernon: VIP Section


Morta sits at a table reading through a book she bought. She has a hood draped over her head and she thumbs through a joke book. She doesn't find any of it very amusing, perhaps, she thinks, I am still behind on the times.

Still, it is nice to be in the fresh air and out of the underground, it is always very difficult for Morta to hide herself in public. But only a few years ago she was a young girl in Lithuania, frolicking with her friends and playing in the warm sunlight. At times she misses it, but what is the price for immortality? At any rate, she still wears a dark hood, even when around the kindred. Even they seem disgusted with her appearance, but over the years she has learned to see the beauty of the Nosferatu. They look different, perhaps, but are not as hideous as everyone else seems to think. They live in the darkest parts of the earth because they are forced there by shallow minded fools, not necessarily as a preference. At least for her, she would much rather live in an expensive pent house apartment than the tunnels below the city. She slams shut the cover of the book and picks up yet another one. "Metamorphosis and Other Short Stories" by Franz Kafka.


Irvin- roaming the streets near The Haven


Irvin Kicks at a pile of debris on the street. The orange city lights are nearly blinding as he makes his way in search of something to occupy his time. He is wearing his usual outfit, a crisp, black priests cassock, the trails of his jacket trailing at his feet. He carries a bottle of mock holy water in his jacket for the sake of authenticity. It is harmless because he is not a real priest, and the water came from a sink faucet in the back of a McDonalds.

"Hey, padre!" a voice echoes behind him. He can her a set of footsteps drawing nearer so he stops and slowly turns around.

"Hey, wait up! I want to talk to you!" The man continues.

He appears to be in his thirties, hispanic, rather short with dirty clothes.

"What can I do for you, my son?" Irvin asks boredly.

The man pulls out a pocket knife and grins maniacally.

"Give me all your money!"

Irvin looks down at the knife and laughs.

"I don't think you want to do that, my son."

"Oh yeah, padre? Why not!"

"For one, I don't carry money. And even if I was carrying money, you aren't even holding that knife correctly. Have you ever actually robbed someone before, or did I seem like an easy target? Now I will tell you this, when you wake up tomorrow there will be a great white light, and from the white light, your dead mother will come riding a white horse, covered in the blood of newborn infants and weilding the sword of the apocolypse. When she comes to judge you, do you really want this robbery to still be on your conscience?"

The man blinks, unsure if Irvin was serious or just insane.

"Yeah, right, buddy. Did you escape from the nut house?"

"Not at all my child" Irvin says with a smile. "But they are coming to get you."

"Who?"

"Singing children riding animals."

At this point, the man has given up on robbing Irvin. Perhaps is was some sort of spiritual revelation on his part, or the inclination that his victim is actually rather deranged and might end up killing him if he tried to go through with it. So he drops the knife and turns away, walking at first, and then running.

Irvin leaves the knife where it is and keeps walking. This certainly isn't the first time someone has tried to rob him, though many in the past had made far better efforts. He buries his hands in his pockets and wonders what else the night may bring.


((both are approachable))

[Psyche_SC]

#32 [Ninth Night]

A vauge memory of a gentle breeze through a sunlit window, in a dazed afternoon, followed Archon from the deep sleep into the approaching dusk. Every now and then, the memories were so vivid he felt as if he was still kine, and the long undead existance was just a very convincing dream. He could even feel the warmth of the sun on his skin, although the air around him was chilly and his body was as cold and dead as the rotting corpses in the cemetery. The things he missed the most from his kine days, was the sun, the food and sometimes he actually could feel some appeciation for the human frailty, since it did make everything feel and taste sweeter in the eye of the awaiting death.

Some might even miss the feel of the human touch, affection and love. But not Archon. He had an undefined understanding of the matter. To him, it was not really real. Though he had had his share of women, entertaining him when still with a beating heart in his chest, it had not been an experience he had cherished much. Maybe it was because he saw right through them, his mind was always working. Most of them wanted something from him, others were spies. It could also be because he had never witnessed a loving relationship between his parents, since his father was buried a few days after his birth.
Love was not really a factor for Archon, though he on rare occasions thought about it. He could wonder what the woman would be like, that could be able to trap him. After all, thinking of it as entrapment, did not soften his view on the matter. His dear Sire; Victoria, was the only woman that had spoken to his heart, after it had been drained of life. But it was not love, though he had thought it was before the Embrace, before the knowledge of her offer. She was more of a mentor, a female grandeur that had captured his mind more than his heart. She was the gateway, the first and most important milestone in his new life. The one vampire that he would always treasure, come what may. One could never go against blood, not when it came to the very source of his existance. Victoria had given him life, in a time when he was at his kine peak. He was her childe, a devoted aristocrat that would recieve the dark gift with more joy than a Ventrue was used to. She had thought of embracing more than one in her eternity, since before she had ever layed eyes on Archon. But after him, she felt it would be a betrayal. And as long as he stayed alone in this world, without a childe of his own, she could really view him as hers.
It was fortunate that his Sire was a woman, since a man would never have experience that much devotion from Archon. He was, after all, a proud man. Though he did not view Roe without respect, he could never commit to another male Kindred as Roe did to him.

Last night had left him with a bitter aftertaste. He did not like to be interrupted when in the company of the Prince, although he understood and had nothing but respect for Damian and his duties and decisions. Of course, it must have been something of great importance for the Prince to abruptly cut their discussion short, but Archon did not care for it. The Kindred of Los Angeles seemed to never go about their business without disturbing the peace every other night. This, however, was not something Archon would bother Damian with. He said his goodbye with respect and a polite smile, before exiting the grand office.

Instead of going to Algernon, or straight to his mansion, Archon had walked the streets among all living things, with Roe just a few feet behind. The Gangrel had noticed that it was better to leave the Primogen alone, rather than offering himself as a target for what ever seemed to vex Archon's mind.
The Prince had the situation under control, otherwise he would be sure to include Archon in the matter, asking him to participate for a swift solution to the problem. They both knew that Archon enjoyed to dispose of problems, mostly by civil actions, but he was not a stranger to more lethal arms. It was a natural born gift, the need to bring situations that troubled the Camarilla to an end.
The night had come to a halt in silence. No words were exchanged between Archon and Roe, not even any pleasantries as they parted due to the approaching dawn.

This newborn night would take its first anticipating treads without a sound. Archon opened his eyes to the complete darkness, surrounding his bed, and he would remain seated for a moment in thoughts before he stirred. He did not like the feel of the night at hand, nor did he feed of the silence with the same relaxation that he used to. A mind this heavy deserved no light, no promising beginning. Although, it might not had been that heavy, had it been granted a promise of light.

Roe sat in silence, dressed to venture another night with his friend. Archon had clothed himself completley in black, in a suit that was cut after a modern taste, yet gave its owner assurance of being able to choose when to be seen and when to be hidden. Even the tie was black, almost not noticeable against the black shirt, had it not been for the tight grasp around the throat. The nice shoes did not make a sound, like shoes of that sort used to, but they were custom made to avoid that trait. This night, he had tamed his hair, with a black ribbon. The only thing that gave a spark, were the silver rings on his hands. He looked quite unfriendly, until the facial expression softened, as he offered Roe a hint of a smile. The Gangrel stood from his armchair, in black jeans and a hood with some red print on the back, ready to protect and serve.

They headed off to Algernon, and found the place vibrating with life as well as unlife. Even Julia the Tremere welcomed them with a smile, a first for Archon. Roe, however, had been treated with more warmth than Archon, since he was the least intimidating of the two. This did not matter much, since the lack of trust was equally shared between the Ventrue owner and the Tremere employee. It might be a mystery to the masses, how Archon could hire her when he did not trust her. Though, he trusted his gut feeling, and he found it better to know from the start where they stood, instead of realizing it when it was too late. And he did have his other employee, the Ventrue male that did not let Julia roam around.

Archon made himself unavailable from the start, as he went straight for the stairs, to go to his office on the third floor. After making sure everything was in order, Roe left him alone. Another batch of silence graced the Primogen, and this time he could appreciate it. He dealt with business; answered several electronic mails, wrote one note by hand that was to be delivered to another Ventrue, looked through a pile of papers and talked on the phone with a calm tone of voice that seemed to some what stun those who knew him to be calm and assertive, but never calm in a way as if he did not have a care in the world.

When he felt he could carry his business concern in the form of a cell phone in his pocket, he left the office to attend the floor below, the VIP section of Algernon. There were quite a few Kindred, most of them reading, but some of them engaged in conversations. Not every clan was represented; there were a couple of Ventrue, some Tremere, a Brujah and a few Gangrel, but that seemed to be the extension of the undead participation of the bookstore. At least in the beginning of this evening.
As Archon was about to proceed to the next level, he noticed something he had not expected to witness so soon into Algernon's existance. The presence of a Nosferatu. If his eyes did not believe it, his senses did. Alone at a table far away in the room, cloaked in the shadows and hiding in a hood, was a female Nosferatu with a Kafka in her grasp. Her features did not disgust Archon as much as the members of the hideous clan used to, he did not feel as if he wanted to take a stab at his own eyes for beholding such an abomination. Do not be mistaken; she was indeed a vile creature in the sovereign eyes of the Primogen, but more 'clean' than her bretheren.
Archon had meant for the VIP section to be some sort of a haven to the likes of her, and therefore he regarded it as his duty to introduce himself and make her feel welcome. As welcome as a Nosferatu would ever be, in the care of a Ventrue.

Several thoughts went through Archon's head, as he approached the woman. His mind was always busy, but not quite as busy when meeting a new acquaintance as it was when it happened to be a Nosferatu. No vampire could be left without a reaction in their presence. One had to be completley lost to this world, to avoid feeling some what... tainted.
Never the less, the Nosferatu were known for being powerful, mysterious and extremly intelligent. Despite various clan traits, all Kindred were children in the beginning, and this seemed to be a fairly young one - but more approaching an Ancilla than holding on to the Neonate era. Since Archon was an Elder, old and wise to the world, he knew better than to rely on simple details as the age in order to determine the value of a Kindred. Certain things could be considered true, but Archon had learnt in his Neonate nights, that in the Kindred world - all bets were off.

"I believe we have not yet met", he said with a kind voice as he came to a stop at the opposite side of her table. "I am Lord Archon DeWinter, the proprietor of this establishment."






_________________________________

((( ooc: Spiderviveka - Welcome! :) I am so glad we have a new participant. I also think it's great you choose a Malkavian and a Nosferatu. Clans in need of representation, especially the latter. :bow: ;) I hope what I wrote about Morta works for you, otherwise tell me and I will make changes. :) I assumed they'd never met. I hope you will feel right at home here with us. )))

[veldagia]

Mina kept still and silent within her room, the only indication that she was alive was the glint of the emerald as her eyes met those of her most treasured ghoul. Unblinking an understanding passed between them, and slowly Bo began to approach, eager yet cauious as though stepping into a lion's den. When Mina was concened with clan affairs, they came first and foremost before her need for blood. It had now become almost an afterthought to her, after so many years. The yearning reduced to a scant flicker, tamed by restraint, meditation and the unbending willpower of a lethal mind. The beast could still consume, dominate and engulf all thought, as with any other vampire, but her longing was rarely for that of a mere human. So Bo had learned patience and restraint, knowing that when it came finaly it would be exquisite.

Only once Bo was a mere breathe away did Mina move. The fangs descending from their sheath, enticed by the steady pulse of his heart. A beat that resonatated through all time, from the plains of Africa, through the tangles of the jungle, to the cement streets it was the rhthym of life. Like a statue coming to life her arm ascended, gracefully bending until the cold pale flesh of her wrist was pressed against her ruby stained lips. Teeth piercing the delicate flesh drawing her lifeforce through the dead veins. Releasing the crimson elixia that dominated and bound.

Mina pushed her wrist against his lips, the warmth of his mouth a hot compress against her flesh. For a moment she allowed herself to become lost in that heat, to forget and to become engulfed in the craving. The lust for blood the only passion that was now left to her, a second to be treasured when the senses dulled into a crimson hue. Time slowing, dragging to a halt as her eyes watched him like a still camera, frame after frame frozen within her memory as his mouth closed around her. Only his throat moving as Bo swallowed eagerly consuming her life force snapped her back into focus. Her head darting forward in one lethal strike like a snake poisoning its prey. Fangs descending into the warm flesh of his neck, so close to that pulse that resoanated through her head. Pushing until she felt the hot metallic liquid sliding down her throat.

For a moment she saw herself though Bo's eyes, a cold and distant mistress, a beautiful ice queen, dignified yet aloof. But she pushed the connection away forcefully bending her mind so she was inbetween the two worlds. Neither within the realm of blood or that of the natural world. Her mind spun out its own dreams, created its own destiny, filled with the promise of eternity. The symbol of her clan burning fiercly like a talisman upon her eyelids as she wove the blood magic around them. The vitae flowing between them in a crimson bind that entwined the two intricuatley together. She felt the struggle of his soul but it was like a ghost dancing on the breeze, a faint whisper against her own strong will.

Only when she sensed his heart slow, a flutter of butterfly wings against a net, did she stop. Her fangs withdrawing from his neck as she laid him down pulling his own head away from her wrist. Displaying a tendrness that was unatural to her, that of a mother caring for a sick child. Gently her fingers brushed against his eyelids, pushing them closed as she murmured a prayer from her human years.

Mina pulled a coat around her shoulders, the soft black velvet hugging against her skin swishing against her legs as it fell like a cloak concealing her beneath its long layers. As she left the room she pulled up the hood around her face, the cascade of dark violet curls hidden beneath the swathe of fabric. Turning the brass key into the lock of the heavy oak door she imprisoned her ghoal within the walls where he could rest protected from the outside world. His blood brought the faintist flush of colour to her skin, making her appear almost human if it wasn't for her eyes, too piercing with their emerald crystal sharpness. They were eyes that saw into the soul, analysing and breaking apart whatever they found burried within.

She descended the starircase her mind once again returning onto the affairs of her clan. Adrian threatening the structure of her own haven, causing discontent and spreading malice within the ranks of all vampires that dwelt within the city. The matter of Carmilla, who had still not turned within her fold. Released from Seathe physicly Mina doubteed the mental binds would be broken so easily. Politicly her own involvement was a delicate matter, though she trusted Damien to keep things firmly between them. One elder meddling in anothers buisness, unless sanctioned by the clan, was always fraught with difficulties. Yet she knew Damien treasured discretion a much as she did herself still she could not bring herself to trust him, or anyone. For all had a price and a point where even the most guarded secrets and values could be snapped apart.

The bright lights of a multitude of screens and a bitter sweet scent of freshly brewed coffee greeted her as she stepped into the cafe. Faces scattered amongst the red and silver furniture bombarding her sharpened senses with a myraid of options for distraction. She sank down onto one of the plush ruby couches that haunted the shadows at the edge of the room. Quietly observing the people around her as she ordered a long cinemon latte.

((OCC Irrelevant intro post to get me back into it.... Great to see some new players :)

Mina is approachable...))

[Ghanima Atreides]

Aeode Mallard - her apartment, around LA, arriving at The Haven

When Aeode awoke in a tangle of bedsheets, still wearing the previous day's shirt on top of her underwear, the sun was setting, peeking through the half lowered blinds hung over the window of her bedroom. Groaning sleepily, Aeode rubbed her eyes forcefully, displeased to discover that inch of her felt immensely sluggish, as though she had not slept at all. To make matters worse, a searing ache gripped her lower back like a claw: no doubt, a result of all the standing up she'd done over the past few days and lack of proper sleep.

Flat on her back with her eyes fixated on the concrete ceiling above, the final remnants of a very strange dream floated still in Aeode's mind, although clarity was dissipating quickly. She remembered being in a hospital bed, in fact the very same bed she had spent a week in recuperating after her attack, a transfusion drip implanted in her arm. Doctors brought medicine in small glass cups, but that too was blood. Even the food she was given oozed the same revolting dark red liquid. Just when she was getting truly alarmed, Jessica walked into the room, urging her to eat and drink her medicine, that it was good for her. The next thing she knew, a group of men and women in Victorian clothing barged in through the door, brandishing crosses and crossbows straight out of a Bela Lugosi movie and shouting “Stand back, Satan!”. Jessica gave a screech and dissolved into a puff of smoke, Aeode awaking with a jolt.

Aeode inhaled deeply a couple of times before drawing herself from underneath the covers and sat on the edge of her bed a little longer, her back slouched and her head lowered tiredly. She recalled her late arrival home that morning, just as the sky was changing its hue from jet black to that of watery ink. She had turned off her phone and removed half her clothes before slumping in bed like a ragdoll, sleep claiming her consciousness almost instantly.

Peering apprehensively at the phone lodged between a water bottle and some of her discarded makeup as though it presented some untold danger, Aeode struggled with a sensation akin to vertigo gaping wider and wider in the pit of her stomach. Despite that undeniable proof that her conversation with Jessica had indeed taken place, it felt more like that night's bizarre dream than reality. Turning her own phone back on, the young woman noted several missed calls and messages from Dez, at which she glanced with some guilt, especially since she had no intention of returning them yet. Having lived on her own for eight years, she required her solitude from time to time and despite knowing Dez had only the best intentions at heart, what she needed was peace and quiet, to be alone with her thoughts.

A brief shower later, Aeode returned to the bedroom in search of clothes and was immediately irritated by the fact that she had to dig through her suitcase for something clean. Since it appeared she was going to stay in Los Angeles a while longer, she made a mental note to arrange them into the currently empty wardrobe. Not then however. Pulling on a pair of blue-gray jeans, Dr Martens shoes and a simple black T shirt, Aeode moved in front of a small mirror propped against the wall and passed a brush several times through her damp hair, pausing to frown at the dark circles visible underneath her eyes. Slight wrinkles she had never noticed before stretched on her forehead and at the extremities of her mouth, accentuated by fatigue.

“Damn, I'm getting old...” the redhead muttered sourly, snatching her leather jacket from a nearby chair. She hadn't eaten anything in twenty-four hours, and she was ravenous.

Twenty minutes later Aeode glanced at that day's paper from behind a large hamburger which she consumed hungrily along with a plate of french fries and a milkshake. Although her eyes followed the headlines, her mind barely registered the words, a debate unfolding within. The topic was, naturally, Jessica, and the more difficult still decision concerning her next move.

Should she attempt and contact the woman again? Aeode had been on the brink of dialing Jessica's supposedly secure number twice already, but something held her back. Firstly, any hypothetical first words sounded forced and awkward, and secondly she felt rather certain Jessica would only ask her to remain quiet once more.

If she was all right and in the position to ask anything.

That second thought posed most difficulties, because Aeode could not decide whether to take the woman's warnings seriously or not. Was she just some poor lunatic living in a world of her own, or was she an equally unfortunate woman in actual danger, were there truly individuals willing to hurt her out there, somewhere?

And if so, what could she, Aeode do? As far as her own quest of understanding her past went, meeting Jessica constituted a dead end, unless she was prepared to believe she had been fed vampire blood, and she feared the chances of getting a different story out of her were nil. It had, however, set something else in motion: by telling Aeode that outlandish tale, Jessica was convinced deadly repercussions would soon follow. Her first thought had been that even if the danger existed in some shape or form, their conversation had no witnesses, the only two people aware it ever happened being herself and Jessica. Unless vampires had psychic powers; Aeode mused, smiling dryly behind the brim of her glass.

Aware that her reasoning went around in circles, Aeode's tiny shoulders slumped as the air was pushed out of her lungs in a deep sigh. The problem had too many unknowns, and she knew too little of it. What she needed was information, and help, as much as she hated admitting it. If Jessica was in danger, it wasn't in her nature to sit idle and do nothing. Going to the police with just an off beat story and no shred of proof was useless...if only she knew someone else connected to her, someone who would be interested in helping them both.

A male voice on the radio announced the current time was seven o'clock, which left her only one hour before the beginning of her shift at The Haven.

The Haven....Valerian!

Aeode's eyes snapped wide open in sudden realization: Jessica had mentioned Valerian in one of their earliest exchanges. They knew eachother, she visited his club and offered “moral support” whatever that entailed. It didn't matter. He knew the mysterious brunette better than she did and he was available – that made him her best, and only, hope. In one swooping motion, Aeode set down the empty plate and snatched up her coat; within seconds, she was on her way to the edge of the pavement to hail a taxi.

Aeode found The Haven just as loud and crowded as on her previous visits, only this time she effectively distanced herself from the hubbub. Her mind worked out ways to bring the matter to Valerian's attention in such a way that she would not be considered nosy and brazen and quite possibly overstepping her boundaries; he was, after all, her employer. Rehearsing possible phrases in her mind, the redhead inched closer to the out of bounds door labeled VIP which lead to Valerian's private office and chambers. Naturally, it was guarded by a bouncer.

“Can I help you?” the burly man asked once Aeode had completed her fifth tentative round of the area, then cocked his brow when he took a better look at her: “Don't you have work to do?”

Clearing her throat, Aeode quickly tucked a few rebel strands of hair behind her ears, mind racing: it was then or never. She could pretend nothing was happening and return to the bar thus forgetting everything about it, at least for the moment or she could go ahead and ask to see Valerian. Jessica's pleas rang clearly in her ears: “please don't tell anyone...please...”, adding to Aeode's indecision. What if she was doing more harm than good by approaching the owner of the club?

What if, what if...Aeode was growing weary of so many unanswered questions.

“Yeah I, uhm...I would like to speak with Valerian.”

“What about?” the man wanted to know; presumably it was his duty to question any uninvited visitors about their reasons for wanting to speak with his employer.

“It's private. Can you please tell him I'm here?” Aeode replied and fell silent; it was the most he was going to get out of her. The rest was reserved for Valerian's ears alone.

[spiderviveka_SC]

Morta- Algernon VIP room

Morta looks up at Archon, her eyes take a moment to adjust to the bright light and she bares crooked teeth in what might be called a smile.

"Then" she says with a thick, Lithuanian lilt "I must compliment you on the selection of reading materials in this establishment."

[Ghanima Atreides]

((ooc: spiderviveka - uhm, would it be possible to add a little more to your post? :) the limit is 8 lines. ^^))

[innocenteyes]

Beyoncas eyes fluttered open soon after sunset. Slowly she pulled her cold body from the bed. Her senses told her that the sun had already set. She opened her curtains to look at the night. A smile widened on her lips. It was a beautifull night. No stars shown, it was much to bright. A thought of maybe moving to a ranch crossed her mind. Were the nights would be peaceful and full of stars. One could just lay in the grass and listen to other creatures prowl the night, and let her senses and moon light guide her. It sounded refreashing, but Bee knew it would grow boring too her. No people around her to watch would leave her feeling even more alone than she already does.

Leaving her curtains open, she walked to the bathroom to freshen up and get ready for the night ahead of her. An hour later she left the bathroom fully ready for whatever was to come. A black shirt with a deep forest green seued jacket and pants to match and black boots was what she decided to wear. She took one last look at herself in the mirror and smiled, then quickly left.

When out the door, she strode slowly down the street. No destination was in her mind as usual, she just walked.

((She is approachable :) Kira is coming later.))

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: spiderviveka - Yes, like Ghanima said, there is an 8 lines minimum for posts in this RP, as stated in the first post. Three lines doesn't give the person you're RPing with (in this case Psyche) a whole lot to work with, and quite frankly, it can be kind of disheartening to put alot of time and effort into writing a post as long as hers, and only get a few words in return.
I'm not trying to be mean here, I'm just pointing out the 8 line rule, and that this is an RP with a little more... elaborate posts. :) I mean, judging by your first ones, you clearly have it in you, and we would love to see more of it. :) May I suggest exploring your character a little further, so that we can all get to know her (even though the characters won't)? )))



The wee hours of morning, just before dawn, had seen Valerian return to his beloved club in what could only be described as a daze. Patrons, friends and regulars had greeted him on their way out as the club was closing and he was making his way through the thinning crowd, but he hardly even saw them. There was rarely any eye contact at all, and if he replied when spoken to, it was mostly out of pure and subconscious reflex, something he did without even realizing it. Known for his neverending enthusiasm and tendency to want to stay and talk for a bit with just about everyone that had a minute to spare, this behaviour seemed very much out of character for the young Toreador, and earned him quite a few odd glances. But he didn't notice that either. He just kept making his way to the stairs and his chambers, completely engulfed by his own thoughts, and with a faint, contemplative smile on his lips. He barely even registered passing by right infront of Claudia as he reached the top of the stairs at the same time as she exited the office on her way home to her own apartment. Upon having her smile and her greeting returned by little more than a distant "Mmm", she stopped, with one hand on the door knob and her black leather brief case in the other, and simply stared at Valerian's retreating back. The smile had faded, and a slight frown darted across her beautiful features as she tried to make sense of his remote reaction. At first, she simply chalked it up to being due to lack of blood. She had seen how pale he was, and realized that either he hadn't fed, or he had offered himself up as a blood doll again. Of the two scenarios, she preferred the first one, as the latter meant he had gotten close to someone else, and bound them to him, thus creating yet another rival for Claudia. Claudia didn't care for rivals. At all. And it hadn't even been that long since last time he did it, with that Tremere tramp she had caught him with just a few nights ago. Would there be no end to the number of Kindred he had to share himself with?

Yet, at the same time as these thoughts were going through her mind, there was something else... A feeling, roused by a glimpse she had caught in his eyes just before he had turned and started towards his personal chambers. There had been something different about him. A peace, a calm, a serenity and a happiness she had never seen before. Something so strong that it put even his usual carefree and cheerful state of mind to shame. Whatever it was that he had been up to this evening, it must've been intense. And for the first time in her life, Claudia found herself resenting something she didn't even know what it was. All she knew was that it had dragged Valerian even further away from her grasp, and thus, it was the enemy.

She had been right in her observation. The hours that now laid behind Valerian had been unlike any other he had ever experienced. Each night since his Embrace had brought him feelings and sensations so real, so intense, but compared to what he had experienced this evening - waves of pleasure and pain crashing down on him without mercy - they had felt like mere ripples on a calm surface.
Though after he had left Moira's apartment, and was retiring to his own chambers, he had only felt complete and total peace. The silence that would settle once the storm had abated, had spread it's wings and hushed his mind, leaving him to be claimed by a soothing, lulling calm.
Exhausted. Invigorated.

He had slept. Really, truly slept, resting comfortably in the loving embrace of serenity. While one might've thought inspiration would have hounded him worse then ever, the night passed having offered some of the most extreme intimacy - strong and fragile, all at the same time - he had ever experienced, that was not the case. He didn't even feel lonely, or the desire for the company of someone else. For once, he was happy sleeping by himself, without someone there to wrap their arms around him. This dawning day, he simply didn't need it. Moira's blood was coursing through his veins, and the memory of her embrace was so vivid to him that he could still feel her touch; her loving arms holding him close, offering the comfort of a mother and a lover rolled into one.
They may had parted, but she was still with him. He was not alone.


Hours upon hours later he awoke, still with that dreamy smile on his lips, and to the sound of a pounding noise. Slowly the soft, distant thumping of the music from below faded into his consciousness as he yawned and leisurely stretched his ivory limbs, and it took the bouncer a second knock before Valerian realized where that pounding sound had come from.

"Yes?" he said, only turning his head slightly to shift his gaze from the ceiling to the door, as though he thought the sturdy wood would somehow reveal to him who it was that had interrupted his sleep.

"Mr Valerian?" came a deep drawl from the other side, and regardless of his inability to see the person through the door, Valerian now knew who it was.

Judging by the man's stubborness to call him 'Mister', despite Valerian having asked him repeatedly to use no such title, it was one of the two Brujah men Claudia had hired to act as bouncers, and guard the staircase leading to the VIP lounge/office, and Valerian's personal chambers.

"Yes?" Valerian answered again, while struggling to pull himself into a sitting position.

The lack of blood was once again rearing it's ugly head at him, turning his limbs heavy, his usually languid motions even slower. Despite his mind feeling fully invigorated, his body responded to it's impulses as though he had not slept at all.

"One of the girls wants to talk to you. One of the bartenders. The redhead."

For a moment or two, Valerian's brow furrowed slightly, as he tried to think of who the bouncer could be referring to. A redheaded bartender... Ah. Must be the new girl. 'Annie' something, if he remembered correctly. But why was she coming to him? Claudia was the one who handled all matters concerning the personnel. Hiring, firing, giving raises, everything. Even whatever trouble that might be brewing between employees was her department. Valerian had very little to do with such things. And if there was trouble in the club itself, there were security guards down there to deal with it.
That left only reasons of a more personal nature. But for the life of him, Valerian couldn't think of what that could possibly be. His thoughts did momentarily touch the subject of Jessica, who had said she'd once saved Annie's life, and had seemed rather upset to come face to face with the young lady after all these years. But surely she would've taken care of the situation by now, and covered her tracks, one way or another?

"Send her up", he finally said, while willing his body to drag itself out of bed, and stand.

"To the office?" the bouncer asked through the door.

Having started to look around for the nearest article of clothing, since he hardly thought it proper of him to greet Annie in the buff, the question made Valerian stop and hesitate for a few seconds. Straight out of bed, he had no idea if Claudia was already in the office or not, or if there was someone else waiting for him there, in the lounge area of the small room. And the last thing he wanted was to risk making any of his regulars feel uncomfortable by having one of his employees walk in while they were waiting for him, or for Claudia to bite the poor girl's head off, for interrupting her in a meeting or a phone call.

"No...", he replied. "Not the office. Here."

The mortals to have seen his personal chambers had been few, and the ones lucky enough to have been invited in, had always been ones to share his bed. To him, these chambers were sacred, and offered the viewer to see a side of him so intimate it would perhaps be difficult for him to have shared it with them, and still maintain a strict relationship of employer and employee. Not only was it his own sanctum, his place of peace and rest, it also held many of the paintings, poems and sketches he had deemed either too dark or too personal to share with the public.
But, one little exception would hardly hurt.

Hearing the bouncers steps fade, as the man returned to allow Annie access to the upper floor, Valerian resumed his search for clothing. After putting on a pair of clean black boxers, he found a pair of black leather pants underneath a layer of sketches and drawing on the couch, and while doing them up and fastening the belt around his narrow hips, he made his way over to the small bathroom to splash some water on his face. While doing so, he glanced at himself in the mirror. And cursed.
He was far too pale. Even to be taken for a human rarely out in the sunlight, and with a fair complextion, he was too pale. He needed to feed, badly. But there simply wasn't time. Not even to call on Melody, as Annie would make it up here long before his cherished ghoul would even have a chance.

There was only thing to do; get creative. Having dried his face with a towel, he hurried back out into the room, where he quickly lit a few of the candles scattered on the various surfaces, and then moved on to add the artificial light to the flickering flames, and dimmed it just enough to create an unnatural glow to any skin - be it of a mortal or an immortal.

No sooner had he turned to inspect it all, than he heard steps approaching. This time, they were not as loud as the ones that had disappeared a couple of minutes ago, telling him that whoever it was, it was someone far lighter than the beefy bouncer, and most likely female.
Annie.
With only seconds to spare, he darted over to the footside of the bed, where he had just spotted a tight, long-sleeved black shirt, and as the rapping of her knuckles against the hard wood of the door sounded in the room, he grabbed it, and slid his arms into it's sleeves.

"Come in!" he called, and with that started pulling the shirt over his head.

Thus, he didn't actually see 'Annie' enter, but the soft click and the hushed sweeping sound told him the door had opened, and he instantly felt her presence. He didn't need to see her to know she was there.
But, once the shirt was in place a second later, he turned to greet her.

"Annie", he said and his lips curved into a charming yet slighty sheepish smile, as he knew he hadn't been quite fast enough for her not to catch him in the act of pulling the sweater over his head. "Please. Come in."

[AtropaMandragora]

With the sun yet again descending on the city, making way for another in the now endless string of nights, of eternal darkness in Adrien's life, the young vampire awoke in his chambers in the Museum, with a feeling most unfamiliar to him; the feeling of having experienced a night that had not been altogether unpleasant. While it hadn't exatly been a walk in the park, the redheaded beauty at the casino - Faleysia was the name she had presented him with - had offered him something quite out of the ordinary these cursed nights; a civil, albeit not particularly friendly conversation, without subtle threats or insults hiding between the lines. A small break from what had become his reality, his everyday life. A pleasant break. And so very, very dangerous. There was no room for pleasantry in his life, other than vengeful glee and smug satisfaction, over standing proud and unyielding in the face of those who wanted nothing more than to see him on his knees. Then there was, of course, the past; the memories of every single one of the Kindred that had perished by his hand. One victory after another, that no one could take away from him, no matter how hard they tried. They could take his family, and they had. They could take his happiness and his peace of mind, and they had. They could take his humanity, and they had. They could even take his life, and it was only a matter of time before they would.
But they could never undo his deeds. The deeds that, as soon as he found a way to free himself from their chains, would continue to grow in numbers. He was not yet done. Far from it. There were others still, that would die by his hand, perish in the flames of his retribution. Of that he was certain.
He had to be, for as soon as doubt made it's way into his thoughts, the walls he had built around himself - the walls that would make the Wall of China seem like a small pile of loose rubble - would start to crack. Every single thought in his mind was thouroughly scrutinized before it was allowed to pass through, and those that threatened to weaken his defenses, were turned away at the gates.
There was no room for them, and no room for genuine pleasantry, as one threatened to tear down his walls, and the other threatened to have him lower them himself. Biting cold, defiance, instincts, smarts, dexterity, pride. Those were the feelings that would rule him, and make him stand strong and unyielding. Untouchable.
Failure was not an option.


Much like the nights before, he didn't waste much time before leaving the Museum. He may be bound to stay there, to seek refuge there during the hours of daylight. But there was little that held him there during the nights, and he would not dwell there more than was absolutely necessary. He had even started considering hiring an apartment or a hotel room, where he could spend his nights, as constantly roaming the streets was growing increasingly risky, and he was starting to feel the need for a place where he could conduct business and, more importantly, research. He needed to study the Kindred, learn who held what position and why, who were friends and who were enemies, all for future use, for when he had broken free and grown enough in strenght to wage war against them once again. And he needed to learn, so very much. He craved it, not only as a former hunter, but as a Tremere. The need to learn and explore was now in his blood; to develop and master his powers and disciplines, to increase his knowledge of the powers of the world, especially the dark ones. But as he had no one to learn from, or was even able to investigate the many and tempting books at the Museum without being watched, he had to study on his own, and find his own sources of knowledge. And the less the other Kindred knew about it, the better.
Thus, a place of his own was growing to become quite a necessity. Which was exactly why so far, he had been denied such an opportunity. The Tremere wanted to keep a close eye on him, and know what he did, preferably before he himself did. They recognized the dangers of having him learn too much while he still held on to his defiance and his hatred of them, and so they had made sure to loom over him, to make their presence known, and never once let him forget they were keeping a close eye on him, personally, instead of leaving it up to the Kindred wannabe's, the ghouls, who could be so very easily duped. Especially by someone like Adrien.

That, however, had been the San Fransisco Tremere. The Los Angeles ones, under the guiding hand of Mina, had yet to approach and claim their hold of him. None of them had tried to wield their power over him, or somehow control his actions.
With one exception; the threat Mina had had delivered to him, regarding what would happen if he chose not to attend the Ball a few nights ago. However, having been delivered by a ghoul, it still fit right into the L.A. Tremere pattern so far; the only ones to put a little bit of effort into making their presence known to him, were their ghouls. Though that might just be part of some greater scheme; a way to make him feel unworthy of being dealt with by the Kindred themselves, and a way to provoke him. Or have him think he had the freedom to take a few liberties. Perhaps Mina was waiting for him to seize what she hoped he would believe to be the opportunity to test his restraints, to make a mistake. Perhaps she was waiting for him to make a fateful move, to step too far out of line to be protected by the Camarillan law, and the Tremere ways.
But if that was the case, she would have another thing coming. Wasn't it she that was now responsible for his actions, for keeping him under control? If he stepped too far out of line, it would put not only him at risk, but her as well, as it would suggest that she had not been worthy of the task bestowed on her. That she had failed. Granted, that might be just another way for her to set him up. To dangle the opportunity of bringing her down with him, infront of him. She would hardly be killed, but she would be dragged down from her little piedestal.

Knowing Mina, however, Adrien would venture a guess that she loved her power and her current position far too much to willingly jeopardize them like that. Especially because of him. When destroying him, she would want just the sweetness of success, not the bitterness of having it, of having HIM cost her anything but a little effort.

Or, it could all just be that she was simply leaving it up to her ghouls to do her 'dirty work'; to keep an eye on him, to watch him, and make him sense the firmness of her grip rather than flat out feel it.
If so, she would soon learn that was not good enough. If she wanted a firm grip on him, she would have to crawl out of hiding and claim it herself. Adrien would not wait around like a good little boy, or come seeking her permission, nor would he take orders from her lapdogs, her accursed ghouls. He would procede with what he was doing, and either he would succeed in establishing his own little hideaway, or, if the ghouls discovered what he was up to, he would succeed in drawing Mina out, and have her stopping him personally.

However, before starting down that road, he would need to feed. He hated it, he loathed the ritual, and the pleasure he couldn't help but taking in it. He was an undead predator, and in that instant, when blood was flowing from the jugular of a living being, that predator overruled all his human notions and principles. There was no denying it, even though he would never admit it either. And he would hang on firmly to his principles up until the very point when the predator took over. Meaning, he would seek out the 'perfect' victim. Always having viewed the Kindred as leaches, who stole the life force of others, he refused to subject just any human to being fed upon. He would not steal the blood of the innocent or the young. In an act of undeniable evil, he would choose the lesser side of it. Or rather, in a manner of speaking, the bigger one; his victims would be those who had drifted the furthest away from human virtues and innocence; criminals and other evil-doers. Regardless of the dangers in choosing them, as their blood was often tainted with some kind of perception altering substance - drugs or alchohol - that would leave his mind and senses somewhat dulled, they would always remain his only option, as far as Adrien himself was concerned. He would simply have to spare the time to watch them for a bit before making his move, and make sure that for the time being, they were not under the influence. Time consuming, but necessary.

And so, once setting foot on the pavement outside of the Museum, Adrien started toward the more shady parts of the city. Considering the amount of time it would take him to settle for a victim, there was no reason to waste any of it.


(((ooc: Approachable, somewhere on the streets. Doesn't necessarily have to have made it to his destination.)))

[Ghanima Atreides]

Moira Sushill - Her Hotel Suite -- The V

When Moira finally lay between the smooth satin sheets of her lavish four poster bed, the first rays of sunshine flickered into existence between two towering skyscrapers, slowly advancing across the morning sky. The tight blinds and heavy velvet curtains overhanging the windows of Moira's bedroom however prevented even the tiniest of sparks from intruding into the Toreador's lair as she prepared to let her mind and body drift into that deadlike state of deep slumber which claimed each Kindred's consciousness when night yielded the skies to sunlight, unless they purposely struggled against it.

Although her body was ready for rest, Moira's mind was not. It raced and soared, replaying the previous night's events over and over again. With each memory came the accompanying feeling, so much stronger and clearer than any other her ancient mind housed. If she closed her eyes and listened closely to the inner whisper that wove enticing tales with soft, lulling hums, it spoke with Valerian's voice. Even the taste that lingered on her tongue still retained some of the unique flavour of his blood, which filled her veins with narcotic sweetness and spread through every extremity of her body: his essence had passed into her, becoming part of her being, and neither time nor distance could ever break that bond again.

And yet Moira's conditioning attempted to disturb that wonderful, peaceful balance, chiding her self induced vulnerability. A nasty murmur waxed whenever her mind found serenity, reminding Moira of how even the most seemingly unbreakable bond could be severed, and how the most devoted lover could turn mortal enemy when one least expected it. She had experienced it all before. What she had done was reckless, her behaviour no better than that of a Neonate dazzled by the wonders of unlife for the very first time.

And yet that voice, powerful enough to reign above all others in Moira's psyche for so long, discovered its strength greatly reduced, a mere ghost of its former self, swept away like mist upon the wind. Silencing the dissenting whispers with but a thought and allowing herself to drift asleep at last, a content smile fluttered on Moira's lips, having uncovered a long lost truth: not being able to anticipate the future was one of the things that gave life its flavour.

The Toreador awoke the following evening reinvigorated and full of purpose. Her mind overflowed with energy, making it impossible for her to sit still. As she showered and prepared herself for a new night, Moira toyed with various possibilities. Part of her wanted to meet Valerian again, but that may not have been ideal for their developing connection: following such an intense encounter, it was likely they both needed some time to process it and store the memories in their proper place before adding more. Besides, they both had other engagements: Valerian had The Haven and his guests to tend to, Moira had something rather different in mind.

One of the scenarios was to spend the evening in and put pen on paper, for the first time in centuries with a measure of genuine inspiration, but after giving it some thought she dismissed that possibility, albeit a little reluctantly. Although stirred awake by Valerian, her creativity was not nearly recuperated enough to produce work she could accept as good and not regard it with nothing but criticism, which would eventually only fill her with disappointment. No; achieving a new height of artistic fervor would be a long and careful process: it was simply too early.

There was another option in store, something she had already resolved to accomplish since it had been presented to her: Prince Damian Alexander's invitation. Offered in the form of a calling card and a hinted business proposition at the banquet earlier that week, it had been an opportunity Moira was determined not to let pass. At the time, it had been driven by mere curiosity, but present matters were quite different: she actually had a reason to want to remain in Los Angeles longer, perhaps much much longer than ever anticipated. Moira's life however did not revolve only around artistic ventures and enthralling new acquaintances, no matter how captivating both could be at one time or another: she needed the intellectual challenges of a business and entrepreneur to keep her senses and mind leveled and sharp and prevent herself from growing complacent and hedonistic, as well as a steady means of income: despite having money reserves stored away, she regularly earned her lifestyle.

With that thought in mind, Moira made her choice of attire for the night to come: First she retrieved a white cuffed shirt bound by ornate silver buttons, with a neckline which although looser than most formal shirts, remained firmly above her breasts. Over this she placed a black suede jacket, not altogether formal with its slim waist and open neckline. To these she added an ankle length, hip hugging black skirt that flared a little at the bottom and high heeled shoes. Combing her hair to a smooth sheen, Moira clasped half of it at the back of her head, leaving the rest swishing freely down her back. All in all, the appearance was definitely more austere than her usual eye catching gothic garments, though still noticeably feminine and far from stiflingly formal: if one would rate it, it ranked somewhere between formal and informal, appropriate for a visit with no confirmed objective.

Heels trotting loudly on the polished wooden floors of the hotel suite, Moira spent a minute or two searching for Damian's card, finding it amongst her utensils in the studio. Glancing at it, she snatched up her purse and departed the room. Once in the lobby she crossed it with swift, purposeful strides and approached one of the many taxis parked outside the hotel premises. Informing the driver of their destination, Moira was soon on her way to the Prince's office tower.

Having imagined the Los Angeles Kindred leader as the owner of an imposing edifice housing countless rooms, resources and employees, the modern equivalent of a king's castle, Moira was not disappointed. A fine example of modern architecture, state of the art technology and undisguised luxury, the most powerful immortal in the city could not have wished for better headquarters than the V. She was aware she was taking some chances with her unannounced visit: a busy man, Damian Alexander most certainly required the large part of his visitors to first make appointments. Key word: the large part. Well versed in the ways Kindred society behaved, Moira hoped she might be able to bypass those lengthy procedures and see the Prince right away. Her presence there confirmed the seriousness with which she regarded Damian's proposal, and depending on his willingness to receive her or not that evening she could also draw some conclusions of her own.

Paying the driver and leaving him ten dollars extra, Moira climbed the stairs leading into the building with brisk steps, entering the well lit lobby. She did not linger in contemplation however and went directly for the main desk where a serious looking woman – probably Kindred although Moira did not waste blood on finding out through Auspex – typed something into a computer with swift movements.

“Good evening” she greeted, coaxing the woman's eyes away from the screen. “My name is Moira Sushill and I am here to speak with Lord Alexander, if that is agreeable.”

The woman did not ask Moira whether she had an appointment, though judging by her expression she did not recall a Moira Sushill on that night's appointment list. Still, either intuitively or some other way she guessed this was no lost Neonate or brazen Ancilla there to waste her boss' time, and would be safer to relate her request to the Prince. It was, after all, the mark of a good secretary, being able to distinguish between the various individuals passing before her desk and make such decisions without angering either their employer or a potentially noteworthy guest.


((ooc: Uhm again I am uncertain of my descriptions and have to ask if I described Damian's building fairly accorately...I seem to recall it being called the V, right? Anyway lemme know if I need to make any changes))

[spiderviveka_SC]

((OOC: I apparently either missed the "8 line rule" completely or it didn't sink in. A lot of the time I would prefer to write a novella in the RPGs i play, but people seem to loose interest. So I have made a habit of keeping my posts relatively brief. That, and I have no idea what to write about here. This is a completly new topic for me [vampirism] and I know very little about it. I also am concerned that some of my ideas on how to approach my characters might not be appreciated. I am not a fan of stereotypical anything. So, I am trying, carefully, to get into the story.

Anyway, I am rambling, I will try to make a mental note to make longer posts than my previous one in the future. However, I know of nothing to add to that particular post, save delving into whatever Morta's feeling on the meeting might be, though it doesn't seem that it would be too interesting. But if you would like me to, I will go back and add them anyway to meet the quota.

No hard feelings, just a slight misunderstanding.))

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: spiderviveka - Well... Like any person, she has to have SOME kind of opinion of what happens, doesn't she? Her surroundings, Archon (does she know who he is, does she not know, does she like Ventrue, does she not like Ventrue, past experiences of the Ventrue, did she see him at the Ball the other night (was she even there?), etc etc), what brought her to Algernon... Like I said, explore her further, tell us a little about her.... Her feelings about the meeting would do just that. You know? If you need inspiration, there are tons of posts in these two vampire threads to draw inspiration from? :) And again, if you have questions about the plot, the clans, or anything, I'm here to help, so you can either post them in the thread, or PM me. :) )))

[Ghanima Atreides]

((ooc: I just wanted to add that at least in this thread, people like long(er) posts and don't loose interest reading them, so don't worry about it. Also, there's absolutely nothing wrong with a non-stereotypical approach to your character, in fact I say it's a good thing, and I for one would love to learn more about Morta :) ))

[innocenteyes]

Bee walked a bit in the streets. Seeing nothin much that intrestest her, she finally jump onto a fire exscape as usuall and watched. Making herslef comfotable, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. It was somene amazing how much more one could learn, if they used all of their senses to watch. It was exactly what Bee did. She could her a man and women having an argument. It sounded like it was from inside the building she was next to. Probably just beyond the wall. Would it upset the humans to learn that she listened? Probably. But she wasnt hurting anything and they would never know. Then another sound came to her. Something completely opposite to the argument. It was pure innoscent laughter. A childs, a little girls. A small smile appeared on her ruby lips. Bee started imagining what the child would look like. She tried to recreat the scene of why she was laughing. The image of a brown haired browned eye girl came to mind. Sitting on the floor playing with her dolls and laughing at her daddy make funny faces. The grin widened on Bees face.

It was the one thing she had always longed for. A family. A child. The one thing she would never have. It has been over 200 years since Bee had touched a child. The pain was too great for her to bear. Now her heart hurt even more thinking of what she could of had. Instantly she flung her eyes open and jumped off the escape. Fighting back tears, Bee hurried out of the alley and started down the street once again. She hadnt gotten far before she saw him. The presense about him was as she had seen last, except he was more alert now. It was Adrien. Surpressing all the emotins she had raging threw her at the moment, she let a mischivous smile appear.

"Adrien." Was what finally came from her lips as she approached him.

[spiderviveka_SC]

Morta- Algernon VIP Room


Morta faintly recognizes the man who is addressing her. She isn't certain where, but she has encountered him before. She doesn't quite remember his name, but that is also of little importance.

"So" she says after a long silence, her voice graveled. "Are you going to say anything else, or just stand there, staring at me? You act like you have never seen one of my kind before, tell me, are we really that revolting to look at?"

She doesn't much care for non nosferatu's, they tend to be exceedingly rude and shallow. As for being so rude to Archon, she couldn't care less if it was the prince himself. One thing she has never understood was the seemingly universal drive among the kindred towards a patriarchal society. Certainly, they all survived that way, but what was the purpose of living in the past? So many human societies are moving into the future, why must the kindred still set up the petty idols of princes and paupers on pedestal.

She folds the book in front of her and prepares to leave, she isn't much in the mood for idle conversation, let she still has manners, and waits with baited breath for some response from the ventrue standing in front of her. She pulls her hood back and stares up at him with strange, hollow eyes, her pointed ears protrude from the sides of her head as she awaits his response.

[veldagia]

Zillah's eyes shot open, the impossibly green orbs shining in the night like carved jewels set into his androgonous face. One hand haphazordly brushed away the white blonde strand that stuck to his face. His whole body trembled, drenched in sweat and tears as he escaped the nightmare. Fighting away childhood memories that plagued his dreams as he tossed and turned, tangling his long pale limbs in the black satin sheets.

As he awoke an annoyed snarl crossed his lips distorting his features with the look of pure malice. He was not that child anymore. He had escaped that terrifying world of monsters that crept up to you in the night, of shattered trust and broken promises. Now he was the devil that stalked the night streets, daring anyone to challenge him. For when pain crossed that point that it didnt matter if you lived or died. Who was afraid to walk into a bullet or dodge the knife? It couldn't be any worse than anything he'd seen or felt before.

He dragged himself out of bed, jumping under a cold shower. Letting the icy stream of water wipe his thoughts away as it washed the salty sweat from his body, sending them plummeting down the drain to vanguish in the sewers. Chilling his flesh from his bones until he was numb from feeling anything more. Faces danced across his eyelids that were crushed closed against the downpour. Bee's mischeivous smile that taunted his charms, Carmilla's soulful eyes that enticed his dreams. But he forced them away focusing on the white light, the blinding split that signalled an oncoming hangover. The brief nap he had taken was enough to sober yet not to vanquish all the effects of a day entertaining clients in the bar.

Zillah dressed quickly pulling on dark jeans a shredded black T-shirt and leather jacket before rimming his eyes with a thick black smudge of khoal. The metal of his keys felt cold against his skin as he let himself out of the luxery apartment and mounted the bike. Roaring away from the curb, a blur of red and black that commanded the attention of the street. Riding low and dangerous, corners swerved around too fast, man fighting against machine to maintain control as he ran down the middle of lanes of traffic. Ignoring the horns that beloowed with his passage until he reached his destination. The place where he had seen her. The angel that fluttered through his dreams, calling his name. And tonight he was detirmined to discover just who she was, the allusive Carmilla.

((OCC Zillah is on the street outside the Haven...approachable))

[PennyTheCorgi]

OOC: Hey guys, just wanted to let you know I haven't forgotten this RP. I've been short on time and inspiration but I'll try to post something soon. :)

[spiderviveka_SC]

Irvin- in the street, outside of Haven


Irvin squints as he spots a motorcycle on the street ahead of him moving at high speed. He assumes that its a human and wonders perhaps, if he should try to flag him down. He has yet to feed and is in desperate need of nourishment. He knows that many people seem to inherently trust men dressed as priests, though some just choose to yell out obscenities.

He will try to use his normal scheme. A story, he is from out of town, his car broke down or ran out of gas, and he needs a ride to a church, gas station, hotel. Of course, they never make it to their destination. And since Irvin has a revulsion at the mere thought of drinking blood directly from a persons body, he carries a unique rig in his coat. Rubber tubing, transfusion attachment pumps, hypodermic needles, sterile plastic blood bags- sans the typical anticoagulant, and of course chloroform, without which, the entire process would be impossible.

After the blood is gathered, he typically injects it into himself, if he is hungry enough he might drink it directly from the bag. He does this all with perfect medical precision, but can not remember how he knows how to do these things. He knows all sorts of things about medicine, other than just taking blood. At home, he has book after book filled with anatomical drawings, designs for devices and machines, all of these ideas and memories pouring from his mind from some darkened, unknown source.

The cyclist is drawing nearer and Irvin Steps out into the street and waves his arms at Zillah.

"Hey!" he yells "I need some help!"

[Ghanima Atreides]

Aeode and Valerian - Valerian's private chambers at The Haven

“Wait here.”

With that most minimal of requests, the burly man turned his back to Aeode and, with heavy, even steps, began climbing the staircase which lead to the upper floors of The Haven. The young woman peered apprehensively in his wake, doubts beginning to seep back into her consciousness. No matter how she justified her actions, the distinct sensation that she was intruding into an affair which was none of her business persisted, like a shackle tightening around her stomach.

Minutes later, the club bouncer found Aeode leaning against the wall, arms wrapped tightly around her body and gazing fixedly at the tips of her shoes. Her head snapped upwards when the man's imposing silhouette re-emerged through the alcove entrance way and made his way into her view range:

“Come with me.”

Aeode gave a weak nod, too preoccupied with her own musings to respond. Coaxing her unwilling legs into motion, the young woman began her swift ascent into the heart of the building, leaving the thumping beat of the heavy bass music behind. By contrast, the silence was almost eerie.

Aeode had visited the club upper floor on a single occasion before, during her brief interview with the female owner, a sharp and expeditive woman, who did not seem to care much about her past as long as she committed to the guidelines the job entailed. Valerian had been there, too, wishing her a kind “welcome” as she stood up and signed the contract, the only direct contact she had ever had with him.

As a consequence, Aeode expected to be lead to the same office, craning her neck conspicuously in its direction when the bouncer motioned her away from it without hesitation, down a corridor she had never set foot in before. Unspoken questions exploded in her mind then: did The Haven house other rooms where the owners could meet employees? She did not know exactly how big the place was. Perhaps the first office was already occupied, Aeode mused, increasingly worried she was disturbing her employers with her impromptu visit.

“Go up those stairs, it's the first door ahead”, her guide instructed before departing. Alone, Aeode inhaled deeply and expelled the air through her mouth, mustering all her courage before climbing the indicated stairs and rapping her knuckles against the wooden door three times.

"Come in!" Valerian's voice rang from the other end of it, muffled slightly.

Swallowing in dry throat, Aeode's hand reached for the doorknob and squeezed is slightly until she felt it click. Pushing the door aside, her gaze inevitably centered on the man's turned backside, catching a brief glimpse of the smooth curve of his lower back in the instant before he completed dressing himself and turned around to face her. Aeode leveled her chin sharply, a moment too late, feeling her stomach lurch uncomfortably.

This was no office.

Silhouetted through the amber glow of flickering candles, some very private-looking items revealed themselves with momentous clarity. First of all she noted the unmade bed – its sheer size made it difficult to miss. Aeode's startled eyes also discovered that the room contained many different paintings, both on the walls and off them, as well as stacks of paper, sketches rolled at both ends, clothing and everything one might expect to find in a bedroom.

A bedroom.

"Annie. Please. Come in."

Hearing the sound of her borrowed name, Aeode blinked instinctively: she had forgotten Valerian did not even know her real identity, something which would be impossible to keep concealing if she had any hope of gaining his support in her dilemma. Perhaps he would even be annoyed with her; she had, after all, signed a business contract under a false name and used fake papers. What if he decided to report her to the authorities?

However, a different worry currently dominated all others in her mind: there was no doubt that she had disturbed her boss, he must have been asleep when receiving notice of her arrival. Positively mortified, Aeode returned Valerian's sheepish smile in subtle appraisal: he was, no doubts about it, a particularly handsome man, the woman in her could not help but notice, although perhaps “beautiful” would have been a better description. Handsome was a too rough word to describe his graceful, catlike mien. That was the immediate impression, before the rest of his traits slowly shifted into focus. For once, he seemed a gothic fiction character come to life: real club owners never looked like that. They wore expensive suits, not leather pants; they were middle aged and comfortably fattened by their lifestyle, very unlike the sinewy alabaster youth that stood before her. And they did not invite their bartenders into their private bedrooms.

Secondly, Valerian's skin was perhaps the palest Aeode had ever seen, reflecting the orange glow bathing him like a blank canvas, as if it had almost no nuance of its own. Adding to the eerie sensation it produced, Aeode remembered it being rather more rosy and healthy looking on the few occasions she had laid eyes on her boss before. Was he ill, or simply exhausted, which would explain why he was asleep at that hour. It did nothing to improve Aeode's confidence.

Mind swarming with confusion, alarm and some reluctant curiosity, Aeode spoke at last:

“Thank you for receiving me on such a short notice” she said politely, adopting a formal tone to counterweight the awkwardness of the situation, in the hope that Valerian would think her a little less intrusive by it. “And I apologize for disturbing you as I obviously have.”

She paused briefly, pondering her next move. There was no avoiding the surprise it would provoke.

“First of all, allow me to properly introduce myself. My name is Aeode Mallard, and I hope you will be able to forgive my deception, I assure you my reasons for using an alias were not trivial. That is not why I am here however, though the two events are related. I am here because I believe a friend of yours, Jessica, might be in danger. I'm sorry, I just...I didn't know where else to go.”

[AtropaMandragora]

Beautifully located in one of the finer districts in the city, there were few buildings in the neighbourhood that matched the 'V' in height. Like a giant Colossus of glass and steel, it towered above the surrounding buildings, imposing itself on any and all passers-by, demanding to be noticed and regarded with eye-widening awe. Just like Damian had envisioned it, when he'd first bought the property, and had a team of the most talented architects draw up the blueprints. He had wanted a building that would make a statement; impress and entice people, yet keep the unwanted at bay by exuding an air of an exclusiveness that would require an invitation for anyone to even make it past the front desk.
Mission accomplished. The 'V' did attract it's fair share of attention, but few had the nerve to go inside, except those who really did have business being there. But even then they were under surveillance of the many but discreet security guards for the most part blending with the other workers or visitors. The lobby was as spacious as it was elegant, with it's modernly stylish decor, polished marble floor, smooth surfaced columns holding up a decorative balustrade, and an enormous, modern chandelier hanging from the ceiling high above everyone's head, and there was a handful of guards at all times, making their presence felt rather than seen. A silent guarantee that the uninvited would soon find themselves standing outside on the sidewalk again. Or slumped into a heap of human limbs in the alley way out back.

Beside the foyer, the ground floor held a great hall, perfect for balls, banquets and conferences, though the Prince himself rarely used it, as he preferred to offer those he did business with a change of scenery for festive occasions, and he simply didn't want Kindred who may or may not want to snoop, trying to make it past the security and up to the even more private parts of the building, for whatever reason; to cause harm, or simply learn more about him. He appreciated his privacy, and kept it well guarded.
The rest of lower level floors were occupied by offices for some of the various companies that had been made part of the organization resting in the palm of Damian's hand, and above them was a floor with nothing but conference rooms. Then came the upper level floors, of which a couple of them held parts of his vast collection of antiques, and then two floors allocated to providing large, luxurious suites to possible and prominent guests.
Topping it all off, was the penthouse floor, where one would find Damian's well visited office - tastefully decorated to mirror his cultivation, his acument, his wealth and his treasured power with it's modern yet exclusive flare - as well as his less, close-to-never visited flat.

He was sitting there now, in the comfortable chair in his office, much like any other night. But this particular evening, he as not engaged in a meeting or working his way through a stack of reports and contracts, he was not talking on the phone with associates or preparing his next move as Prince and/or business tycoon.
He was staring straight ahead with stolid, unseeing eyes, lost in thought, the only sign of life being a cold, thoughtful harshness flashing in those piercing, crystaline orbs every now and then. The news he had recieved the night before, the reason why he had cut his meeting with Archon short, were still on his mind, and had not yet ceased to bother him. With the exception of a couple of phone calls from overseas, that had offered him various tidbits that were sure to come in handy. Later. For now, something far more dire required his attention. Someone had been putting their nose where it didn't belong, and uncovered information that was supposed to have been destroyed, long ago. Or at least buried so deep no one would be able to find it, even if they knew it was there. Since the previous evening, when Damian had first learned of the matter, he had now also learned a few more details, as well as the name and location of the culprit, which meant the matter could be taken care of. If one didn't mind leaving loose ends.
A born perfectionist, Damian did mind.
While the culprit had been tracked down, the Prince was reluctant to give the order and have the threat 'disposed of', before he knew what exctly this guy had been doing, and why. Once disposed of, you had done all the talking you ever would, regardless of the amount of information you left behind. Since at the moment that amount was far from satisfactory, this human hacker, this 'Dez', would live to die another day. Or to be claimed by the Nosferatu, or even the Ventrue. Damian did have use for someone of such talent, especially since it would provide him with the skill partly like that of the Nosferatu, without having to hire the greedy sewer rats.
Tempting.

However, it was a matter to be pondered later, as right now there still remained to find out what exactly this human hacker's motives were. Hopefully, the Nosferatu set on the mission would give Damian his money's worth, while he himself dealt with the other party concerned; Jessica, the Toreador Primogen; the one who appeared in the information uncovered by the hacker, and also the one who had been in charge of seeing to it that the information would never be found. She ought to have some answers.
And if she didn't, she'd better find some.

Just about to reach for the buzzer and ask his secretary to get a hold of Jessica and forward his demand for her to appear at his office as soon as possible, his motion was halted in the very same instant as it begun, as apparently his secretary had something of her own she wanted to tell him, and had beaten him to the small button. Though this time, it was not to announce that one of his contacts was on this or that line, ready to supply him with the information he had sought the previous evening, regarding a certain London Primogen. This time, it was to announce that the person about whom the information had been sought, had just entered the building, and asked to see him. Knowing her employer, Damian's secretary has been wise enough to inform the front desk in the lobby that Lord Alexander would agree to see this particular visitor, and that they should allow her to pass. She was now on her way up.

"Splendid", Damian replied. "When she arrives, show her in, and hold all my calls. Also, contact lady Jessica, and inform her that I wish to see her."

Having said that, he released the button and leaned back in his chair, taking a moment to shed his concerns regarding the Los Angeles Toreador Primogen, and prepare for the meeting with the London one. When first meeting Moira Sushill, it had not taken him long to see her potential as someone he'd might like to do business with, and the various pieces of information relayed to him during this evening and the previous one, had only strengthened his beliefs. In his mind, he had toyed with various prospects and possibilities, and had now narrowed them down to two, possibly three, depending on her level of interest.

A few minutes later, there was a light knock on the door, and following Damian's authoritative 'Come', the doors parted, pushed open by his secretary who then stepped aside, making way for the guest, Miss Moira Sushill, to enter. As she strode in, Damian stood from his desk, to greet her with the genteel conduct of a proper gentleman, while at the same time studying her as she approached. Much to his satisfaction, what he saw fit nicely into the impression he had already formed, but was due to habit, experience and self-preservation always re-evaluating. Dressed in an outfit that although it looked very sophisticated, was also equally elegant and feminine, Moira Sushill was likely to pose quite a threat to a man any less observant and rational than Damian, as the formal side of her attire drew out the will to do business, while the femininity smoothly appealed to a gentleman's desire to bend to a lady's will. If handled with proper skill, it was likely to ensure the better end of any and all deals. And there was no doubt in Damian's mind, that Moira possessed that very skill.

"Miss Sushill", he welcomed her with a faint but cordial smile, as he slowly rounded the desk as a sign of greeting her in a more friendly manner, rather than a purely businesslike one. "I did not expect to enjoy the pleasure of your company so soon, though I am most pleased to see you decided to take me up on my invitation. I hope this evening finds you well, and that you are enjoying your stay in my city?"



(((ooc: Elektra - Feel free to have Jessica recieve Damian's message. It's up to you what she chooses to do with/about it. Not sure how long the meeting with Moira will take, and I don't want to rush anything, so... yeah. :) Might take a while before he's free. )))

[veldagia]

Zillah pulled the bike to a halt in front of the Haven. Removing the black helmet that had an intrinsic red tribal sign woven over it he let his hair flow free. Pale blonde locks flowing wildly around his face in the slight breeze. His mind was still on the hauntingly sweet face of Carmilla. Would she venture to the club tonight? He had managed to gather so little information on her it was almast as if she was a ghost that drifted through the city. And if he did see her could he sway her away from her companion, steal a few moments alone with her? It seemed a lifetime since he had spoken to her yet less than two weeks had gone by.

As he chained up the bike Zillah caught the flash of a man waving his arms around in the corner of his eye. He looked up to see a man adorned in a black priests cassock. "Hey!" the man yelled, "I need some help!".

Zillah had long learned to be wary of those possessed by religious zeal. With their hell and highwater, condeming everyone else for their sins, whilst commiting their own atrocious acts. He had met many that hid their natures beneath the cloak of religion, using and abusing the power that it gave them over the sheepish masses. These messengers from god often distorted the meanings hiden within their holy book to justify their own vices, to gather gold for the church, to gain the trust of the corregation, to wage war in the name of their own god, believing it the only god.

As Zillah approached his eyes sized up the man before him taking in the dark floppy hair and albaster skin. Feeling the heavy weight of metal in his pocket, reassuringly his slender fingers skimmed over it, knowing he could draw in a split second of danger. With each step nearer he thought of one of his most prolific clients. A catholic priest who payed for the required services with money stolen from the church's donation box. Who had a preference for the younger girls, those that lacked the true curves of womenhood. And afterwards Zillah consoled them as he distrubed their share of the cash, reassuring that other clients were different. But the tales they told him did not shock, after years of playing the game, nothing did anymore. His heart hardened to the corruption that lurked within even the most holy places of the city.

Stopping a foot away from the man, Zillah's eyes narrowed warily into thin reptilian green slats, not caring to hide the amnosity on his face. "What do you need?" he asked, his voice smooth like soft waves rippling over pebbles, partially disquising the hardness in his eyes.

[Psyche_SC]

#33 [Ninth Night]

It was a good thing his heart had been stone cold dead the first time he had seen a Nosferatu, unless it would have suffered a massive attack. These vile creatures were an abomination, an insult to the vampiric nature. A curse upon this earth. However, they were not the only vampires that Archon had a hard time adjusting to, but they wore the crown when it came to having a negative impact almost every single time.
The legend spoke of a regal founder that brought upon him the wrath of Caine, and was cursed. This is meant to be the reason why a Nosferatu Embrace is the start of a painful Transformation, that leaves evidence of that fact, on the body as well as in the soul. Perhaps mainly deep within the horrible shell.
It might be descent to feel for the Nosferatu, have pity at least, but Archon would say the Nosferatu themselves would not stand for it. No matter how much they loathe their fate, they would probably throw tantrums the vile way if anyone felt sorry for them. And when it comes to Archon, he does not have any emotions towards the masked clan, other than feelings of disqust and the occasional respect for their intelligence and ability to find information. To be honest, if the Nosferatu had been stupid, they would certainly have been cannon fodder a long time ago.
Deep down, Archon does have appreciation for the grand design that is the Kindred; all the different clans and the concept they all abide to. The Nosferatu being a part of all this, even if the noble Ventrue barely copes with the fact. Nothing else was to be expected, since their Embrace fills them with blue blood and a taste for royal delight. Neither rhymes with the Nosferatu.

So, it was no wonder Archon felt some kind of relief that the Nosferatu before him did not bare a hideous exterior to the revolting extreme. He could behold her, without any hesitation. Though, had he not encountered several Nosferatu through the years, he doubted he would be able. Her voice, of course, held the same vicious tone he was used to when dealing with the sewer clan. It pierced right through him, leaving him with a chilling feeling along his spine.

"Then", she said with a thick, Lithuanian lilt, "I must compliment you on the selection of reading materials in this establishment."

Although others rarely surprised Archon, it was hard not to notice the unconventional approach she chose. Her initial respons held nothing of the some what usual mean streak one could expect. Instead it was rather polite, very polite even. It caused the noble Primogen to let one of his soft smiles grace his lips, something that had never happened in the company of a Nosferatu, least it was of a sinister nature. And he was about to give a slight nod in recognition and answer her, had she not began to speak yet again.

"So", she started to gravel when she had barely finished her polite opening. "Are you going to say anything else, or just stand there, staring at me?"

It was not often Archon experienced the display of such a hasty puzzling turn of events. Indeed, all bets were off and the estimated value of the Kindred had dropped. He did not find her to be tricky, as he did most Nosferatu, but rather unwise. It was a trifling matter if she knew who she was dealing with or not, since he had just informed her he was the owner of Algernon, the very abode she was a guest in. No vampire could be that foolish, no matter what clan they belonged to. Not even a Malkavian would go that far off the deep end. That left him with only three alternatives. One; she had an undeniable grudge towards any Ventrue. Two; she was in desperate need to feed and was just figuratively lashing out. Or three; she was far too young to be on her own above the surface. However, either cause would not alter the effect it had on Archon. He would not stand idly by when someone disrespected him without any logical reason, especially not in his own territory. Though, if he thought the madness would end there, he had another thing coming. No sooner had the first grasp of provoking words left her crooked mouth, before another batch was on the loose.

"You act like you have never seen one of my kind before, tell me, are we really that revolting to look at?"

The firmness in Archon's back softened a tad, due to the fact that he could not help but find the whole thing ridiculous; a laughing matter if a matter at all. And he did view her question as retorical, of course. The Nosferatu were revolting to look at, hands down, regardless if this particular one was not as heinous as most. Although, it was even more revolting to watch a Nosferatu with no manners. Despite this, he had to make sure there would be no cause for a déjà vu in the future.

"Careful", he spoke with a firm voice and determined feature. "My VIP lounge is not to be taken for granted. It is only a haven for those wise enough to appreciate the gesture. Anyone of our kind is welcome to benefit from this privilege, as long as they respect that fact. The ones that do not, have to leave Algernon or go downstairs and consort with the kine."

With that said, he did have yet another point to get across. If the Nosferatu was under the impresson that he was new to the members of her clan, he had to set her straight. Not that it really mattered what she thought, but he had to close the door to the whole delusion at some point. The Ventrue were highborn and sovereign, rarely humble, but when the occasion called for it they could be more sinister than most. Therefore, Archon leaned a slight bit forward and said with a foreboding look in his eyes:

"The latter would be some what difficult for the likes of you."

[ElektraNatchios33]

((I'm currently working on my post. I'll most likely have it up sometime this weekend, most likley tomorrow.))

[AtropaMandragora]

Sirens whaling, horns blaring, laughing and shouting intermingling with heavy beats from nearby clubs and the sound systems of cars whose owners craved attention. People of all shapes, sizes, colors and attitudes, with each their own destination, hurrying, strolling, loitering along the sidewalk, while others ducked away in gates and alley ways, either waiting for someone, or simply watching the flow of people pass by.
In the midst of it all; Adrien de la Cour. At a first glance a seemingly ordinary man moving past one block after another, alone, carried forward by a strong, purposeful stride. With his dark clothing, and the reserved air surrounding him, there was little that set him apart from the other pedestrians. Not as long as rogue strands of charcoal black hung into his eyes, acting much like a curtain hiding the piercing gaze from the oh-so-busy people who bothered to look at him. The ones that did were mostly young women instantly attracted by his rough yet handsome exterior and lone wolf aura, or, on the rare occasion, someone who was not too wrapped up with themselves and their own life to feel the chill of his presence.

Adrien himself, however, was not like the majority of the people on the streets this evening. They ignored just about everyone they passed by. Adrien ignored no one. He watched the faces of them all, searched their eyes and features for something that might matter to him; either the dark, malevolent glint of someone with quite a few crimes on their conscience - a possible victim - or a flash of recognition or realization, bound to appear in the eyes of the enemy; Kindred.

Though when finally he came across one, having passed one block after another, seeing only a few possible 'donors', yet pursuing none of them, eyes flashing with recognition was not the first thing he saw. It was the smile. Much like the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland, that smile seemed to appear and materialize from the thin air infront of him on the now nearly empty sidewalk, long before the rest of the face and body did. A smile that he knew, that he had seen before. There were eyes flashing with recognition, but in this case, they were his own.
Beyonca had appeared in his path. The dark-haired belle he had met at the Ball, the only one with the guts and the audacity to oppose her peers, and speak to him. He recognized her, even before the split second it took him to register the rest of the fair features that seemed to fade into view around that mischievous smile.

"Adrien", came her voice in a soft purr, and caused yet another feline simile to steal through Adrien's mind; that of the cat that swallowed the canary.

She seemed smugly amused, almost satisfied, as though she was somehow pleased to see him. Despite how their last encounter had unfolded. Or perhaps because of it? Adrien hadn't given her much of a chance to respond to the remark he had made before brushing past and away from her back then. Was she perhaps wishing for a Round Two, and the opportunity to attempt to get to him, or simply just have the last word?

"Well well well", he replied dryly and came to a slow halt while surpressing the disdainful snarl that had almost emerged on his lips, having grown to be more of a reflex when in the presence of Kindred, than an intentional display of hostility. "If it isn't Miss Popularity. Beyonca the Observer. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company so soon again? Has your choir boy Prince not yet taken time out of his busy schedule to reprimanded you for consorting with the likes of me?"

[AtropaMandragora]

In the opaque obscurity of Valerian's room, in the ever present dusk that lingered between his walls, the heavily dimmed artificial light was playing catch with the soft golden glow of the the flickering lights, bidding shadows to dance over the slender frame of the mortal girl that had just stepped through his doors. To the dreamy young Toreador still standing by the foot side of the bed, it was like a scene was unfolding before his very eyes. The smooth porcelain skin of her face, haphazardly sprinkled with tiny freckles, was given what looked like a faint inner glow, a radiance of it's own, and the color of her eyes shifted in everything from the palest of celadon to the deepest, darkest forest green he could imagine. Surrounding it all, like a delicately handcarved frame around a beautiful painting, were rich velvety locks of red, gleaming in the elusive luster, and conjuring flashes of memories of another lady of fire and ice. The lady of fire and ice.
Moira.
The London Toreador Primogen, who over night, literally, had become the one for which he yearned the most, whose features seemed to have been etched into the insides of his eyelids, so that every time he closed his eyes, her face appeared, ultimately rendering him unable to keep his thoughts completely focused and away from the sweet euphoria in which he had wallowed since the previous night.

Yet, there was one thing that dragged his thoughts away from those blissful memories, and chained them to the present; the look on Annie's face. A wide range of emotions were spilling forth in her features, in quick succession of one another; surprise, shock, embarrassment. The latter lingered a few moments longer than the previous two, before slowly transforming into a most fascinating blend of discomfort and mild female appreciation, somehow restrained by keen acumen, as though recognizing with levelheaded clarity that what she had seen was something that appealed to her, but leaving it at that, giving no time for eyes or thoughts to linger. Much like someone with an agenda, and a cool determination to follow it through, regardless of what various distractions might appear in her path.

But, it was a look that disappeared just as rapidly as it had appeared, and the previous awkwardness emerged once again, causing Valerian to chide himself for asking her to come in before he was well and fully dressed. She was not a lover to be teased and toyed with. She was an employee, and while he hadn't intentionally put her into that kind of compromising situation, or meant to embarrass her in any way, he needed to be more careful, lest he'd run the risk of getting into trouble with her, with Claudia, or the worst scenario of them all; with the authorities, if she decided to slap him with a sexual harrassment suit. That would make for a most complicated predicament, and would risk having him fall from grace, as far as Prince Damian Alexander was concerned. Not to mention the rest of the Toreador clan.

It was perhaps not the most likely situation to arise, as Valerian had a mouth and a mien that could usually melt even the coldest of hearts and frosty of stares like snow in spring time. But he had never been arrogant about his charms, or taken them for granted. Many fellow Kindred would be able to resist him if they tried, some with little effort - though so far those had been quite few in numbers - and others with a bit more of it. And despite their often weaker psyche and willpower, due to their youth in comparison with the Kindred, Valerian was sure that there were humans that could be just as headstrong and resistant to his magnetic charisma. And there was nothing saying this young lady wasn't one of them. There was something undeniably fierce about her, something strong and determined, a persistant guard kept up at all times. She was far from the kind of ethereal damsels usually seen in Valerian's company, but at the same time she was equally far from being butch. Still very much a woman, but a woman with a tougher exterior than Valerian was used to. And it was all in her eyes, and her features. A youthful face, marred by pain of the past and troubles of the present, and the wisdoms and experiences gained from it.
And at the same time, if he looked closely, with his keen Kindred eyes, and surrendered to his senses and his instincts, he could see that underneath it all, there was the other side of the coin; a deep, dark pit of vulnerability, and hurt.
So very much like him, only drawing her strength and her primary appearance and attitude from a different source. Not hiding behind a front, but not revealing what she wanted to keep hidden either. Only knowing her strengths, and allowing them to work for her.

"Thank you for receiving me on such a short notice", she started somewhat apprehensively, almost as though she was trying to find a way to smooth things over; his previous and very apparent doings, and her own discomfort with discovering them. "And I apologize for disturbing you as I obviously have."

Valerian vigorously shook his head, starting a reassuring protest that there was no need for such apologies, or for feeling bad, but stopped himself from putting it all into words, when seeing the look on her face. There was a shadow of concentration hovering over her features, as though she was following her own train of thought, trying to work out how to go about presenting her business. Judging by that look alone, it was something serious, and Valerian best not interrupt her, as it seemed the words forming in her mind were the kind that were difficult to speak.

"First of all, allow me to properly introduce myself", she said after the momentary pause, causing Valerian to blink with slight confusion, as he was of course under the impression that they had already been properly introduced. "My name is Aeode Mallard, and I hope you will be able to forgive my deception, I assure you my reasons for using an alias were not trivial. That is not why I am here however, though the two events are related. I am here because I believe a friend of yours, Jessica, might be in danger. I'm sorry, I just... I didn't know where else to go."

At the mention of Jessica's name, Valerian blinked again, even more surprised. A friend of his? How did she know that? No matter that 'a friend' wasn't exactly the phrase Valerian himself would have used, there was no way Annie could... Aeode could know they were acquainted. Unless... Unless of course Aeode had seen Jessica enter Valerian's chambers the other night, when she had demanded that he'd "do something" about the new bartender, then known to Valerian as 'Annie', whose life Jessica had apparently saved.
That was another thing. Why an alias? Why the need to assume a new identity? Would it have something to do with why Jessica had saved her life? And would that be why Jessica herself might now be in danger? And more importantly; the two of them must've obviously met after Jessica had burst into his chambers the other night. Did Aeode now know who Jessica was? Or what she was?
There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but only one that was safe, at this point;

"'In danger?'" he said, the two words slowly easing past his lips, accompanied by a look of concerned inquiry.

Then he suddenly looked around, as if deciding that this was not a conversation to be had standing around like this, and he motioned towards the two sofas and the coffeetable flooded by various papers in various conditions - flawless, drawn on, folded, written on, or scrunched up and discarded - in the far end of the room.

"Come", he said. "Let's sit."

Padding off towards the sofas on bare feet, he took a moment to make a small detour to the bedside table where he picked up a pair of black socks and put them on, before shoving his feet into his favorite boots; a pair of strapped gothic combats in black leather.
Having done that, he then stepped over to the sofas, and lowered himself onto the one in the corner with his usual effortless feline grace, allowing Aeode the freedom to choose whether to sit down next to him, or on the sofa slightly closer to the door. Or even remain standing.
A most intentional choice on Valerian's part. Considering the awkwardness hanging heavily in the air after her entrance, the last thing he wanted to do was to make her feel as though he was trying to corner her, like some sleazeballs would have done if their intentions had been to hit on her.

Watching her as she drew closer, he offered her another slight smile to reassure her that he was harmless, that he was nowhere close to being displeased with her for the obvious interruption, and that he was willing and eager to listen. Though he waited to speak until she too was seated. Only then did he repeat his inquiry;

"What do you mean, 'in danger'?"


(((ooc: Ghanima - Let me know if she remains standing, and I'll change the last part.

Also, I've now added come (crappy) pics of the simmerized version on The Haven to the Hot Spots post (http://www.forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=1116159&postcount=3), just to give you guys the general idea of it's layout.
Upper floor coming in an hour or so.)))

[innocenteyes]

Bee watched him closely as they drew closer. First she saw his eyes flare when he first saw her. Then saw as he now was more alert than before. More intune with what was around him. A snicker sounded in her mind. He was smart, even though she had already told him that she would bring him no harm, he was still very observent to his surroundings.

"Well well well", he said coming to a stop,"If it isn't Miss Popularity. Beyonca the Observer. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company so soon again? Has your choir boy Prince not yet taken time out of his busy schedule to reprimanded you for consorting with the likes of me?"

Bee slowed as if to stop, but instead circled him slowly with nothin but a small chuckle exscaping her lips before stopping in front of him. She wanted to see him in everyday. Would he be different now that he wasnt surrounded by others? Or was what she saw at the Ball the same Adrien as now?

"Is it truely a pleasure?" Bee asked mockin in the slighest, ignoring the comment on the Prince.

The warnings of his unknow strength and knowledge of his new blood played over in her mind. She took her Primogens words to heart and would not forget them.

"You happened to cross paths with me, am I not to take another opportunity to observe again, being the observer that I am?" She said tilting her head in the slightest, eyes shining with curiosity.

"And what brings you out this night? I would think you would seek solitude, away from other kindred?"

((ooc: I know it is kinda crappy and short, but I havent had much time to work on it today.))

[Ghanima Atreides]

Damian and Moira --- Damian's office at the V

During her brief wait in the lobby of Damian Alexander III's dominion, Moira allowed herself a moment's evaluation of her surroundings. Moving almost imperceptibly in their sockets, the Toreador's eyes drank in the imagery which was then constructed in one lasting mental picture she could revisit at a later date: despite it being only a small fraction of the whole building, the lobby was, without doubts, built to impress and, like the edifice itself, deliver a clear cut message: Damian Alexander had power and the ability to wield it: visitors and intruders alike, beware.

Despite the fact that only a handful of individuals passed Moira by, swiftly and without a sideways glance, a distinct sensation of watchfulness persisted, like an electric tingle that made the tiny hairs on her skin to stand upright, figuratively of course: many pairs of hidden eyes watched her every move, leaving no doubt that the slightest aggressive gesture on her part would be countered within a split second. As Princes went, Damian Alexander had not struck Moira as particularly predisposed to paranoia, though she hardly knew him well enough to form a correct opinion. It came with the territory, given the fact that there were always those who wished to eliminate them and the longer a Prince ruled, the truer that became.

While Damian's secretary conversed quietly through the receiver of her phone, Moira permitted herself a slightly less methodical examination of the V's interior, pausing to appreciate the beauty of it as well: the smoothly polished marble surfaces, reflecting light and breaking it into a billion fascicles which quivered and blended into one another, not unlike sunlight upon the clear surface of a still lake. It was an imposing, stoic elegance, built to impress without the thrall of a work of art, unless the visitor happened to be Toreador. Moira, however, shielded her heightened awareness from such lures: she was there to discuss business, and needed all of her senses sharp.

The last thought to seep into her consciousness before Damian's secretary put down the receiver to inform her that the Prince awaited her in his penthouse office had been the sudden recollection of a certain Malkavian doctor's opinion on modern architecture, regarding soaring edifices that aimed to be taller and more massive than their predecessors: he had called the trend “man's phallic obsession” and in the case of Kindred, “the transference of such”. Just like on that occasion, the thought summoned a trace of a smirk on Moira's lips, as she thanked the secretary and directed her steps towards the row of gleaming silver elevators which linked the V's many floors together. One of these swept the London Primogen away from the ground level and sent her hurtling towards the apex of the building, where Damian Alexander awaited in his well guarded office. Following a brief greeting with another of the Prince's employees, Moira was invited in.

A less than subtle exchange of glances ensued, each of the two Kindred taking advantage of those few silent moments to examine, evaluate and decide on what their first words would be, as any would when face to face with a possible future business partner. Instinctively comparing it to Emily Woodrow's own office in London, Moira found them rather more similar in vibe if not truly in style than the rest of the building and her own Prince's classically styled mansion: still modern, still an example of wealth and elegance, but with the definite touch of a man who hailed from a distant century in history. The difference was subtle, but there, and confirmed Moira's initial opinion of Damian Alexander: as was the case with most Ventrue, tradition mattered, as did having his own personal seal on his closest surroundings. In that, Moira could relate completely.

"Miss Sushill" the Prince greeted her cordially, "I did not expect to enjoy the pleasure of your company so soon, though I am most pleased to see you decided to take me up on my invitation. I hope this evening finds you well, and that you are enjoying your stay in my city?"

Inclining her brow affirmatively, Moira exchanged a brief handshake with Damian before both resumed their preordained positions: the Prince, behind his desk and Moira before it. The cordial greeting however helped set a positive tone to their conversation.

“I am quite well, thank you, Lord Alexander, likewise I hope?” she replied with the kind of congenial formality that was her trademark disposition in tension-free meetings, “I appreciate your willingness to receive me on such short notice, time being pressing as it is, hence the reason for my haste. I have grown fond of your city during my brief visit here, indeed it has presented me with opportunities worthy of the name “New World”. Your invitation has sparked an interest the evening we first met; I am here to explore that interest and define a more...concrete goal we might find agreeable, seeing that my stay in Los Angeles could become longer than anticipated.”

Having confirmed she was indeed willing to do business and even remain in the city “longer than anticipated” -undoubtedly, Damian would pick up on the hint that a change of residence fitted in the Primogen's list of possibilities, despite the vagueness of what exactly had sparked that change of heart-, Moira paused, awaiting the Prince to present his offer for the first time in clear, definite terms, calm interest etched in the angles and curves of her pallid face. She hoped they could indeed reach a satisfactory agreement, and the possibility of abandoning England as her homeland felt less alien every minute. London was her past; Los Angeles, her future, if her cards were played correctly.


((ooc: Atropa - what you said about Aeode is fine by me. :) ))

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: Sorry for taking so long. Life is way hectic at the moment. :( )))



Beyonca was, Adrien had already learned, unlike any other Kindred he had ever come across. Despite only having met her twice, and thus only having had a limited opportunity to study her, she had already managed to make herself a rare occurance. Right from the very start she had stood out, by being the first and only one to openly acknowledge his presence at the Ball. And it hadn't even been to assault him, verbally or otherwise. Only to talk to him. No matter what her motives had been, that alone had seperated her from most Kindred. Usually they would only approach him to attack him, insult him, or gloat about the revenge taken on him. Always to teach him a lesson. Never to hold an actual and civilized conversation.

And now, when coming across him in the streets, she did the exact opposite of what that other Kindred that had crossed his path two night ago had done. Instead of stopping when he did, Beyonca progressed forward, despite acting as if she was about to halt before him at first. Eliminating the last couple of feet seperating them, she then slowly circled him once, the fluttering sound of a faint chuckle drifting from one side behind him, to the other, before she emerged at the corner of his eye, and finally stopped when once again fully facing him.
Greeting her there, was his trademark smirk. It had appeared the moment he had realized she was just about to circle him like a predator would it's prey, like Mina had done with him in the Prince's office on the night of his arrival to Los Angeles. However there was one very large difference; Beyonca wasn't nearly as menacing as Mina had been. Though it was hardly a failed attempt to be. Indeed, Beyonca still didn't seem like she was out for blood, but rather was merely resuming the game - the duel of bold words and actions - him and her had initiated when first they had met.

"Is it truely a pleasure?", she asked with an undertone signalling quite clearly that she had not missed the acidic root of his words, but then continued without awaiting his answer, cocking her head inquisitively as she gazed at him with her remarkable eyes; "You happened to cross paths with me, am I not to take another opportunity to observe again, being the observer that I am?"

At that, Adrien's smirk widened slightly, almost as though it was about to form into an actual smile. But, with Adrien, the two had become one and the same a long time ago. Honest to God smiles were no longer part of the repertoire of emotions to ever appear on his features, and the curve on his lips remained but a smirk. Though not an altogether malicious one, but an amused one as well.
She had a quick tounge, he'd give her that.

"And what brings you out this night?" she continued once again. "I would think you would seek solitude, away from other kindred?"

Those were words that caused the tiniest of quivers in his upper lip, as though he was almost about to snarl. Apparently, it didn't exactly please him to have Kindred thinking he was trying to avoid them. At least not when Beyonca made it sound as though he'd be hiding from them in fear, and not withdrawing from them because he wanted to be alone.
But, the quiver vanished just as fast as it had appeared, and he raised his chin slightly to gaze challengingly at her from underneath somewhat lowered eyelids, remaining silent for a second or two while assessing her in turn.

He was still very much on his guard, refusing to let any aspect of her words, her actions or her appearance have even the tiniest softening effect on him. Not even the one thing that through the history of mankind had lured so many more poor bastards to their doom than anything else; a captivating, alluring exterior.
In this case, it was flowing locks of raven black, framing a pale face ruled by the most spellbinding eyes, and a body that, had Adrien been prone to such brutish thoughts, would've been to die for.

Yes, Beyonca was indeed a beautiful woman, and in this neighbourhood at this time of night, appeared to be much like purity among filth. But, Adrien knew. It was a purity that was only skin deep. Beneath the surface, she was a being far more wretched than any of the dirty bums and whores, gang bangers and other lowlifes dwelling within these parts of run down buildings and humans. And he would not be fooled. He would not let down his guard.

"Ah", he said. "What if that is the very reason for my being out this evening?"

Asking a question like the one she had just uttered, she must not yet have learned of where exactly he spent his days, of where his so-called haven was. And he had no intention of enlightening her.

"But alas", he continued, with just a little bit of amusement playing in his dark umbre eyes, and their deeply green tint creating a faint, elusive shimmer. "To seek is not always to find, and it is a task further complicated by those who seek, and do find. For some reason which I cannot begin to comprehend, it seems there are quite a few within this city who wish to... shall we say, become further acquainted with me, in one way or another, and so are trying their best to ensure that I cross their paths."

He motioned towards her.

"Present company being a perfect example", he said, his smirk once again finding it's way onto his lips as he looked at her, and quirked a brow while adding; "Though was it really me that crossed your path? As I recall it, it was not me who called out for you."

[AtropaMandragora]

Within the walls of his office, Damian Alexander III was, regardless of his title as the Prince of Los Angeles, omnipotent. Whenever someone set foot through the sturdy double doors to his office, they were made aware that they were stepping into not only the centre of his domain, but into the place where his power was the strongest. The building swarmed with the most loyal subjects, and hand-picked security guards. Some human, some Kindred. Though the penthouse floor, and the floors and stairs just underneath it, were guarded exclusively by Kindred. The only humans to make it up there, were prominent visitors who came to do business.

In the office itself, however, the only security guard was the sheriff, but along with Damian himself, the two posed a force far more lethal than the rest of the guards put together. They were so in tune with one another, that the sheriff could pick up on subtle changes in Damian's mood, and vice versa, and the large burly man never appeared to be more than the bat of an eye away from striking down even the smallest act of rebellion. And while those who entered would instantly feel the weight of his keen gaze on them, there was little that escaped Damian's attention as well. The distance between the doors and the desk, the minor walk every visitor would have to take in order to approach, was most intentional, as it gave Damian and his sheriff ample time to study and determine purposes and intentions, even states of mind. And not only that. Along the walls, a few tall mirrors had been strategically placed to allow the two of them a view of each side of the visitor, making it impossible for anyone to take something out, say, from behind, without Damian knowing moments in advance what it was. But, passing as just another part of the beautiful decor, few had been clever enough to see through the real purpose of those mirrors. To most, it was only a way for Damian to make the office seem even more grand, spacious and awe-inspiring.
And, security aspect aside, it was.


"I am quite well, thank you, Lord Alexander, likewise I hope?"

After a quick shake of hands, the Prince and his guest sat down on the opposite sides of the desk, and Moira responded to his question with the same cordial and untroubled tone of voice he himself had used, leaving Damian with two more impressions to analyze and file away. First and foremost; the handshake. Although far from being masculine in any way, it was still firm, and at the same time held the grace of a true lady. It was the handshake of a determined woman, who knew how to pursue what she wanted, and didn't back down easily.
Excellent.

Secondly, her way of exchanging the usually empty phrases of greeting, yet making them anything but empty. They were both feeling their way, with the skilled deftness of those who have developed a near effortless ability of testing the waters, in preparations of carefully establishing the beginnnig of a mutual trust. It often took one such expert to know another. And looking at and assessing Moira, Damian knew. This was an acquaintance that could prove most useful, and one he, at this point, fully intended to nurture.

"I appreciate your willingness to receive me on such short notice, time being pressing as it is, hence the reason for my haste", she continued, striking Damian with a bit of curiousity regarding what it was that made time such a pressing matter to her.

Surely she wasn't thinking about returning home to London already? Damian had no way of knowing how much, or little, she had seen of his city so far, but it didn't matter, as one could venture the city for years without getting to see all of what it had to offer. So for her to be planning her departure, it was far too soon. And even if it was truly the case behind her statement, Damian would just have to help her change her mind.

However, considering her next statement, it seemed that he had, for once, misinterpreted her words.

"I have grown fond of your city during my brief visit here, indeed it has presented me with opportunities worthy of the name "New World". Your invitation has sparked an interest the evening we first met; I am here to explore that interest and define a more... concrete goal we might find agreeable, seeing that my stay in Los Angeles could become longer than anticipated."

Rarely one to be particularly fond of being wrong, even if the only witness to it was himself, this was not one such occasion that made Damian frown internally. Quite the opposite. Moira's words were quite pleasing to him, and only managed to make him all the more interested in what exactly she had meant about time being pressing, along with what 'opportunities' she might be referring to. Not because he was nosey, but because knowing would then give him the tools to work the angles he would know appealed to her.
Though judging by her choice of words, and emphasis of a few ones in particular, he may not need them. It seemed she was already willing to prolong her stay, if provided with the right circumstances, and to allow him the opportunity to get further acquainted with her, and thus determine whether or not she would be right for what he ultimately had in mind, when he had re-arranged the chess board to his liking, and timing was right. For he still needed to observe her some more, before making his decision. After all, the last one he had made, regarding what he now had in mind, had turned out to be one of his less satisfactory ones, one that he had made and lived to regret, even though it was mostly because the outcome had left him with an ounce less control than he demanded for himself. He did not intend to make that same mistake twice, and thus would make sure to take the proper time to assess Moira, and form a solid opinion of his own. An opinion to build on, for while the tidbits he had been presented with had been rather informative, they had left alot to be desired. It seemed far too little was known about Moira's past, and while Damian could appreciate her need for privacy - he himself didn't want others to know too much about him, as when knowing someone's history, finding weaknesses was often easily done - he was not yet fully satisfied, and so intended to take some time to get to know her present a little better. Starting with something simple, to determine just how interested she was in staying around, and doing business with him, as well as buying a bit of time for him to observe her.

"Well then", he said. "Let us promptly get down to business."

Weighing back a bit in his chair, and interlacing his fingers with one another across his abdomen, much like he used to do when feeling relaxed and taking his time to choose his words.

"Allow me to begin by stating what I assume to be the obvious; I am a businessman, and as such, I take pleasure in acquiring various kinds of rather unsuccessfull companies and businesses, turning them around, and making them blossom. Or at the very least profitable. Now, I've just recently closed such a deal, and purchased myself a hotel; the Nero. It is rather run down, I admit, but it has potential. And as it turns out, I need someone to manage that potential, and make the most of it. Normally, I would contract with those already on my payroll, but it seems lately I've been moving faster than usual, and thus they are already otherwise engaged. And so here, Miss Sushill, is where you come in."

Pausing briefly, he took a moment to study Moira, to try and read the expression on her face and in her eyes, and see if he had gotten her attention.

"What I need," he soon continued, "is someone to turn the Nero into what I am most convinced it can be. That includes replacing what needs replacing; walls, floors, furniture, etcetera, to give it a completely new image."

Having said that, he paused again, and leaned forward to place his still folded hands on the surface of the desk.

"Now, as I will not have the time to manage such a business myself, even once it is done, what I'm offering is this; 60 percent ownership, with me as a silent partner. Should you decide the hotel business is not for you, you are free to sell your share. Furthermore, you would have the penthouse suite to your disposal, should you so wish, and if not, I am sure we can find you some other accomodation to be your home away from home."

Here, he paused, to finally allow her the chance to react, and respond.

[innocenteyes]

Adrien didnt seem at all happy with her question. His amused smirk changed into a near snarl. She didnt mean it in a way to make him feel threatened or sterotyped in any way. It was just a question that poped in her mind. Maybe she should think a little more before she asked him anything. She wanted to know Adrien for some reason.She wanted to know how his mind worked, what he thought. It was strange for her to want to know such things, and it was just now that she relized that it was truely what she wanted from him. He looked down at her with an upright chin. As if daring her.

"Ah", he said. "What if that is the very reason for my being out this evening?"

One of his famous answers, a question. Of course she couldnt exspect anything else from him. It was just the way he is. Never truely answering what you wanted to now, but more like providing a hint to it and asking yet another. But from what she got out of the question, perhaps he was around kindred all day. A small smirk appeard from that thought. He was staying with other Kindred. But who?

"But alas", he continued, "To seek is not always to find, and it is a task further complicated by those who seek, and do find. For some reason which I cannot begin to comprehend, it seems there are quite a few within this city who wish to... shall we say, become further acquainted with me, in one way or another, and so are trying their best to ensure that I cross their paths."

She was beginning to think he actually enjoyed this conversation. He was playing a game with her as much as she was playing one with him. His eyes shone with amusment as much as hers did.

"Present company being a perfect example", he said, "Though was it really me that crossed your path? As I recall it, it was not me who called out for you."

With that statement a smile appeared on her rosy lips. It was true. It was her that called out to him.

"Ah dear Adrien, you are not thinking with your hunters mind. Those you do not trust, should be kept closest to you. Maybe those that seek you, are the ones that should be watched. Maybe those who keep their distance are the ones that you should not worry about. I know you would be one to have the minds knowledge of the game."

Bee took a few steps away from him and leaned against a building. Then gazed into his deep green eyes, thinking of how to put her next statement.

"But then again, sometimes the ones you do not wish to seek, are the ones who you find." Bee paused a moment and walked to face him again. "So wouldnt it be true, the game of seek and find, isnt always accurate?"

((ooc: Ok I hope this makes sense.))

[Ghanima Atreides]

Aeode and Valerian - Valerian's private chambers at The Haven

Having expected some kind of angry reaction from Valerian, if only barely withheld irritation, Aeode was starting to accept the fact that she had either caught him in a particularly good mood or he was a man blessed with unusual patience who was willing to lend an ear to her queer story.
As she was not a person who dwelt on matters longer than needed or spared them more worrisome thoughts than necessary, Aeode took it as a sign that she could shed her polite embarrassment and focus on her goal, sparing her energy for the moment she knew she would need it. The most difficult part was yet to come, for the moment confining herself to simple observation.

Sure enough, a multitude of emotions played upon his features: the initial look of surprise giving way to an introspective frown as he pondered her words, but above all the quizzically concerned gaze of a man who had been offered a tantalizing first glimpse of an issue of unknown severity.

So far so good, Aeode mused, hardly daring to believe the rest of this odd encounter would flow just as smoothly. Surely enough, she had Valerian's full attention, which eliminated one of her worries: he indeed knew Jessica and her fate concerned him, which hopefully meant he was willing to help with her predicament.

Inviting Aeode to sit, Valerian busied himself with finding a pair of socks and boots, which allowed the young woman a brief moment alone with her thoughts. She could not help but marvel how perfectly odd the scene was, from the smoky darkness of the room to Valerian dressing himself and her standing there, watching him, her brows arching slightly. Free of her initial awkwardness, Aeode adopted a determinedly casual stance, reserved in her gestures but relentless in her purpose. Arms folded on her chest, legs slightly apart and firmly planted in the ground, Aeode perused her surroundings with visible, though reserved interest; everything about her communicated one clear message: her purpose of being there was currently on top of her priorities.

Nodding briefly in response to Valerian's encouraging smile, Aeode wasted no further time in contemplation and approached, lowering herself on the same couch. Oddly enough this proximity caused her none of the concerns likely to pass through a woman's mind when invited into a man's personal space in that way, particularly in the privacy of his own bedroom. Aeode regarded her romantic encounters with blunt simplicity: if she wanted something to happen, more often than not she was the one who initiated it, the result typically being good, old fashioned bodily enjoyment with no strings attached. If she didn't, masculine charms had little effect on her, something unchanged since the moment she had realized she was no longer in love with Thomas Caulfield.
Aeode's love for her fiancé had been over-encompassing and all consuming, the agonizing decision to disappear from his life forever following her attack tearing a gash so deep that she thought would bleed forever. It hadn't. In time it healed, leaving her heart desensitized in return, like numb scar tissue covering an old wound.

"What do you mean, 'in danger'?" Valerian repeated his previous question, drawing Aeode's thoughts to the present issue once more. Leaning back into the plush sofa, a pained grimace passed briefly over the young woman's features: they had reached that moment of difficulty she had been anticipating, when she was forced to recount the story of her past. Aeode loathed telling that particular tale, hating the memories it summoned up as well as the looks of pity she invariably received from those few who knew it. Even Dez. Alas, in order for anything to make sense to Valerian, it could not be avoided.

“I guess I should start at the beginning”, Aeode said at last, glancing tiredly at her employer. “Eight years ago my family was the victim of a violent attack which claimed many lives, including those of my parents. Maybe you've heard about it on the news...” she added in the hope that previous knowledge would spare her the discomfort of going into more detail. She was not even certain of Valerian's age and whether he was likely to remember such a thing – he looked young, but looks could be deceiving. At the time, the event had made the headlines in every paper and news program: one of the wealthiest families in the country slaughtered was not something likely to pass by unnoticed by the press. Aeode recalled the pure horror of it, the knowledge of what danger this unwanted publicity posed to her as she lay helpless in a hospital bed.

Piercing Valerian with her “don't you dare feel sorry for me” look, the young woman continued:

“I met Jessica that night, although 'met' is not exactly the right word. I had been...beaten and left for dead, but she found me and helped me. I don't remember much about it, in fact I barely remember anything at all and have been searching for the person who saved my life ever since. Recently I have, shall we say, discovered their identity and by some coincidence” -was it coincidence, Aeode wondered - “met Jessica right here at The Haven. She confessed to me that it was indeed her who helped me that night, but seemed terrified of some unknown entities she was certain would try to hurt her for revealing herself to me. She came up with an odd story about vampires and feeding me her blood, going as far as claiming there was an entire organization of the undead existing right alongside humans, using some sort of ...law, called the Masquerade to conceal their presence.”

Aeode paused once more, realizing her tone suggested Jessica was not quite well adjusted mentally a little too strongly,and the last thing she wanted was to outwardly insult Valerian's friend when she hoped to gain his support.

“Now I am not sure why she decided to tell me this fanciful story, perhaps out of fear, but she seemed genuinely afraid someone out there” - Aeode could not bring herself to say “vampires”- “would find and hurt her, even kill her. I began to wonder if she might be in some sort of trouble, perhaps involved with the wrong crowd, if you get my meaning. Cults, drugs?... It wouldn't be the first time someone vulnerable was taken advantage of. I realize it sounds insane but I couldn't just sit and do nothing, hence why I decided to approach you, she mentioned you are acquainted. Perhaps you know more about this, and whether she could be in actual danger?”

Revising the speech in her mind, Aeode felt mildly reassured that it was fairly cohesive and presented the issue with enough clarity. It dawned on her then, the reason she felt compelled to try and help Jessica if she could, why that sense of responsibility: she had saved her life once, some way or another, and Aeode wished to repay that debt.

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: veldagia & Psyche - Considering it's been over a week and there still hasn't been replies or any word from spiderviveka, maybe you guys should just move on... :/ )))


Had there been any doubt that Beyonca had picked up on Adrien's reaction to her previous statement, it was laid to rest by the subtle hint of momentarily added tension between them, following the shadow of a snarl that had just barely flickered past in his features. There was a new kind of apprahension, just an ounce, in the air about her, as though she had decided to perhaps think twice about what she said to him, from now on. To Adrien, that could mean one of two things; either she was scared of him, which, although it was surely part of the reason, was just that; only part of it. The way she had approached him, here as well as at the Ball, hardly showed many signs of fear, and so while she might be afraid of him, she was not overwhelmingly so.

Second possible scenario; she was being truthful, and simply wished to observe and learn, perhaps even get to know him. Much like a child, that in it's complete naïveté would examine each new novelty, until it all blew up in the child's face. For when deciding to play with fire, odds were you would end up getting burned.
However, in Adrien's case, that was not the first thing that would happen. What would happen first, was that Beyonca would soon learn that he had no intention of allowing anyone the opportunity of getting to know him. He would remain elusive and unintelligible, never within mental reach. He would get downright contradictionary if he had to. In fact, it was his very plan. But it would be done in such a smooth way, none of them would understand it until after he sprung the surprise on them. And by then, it would be too late for many of them. Not all, as there were only so many Kindred he could take down in the first short time of surprise, confusion and unawareness, before they realized what was going on, and could strike back.

Adrien had always known he himself would never be altogether victorious, that he personally would not be the last one standing. The Kindred were like a disease, constantly spreading, forcing their foulness on others. But that would not stop him from doing his part in ensuring that one day, they would finally be extinct. Each generation grew just a little bit weaker, and so if the lower generations were put out of their misery, it was only a matter of time before the so-called Curse of Caine would've faded to the point where it was no longer strong enough to be inflicted on someone else. Then, and only then, would the days of Kindred as an existing species be numbered.
And Adrien held no delusions of living to see it happen.

"Ah dear Adrien", Beyonca said, with an amused smile emerging on her lips, and coaxing his own into yet another smirk at her ironic choice of words. "You are not thinking with your hunters mind. Those you do not trust, should be kept closest to you. Maybe those that seek you, are the ones that should be watched. Maybe those who keep their distance are the ones that you should not worry about. I know you would be one to have the minds knowledge of the game."

Each sentence after that first one, had had Adrien's smirk growing slightly. Now, he seemed only a mere inch away from letting a soft chuckle flow past his lips. Truth was, he was thinking like a hunter. He was aleays thinking like a hunter. And in the beginning, when his career as a hunter had just begun, he had done the "keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer" approach, by posing as a Tremere, and openly socializing with other Kindred. In some cases, even gaining their trust. As with Mina, whom he had fooled so well that she had even spoken to his advantage, when another Kindred had gotten suspicious of him.
But that was an act that had only been good until his cover had been blown. Once word was out about what he looked like, and everything else of what little they had managed to learn about him, he could no longer move among them as one of them. He'd had to retreat to the shadows, and work from there. Until that fateful night, when they had finally managed to track him down, and turn him into one of them. Since then, he could neither hide nor move amongst them like one of them. Nor did he want to. He would not seek their company, and he would not hide, but instead keep his distance, watching them in plain view, for all of them to see and dwell in uncertainty about his intentions.

However, what Beyonca had just said, didn't limit itself to concerning only his reasoning, but hers as well. Her words about the ones seeking him being the ones he should watch out for, applied to her just as much as they applied to the others he knew were out to "cross paths" with him.
Was she trying to intimidate him? Blatantly insinuating that he best be on his guard around her, lest she'd get to him? Well, if that was the case, she had another thing coming. While he didn't by far trust her - he knew all Kindred were equally treacherous - he wasn't afraid of her either. There was nothing she could do to hurt him, that hadn't already been tried by others. Many had succeeded in doing so, physically. He was still a Neonate, a mere whelp, as they called it, and many of his powers had not developed nearly as far as those of older Neonates, Ancillae and Elders. And the powers that were highly developed in him - his dhampir ones - he would keep to himself, because as long as they didn't know what he was capable of, the chances that they would underestimate him were large.
Thus, he had little chance to defend himself against those whose powers had ripened. Even if it was partly by choice.

Having taken a few steps back, to lean against the rugged wall of a nearby building, Beyonca let a few seconds of silence pass, apparently taking great care in choosing her next words. In the meantime she studied him, fixing him with the intensity in her eyes, and gazing into his, as though she thought she would be able to pick up on something stirring behind them.

"But then again, sometimes the ones you do not wish to seek, are the ones who you find", she finally continued, and with that left the wall to once again draw closer to him. "So wouldnt it be true, the game of seek and find, isnt always accurate?"

It would seem that when around Kindred, Adrien's lips were always slightly curved in an almost ever present smirk. The only thing that changed were the levels of malice, amusement and smugness therein. As Beyonca fell silent once more, the smirk he now donned was far more acidic than a minute ago, as though there were some rather unpleasant thoughts passing through his mind.
But if there was, they remained unknown and under wraps, as when he spoke, he didn't comment on that last part.

"Dear Beyonca", he said, mimicing her way of addressing him, only making it sound a little bit more patronizing in the process. "There is not enough room around me, for keeping the ones I don't trust close."

Slowly, he himself drew a bit closer to her, though keeping a little more distance between them than he had at the ball, leaving her guessing whether or not it was because he wanted to toy with her but didn't wish to agitate her like he had apparently done at the ball, or because he was testing her limits. Or simply had something else in mind, and paid the experience at the ball no mind.

"But by all means", he said, and cocked his head slightly to the side. "Since it seems you're eager to claim part of what little room there is, I shall humor you."

[innocenteyes]

Apparentally Adrien hadnt much cared for her chose in words. The ever present smirk wasnt the usual amused look, it was more letal looking. But still Bee didnt not flinch, nor did she have a reason to. Fear was still not in her. What was wrong with her? Why must she dable in this danger? It was such a risk for her to be engaging in a conversation with him, exspecially with one that felt like ice. Why did Adrien intrgue her so much? Beyonca truely wished this curiosity would go away. Nothing good will come from it, and she knew it. Yet she couldnt pull her self away from this mystery.

"Dear Beyonca", he said. "There is not enough room around me, for keeping the ones I don't trust close."

It was smart of him to be that way. He trusted no one, like no one trusted him. It was all in good reason. He killed vampires, and vampires took his life. Why was Beyonca the only one who wanted to stand back and watch this battle? Why did she have to be so different? It was to much like she still had her human soul and she only wished for it to go away. Bee knew one day there is going to be an end to Adrien. One day he will be killed, it was only a mater of time before it happened. She much wondered how the end was going to be.

It seemed she was only in her thoughts for a second and she relized Adrien was once again moving closer to her. Somewhat like at the ball. Except this time it did not anger her, or strike fear in her. Only a smiled appeared as he finally stoppped all to close, but not as close as he dared at the Ball.

"But by all means", he said, and cocked his head slightly to the side. "Since it seems you're eager to claim part of what little room there is, I shall humor you."

A chuckle sounded from her and her amber orbs glowed. It was much like a child who had just gotten the toy they always wanted, so eager to get to play with it. He was extremely daring. Her reaction to this same thing at the ball almost threw her temper out. That was because it was infront of every kindred in L.A., but now, it just intreged her. What was he thinking? Was he trying to get the same rile out of her as he did a few nights ago? Did he want fear to finally take hold?

"This is twice now you have dared to come so close to me, and twice you have said it is because I have asked you to. But not once to I remember asking such a thing. Maybe it is you trying to keep me close."

Bee gazed into his his malacing eyes. She didnt say a word for a few seconds, just stared. Not once did she see a hint of emotion in them. Nothing to give her any clue to what was going threw his mind. But yet again, it was something she should have exspected. He has had to many years exsperance. She could have done the same thing. It was in her Ventrue blood, but she chose not to.

"What is it that you want from this closness? It is fear you seek in me? You wont get the hint of a scent of it from me. There isnt anything in me to give fear, despite the warnings of you. Or do you wish for me to give you the same anger as I gave you at the Ball? Yet again it isnt something I will give you. No one is here to see this, so I have no reason to be angery. Now that you know this, do you still seek to be so close?"

[veldagia]

The cafe was bustling with life. The usual computer geeks huddled over their terminals, oblivious to the world that went on around them as they franticly typed away lost in their own virtual reality, couples having hushed conversations over long cups of coffee, friends chatting loudly about the latest events. Mina observed them all with an air of disinterest, the money that the cafe brought her way was a small ripple in the pond amongst her profusion of investments. But it did give her a front as a buisness women within the city. A taxable income that stopped people delving too far into her background. And for a few more years she would maintain the cherade within this place before taking on a new identity in a new place. For she never dwelt more than a few decades within one area, careful that her ageless beauty rose no suspicions amogst human acquitances.

As the waitress brought her drink over Mina delivered a faint smile, a practiced gesture of thanks that did not spread into her crystaline eyes. Setting the mug of steaming latte on the table before her she withdrew the miniscule laptop from within the folds of her velvet coat. Her fingers tapped lightly upon the surface, entering rounds of passwords before the encrypted report appeared on the screen before her. Emerald orbs scanning the few lines that described Adrien's whereabouts through the eyes of the ghouls that haunted the Museum. Ghouls eyes were tainted by Tremere blood, souls bound in tight alliance to the will of their masters. A silent deadly anger swept through her like a cold fog descending over the hills. How they could provide so little information and expect a gesture of gratitude from her? He was only a neonate yet still they could not keep a complete track on him. Silll she had kept her greatest resources close at hand, to be utilised if and when they should be needed.

Adrian presented a threat within her home, her sanctury invaded by a killer. Books spilling with ancient knowledge, deadly rituals and potent spells were within his reach, but she would know which pages he turned. And a neonate could not hope to encompass the world of knowledge she had spent years aquiring from them in a scant few days. He would soon make a mistake and fall, no one could watch their back every second of their undead lives. She would allow him to believe that her attention was elsewhere and that the Tremere were neglecting to watch his prescence within the city.

Some might affirm that she should keep him chained within the museum, restrained like a dog on a lease forced to drink her blood and bound as a servant. Her elders certainly would have him kept under a tighter bond, fearing that which they did not know. Measures Mina did not disapprove of, all punishments had their place. But Mina held a different stance and right now she wished to observe him adapt to his surroundings, allowing the other vampires of the city to become acquiented with his mannerisms. For how else but by knowing the killer, what made him kick, could they seek to truley capture and destroy that which drove him.

She closed down the report, settling back into the lush velvet of the deep red sofa. The laptop cradled neatly in one hand as she scrolled through the internet pages of the LA newspaper. Noting items of interest that had occured within the last few days.

((OCC To keep my hand in :) Mina is in the Internet Cafe and approachable by anyone. ))

[AtropaMandragora]

Vague as they may have been, Aeode's words about Jessica possibly being in danger, had instilled a sense of alarm in Valerian. Despite not knowing at that point what the young redhead had been talking about, it didn't matter much, as whatever it was, it couldn't be anything but bad news. Had Aeode recognized her, even though it had been eight years, which in the human world was a long, long time? Or had Jessica decided to deal with her problem herself after all, and approached Aeode? What had she told her? The truth? Part of the truth? Complete lies? What was it that she could have said, to lead Aeode to believe she was in danger? Because as far as Valerian knew, Jessica hadn't gotten on anyone's bad side to the point where they would somehow attack her. Especially not infront of human witnesses. So for Aeode to feel Jessica was in some kind of danger, and one serious enough to seek the help of someone else, the reason would've had to come from Jessica's lips, or possibly her actions.

Thinking about it, it was all a bit ironic, really, wasn't it? Valerian had, in his own way, told Jessica that he would not get involved in her problem, which to him seemed fairly easily solved, especially to someone as crafty as one often had to be to rise to the position as Primogen. He had told her that she would surely find a way to properly deal with the problem herself. And now here he was, getting involved anyway, by being approached by the other party concerned, the very girl Jessica had asked him to "do something" about.

Normally, he wouldn't be so hesitant to help out a fellow Kindred, even though he would always be careful not to do something that would somehow effect the power balance within the city, or the relations between the clans. Doing that could be risky indeed, and Valerian really had no desire or interest to take part in the everlasting game of Camarilla politics. But even though in this case, no such things were at stake, he was still hesitant to help Jessica, mostly because he felt he really shouldn't have to - she should've dealt with this herself, far more smoothly than she apparently had - but also because the two of them didn't really click. He had gotten the distinct feeling from her that she wasn't all that fond of him, and then when she had come to him to tell him - not ask - to take care of the situation with Aeode, he had felt as though she had only come to him because it was convenient to put the burden of her duties on his shoulders. And while he might often be a push-over, when it came right down to it, it was a trait limited by his own choosing. He could be just as firm and hardheaded as the next person; he just rarely saw a reason to be. Unless, of course, what was asked of him was something that would somehow compromise or jeoparize his integrity. Such as Jessica practically ordering him to take care of her problems. Loyal subject or not, he would not be treated like a servant.
However, now, with Aeode coming to him as well, keeping himself out of it all was no longer an option.

Seated on the sofa the furthest away from the door, he was somewhat surprised to see that Aeode chose that very same one. Having observed her guarded stance and the resolute look in her eyes, he had almost expected her to remain standing, or possibly choose the other couch. Not show a sudden albeit small trust, by choosing to sit beside him in the same one. It all almost seemed a somewhat contradictory display of keeping her distance, yet seeking some kind of confidential intimacy, by placing herself closer to him than she had to. Then again, it was only contradictory in the light of the awkwardness that had lowered it's wings over them at her entrance into the room. That awkwardness now seemed to be gone, along with the expression in her eyes, of a woman watching a man. She was now only an employee, seeing her employer. Someone with a problem, coming to someone else who might shed a little light on the situation.
And at the moment, she was choosing her words, going over in her head what to say and how to say it, as though there was alot more to the story than she wanted to share, and she wanted to make sure she left out the parts she was not ready to be asked questions about.

Patient and in silence, Valerian waited. This was obviously no easy matter for her, and so he would allow her all the time she needed to gather her thoughts. In the meantime he casually studied her face, fascinated by the wide range of emotions flittering across her features, but not wanting her to feel as though he was being intrusive, as though she was under the microscope. Pain and hurt, the lasting companions of losses suffered throughout life. Fear, buried deep within her, yet still all-encompassing. The very reason behind her use of an alias.
He could sense what was coming, even before the words were spoken. He already saw the jist of the story in the narrative look in her eyes.

"I guess I should start at the beginning", she finally said, and as soon as she did, it almost seemed as though her strength suddenly drained from her, and she gave in to the weight of the story she was about to tell.

In a word, she looked worn, in mind and body alike, much like someone who was used to keeping their guard up at all times, and just now, when seeing no other choice than to let someone in, realized the toll it was all taking on them.
And Valerian wouldn't have been Valerian, if seeing her in such a state hadn't made him want to reach out and offer her a bit of comfort, a shoulder to lean on and draw strength from. But, as he realized that she may not accept such a gesture, that she may take it the wrong way, no matter how it was offered, he refrained, and simply listened attentively to her tale, about the attack on her family, those eight years ago. At her hopeful glance at him, accompanying the indirect question if he had heard about it, he gave only a slight nod, with beautiful lily white features starting to contort ever so slightly with pained empathy. Being so in tune with whatever feelings were seeping from those around him, it was hard for him not to imagine what it must've been like, having her entire family so brutually ripped away from her, and being meant to die along with them. The pain she must've suffered, in a mere few minutes having lost all that she had ever known.
And the guilt that must be haunting her still, of surviving, when the others did not.

However, he also caught that stern look she shot him, forbidding him feel for her, much like someone would when they knew the effects of having someone show their sympathy and concern; the way it would draw out the sorrow, and make their self-restraint crumble to dust, leaving them even more vulnerable, with nothing to protect and shield them from the true horrors of what they had been through.
Though stop it, or even block it out, he could not, and so instead he did the only thing he could; he looked away, rendering Aeode unable to see the look in his eyes as she continued on.

"I met Jessica that night", she said, slowly putting the pieces of the puzzle together for him, "... although 'met' is not exactly the right word. I had been... beaten and left for dead, but she found me and helped me. I don't remember much about it, in fact I barely remember anything at all and have been searching for the person who saved my life ever since. Recently I have, shall we say, discovered their identity and by some coincidence met Jessica right here at The Haven."

Coincidence... Valerian highly doubted there had been anything coincidental whatsoever about that encounter. Had Jessica not wanted Aeode to see her, in a way that risked conjuring memories from the past in the young redhead, Aeode wouldn't have. It was as simple as that. Jessica must've willingly sought her out, which in turn must mean she had intended to take care of the situation.
Only question was... Why hadn't she?

However, that was a question that didn't remain the only one for very long. In fact, it would soon be drowning in a sea of others, as Aeode began describing the full extent of what Jessica had done.

"She confessed to me that it was indeed her who helped me that night," the young bartender continued, "... but seemed terrified of some unknown entities she was certain would try to hurt her for revealing herself to me. She came up with an odd story about vampires and feeding me her blood, going as far as claiming there was an entire organization of the undead existing right alongside humans, using some sort of... law, called the Masquerade to conceal their presence."

The further she had gotten into her recountal of her conversation with Jessica, the more Valerian's eyes had widened with horror, an iron band tightening around his unbeating heart, chilling his entire body to the core. Jessica, his Primogen, had broken the Masquerade! She had flat out told a human girl about the most well-guarded secret in Kindred society - their existence, and their code! - and just left her to possibly run her mouth off to anyone that would listen! She had broken the law above all others, only days after there had been a blood hunt on someone for that very thing, and one that hadn't even been intentional!
This was! What Jessica had done, had been very much intentional.

Luckily - if one could talk about luck in a situation such as this - Aeode hardly seemed convinced that Jessica had been telling her the truth. Not by far. The tone in her voice as she had told Valerian what Jessica had said, indicated that to her, it sounded like the fantasies of a deranged mind, or at least one under the influence of some very powerful substance. Which in turn would make the shocked look on Valerian's face as he turned it back to look at her, seem to her like that born from dubiety and disbelief.

"Now I am not sure why she decided to tell me this fanciful story", Aeode continued after a brief pause, and moved on to support the impression Valerian had gotten regarding her thoughts on the matter, "... perhaps out of fear, but she seemed genuinely afraid someone out there would find and hurt her, even kill her. I began to wonder if she might be in some sort of trouble, perhaps involved with the wrong crowd, if you get my meaning. Cults, drugs?... It wouldn't be the first time someone vulnerable was taken advantage of. I realize it sounds insane but I couldn't just sit and do nothing, hence why I decided to approach you, she mentioned you are acquainted. Perhaps you know more about this, and whether she could be in actual danger?"

At first, Valerian simply looked at her while silence settled over them, and the incredulity slowly dissipated from his features, giving way to a look of contemplation as he tried to decide how to best handle this fatal turn of events. His initial thought was to dismiss it as a joke, to claim that Jessica must've just been playing around. But it had clearly left an impression on Aeode, and she would not settle for that. If she didn't settle for it, chances were she would keep digging. And both she and Jessica would most likely end up dead.
Damian was by no means a tyrant, but he didn't tolerate the Masquerade being so blatantly broken. He would have Jessica's head for telling a human girl of all this, and just leaving it at that, without somehow tying up that gigantic loose end.
How could she be so foolish? She, the very Toreador Primogen, chosen not only to represent the clan, but to protect it? How could she willingly commit such an unforgivable crime, and endanger them all?
For the life of him, he couldn't understand it.

Next solution to appear to him, was to simply tell Aeode to stay away, that she was better off staing out of it. But considering she had come to him when she had gotten no more out of Jessica, it wasn't likely that she would settle for that either.

No. He had to stall her. If he was to deal with this, he had to go about it the right way. If he didn't, chances were they would end up dead, all three of them. Aeode for threatening the the Masquerade, Jessica for giving her enough knowledge to do so, and Valerian for protecting Jessica. He couldn't let that happen. Not when there was another way. Though there was still little he could do for Jessica. Her fate was out of his hands, lest he put his own life on the line for her. And he wouldn't do that. He couldn't. She had endangered them all, willingly and knowingly. Whatever happened to her, she had brought it on herself.

"You're risking alot for her."

When finally he spoke, his voice was the low, gentle echo of a distant rumble, and as he turned his head to gaze at her, there was something almost potent about him, a calm and composed authority in the few and small movements he made. To most, it would seem a rather unfamiliar side of him, though by no means alien. It was still very much Valerian, only not the carefree and kittenish sweetheart who loved to play. Contrary to popular belief, he was not that simple and one-dimensional.

"Revealing your true name and background," he continued softly, "... for the sake of a woman whose... shall we say, imaginative story you don't even believe? Or even have any reason to, for that matter."

[Ghanima Atreides]

((ooc: Atropa, sorry for the delay :( I've been rather busy and my inspiration not that great. I hope to get a post in tomorrow for Moira though.))

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: Ghanima - Please, take your time. :) I'm in no hurry, and I really can relate, so... Please don't feel bad. )))


Watching Beyonca's pretty face as he came to a slow halt infront of her, Adrien saw neither anger, nor other emotions withheld. No fear, or distress, or even annoyance, like at the Ball. Amusement was the only thing sparkling in her predator eyes, accompanied by the gentle fluttering sound of her soft laughter. She was enjoying herself.

And despite what one might believe, Adrien was not disappointed. Even though seeing her eyes filling with fear would be satisfying indeed, he felt he had a better grasp of her personality by now, than to expect it. She, much like himself, took pleasure in the encounter, and the game of words. Perhaps to her, it added spice to an otherwise dull life? The thrill of putting herself in the former hunter's path, yet "knowing" deep down that he was bound from harming her. It was much like the behaviour of some mortal women, who would start corresponding with imprisoned serial killers. The feeling of living on the edge, yet staying just as safe as anyone.

There was only one difference. Adrien was not imprisoned. Chained, but not imprisoned. And one day, those chains would break.
However, if he was to be perfectly honest with himself, he doubted that Beyonca would be the first to perish by his hand, once he was free. She had yet to attack him, physically or otherwise, and while she did challenge him every chance she got, it was not in a way that would risk causing him harm. Not as long as he was careful. And careful, he was.
Plus she had been the first to approach him, to talk to him like a person and not an enemy, and even shown him the closest thing to kindness he had known for years. Which, had someone known, would've spoken volumes of how deprived he was of kindness, as it was a rather far fetched concept to use in order to describe her behaviour towards him.
But, none of this was the real reason why she wouldn't be the first to suffer Final Death once his chains had shattered (or so he told himself). The real reason was that there were bigger fish to fry; the Elders, the powerful ones. The sharks. They were the ones he would focus on, the ones he needed to bring down first.
And in the meantime, Beyonca might just turn out to be downright useful.

"This is twice now you have dared to come so close to me", she said, still with an amused smile on her lips, "... and twice you have said it is because I have asked you to. But not once to I remember asking such a thing. Maybe it is you trying to keep me close."

Now, it was his turn to chuckle. How easily she forgot. Or did she attribute him the power to lure her to him, to somehow manuever her into happening across him this evening? Was it him that by pure will-power had forced her steps and made her to approach him at the Ball, where dozens of Kindred senses would've picked up on the tiniest attempt to use his powers?
No.

Returning the same look of mirth that had been in her eyes at his statement, Adrien kept his gaze locked with hers as she looked into his dark, gleaming ones, studying them as though once again searching for some trace of what was going through his mind. With little luck.

"What is it that you want from this closness?" she questioned, following the brief pause. "It is fear you seek in me? You wont get the hint of a scent of it from me. There isnt anything in me to give fear, despite the warnings of you. Or do you wish for me to give you the same anger as I gave you at the Ball? Yet again it isnt something I will give you. No one is here to see this, so I have no reason to be angery. Now that you know this, do you still seek to be so close?"

Slowly, one of Adrien's eyebrows drifted upwards. She had only been annoyed with him because he had challenged her infront others? How unusual. And interesting. Most people, Kindred and kine alike, would take such a bold action as a provokation, first and foremost. As an invasion of their personal space. And here Beyonca made it sound as though she had only been annoyed with him because he made her look bad infront of others? Even though in essence, it had been her own doing? She had been looking bad infront of the others long before he had drawn so close to her. After all, there had been a reason why as soon as she had approached him, he had no longer been the sole target of all the angry stares.

Somehow, he doubted that was what she had meant by her statement regarding the lack of an audience here and now. She was clearly a bit of a rebel, and it was in the very definition of the word 'rebel' to not care about what others thought.

"What we say is not always in the words we speak, my dear", he said, in response to her first statement. "Twice we have met, as you say, and not once has it been me approaching you."

With that he suddenly turned to move a few steps away from her, to a nearby but broken lamppost. At first, he kept his head facing straight ahead, as if intentionally turning his back to her without fear of having her strike from behind. But moments later he shot her a sly glance over his shoulder, before turning back to face her, and leaning against the rough wood.

"What do I want from this closeness, you ask", he said. "I ask, what is it YOU want? You claim it is to observe me. But observations are easily made from a distance. No, you don't wish to only observe. You wish to interact."

[Psyche_SC]

((( ooc: Sorry guys, for being awol. I will try and have a post up later tonight. )))

[Ghanima Atreides]

Damian and Moira - The V's Penthouse Office

The longer she remained within Damian Alexander's domain, the clearer it became to Moira just what manner of Prince he was. During her lifetime, she had encountered them all: the young, inexperienced and naïve Princeling, the hopelessly paranoid inept who saw threats around each corner, the reclusive, secretive but undoubtedly powerful Elder and the smooth, confident politician who tempered his desire for power and wealth with the capacity of acquiring it without the same talent a Toreador might have for creating an unsurpassed masterpiece.

Moira privately dubbed the latter “Pure blooded Ventrue”. Surrounded by the brilliance of their surroundings, an imposing amalgam of elegance and the subtle though lingering feeling of watchfulness, Moira attributed that title to Lord Alexander without much of a hesitation. If she gazed within at the scraps of memory which floated in her awareness, all she had to do was to substitute the gilded office for a grand throne room, and the massive, silent Sheriff for a loyal knight in gleaming armor ready to leap and strike down anyone who attempted to show aggression towards his King.

Damian's centre of power retained all of the lordly authority of old supported by the security of modern technology. Although unseen, Moira had no doubts a multitude of hidden cameras surveyed their every move no matter where they moved in the building, and retaliation was never further than a few seconds away. One would have to be mad to attack Damian there – and he knew it. This Los Angeles Prince could prove to be a valuable acquaintance in her future, but one she would have to tread around with the greatest of care, for more than one reason.

"Well then. Let us promptly get down to business."

Trust a Ventrue to never waste more time on pleasantries than absolutely necessary. Moira straightened herself, bringing both shoulders slightly towards the front, leveled and her chin rose expectantly. The Prince was about to reveal his offer, and her attention was peaked, determined not to miss any detail from the actual facts to Damian's tone and bodylanguage.

"Allow me to begin by stating what I assume to be the obvious; I am a businessman, and as such, I take pleasure in acquiring various kinds of rather unsuccessful companies and businesses, turning them around, and making them blossom. Or at the very least profitable.”

Nodding very slowly, Moira's eyes glittered with silent encouragement. Not that Damian required it, but rather as the first sign that she was interested in the way the conversation was going. She had had some experience with unsuccessful businesses turned profitable, such as the small art gallery she and Elise managed in London. It had taken them more than three years, but it was at last turning in some profit, enough even to cover most of the money Moira invested in sponsoring a couple of talented young mortal artists.

“Now, I've just recently closed such a deal, and purchased myself a hotel; the Nero. It is rather run down, I admit, but it has potential. And as it turns out, I need someone to manage that potential, and make the most of it. Normally, I would contract with those already on my payroll, but it seems lately I've been moving faster than usual, and thus they are already otherwise engaged. And so here, Miss Sushill, is where you come in."

A hotel.

At last, the web of speculation was torn loose and one concrete notion emerged. Damian wished to entrust the restoration of a hotel to her hands. It had not been one of Moira's expectations, but that did not diminish the offer's appeal. On the contrary – her expression grew intent as the Prince continued with his explanation:

"What I need," he soon continued, "is someone to turn the Nero into what I am most convinced it can be. That includes replacing what needs replacing; walls, floors, furniture, etcetera, to give it a completely new image."

Despite not having ever seen as much as one photo of the Nero, Moira's mind was already in motion, showing her glimpses of what such a hotel might look like once she was done with it. There were many possibilities, as many as there would be challenges. Would be, if she decided to accept Damian's offer. They had not yet reached the monetary aspect of it yet.

"Now, as I will not have the time to manage such a business myself, even once it is done, what I'm offering is this; 60 percent ownership, with me as a silent partner. Should you decide the hotel business is not for you, you are free to sell your share. Furthermore, you would have the penthouse suite to your disposal, should you so wish, and if not, I am sure we can find you some other accommodation to be your home away from home."

Interlocking her fingers in her lap, Moira narrowed her eyes slightly, a sign that she was actively pondering this. And she was. She could not deny it, the offer sounded tempting...not only because it was a possibility for her to make the best out of her abilities as a manager as well as her flair for the aesthetic, but because it would provide solid grounds for settling in Los Angeles. However, Moira could not ignore the fact that it also posed a great challenge: she had no experience in the field and the project was on a scale far greater than her small art gallery back home. Money would go in it, and plenty of it – something Moira would need to account for eventually and ensure the hotel would make enough profit to repay those costs.

It was risky, but all such ventures were. Moira's own pride was on the line – backing away out of fear would have humiliated her, particularly since it sounded so appealing otherwise. She may not have had specialized experience in the hotel business, but she did carry with her the knowledge of five centuries.

“It is by all accounts a very tempting offer”, Moira replied at last. “However it would be a rather extensive project to dedicate my time to, considering my London based responsabilities. A predicament, perhaps, but certainly not an impossibility. I will not lie about it, it would be a challenge, but one that appeals to me and which I do believe I have the skills to overcome. There is only one request that I have in order to commit myself to the project: the freedom of choosing my own team of specialists who are going to be working closely with me, though if you already have certain individuals in mind I'll gladly meet with them. I find that a cohesive management group that I myself work well with is vital to such a venture and I would rather not have to replace people later on, particularly when mortals are involved.”

Having trained herself to observe the most minute interactions between individuals, Moira could usually spot tension and animosity before it became a full blown conflict – naturally she worked better in an efficient and professional atmosphere with individuals that clicked with eachother, which was why she took great care in choosing the members of her team. As mortals inevitably became involved, the fewer they were the better, for it would minimize her own exposure and thus the risk of unwanted attention.

“As for my personal living space,” she added “I believe the penthouse would fit my needs quite nicely, once it is available. If we agree, I am ready to discuss the details and figures involved before making a final decision.”

[Psyche_SC]

#34 [Ninth Night]

How he wished to be anywhere but there, in the presence of a vile one. It really was not his cup of tea... He was majestic, a blue blooded aristocrat that did not yield. Anyone outside the regal clan should consider themselves lucky to be able to get his attention, the Nosferatu in particular. When offered everything that should be forgotten under the silver moon; the Nosferatu experience, Archon slipped into the vast fields of mighty men and women like himself. He temporarily left out all the members of other clans that really appealed to him, and put the Ventrue high over the universe. High over anyone that could be considered a part of a clan not equal to his, even if certain members could be.
As a true Ventrue, he locked down, and embraced every single drop of blue blood within his body and soul. Who could defy him and get away with it. Really.

Even as a boy, Archon could make sure servants knew he was the man of the house, since he grew up without a father. For some time, his mother had been the strong force within the household, until the day when Archon no longer wished to play the part of a innocent little child. He became a man long before others did, in a time when one became a man long before the men of this modern age did. Some were afraid of him; grown men that gave orders rather than recieving them shunned away from his presence. They did not know how to handle him. Some thought they did, and some actually manage to restraint him when he was still young.
But for each passing year, Archon grew stronger. His defiant behavior got him into trouble, and was not useful to him until he became old enough to use it the right way. His mother's concern then changed into pride, over her first and only son. She never looked at another man or married again, and if she had, she knew in her heart she would have lost Archon. The loss of his father, a man he had never known, could reach out and hurt him even centuries away.

And it was not easy, to touch the cold heart of the Ventrue Primogen. Maybe the long lost father was the key to the untouchable, the gateway to a man that could make the Kindred wonder if he ever cared for anyone but himself. Few knew, few had the experience. Archon cared, but never displayed his affection in public. There actually were vampires walking the earth, that Archon could kill for. And at least one that were not a sovereign member of the Ventrue.

However, none of them belonged to the despicable clan. It would rather be a question of killing them, rather than kill for them, if anything. Archon cared for his dogs more than he would ever care for a Nosferatu. He would actually care more for the ground they walked on, than care for them. He would prefer to sleep with the fishes, really sleep down there in the depths of the ocean, than to feel for them. And he would even move to Transylvania and reign there, before he would ever lay down his heart in the path of a deformed childe.

So for a young Nosferatu to walk into Algernon and disrespect him, it was really a visit to the lion's den. A lamb to the slaughter. Of course, that was the very thing that actually worked in her favour. Archon would never lower himself to the point where he went after a youngster. It would be a far stretch before he would reside to that. A very far stretch. After all, he was a Ventrue. Their regal behavior had saved many through the years, and it would save her. Though, her approach to him was sickening, more so than the face of the more hideous members of her clan.

It was no easy task, to venture the Kindred world. One had to be wise enough to know when it was time to be kind, and when the situation called for a more unfriendly approach. The clan at hand was also a factor to consider, some clans were easier to handle than others. Though, none should be underestimated. No matter how foolish the behaviour might seem at the moment. Archon was old and wise enough to know, that some had unbelievable tricks up their sleeves, even if they did not play the part initially.

However, all situations had exceptions. The current situation was undeniably asking for it. The Nosferatu before him was far too young to go up against an Elder, and a Primogen at that. It was clearly beneath Archon to answer in a more direct manner, beyond the frank comments she had already recieved. As she seemed to be on her way, he did not expect her to really come up with a reply. Actually, it suited him perfectly if she left on her own. He did not want a scene. So, he took a step back and made a slight gesture towards the stairs, offering her a soft, sinister smile to carry with her on her way out of his Algernon.
The Nosferatu left, and although her features were easier to look at than others of her clan, Archon knew he would not care to ever lay eyes upon her again. To him, she looked like a stray dog shying away, afraid to be beaten into submission.
In the darkness by the stairs, in the corner, Roe resided in a black armchair. He had sensed the approaching trouble and had come to lend his support. As soon as the woman had reached the stairs, he stood to follow her and make sure she abided by his masters wishes. The Nosferatu were cunning, one could not let them out of sight and expect them to reappear any time soon.

The other Kindred in the VIP lounge had noticed the argument, but they all did their best to avoid making it obvious. Much to Archon's appreciation. He was grateful when they understood on their own what was expected of them. Even Brujah brutes. Archon did not linger, he had made his peace with the situation, and he knew more Kindred than the Nosferatu had the opportunity to learn from it. One did not enter Algernon and talk to the proprietor in such a manner, without consequences.

For this night, Archon had had enough of the patrons of Algernon. Since he was not ready to go home just yet, he and Roe headed off to The Haven. Archon would actually prefer to conduct business surrounded by the noise of that establishment, rather than the calmness of his own. Sometimes, the loud music helped him concentrate, not matter how odd it seemed. The fact that the music annoyed him made it easier for him to block it out, make it into a buzzing background devoid of character. Now, that was not as easily done with classical music, or opera. Archon's music of choice.
As soon as he entered The Haven, he made his way down to his table. The fact that it sometimes was taken did not bother him, he just left that up to Roe. His Gangrel friend had a way with humans, persuading them came easy for him. Of course, he did not come of as arrogant as Archon could when he did not have the patience to be friendly to kine.

As Archon sat down by the large table, placing his laptop on it, he took in the beings around him. Mostly humans, some Kindred, but everyone entwined with the elaborate Masquerade, although one had to be dead to be let in on the secret. A soft smile could be briefly seen on the lips of the Primogen, as he was grateful he belonged to the latter.






[Approchable.]


___________________________________________

((( ooc: Everyone: Sorry for the delay. My character was stuck for over a week, but now I decided to wrap up and move on. There have been alot of opportunities to answer my post.

Just thought I should mention; very few know about Archon's father dying on the day of his birth. It's not a secret, just nothing he talks about. )))

[innocenteyes]

She was some what happy to hear a chuckle come from him. She knew he did not wish any other sort of closeness with her than to simply try to annoy her. It didnt work and he found it interesting that it didnt. The only reason she knew is becasue of the way his eyebrow slowly raised as if to question the truth in her words. A wonder came to her mind if he was as amused with other kindred as he was her. Maybe there was something about every kindred that amused him in someway. She wondered what it was about her that he found interesting. It was yet another thing that was on her long list of curiositys of the hunter.

"What we say is not always in the words we speak, my dear", he said, in response to her first statement. "Twice we have met, as you say, and not once has it been me approaching you."

A small smile formed on her lips. The words were true. She had approached him both times. But it was because she wanted to know him more. He might not ever answer a question she asked, but his responses to her told her some of what he thought.

She watched as he walked away from her, with his back facing her. She wondered if it was a test of somesort, or maybe he was trying to tell her something. She got her answer when a sly grin appeared at a sideward glance and then faced her again leaning against a lampost. He was trying to tell her something. A sly smile of her own appeared.

"What do I want from this closeness, you ask", he said. "I ask, what is it YOU want? You claim it is to observe me. But observations are easily made from a distance. No, you don't wish to only observe. You wish to interact."

How right he was. She did wish to interact with him. It would be easy to see where he went, but who he is another oberservation one cant get from afar.

"Some speak what they mean, while others dont. It takes a keen mind to tell the differance." She said in referance to his response to her."And yes it has been twice I have approached you. Would you have let me walk by without a word?"

Then she turned and went to an old bench and sat. " A good observer observes from afar and from interaction. But I have no wish to follow you. So interaction is the only way." She didnt tell him that what she wanted to observe couldnt be done from afar. "You have a sly way in not answering my questions. You only give me one to answer in return. Even the simplest questions I ask. Do tell me why that is." Her amber orbs gleamed with curiosity as she gazed at him.

[Ghanima Atreides]

Valerian and Aeode - Valerian's private chambers at The Haven

Shadows quivered and danced across Aeode's face, intensifying the glimmer in her eyes which appeared deep-set and very large, surrounded by subtle wrinkles and dark circles. Her small shoulders slouched forward, only to be stubbornly straightened once more, a sigh building up in her throat yet refusing to come out.

An uncomfortable thought was spared for Valerian, seeing shock and disbelief swiftly emerge on the young man's pallid face: regardless of reason, she had invaded his personal space and dragged him into the issue without regard of whether he wished to be involved. She did not know, after all, how well acquainted he and Jessica were, or just how dangerous the whole thing might have been. Suddenly, Aeode felt extremely selfish – wasn't a part of her doing all of it for the possibility of finally solving the mystery of her survival, and to do so she was prepared to go to great lengths?

A heavy, persistent silence settled over them, so complete they could discern the distant thumping of the club below, and the occasional siren blaring somewhere in the city beyond. Doubt and anxiety were threatening to swamp Aeode once again – she imagined a hornet's nest, and herself purposely disturbing it, threatening to unleash a deadly swarm that could engulf her entirely.

Deep down, Aeode had expected, even hoped to see Valerian's soft lips curl into a smile and assure her there was no problem to be found there. No danger. A quick and simple solution to this predicament that would finally silence all those doubts that buzzed around in her mind and left her no rest.

"You're risking alot for her."

When Valerian broke the endless silence, his voice had a somber intonation Aeode had never heard him use before: there was nothing light-hearted about it, on the contrary. The young redhead felt taken aback by the sudden change in her employer's demeanor: on the few occasions she had observed him, he had always seemed carefree, and content, ever with a blithe smile on his face. Almost boyish. How much older he looked all of a sudden, the playful youth morphing into a wise, recollected man before her very eyes. How else had she misjudged him?

"Revealing your true name and background," he continued softly, "... for the sake of a woman whose... shall we say, imaginative story you don't even believe? Or even have any reason to, for that matter."

Beneath the uneasiness kept building up, spreading like a chill through her, and a sudden thought intruded in Aeode's consciousness: he hadn't answered her question. Instead he touched a topic that had nothing to do with Jessica and everything to do with herself, forcing her to abandon her current train of thought.

“From my perspective, it's something I need to do”, she replied steadily, not quite daring to point it out yet. “She helped me when nobody else would. I may not know exactly what she did, but I have seen her with my own eyes.”

Aeode paused for a moment; drawing in a deep breath. She was resolved not to mention Dez' involvement; should Valerian get curious about her proof of Jessica's identity, his name would never be mentioned. That was their agreement.

“Even if it was only dragging me out of that parking lot to a place where the paramedics could find me, it was the one thing that eventually saved my life.” she continued. “I'm no good Samaritan...but not moving a finger to help the woman who did that for a stranger...that's not me.”

“As for the danger...” Aeode added, gazing straight into Valerian's eyes. She doubted her private life was of any interest to him, but since he had been the one to mention it, she would tell him. “It's been eight years. I want to stop running, to use my own name again, maybe stay in one place more than a couple of months. I am prepared to take the risk - there is one thing I need first though: closure, and Jessica is part of it.

[AtropaMandragora]

Rarely without a plan, and a masterly calculated one at that, Adrien had still never been a stranger to improvising, to going with the flow. Staying prepared for each and every little twist of fate was a virtue as far as he was concerned, and one he always strived to obtain and uphold. Each new situation that presented itself to him would be carefully examined for an angle that might work to his advantage, and filed away in his memory until came time to use it. Some pieces of information he'd been keeping in mind for years, decades even, watching and waiting, knowing that sooner or later the right opportunity would come along.

Over the past three years, planning and scheming had grown to be a larger part of his life than ever. During his career as a hunter, a great deal of thought had gone into how to best set up and kill the Kindred that he had managed to track down. These nights, a great deal of thought went into everything he did, every single move he made. Their eyes were on him, at all times, and their clever minds were hard at work, trying to figure him out in order to be able to predict his next move, and to find out what made him tick; how best to break him down. What he did, he often did with some kind of ulterior motive; of having them seeing what he wanted them to see, finding out what he wanted them to know. Even though some of the time, he appeared unaware of the fact that there was a risk they saw everything he did. Even when he knew he had managed to shake those set to follow him did he allow himself to loosen up, and stray from the plan.

At this point, plans were all he had. Humanity had been stripped from him, his deadly abilities had been restrained, and his freedom had been limited to the front yard of Kindred society, where they could keep a watchful eye on him. The only thing to offer a bit of comfort, were the plans of how to handle his new existence, and how to retaliate. When all hell raged inside of him, like it would in most newborn Kindred still fighting to keep every little piece of their humanity, that was the thought he clung to in order to keep himself sane.

And so while he had his strategy, his plan, all worked out, and at this point hadn't really expected anyone to be anything but condescending and aggressive towards him, now that Beyonca turned out to deviate from the norm of violence, he was intent on making the most of it.

Leaning one shoulder casually against the unlit lamppost, he studied her face, and the amused smile on her lips, while trying to decide what would be the best way of making her curiousity in him work for him.

"Some speak what they mean, while others dont", she said, replying to his first statement. "It takes a keen mind to tell the differance."

My, my... Was she paying him a compliment? Well, who would've thought?

"And yes it has been twice I have approached you", she added. "Would you have let me walk by without a word?"

Another quirked brow, as if wondering if there was a reason why he wouldn't have let her 'walk by without a word'? But he said nothing, and instead simply watched as she apparently decided it was her turn to mimic him, by turning her back towards him for a few seconds, before sitting down on a bench a few feet away from where she had stood.

"A good observer observes from afar and from interaction", she continued once seated. "But I have no wish to follow you. So interaction is the only way. You have a sly way in not answering my questions. You only give me one to answer in return. Even the simplest questions I ask. Do tell me why that is."

As always, it was a statement that brought another smirk to his lips, concieved at one corner of his mouth, and slowly spreading to the other. She was indeed persistant in her wish to 'observe'. Relentless even. His evasive answers only seemed to fuel her desire to learn about him, even to the point where she now attempted to corner him by pointing out what he was so successfully doing, daring him to give a straight answer for once.
But, straight answers would only be given once he was good and ready. Meaning, when it would work to his advantage.

"Only if you give me one good reason why I should", he leered in a silken tone.

[ElektraNatchios33]

((because it's so late in the night I am skipping the whole waking up and getting dressed concept...if thats okay))

1 Hour After Sunset

Jessica drove through the streets as fast as she could. She probably gained at least 3 speeding tickets, But that didn't matter much now that she was going off the radar. She was making a checklist in her head of the things she had to do.

1: buy a new wardrobe consisting of clothes she never would have bought otherwise 2: Get wig considering cutting her hair woudn't do much
3: Set up a new cellphone account that nobody knows.
4: Find someplace to hide, because there was no way she could live in a small town with no other kindred.

Jessica walked into the goodwill, and pretty much grabbing anything that she could wear. By the end of a short 30 minutes, Jessica had half a cart full of clothes, several books, empty notebooks, 6 pairs of shoes, 2 purses, and 2 coats (a heavy one and a light one). Many people eyed her own clothes she was wearing and then pondered at why a person who was weaing designer clothes was buying a new wardrobe at Goodwill. Avoiding any eye contact with the clerk, she left within an hour and a half at the store.

3 Hours After Sunset

Jessica stashed the multiple jumbo bags of clothes into the bak of her car nd went into a wig shop that was just barely open. There were several wigs that suited Jessica nicely, but she went for a long light blonde wig. She was known for having dark hair, and this would surely throw them off. She paid for the wig as the cashier shoved her out of his store. Pissed, she drove off to a nearby parking garage to change into her newly purchased clothes and wig. Fumbling through the bags in the orangely lit garage, she picked out a pair of long Khakis, a whit blouse with a frosted pink sweater and flat brown leather shoes. Working in her small rear view mirror, Jessica set the wig into place on her head after tediously pinning it in. Now the only thing to do was to get a cellphone tommorrow (the place was probably already closed) and go back to her apartment and gather her last minute items before she left for good.

4 Hours After Sunset

Jessica looked at her large apartment and sighed. She would keep the key, and still had access to her bank account, but anyone could trace her to her current location. Then she had an idea. Why not change her name? Then she could get an apartment and an ID. But she couldn't get an apartment tonight, she'd have to stay somewhere else tonight. But that could be planned later. She had to get her things from her apartment. Jessica grabbed only her favorite items from the giantic walk in closet, her favorite cds, a guitar and most of the music paper she had left, and any traces of personal information. It was only then she realized the flashing light on the answering machine as she was leaving. Everything in her hands dropped to the floor and she hesitantly played the message.

"Miss Jessica, Prince Damian Alexander requests you come to his office as soon as possible. Thank you for your time."

Great, Now she had to go she her beloved Prince that would probably execute her himself, and she was in her cheap clothes and obvious wig. She would blow him off until tomorrow, and reloaded her body with various items to take to her car. Now to find a place to stay. There were plenty of abandoned warehouses in this city. She shoved the stuff in her trunk and went to the industrial district. There was a perfect factory, the windows were painted and everything. She mightily shoved the padlocked door and was able to get in. Now she was free to do what she wanted for the rest of the night.

((okay, not much emotion in it, but there was a lot to explain))

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: Elektra - It's fine. :) Glad to see you posting.)))



The Nero was a building that Damian had known he wanted the first time he saw it. Located a few blocks from the 'V', it was one of the buildings he had inspected and considered years and years ago, when he had first been looking for the place that would be his seat of power. It had still been modern and nicely kept back then, clean and with a lobby bustling with life. But as had been the case with all the other buildings he'd been shown, it did not measure up to his high standards. It simply did not emanate the power and the sheer force of Lord Damian Alexander III. It wasn't imposing enough, and did not demand to be the focus of attention of those passing by on the street outside. A beautiful building, but just not extravagant enough. Damian had known exactly what he wanted, and when it couldn't be found anywhere in existence already, he had it made. The 'V' had been designed to fit all his demands and desires, every little purpose he had in mind for what was to be his base of operation, his home and sanctuary.

He had still wanted the Nero, but acquiring it had been put aside for some time, while he took on larger and more challenging deals, in order to truly establish himself in the city, and make a name for himself. All the while waiting for the right opportunity to come along, to add the Nero to his long list of properties and assets. Recently, that opportunity had come to be, as the constant decrease in profit had finally made the owner receptive to selling it for what to Damian was little more than pocket change.

Now, the Nero was his, and that constant decrease in profit would soon be turned around. It would of course cost him a rather hefty sum to do so, but as a businessman, Damian was quite familiar with the concept of having to spend money in order to make money. It was business logic, plain and simple. One just had to make sure that if handing the reins to someone else, that someone was a person who deserved the trust you put in them.
Or as was the case here; handing over control of the project to someone else for the purpose of testing them, to find out if they deserved the trust you put in them. Though one only did that with projects that no matter if they went belly up, would not have that big an impact on your business and finances as a whole.
And so, while he doubted that Moira would fail - if she accepted the offer - it would hardly ruin him if she did. It may create a temporary cavity in his finances, but if so, it would soon be restored, when he put someone that he knew from experience would do a good job, in charge. Damian had nothing but the best of the best on his payroll.

Watching her from across the desk, he saw that Moira's mind was already hard at work with visions that had come alive despite the limited amount of information he had provided. Ideas of decor and color schemes were already forming in her head, dancing before her inner vision, and creating mental images of the finished result. It pleased Damian greatly to see it, as well as the contemplative look that was to follow when she began actively considering the various aspects of what he offered, as it made it evident that his proposal appealed to her. And why wouldn't it? It was after all a deal that had been carefully thought through. Firstly because he wanted it generous enough to eliminate any possible objections she might have about her share of the profit, and secondly because he wanted a deal that would call for her talents as a business woman, not just a Toreador. While he held great respect for her artistic smarts, it was the distinct business competence he sensed in her that had intrigued him, and that he wished to explore. But that didn't mean he couldn't offer a deal that would appeal to her Toreador senses as well. Two hooks to reel her in was better than one.

"It is by all accounts a very tempting offer", she started, once she had carefully pondered the proposal for a few seconds. "However it would be a rather extensive project to dedicate my time to, considering my London based responsabilities. A predicament, perhaps, but certainly not an impossibility."

Fully aware of what she was talking about, and her reasons for concern, Damian gave a slow nod to signal his understanding. At the same time, he could easily read between the lines. What she said, although not in so many words, meant that while she did have responsibilities in London, there was someone there whom she deemed competent in handling them while she was away, which in turn meant that someone might just be a person she would be comfortable handing over the responsibilities to permanently, should she decide a future in Los Angeles had more interesting things to offer her.

"I will not lie about it," she continued in a sincere tone, "... it would be a challenge, but one that appeals to me and which I do believe I have the skills to overcome. There is only one request that I have in order to commit myself to the project: the freedom of choosing my own team of specialists who are going to be working closely with me, though if you already have certain individuals in mind I'll gladly meet with them. I find that a cohesive management group that I myself work well with is vital to such a venture and I would rather not have to replace people later on, particularly when mortals are involved. As for my personal living space, I believe the penthouse would fit my needs quite nicely, once it is available. If we agree, I am ready to discuss the details and figures involved before making a final decision."

While she spoke, a faint smile appeared on Damian's lips, and again he gave a nod of approval. Her request to pick the people she worked with was a reasonable one. Sensible even, as Damian himself knew the importance of having people around him with whom he worked well, and whom he could trust, at least to a certain point. Working with people who did not get along, with you or with eachother, was risky, as animosity between people who were supposed to work together could end up drawing their focus away from the main goal, and cost them far too much of the energy they were supposed to put into the project. They may even throw the entire thing off track. Thus, Damian himself would never hire people where such situations were all too likely to arise. He was a man of principle. He always had been. He had his recipe for success, and would never stray from it, unless he had very specific reasons to do so. It, along with his morals, was what had made him rise above the rest, no matter which of the two worlds known to him that he moved in; the one of mortals, and the one of Kindred. Though the latter did limit his freedom to work with people only of his own choosing quite a bit. Had it been completely up to him, the Primogen council would've looked very different indeed, as there were currently far too many whom he didn't trust, or even like. Which was why he was so intent of having Moira stick around for a bit, until the time was right to make a few adjustments.

"You will indeed have the freedom to choose your team", he confirmed. "Though I expect you to present me with a list of your choices before I give the final go-ahead, and I reserve the right to veto, should I feel someone does not belong on that list."

Having said that, Damian then reached for one of the drawers in his sturdy desk, to retrieve a dark brown leather folder, containing the rough estimates he'd had drawn up by his experts. With deft fingers he flipped it open, scanned the first page of numbers which he already had memorized, and then turned it around and handed it to Moira.

"Here are the basic figures", he said, and leaned back in his chair once more. "However, I am not opposed to making adjustments in either direction, even as we go along, should you feel there is a need for it. I am a reasonable man, and so as long as it is within rational limits, and I'm provided with a valid explanation, I doubt I shall see any reason to deny the project further funding. Do we agree?"



(((ooc: Ghanima - Feel free to have this post wrap it up, or wrap it up yourself if you wish. Or even continue the conversation if you want. I'm fine with whatever you want to do. :) )))

[Psyche_SC]

#30 [Ninth Night]

Of all the nights she had seen, the moon was particularly bright this night. It hung like a silver penny on the garb that was the dark sky, full of mischievousness and poise. It was like the jewlery on a choker owned by a shadow queen, that ruled over them all as soon as the sun had set. She sent forth all her of childer, to feed, feast and be free. As free as the laws would let them.

As Carmilla joined the aphotic majesty, she did so in a modest attire; a grey dress that ended by the knees, black pantyhose and a black cardigan to shield her from the cold breezes. Over her shoulder, her bookbag was secure in a tight grasp. All the thoughts that had awaken her many times during the passing hours of daylight had ended up in her notebook, in her black brazen penmanship. She had not understood them all, when she had looked at them at dusk. Instead, she hoped for the meaning to come to her sometime in the close future.

The streets were busy, the puddles of water reflected all the lights from the signs. Merchants crossed over to her side, to persuade her to buy all kind of things. She shook her head, with a polite smile, and began to walk faster. She was not invisible this night, that was for sure, and she was eager to see what the night had in store for her. A few hours of darkness had already gone by, and Carmilla hoped she would experience something before she had to go back to the mansion.

She stopped outside Algernon, looking in. Though, she didn't walk in. Something told her this was not the place for her to visit, not tonight. And now, on her own, she trusted her instinct more than ever before. It had guided her so far, and it had set her free. Every now and then, her mind wandered and the thought of Seath surfaced. Every now and then. She did not miss him per se, but she had wished to have the opportunity to say goodbye, to have closure. Instead, he had choosen for the both of them, and left. Though, Carmilla was grateful to be free, to taste what the Kindred society felt like when seen without a filter.

And she had someone to thank, someone pay homage to. Her leader, the sun in the night sky of her imagination, where Carmilla was the submissive moon. She was pale in comparasion, she was the anxious student.
With her heart clutched in her chest, and a mighty mirth in her stomach; swirling like butterflies, Carmilla entered the Internet Café. Maybe she would meet Mina there, maybe the Primogen had far more important matters to attend to. One could only hope to be blessed with the sun.

The place was filled with kine, some Kindred and computers lighting up their faces with perculiar colors. It was like coming into the enchanted forest, and Carmilla almost expected the elves, dwarves and trolls to pop up anytime soon. And a wicked warlock, witches and dragons. A princess in dire straits and the men who would do anything to save her.
Though, she could not be dissapointed with what eternity had bestowed upon her. They may not have all the fairy tale traits, but they did have magic and spells, wicked creatures and hidden agendas. Maybe not trolls, elves and dragons - but there had been at least one undead dwarf as she had passed through the ages.

The Kindred had, above all; witches and warlocks. Her whole clan was nothing if not packed to the brim with practitioners of black arts. Even in these modern times, the Princes still had conjurers to aid them in their decisions. The Malkavians might be eerie in their occasional foresight, but the Tremere were masters of the unseen universe.





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((( ooc: Sorry it's short, and a little too uncreative... But I had to get her out there. )))

[innocenteyes]

She should have known his answer. A wide smile formed on her lips and a chuckle came out as leaned slightly to the side resting her arm on the benchs arm. His answer was a question. But a good question at that. He had no reason to answer her. He didnt trust her nor did she trust him. A curiosity raged threw her for him. She didnt know why, and the thing that amazed her was she didnt really want the curiosity to go away. It is who she is. The very thing that defines her. Among her clan she sticks out like a sore thumb. Wether it is a good thing or not she still didnt understand. In some ways, she thought it could be used to help the clan. If they were to send her to do something for them, strangers would have a hard time seeing what her blood is. While on the downside, everyone knew who she was here. It seems as though it is a beautiful curse.

Bee just looked at him. A smile still wide on her lips. She pondered what to say to him. A good answer to it didnt come to mind. Maybe she should just say the truth.

"To satisfy my curiosity." For a few seconds she just looked at him some more before she finally stood up and walked to him.

" How about a deal? You answer my question and I will leave you alone. It is what you want, is it not? For me to leave you be, so you can go on to do whatever it is you had set your mind to do this night."

((ooc: I am sorry for the short post Atropa, I have been busy and havent had time to write a longer post. My next response will be longer.))

[AtropaMandragora]

Apprehension forgotten in a moment of sudden surprise, Valerian had seen the expression on Aeode's freckled face change as his statement, his observation, had eased it's way past his lips. She had instantly picked up on what one could possibly call his transformation, even though in essence it was not, and her eyes when she looked at him were those of someone seeing something for the first time, something rare and unexpected, that had been hidden away from most of the world around them. And indeed, those that had seen this part of him were few and usually far apart. It was only the whims of fate that had brought it out in him twice in one week, though the public dislpay caused by Ada had drawn it out even further than this private and rather confidential conversation with Aeode. This time he remained calm and kind, and the firmness shown was merely that of someone carefully questioning Aeode's motives for revealing herself to him, when to him it appeared as though she stood so much to loose, should he betray her.

The whims of fate... His thoughts returned to the phrase passing through his mind only a moment ago. Was it all really just the whims of fate? All things considered, was there not a pattern slowly forming? Lately, those supposed whims of fate, the strange occurences around him, had been far more greater in numbers than what anyone would consider normal. In a world where things had never been the way they were supposed to be, it now seemed they were not only drifting, but had begun literally careening down a path leading them even further away from their intended destination. Seen seperately, one by one, the recent incidents appeared to be nothing but a part of everyday Kindred life. But standing them up next to one another and seeing them as a whole... Ada's near breach of the Masquerade. The blood hunt on Milo the Malkavian, for not stopping at a near breach, but tearing the web of deceit wide open. Adrien de la Cour, the notorious vampire hunter, emerging from the shadows that had protected him for a century, to roam their world not as a human, but as one of them. Even Moira's almost frenzy the previous night, did in the light of it all appear far more ill-boding than it had seemed to him back then.
And now, the ultimate betrayal of them all, from his very own Primogen...

What if their quick succession was not just a twist of fate, a mere coincidence? What if there was something far more sinister than they could ever imagine, lurking behind it all...? What if the looming shadows in his mind were slowly materializing, to finally reveal themselves, or if there was really something to the Kindred notions and fears of the Antideluvians? It was only a single thought, but one so powerful and alarming that once again an icey hand clutched Valerian's swelling heart, filling it with the baleful uneasiness that had been haunting him these recent nights.

Thankfully, there was far too little time to dwell on such things now, in the presence of a mortal girl that with the 'help' of Jessica had grown into a tangible threat of her own, and one that it would apparently be up to Valerian to take care of somehow.

By the end of his statement, the expression on her face had changed once more, as the significance of his words slowly dawned on her. Clearly his subtle attempt to lead them onto a bunny trail had done little good. On the contrary, it seemed to have added to her apprehension, and her suspicion of him, and she was still as determined as ever to keep her focus on the matter at hand, even if she had to resign herself to a small detour before getting back on track again.

"From my perspective, it's something I need to do", she stated, with a voice that sounded just as firm and resolute as before. "She helped me when nobody else would. I may not know exactly what she did, but I have seen her with my own eyes."

There she paused for a moment, to fill her lungs with air once more while she went over the words that were to follow, in her head, still very careful in deciding what was neccessaru to reveal to Valerian, and what she was better off keeping to herself.

"Even if it was only dragging me out of that parking lot to a place where the paramedics could find me," she continued once she was ready, "...it was the one thing that eventually saved my life. I'm no good Samaritan... but not moving a finger to help the woman who did that for a stranger... that's not me."

Another pause followe, though far more brief than the first, as it was only to turn her head and lock Valerian's gaze with her own piercing one.

"As for the danger... It's been eight years. I want to stop running, to use my own name again, maybe stay in one place more than a couple of months. I am prepared to take the risk - there is one thing I need first though: closure, and Jessica is part of it."

Looking back at her, still every bit as calm and quiescent, Valerian gave a slow nod, as if satisfied with the young woman's reply, as though he had asked not out of his own curiousity, but in order to try and protect Jessica by having Aeode reveal her motives to him, by words or tone of voice. He needed to restore what little trust she'd had in him, and so for a moment allowed his eyes to roam his beloved chambers - the soft, comforting darkness currently playing catch with the flickering flames of the candles, the large, unmade bed filled with promises of peaceful sleep, and the wide range of dreamy avante-garde paintings lining the walls - just so that she would be given the feeling of still being somewhat in control, of not being up against someone with their mind set on out-manuevering her, and evading her questions. Only once ample time had been given for that brief silence to work it's magic, did his pale sapphire gaze return to her.

"I had to ask", came his voice in a low, soothing purr; an unspoken apology for prying, despite having had the best of intentions at heart.

On his lips then emerged the faintest of smiles, so soft and so gentle it seemed almost a visual caress, a tender touch of a skin battered and bruised, a comforting embrace between lovers and soulmates. The very embodiment of the peaceful calm tugging at your mind moments before you drift off to sleep. Sweet serenity, in it's purest form.

"I'll be honest with you", he said, with a sincerity in his voice that left those very words sounding almost redundant. "I don't know of any cults she might be involved in, and I find it hard to believe that she would have anything to do with drugs or debts, or something else along those lines. But you do have me worried. If you will allow me the chance, I'll do what I can to look into it?"

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: innocent - It's fine. Short or not, you still give me alot to work with. ;) )))


It was like a neverending game of cat and mouse, with a twist. The roles kept changing, with every clever reply and comeback spoken, the role of the mouse was passed on to the other, and the role of the cat was assumed, in the everlasting chase for answers and indications of something useful. To a mind as sharp as Adrien's, but starved for similar conversations, it was most invigorating. So much so that he and Beyonca had now even reached a point where Adrien just might admit it. Unless, of course, he was pressured, in which case he would admit to nothing whatsoever. He would never give willingly what was tried to be taken from him. So had been his stance in mortal existence, and so remained his stance in this immortal one. Only when he had the freedom to choose, without pressure and threats as well as promises and temptations, would he consider giving anything. Be it as simple as an insignificant but straightforward answer, or something far more difficult and complicated, such as a confession or an admittance, or even a show of feelings.

And even then, when having the freedom to choose, would he rarely decide to give, simply because he had no reason to share his thoughts, and ever reason to conceal them, and keep them from the world around him. Never would he allow himself to forget that while his role in a simple game of cat and mouse might change, the fact that he would always remain prey in the eyes of the Kindred, would not. Not even open and sincere curiousity on a face as treacherously beautiful as Beyonca's would make him. Nor would that wide and genuine smile widening on her lips as she casually leaned against the arm rest of the bench.

"To satisfy my curiosity", she said truthfully, after studying him for a few seconds.

Ah, honesty... A true rarity in the world of Kindred. Usually, their web of lies - their Masquerade, their vendettas and their carefully hidden agendas - had entangled their minds to the point where they were no longer capable of telling the truth, or even finding it in their own cold hearts.

It was a reply he could respect. It wouldn't necessarily grant her the answer she was so stubbornly seeking, but if there had been anything at all in what she had said, that had made him consider giving it, this would have to be it.
But even though she might be aware that just maybe she had scored a point with him, finally, it seemed she was also aware that it wasn't likely to get her anywhere anytime soon, and so the game commenced once more.

"How about a deal?" she proposed while once again drawing closer to him. "You answer my question and I will leave you alone. It is what you want, is it not? For me to leave you be, so you can go on to do whatever it is you had set your mind to do this night."

Eyes narrowing, though not with animosity but rather contemplation, Adrien studied her while pondering her offer. On one hand, it was tempting indeed, as he did have things that needed tending to, and he was far more comfortable when the only company he had was his own. But then on the other hand, things with Beyonca were just getting interesting. She could be useful, in more ways than one...
So, if she was beginning to tire of pursuing him and her offer was a genuine one, perhaps it was his turn to bait the hook this time?

But, how to go about it without having her think she had somehow reached him, and offered him enough of something he was not used to, to have him wanting more?
Tricky tricky...

Raising his chin a little bit to allow him to gaze down at her from underneath slightly lowered lids, the smirk on his lips retreated to just one of the corners of his mouth, turning it into a teasing, faintly lopsided grin.

"Now, which question would that be?" he inquired. "You've asked quite a few, haven't you? And who will be the judge of whether my answer is an answer, or another question?"

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: My, this place is quiet. Where is everyone? I know life is busy for quite a few, and others are waiting for replies, but some are just MIA. Penny? burnziyy? veldagia? Anne?

Also, I've been meaning to ask you guys for suggestions on how to make this thread come alive again. It's not exactly dying, and I've intentionally slowed the progression of nights, but still, we seem to be suffering from lack of actions, and so if you have suggestions, either concerning the plot or just the pace, etc, please PM me. Let's liven things up around here. ;) )))

[veldagia]

((OOC Im still around just got a uni assignment due this week - arg! So as my characters aren't interacting with anyone at the moment I've not been posting. Will be writing long irrelevant posts again soon :) ))

[Psyche_SC]

((( ooc: Atropa - I hope the thread comes alive soon...! I will think and PM you if I come up with anything.

Veldagia - *hint, hint* Check my last post, Carmilla is out there, for Mina to play with. :)

Everyone - And Archon is still approchable if anyone is up for a Ventrue encounter... ;) )))

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: Psyche - Thank you. But honestly, I'm starting to loose hope. :( No RP posts for almost a week, and of the last ten ones, 40% are my own... Maybe I'm dooming the RP by voicing my concerns, but... I AM concerned. Though I'm not anywhere near giving up just yet.

Everyone - Do keep in mind though, people, that if no one approaches you, you are free to approach someone else, as well as simply moving on with your character. While making your character approachable is all fine and dandy, it starts becoming a problem when everyone makes their character approachable, because then everyone just sits around waiting for someone else to take the first step. If you know what I mean? ;)
And this is not directed to anyone in particular, it's just a general observation.)))

[Ghanima Atreides]

Damian and Moira - Damian's Office at The V

By anyone's standards, the meeting between the Los Angeles Prince and Moira Sushill was unfolding as well as both could have hoped: no comment wasted, each proposition issued by either side being met with the careful consideration and approval of two ancient minds intent on reaching a mutually beneficial agreement, willing to accommodate eachother's needs for that common purpose. To a casual observer, Damian and Moira might have seemed the epitome of the accomplished entrepreneur, and in many ways they were – the complete truth however went far deeper than that.

Beneath the affable exterior lurked personal interest, reasons within reasons, some barely hinted at, some jealously buried deep within the recesses of their consciousness. Moira's greatest interest was not the project itself, but the benefits it would offer: a haven and a means of income should she decide to trade residences. The fact that it also happened to appeal to her was a bonus, and one which might tip the balance in her eventual decision to step down from her seat as Toreador Primogen in London. It remained to be seen; everything depended not only on her doings but that of Elise Meyers as well, whom she would need to keep tabs on closer than ever before, and decide if her protegée was indeed capable of replacing her, or if there was an even better candidate out there, somewhere. Ultimately, the decision rested with the Council as a whole, but it was Moira's responsibility as the current Toreador Primogen to do her part in making sure all ends were tied.

That only left Damian Alexander's true reasons. Regardless of how good an impression she might have made on him earlier that week at the Ball, Moira knew there must have been something else as well. Finding a competent manager with no other engagements for the project much nearer to home would have been the obvious solution – which only meant he had a particular interest in her, and for that he had made sure his offer sounded as tempting as possible. Just what that was remained to be seen.

Despite this, his own seniority remained unmistakable, reinforced here and there by clear statements: he was willing to allow Moira enough freedom and flexibility, but the final decision rested with him. Considering he would pay for the entire thing, she could hardly challenge that. Many Kindred lived with the false impression that a Prince was omnipotent and envied that power – and while a Prince was indeed a force to be reckoned with, they depended on the rest of the Council's good will to rule. In reality, it was a delicate balance of power, and few Kindred were more vulnerable than a Prince who had too many enemies.

"Here are the basic figures", the Prince said and handed Moira a leather folder "However, I am not opposed to making adjustments in either direction, even as we go along, should you feel there is a need for it. I am a reasonable man, and so as long as it is within rational limits, and I'm provided with a valid explanation, I doubt I shall see any reason to deny the project further funding. Do we agree?"

Securing it in the grasp of her long, slender fingers, Moira quickly scanned the first few pages, momentarily banishing any sidetracking thoughts from her mind to focus on the picture provided by the information contained in it. A more thorough read was in order, though for the moment, the overall estimate seemed realistic. And one often had to adjust figures here and there as the project advanced and unexpected expenses came along, or alternately, ways to preserve funds.

“We agree,” Moira replied, her gaze leaving the pages to meet Damian's. “The existing buffer appears satisfactory, though I will be able to tell for sure once I have a full picture of the costs involved. I would like to hold on to this list and examine it closer.” she added and gave the folder a light tap.

Having said that, Moira prepared herself to finalize the meeting – any further discussions had to be postponed until she brought herself up to date with the details and Damian had a written contract to offer, not to mention time was a precious commodity.

“Thank you for your time, Lord Alexander,” Moira continued as she stood up and handed Damian a calling card with her name and business phone number written on it. “My number, should you need to contact me for any reason. I shall return to finalize the contract and assembly the project team, at the earliest convenience. Do you have an agreeable date in mind?”

((ooc: sorry, kind of crappy...but I didn't want to leave you hanging even longer. I hope it's ok))

[innocenteyes]

There was actually much to like about Adrien. Things like his never appering smile, only grins. Bee has actually become anxious to see which one will apper on his lips next. His eyes were also another thing she liked very much. Even though no emotion showed in them, certain things about him did show. Such as when she intreged him, a small sparkle did appear. Itwas the very thing that kept her wantingt o talk to him more, wanting to know him more. The fact that he was enjoying his conversation with her. But why would he want to talk to her? She doubted it was for the same reason as she.

"Now, which question would that be?" he inquired. "You've asked quite a few, haven't you? And who will be the judge of whether my answer is an answer, or another question?"

Yet again another wide grin appered on her face. She crossed her arms and walk to the other side of the pole and leaned against it, somewhat mimicing him. Now how should she answer this? If she could only have one question, what would it be? Suddenly it came to her exactly what she wanted to know but she couldnt ask him, not yet. So it must be something different. Something else that will keep him stringing along. She could push with him and make the question to personal. But maybe she should ask him a question he would lie about.

"I would be the one to judge whether it is an answer or not. Your answer must be truthful, if I think other wise, the deal is off. Do you agree to the terms?"

[veldagia]

Coming to the end of the final news artical Mina flipped the palmtop closed, the cinemon latte growing cold, left untouched on the table before her. She rose from her seat pulling the thick velvet coat closed around her. Eyes once again observant of her surroundings, the flickering screens and aimless chatter of the patrons around her. But one lone figure caught her eye. A woman entering the building, a sweep of dark hair and the unmistakable aura of a kindred soul.

Mina headed towards her, each step filled with the grace of a dancer. She had come. The childe given freedom from the chains had returned to her clan. Still Mina was wary of taking too much for granted. Had Carmilla's fragile soul survived the plunge into independance that Seath's flight had destined. Had she been able to draw strength from within, embrace the power of a socerous or had it all proven too much to bare. Her deep emerald eyes glintered as she studied the face as she approached, trying to draw from it an assesment of Carmilla's state of mind.

"Carmilla, to what do I owe this pleasure?" The words softly spoken were formal in greeting, yet this was broken by the hint of warmth in Mina's smile. A warmth that would speak volumes to those that knew her and could interprete the subtle variations that graced the mask she wore. Although still a Primogen greeting a member of her clan, the smile revealed there was something deeper. A relationship born of trust and respect.

((OCC sorry its so short, I ran out of time to write...))

[AtropaMandragora]

Success, although never a particularly rare experience to him, was something that Damian would enjoy much like he had done a fine wine in his human days. It would be sampled with the greatest care, slowly sipped and tasted, the sweetness of every drop savored on the tip of his tounge. He would relish it, and sometimes even allow the deeply felt satisfaction within coax his lips into a faint smile. In the case of crushing or outsmarting an opponent, chances were it would be rather smug and superior. In this one, where he had simply gotten what he wanted by giving a generous offer with no real catch, it was a far more pleasant one. Not kind exactly, but pleasant nonetheless.

His interest had been initially piqued by a brief encounter with a visitor to his city, whom in those few minutes of conversation had managed to give him the impression that she not only possessed a sharp intellect, but a keen business sense as well. It had only been a first impression, but Damian prided himself with being a good judge of character, and thus had decided to investigate it a little further. He was rarely one to let opportunities and possibly useful acquaintances slip by without seizing them, if only to scrutinize their potential, before deciding wether or not they would be worth his time. If it appeared that they would, Damian would move on to looking into their background for a bit, and if he deemed what he found out satisfactory, he would eventually put them to the test. In Moira's case, he had moved a little more swiftly, and created the perfect opportunity to test her rather than waited for it to present itself. After all, at that point, it had been far to difficult for him to tell how much time he would have before she returned to London, to want to risk having her and what good could come from an acquaintance with her, slip through his fingers. It was a bold move, seeing as how what he had heard and experienced about Moira was more than satisfactory, but still a bit too thin for comfort. But, Damian was no stranger to making bold moves every now and then. He hadn't exactly gotten to where he was in life, by playing it safe all the time.

Having handed Moira the folder with the rough estimates of what this little project might cost him, he studied her while she looked them over, registering every little change in her expression, no matter how small, as though he was following along the path set by her mind, trying to read her thoughts and predict her reaction. While he knew few objections could be made to the basic numbers, he did not put it past anyone in Moira's position at this stage, to try to stretch the limit a bit, if only to test it, as well as the sincerity of his statement regarding his willingness to adjust the numbers, should there be a need for it.

"We agree," she finally said, once she was done scanning the pages in the leather folder, and looked up from them. "The existing buffer appears satisfactory, though I will be able to tell for sure once I have a full picture of the costs involved. I would like to hold on to this list and examine it closer."

A tap on the folder indicated what she was referring to, had there been any doubt. It was a gesture to which Damian inclined his head in agreement, as he had expected her to ask to keep it. Only a fool would've said or done otherwise. The project offered alot to be considered, and it would be impossible to mentally cover all the angles in this short a time. One needed to look it over in peace and quiet, even ponder it for a few hours at least, preferrably a day or two, before one could be fairly sure everything had been taken into consideration.

"Thank you for your time, Lord Alexander," she continued and stood, as it was understood without saying that the meeting was now drawing to a close, with both parties having other duties and obligations to tend to. "My number, should you need to contact me for any reason. I shall return to finalize the contract and assembly the project team, at the earliest convenience. Do you have an agreeable date in mind?"

Now on his feet as well, Damian glanced at the calling card she had offered him, before tucking it away safely in the inner pocket of his dark Armani suit. He'd been toying with the idea of making her yet another offer; one that if accepted, could prove rather convenient for the both of them, if they were indeed to become business partners. He took nothing for granted. The meeting had indeed gone well, but as long as no contract had been signed, there was still room for either party to change their mind. Which was ultimately why he decided to hang on to the offer a little bit longer, until he was sure it would indeed be convenient, and not the very opposite.

"No date in mind, for the time being", he said. "While I am eager to get the project started, I would also like for you to have the freedom to take the time you need to look over the figures, as well as be shown the building concerned. Unfortunately, I myself will not be available to show it to you, but if you stop by my secretary on your way out, she will provide you with the name and number of one of my most esteemed employees, who shall be happy to give you the grand tour of the place. I shall see to it that he keeps himself available to you, and in the meantime, I will have the contract drawn up. Once you are ready, contact my secretary, and she will set up a meeting as soon as possible."

With that, he extended his hand for the conclusive handshake.


(((ooc: Ghanima - Sounded just fine to me. :) Hope it was ok for you that I wrapped it up like this?)))

[Psyche_SC]

#31 [Ninth Night]

There ain't nothing in this world, that doesn't hold some amount of weakness. Nothing in nature, no human, no Kindred and no clan. Though, the object of weakness altered, in any given situation. What was considered weak in one moment, might be a valuable asset in another. Knowing the difference could determine the outcome, therefore it was a knowledge the Kindred sought and cherished. The most important knowledge was that of oneself. It was vital to have the upper hand, regarding yourself, lest someone else would take the advantage.
Carmilla had passed several crossroads since the visit with their Prince. She had made many choices; she had acted and she had bided her time. Nothing came easy, especially not the approach of wait and see. She knew this, and if not, she had now been shown the way. Sorcery was not always a world where you had to step up and proove yourself, it was also a tricky place where you had to stop at the right time and await the strength to come and find you.
When with Seath, Carmilla thought she was weak, and that she knew all about her weakness. And at the same time, she anticipated a great strength within. However, she had learned more about these things since her Sire left, than ever before. On her own, her body and soul had become apparent to her, and she had seen the core of her character. She was not as weak as she had feared, and her strength had a different shape and force, than she had imagined. And since she refused to be a liability to her beloved clan, she saw it as her responsibility to learn and keep on learning. To study herself, in short. Although, one could never truly know all there was to know about oneself, she was determined to aim for the vast space beyond the stars. If anyone would open up the Tremere armor, it would not be her doing.

All the different colors from the screens danced before her eyes, and formed into a northern light that was apparent only to Carmilla. She had never seen the real thing, but from what she had heard, she believed it was close enough in her combination between what was reality, and what was in her imagination. And adding just a pinch of sorcery... Had anyone but a Tremere taken a peak inside her mind, they would have thought to have walked in on a Malkavian point of view. It was a simple spell, a trivial one, that made the world so much more beautiful.

And all the ghouls and goblins, each claiming a northern star, soon vanished as the queen became embraced by all the colorful lights. Everything should take a bow, all the humans and Kindred on the premises alike, as well as the sun, moon and stars. A soft smile curved Carmilla's delicate lips, as she let go of her imaginative daydream, to behold her Primogen in her down to earth existance. As down to earth as only a Tremere could be.

Carmilla was thankful a Tremere had claimed her, as she couldn't imagine what the other clans did, when they felt lonely. Despite her Tremere powered imagination, she didn't know what she would have done if she couldn't spruce the world with a little magic.
But right now, in the presence of Mina, she was not lonely anymore. No magic was needed, as the warmth from Mina's smile pierced the icy castle her lonliness had built around her. Though, she had felt more alone in Seath's company, than without it.

"Carmilla, to what do I owe this pleasure?" the Primogen spoke, and although the sentiment seemed formal enough to suite any Tremere off the street, Carmilla could sense the deeper meaning behind the words.

A double entendre, that was the Tremere way. The very thing other clans feared; even Tremere silence could hold more than one meaning. They didn't always need spells to throw other clanmembers off track, they could achieve the same with plain old kine like communication - although they had perfected the art. Mixed messages, words that didn't fit the body language... The possibilities were endless.

This was the moment Carmilla had been waiting for - to see Mina in flesh and blood, to hear her voice and be around her comfortable scent. If only for a brief encounter. It almost brought tears to her eyes, as she felt like a lost childe in search for a purpose. However, Carmilla wasn't all that lost. She knew what she wanted, what she needed. Knowledge. Tremere knowledge. And guidance, nothing short of Mina's. If Carmilla was indeed an aspiring Tremere, as she had been feeling long before these nights, she needed a strong teatcher.

Above all, she had been granted freedom due to her Primogen, and for that she would be for ever grateful. No words in the world, no deeds, could ever repay the grand gesture. None the less, Carmilla was obliged to try.

"I am the only one who owes...", she spoke with a fragile tone of voice, and her eyes could no longer meet Mina's, instead her gaze fell to the floor like autumn leaves.

Had they not been in a place where the Masquerade had to be upheld, Carmilla would have dropped to her knees, as she did not feel worthy.




__________________________________

((( ooc: Yeah, this is my second Carmilla post in a while, so I am not quite tuned in... :blink: I did what I could. :) )))

[AtropaMandragora]

With her lips forming into yet another widening smile from his ever evasive answers, Beyonca kept closing in on him. Although while most Kindred would've tried to strike fear in his heart, by imposing on his personal space with loathing etched into their every pale feature, silent promises of what was to come in a not all too distant future, Beyonca's approach was nothing of the sort. She was still enjoying the game. Genuinly enjoying it, and not taking malicious pleasure in it, like everyone else.

Adrien still couldn't make sense of why. She was curious of him, that he knew. She had even admitted to it herself, seemingly without any qualms whatsoever, and she had also claimed that she wished him no harm. But the question of why still remained. Why take an interest in him, if not to try and find his weaknesses and exploit them? Why risk making herself a victim, for nothing more than simple curiousity?
It didn't make any sense. Not to him.

Though it didn't keep him from enjoying it as well either. Whatever her reasons, they would reveal themselves soon enough, and as long as Adrien was careful, she wouldn't catch him off guard even if she tried.

"I would be the one to judge whether it is an answer or not", she said, from the other side of the lamp post where she now stood, Adrien's eyes having followed every step, every motion of her walk over from the bench. "Your answer must be truthful, if I think other wise, the deal is off. Do you agree to the terms?"

A soft chuckle vibrated in the air next to her, as Adrien gave voice to his amusement. Did she really think he would be that easy to trick? Or was it a dare, for him to accept a deal where the conditions were not only set by her, but left her with all the power, and him with none? It would be so very easy for her to take advantage.

But then again, it was a bit of a win-win situation for him as well. If he, against all odds, decided to tell the truth, there were three possible scenarios. One; she believed him, and left him alone, at least for now, which would mean he could get back to doing what he had been planning to do. Two; she didn't believe him, and was granted the 'right' to stick around, which would give him the opportunity to further examine her, her intentions, and most of all, her usefulness. Three; she played dirty, and claimed that she didn't believe him, even though she really did, just for the sake of having gotten a straight, truthful answer from him, and still get to stick around. Which, of course, to him would have the same outcome as the second scenario.
And the best part of it all?
The scenarios remained the same even if he did what he was most likely to do; lie.
However, he would await the question before making that decision. If it was one that wouldn't risk costing him too much, he just might consider giving a truthful answer, just to test her.

But, first things first.

"Ah", he said, and sounded as though he was almost about to click his tongue at her in disapproval. "But how easy it'll be for you to take advantage. Such terms leave you with the upper hand. I don't much care for giving someone the upper hand. You may just believe, but claim that you do not, all for the purpose of getting to dig a little deeper, no?"

Pausing, he tilted his head to the side, in what appeared much like carefree contemplation, all the while meeting her gaze from out of the corner of his eyes.

"Very well", he then suddenly concluded, despite his previous remark, and slowly moved to stand face to face with her. "Ask away."




(((ooc: innocent - Argh, you've made me curious now! *lol*
And sorry if the above post is a bit messy. The twists and turns of Adrien's mind can be somewhat difficult to put into words sometimes. ;) )))

[Ghanima Atreides]

Aeode and Valerian - Valerian's private chambers

An odd sort of disquiet was slowly seeping into the depths of Aeode's mind, trickling pure ice down her spine and making the tiny hairs on her arms stand up. Her own words echoed in her ears, the confession which had made its way past her lips almost as though it had a will of its own, voicing her deepest desire for the first time for another to hear.

Aeode longed for it, painfully so: to end all the running, the hiding, the subterfuge which shrouded her from head to toe, shielding her from the rest of the world. To be Aeode Mallard once again, even if she never experienced the plush comfort of her first eighteen years of life. Money didn't matter, all the estates in the world were meaningless, compared to a single moment's peace. But the fear surfaced once again, nurtured by old traumatic experiences and years' worth of conditioning, stirred awake by the realization she had just revealed everything to a stranger, exposing her most vulnerable side to him. Like bile it rose in her throat, choking her, sending her mind reeling – elaborate scenarios, all imagined before, all ending in disaster, passed before her eyes like an out of control projection film. Preoccupied with those thoughts, Aeode barely noted Valerian's sedate nod until he spoke, the words drifting lightly, soothingly:

"I had to ask" he purred apologetically, his voice a caress of sound which eased its way past her mental barriers like the soft whisper of a lover in a moment of peaceful surrender. Gazing away from the corner of the carpet she had been staring at without actually seeing it, the young woman could not prevent a slight flinch -of surprise perhaps, mingled with silent awe. Valerian's former poise had evaporated swifter than dew in the sun, causing Aeode to wonder whether it had been there at all, or just an illusion concocted by her own mind. It was not the first time in recent days that she had felt distanced from reality, that she teetered on the threshold of something unimaginable.

"I'll be honest with you.” he continued in the same manner. “I don't know of any cults she might be involved in, and I find it hard to believe that she would have anything to do with drugs or debts, or something else along those lines. But you do have me worried. If you will allow me the chance, I'll do what I can to look into it?"

It would take a bitterly cynical person indeed to doubt that statement, unmoved by the deeply concerned sincerity they exuded. Aeode had grown cynical over the years and yet her soul yearned to believe him, trust him even. He would not betray her...would he? What reason would he have to? And even if he wanted to, to whom would he go to? Ultimately, there was a lot to suggest she was no longer a target: had they wanted to, they could have found her years ago. After all, her passage into anonymity had left traces behind, clues a professional could follow. And still the fear remained.

Aeode pondered Valerian's promise to do what rested in his power and discover what possible problems Jessica might have had. She knew she should have been satisfied with that answer – after all, that's what she had come to him for. But the cynic in her wondered if he was only telling her what she wanted to hear, in order to rid himself of an unwanted annoyance and end the matter quickly. A tired sigh built up in her chest, slowly, almost imperceptibly draining out of her: so much remained unknown, and it seemed that the more she tried to shed light into the mystery, the closer darkness pressed in.

“Thank you, I would really appreciate that” she replied in what she hoped was an even tone. “I really do hope she is all right, perhaps this was all an unfortunate misunderstanding on my part.”

Aeode then drew herself to her feet, adjusting her lips into a tired smile:

“Right, then...I shall not keep you any longer. Thank you for receiving me and considering this. There is just one last thing: may I count on your discretion, regarding my identity? If there is a problem with me using the Annie Winters alias while remaining your employee, I understand, I simply need...time.”

[PennyTheCorgi]

Andre DeLucian - His Apartment & Algernon

Flashes of colored light and the tinkle of laughter reached
Andre from his spot on the stone wall. It was cold, and rather
uncomfortable, but he wanted to make sure he would see Grace as
soon as she arrived. People stumbled by, drawn to the lights
like a moth to flame and drunk on excitement. Many of them
recognized him and turned to wave or tip their hats. Andre
waved cheerfully back, scanning the crowds for any sign of
Grace. A shock of bright red hair catches his eye and Andre
turns. Grace is walking towards him, lovely in a green velvet
dress that matches her emerald eyes. She smiles at him, walking
quicker. But something is wrong, no matter how fast she walks
she is sinking backwards. Confusion crosses her delicate face
and she breaks into a run. But she is still moving backwards,
faster now, speeding away from him. Andre tries to help her but
discovers he can't move. He reaches out, calling to her, but she
can't hear him. A black cloud appears behind her, it slowly
envelopes her until she gone, leaving no trace that she was ever
there...

Andre awoke with a start, his legs tangled wildly in the sheets.
He glanced out the window at the dark purple-blue twilight.
Something soft brushed against his hand and he jumped, glancing
down. "Voltaire.." he murmured, stroking the white cats head. The
cat purred, inattentive to his masters' unease.
Andre gave the cat a final pat then stood and walked slowly over
to the window. He stared at the full moon, it's milky white glow
bathed the room in an ethereal beauty. Andre hated those dreams,
but they always came during the full moon. That night at the
carnival had been he last time he had ever seen Grace, as a human
at least.
Voltaire bumped against his hand again, meowing pitifully. Andre
sighed, shaken from his thoughts, and quickly dumped a can of strong
smelling mush into Voltaire's bowl. As the cat noisily ate his meal,
Andre dressed quickly and headed outside.
He arrived several minutes later at Algernon, hoping this time he could
find what he was looking for. The shrewd man he had encountered before
had done little to help him.
The bell above the door jingled merrily as he entered, and the few patron
inside glanced briefly up at him before returning to their books. "Can I
help you." Asked a women behind the counter, no sign of the uninterested
man from his previous visit. "Yes, I'm looking for a book. A very old, book."
Andre said quietly. Woman didn't reply, obviously waiting for him to specify.
"It's a history book, the history of Captain Lai Choi San." Andre continued.
Even as he spoke he was flooded with memories of the cries of seagulls, and
the salty tang of seawater. The yells of deck hands and the rocking of the
ship.
The woman nodded thoughtfully and disappeared into the backroom. She
appeared several moments later with a blank card in her hand. "I'm sorry,
we don't appear to have it right now. If you leave your name I can order it
though." Andre nodded and quickly jotted down is name. He didn't leave a
phone number because he couldn't stand the shrill whine of a telephone and
so didn't own one. The woman dropped the card into a drawer. Andre gave a
brief nod of thanks and headed back outside.






Ada Von Vita - Notre dame d'éternité Cemetery

Ada stepped gingerly around another broken tombstone, it's crumbling
pieces hidden by grass and weeds. She didn't bother to glance at the
name, she knew it wasn't the right one. Passing a clump of gnarled trees,
she stopped at a small, moss covered heap of stone. It was hastily carved
and very old. Ada brushed the filth away with the sleeve of her sweater.
The stone read:

Madeline Evelyn Von Vita

1821 - 1904

Ada had tried in vain to find out how her daughter had come to be in America;
Had she been married? Did she have any children? But strangely, she couldn't
find any more information then a crumbling tombstone in the Notre dame d'éternité
cemetary. Ada sighed, brushing her fingers once more over the stone. How ironic,
she though. A vampire in a cemetery during a full moon. What better place for
such a cliche' then LA, a mere ten minutes from Hollywood. A loud crunch
behind her made her turn, poised to strike and with the agility of a cat.
"Who's there!" She yelled, by no means afraid, but simply wary. No Answer
came. "Show yourself!" She barked.

(Approachable)

[AtropaMandragora]

(((ooc: Oh, come on people! :) Penny just provided someone with a perfect opening. We really do need to help keep eachother active in here. *s*

And, just so everyone knows; Shenanigans has decided to leave the forums, and so Faleysia is no longer an active character. I'll still keep the casino as a Hot Spot though.)))



An internal battle was raging within the young woman seated next to him on the dark couch. A battle of the mind and of the heart, each fighting in the tug-of-war over the command of her thoughts and ultimately her actions. On the opposing front lines were her courage and her dreams on one side, and her experiences and her fears on the other. She yearned for tranquility, for the chance to finally step out of the shadows in which she had been hiding, and perhaps find something permanent in life. Something - or someone - to lean on, other than her own strengths. Something that would give her peace, and purpose, something that would offer strength, when she herself had none, or it was simply wearing thin. It was a yearning that had grown strong, in spite of the many years that had passed during which it had been beaten into submission by memories and fears that had now haunted her for the majority of her adult life, and created the only reality she knew.

Despite the severity of such an inner rampage of conflicting emotions, hardly any of it showed on her face. But Valerian still picked up on it, as though the entire battle had played out right infront of his very eyes. He had always been able to tune into those around him, so easily that it was in fact harder for him not to. To him, emotions radiated from most humans the way the light radiated from the sun, each slightest change of tone, each minute quiver in their facial expression, each small gesture they made, conveyed to him a message clear as day, and left him to sense what they were feeling. And if sometimes his own emotions or his imagination ran away with him and amplified what he was sensing, then so be it. He was an artist, he fed off of strong emotions. They were to him what food and drink were to others; a necessity, without which he would slowly wither away.

In this instant, surpassed only by the wide emotional range within Aeode, was guilt. Valerian knew he was partly to blame for the dilemma she was currently finding herself in. His mesmerizing voice, the demeanor that seemed a silent promise of refuge from the cruelty of the world around them, was beckoning something within her that went against all her deeply rooted instincts. It called out for her to trust him, to surrender herself to him; an ability that must've seemed so long gone to her, or at least buried so deep that one would have to dig for years before finding it again.
No. Despite his good intentions, Valerian hadn't helped tip the scales at all. He had only added to the burden weighing them down.

Still, Aeode knew she had to make a decision, and so with a heavy sigh, she made it the same she had already made a few minutes earlier; to go out on a limb, and put a little faith in him.

"Thank you", she said, in a tone that sounded much like she was trying to make him forget that troubled sigh just a moment ago. "I would really appreciate that. I really do hope she is all right, perhaps this was all an unfortunate misunderstanding on my part."

Valerian gave slight nod in response, even though he knew that once he did what he had to do, and Damian found out about Jessica's betrayal, eternal life would most likely be wiped from the Toreador Primogen's stars. Watching as Aeode came to her feet, he then followed, leisurely pulling himself to his full height in a motion that just about levelled their eyes.

"Right, then...", she said, a clear signal that she was getting ready to finish her business and take her leave, had her standing up not been one. "I shall not keep you any longer. Thank you for receiving me and considering this. There is just one last thing: may I count on your discretion, regarding what I've said? If there is a problem with me using the Annie Winters alias while remaining your employee, I understand, I simply need... time."

At that, Valerian briskly shook his head, immediately and firmly dismissing such concerns. There was no reason to make a problem out of something that was not. After all, her using an alias had done no harm before she had told him about it. Why would it change just because his knowledge of her did?

"Not at all", he said, using those three simple words as a way of responding to both parts of her statement, and let her know that he had been happy to see her, despite the somewhat awkward situation she had found him in, and that he saw no reason why her alias would be a problem. "I would gladly call you Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile if it would help keep you safe."

The last part he added with a tiny smile playing on his lips; not as an attempt to make light of the situation, but simply to relax her, and have her know that she had a friend in him.

"You have my word", he concluded in a more serious tone, just to confirm that it was not only her alias that was safe with him, but the whole story she had told him about her past. "As for Jessica... I will do my best, and get back to you as soon as I can."

No promises of when, as he did not know how soon the Prince would be willing to see him, and no asking her to look him up again, as it would keep her in the inferior position she was already in, when he wanted infuse her with a sense of equality.

"And Annie?", he added further, intentionally calling her by her alias to eliminate the risk of ever slipping up, and then paused for a moment before continuing in a softened voice; "Be careful. Just in case."

[Ghanima Atreides]

Aeode and Valerian - Valerian's private chambers --> Aeode leaving

Aeode fully expected Valerian to terminate their contract, in light of her confession, and wouldn't have held it against him if he did. What she hoped was to avoid being reported for identity fraud, which would have forced her to flee Los Angeles as soon as possible. Even as she reviewed the next step in finding a different job in her mind, Valerian's own words firmly closed the door on that scenario – taking her by surprise for what was starting to feel like the hundredth time that evening.

"Not at all", he began full of assurance, Aeode's eyes instantly regaining their sharpest focus, “I would gladly call you Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile if it would help keep you safe."

A reluctant grin momentarily brightened the redhead's features at these words, the first genuine sign of joy present on her face that evening. She gave him an amused, quizzical glance laced with gratitude. It spoke as clearly as any words: she did not understand why exactly he was helping her, but she was thankful for it nonetheless.

“That has a rather nice ring to it” she muttered and a swift chuckle issued from her throat. “Shame it would attract quite a bit of attention.”

"You have my word", Valerian concluded in a more serious tone as though to eliminate any possible confusion. “As for Jessica... I will do my best, and get back to you as soon as I can."

This time, Aeode's nod held no hesitation. Perhaps it was the fact that Valerian had been nothing but helpful regarding all matters, maybe that brief humorous interlude had alleviated some of the tension and mistrust...whichever the case, Aeode's respect for her employer was distinctly higher than when she had first entered his chambers.

"And Annie?” Valerian added just before she turned to leave. “Be careful. Just in case."

A fully fledged, impish smile gracing her lips, Aeode inclined her brow approvingly:

“I always am, boss. Good bye.”

With a final nod, Aeode was on her way, the door closing with a gentle clap in her wake.

[veldagia]

Mina sensed a fragility still threatening to shatter the woman before her. How easy it was to encompass into the role of a leader with one whose eyes glowed with respect in every glance. Mina had sworn never to turn another, to inflict the immortal curse on another being. It was a promise to herself that she had never broken. Never been truley tempted to create a childe for herself. Yet these past few years the lonliness had begun to creep upon her like a grey smog. Night after night, since her sires death, she had wondered what it would be like to have someone to share her knowledge, all the pleasures and pains of her existance with once again.

Even though Carmilla was not a childe of her own, the blood of the seven was shared between them as their clan bound tighter than any other. So perhaps it was possible that she could fulfill her longing to teach another, to watch one grow and blossom beneath her guiding hand. Treasure the first steps taken in each ritual, relish the look of astonsihment and wonder as comprehension dawned. Though Carmilla was an Ancilla, Mina sensed that her sires stifling protectiveness had crushed the true soul that dwelt within, forced her learning along paths driven by his own motives and desires. Rather than the yearnings if his prodigy.

With Carmilla Mina had found it was possible to begin to trust again. To share a little of herself, the woman behind the mask, the soul beneath the Primogen title. Mina knew that the observant Tremere saw the subtilties in her mood. A fellow magician she understood that often what was hidden told more than was revealed. She saw the contradictions, discrepencies between a tone and a glance and knew when something was not quite right. But still she could not share her troubles, the haunting memories of the past recently awakened. The antaganisms brought by another clan member, the one who who refused to fall into the fold of their clan. Who stuck out amongst them like a copper coin on a palm of silver. Still Mina had to push away her own dilemas and focus on the present. Draw into her circle one who was worthy of the Tremere knowledge and power that brought.

"I am the only one who owes...", Carmilla spoke fragily her eyes downcast. Mina was unsure whether they dropped with respect or to hide the uncertainties within them. She seemed as though afraid of rejection, of being cast away like an unwanted gift thrown into the trash. Yet to have come here within the Chantry showed a true strength of mind and character that shone threw the modest disquise.

A slight inclination of Mina's head acknowledged that she had heard the words yet her gaze held neither confirmation or denial. It was true that she had pulled strings to aid Carmilla. Yet she had not done it for power or debt but out of recognition of what was best for the clan and for other mor pesonal reasons. She identified with Carmilla, with the ties of a restraining sire. And once free in mind and spirit Carmilla could become a powerful vampire.

"Come." Mina spoke softly. With one elegant sweep of her slender hand she beconned the younger Tremere to follow her as she ascended the stairs. Leaving behind the buzz of the cafe and the humans that haunted its walls as she headed towards the more seculuded, dustier haunt of the library.

"Have you found somewhere to stay?" Mina asked the question nochelently yet the warm tone in her voice indicated an invitation.

[i]((OCC sorry for the delay. Hope what I've written about Carmilla is OK)). [i/]

[PennyTheCorgi]

Having nowhere else to go and the night still being
blissfully young, Andre was draw to The Haven. The familiar
loud, gothic music and flashing lights greeted him as he
entered. Kine and Kindred alike crowded the bar, booths and
dance floor. Andre began searching for an empty booth.
His eyes skimmed quickly over the crowd, a blur of pale skin
and long dark hair past by quickly. He stopped turning his head
back. Archon DeWinter. It had been some time since
he has spoken to the Ventrue Primogen. Not long at all by
kindred standards, but long enough for a human to complete
the full circle of life. Andre glided down the marble steps,
somehow managing to avoid touching a single person. He really
despised crowds of this magnitude. The crush of bodies,
the overwhelming smells of sweat, perfume and desire. Without
a word Andre slipped into the book across from Archon,
nodding in respectful greeting. "Hello Archon, it's been a long time."

[innocenteyes]

A smile lit in Bees eyes to hear a chuckle come from Adrien. It sounded as malicing as he was, but still, it was the first she has ever heard from him. Maybe there was some joy in him after all. Beyonca would at least think so. How could one live with no happiness from anything. Even as lonly as she felt most of the time, still she found some happiness. It was then she relized there was another question that haunted her mind; what made Adrien happy?

"Ah", he said, and sounded as though he was almost about to click his tongue at her in disapproval. "But how easy it'll be for you to take advantage. Such terms leave you with the upper hand. I don't much care for giving someone the upper hand. You may just believe, but claim that you do not, all for the purpose of getting to dig a little deeper, no?"

A small grin appeared on her lips that had her amber eys glowing in the night. Digging deeper was something that was deffinately on her mind. Something she intended to do, but at another time. It was going to be difficult to do with him. He was always on guard and had a wall up around him that no one could penetrate. His eyes were like stone no one could read. The trick was to figure out some way to get around it. There had to be some weak spot somewhere in the wall and Bee was determined to find a way. She only hoped she could find a loop hole in her agreement.

"Very well", he then suddenly concluded, despite his previous remark, and slowly moved to stand face to face with her. "Ask away."

Bee locked gazes with him for a moment. A small grin still on her face. Was this real? He actually agreed to it. Now she had to figure out whether he lied about his answer to her question. Bee let her head dipp a little and her eys was looking at the ground as if she was thinking of a question. Her hair fell in her face somewhat, blocking the view of her eyes. Then she looked back up at him and bore into his eyes yet again. No grin was on her face only her eyes shone with curiosity.

"How about a new question Mr. De la Cour?" She paused a moment before continuing. "What did it feel like killing all those kindred? Was it triumph?"

[Psyche_SC]

#32 [Ninth Night]

Nothing was as certain as a Tremere's thirst for knowledge. It was just as definite as the night following the day, as the spellbinding power of the moon and the bond between a master and a ghoul. No vampire mind, not even the Malkavian mad ones, would bet against it. They were the scholars, blood magicians and all the other clans kept watchful eyes on them, as the always suspected the Tremere to be up to something.
And it was not easy to become a Tremere. To be choosen was an honour, to live through the Embrace, the blood of the Seven and all the other factors that took hold of you was a gift, since it could make you mad or suicidal.

Carmilla had gone throught the initiation, and she had lived to tell the tale. A tale that would always reside within her blood, flow through her veins and be a part of all her magic. The magic that had been made to suffer. It was such a shame, and a disgrace. A vampire with so much potential, it could be considered a crime to let her rise to greatness starve. And Mina was not the only one to consider it a crime, not only against Carmilla but the clan itself, but she was the only one who had been able set her free. And Carmilla had been playing the part of a devoted subject, to the point where it almost fooled her fellow clansmen. The years had passed by, decades had been making way for new ones. It was fortunate she was a vampire; she had all the time in the world to take back what had been stolen from her.

And there she was, in the magic central of Los Angeles. Yet another Chantry she had never visited alone. Until now. Seath had not trusted her. It was time for her to trust herself, to dare to take the first steps on her own. Even if she wanted to ask Mina for help, she knew it didn't entail giving up her newly found freedom. Her Primogen was a strong confident woman, and other Tremere came to her, she didn't have to force them. She was the beautiful eye of the Kindred storm, where the Tremere of L.A. looked for guidance.

"Come", Mina spoke softly, and gestured towards the stairs as she ascended them.

A single, delicate, yet forceful word; it was as water in a desert for Carmilla. An invitation that granted warmth to her cold skin, the final sound to shatter her cage. She followed with blood in her eyes, just a thin layer of that crimson delight, due to her gratiude and yearning. She harvested an immense love and loyalty for their clan, but maybe more for their Primogen. Even though their Prince was a great one, Carmilla was certain Mina would be just as good, if not better.

Interpreted through the red veil, Mina looked even more beautiful, like a dangerous mistress moving as gracefully as any Toreador. Without even realizing it, Carmilla wished to be just as beautiful, just as strong, as she followed her leader. She wanted to make Mina proud. She didn't even consider the Seven in that moment - although during the day, she was sure in her dreams they knew of her predicament being changed into freedom.

"Have you found somewhere to stay?" Mina asked, seemingly nonchalant, yet with a warm tone in her voice, indicating an invitation as they entered the empty library.

Would she dare? Carmilla took the question straight into her heart, and she would have ceased breathing if she had had any air left in her lounges. Was it really an offer, or would it be too much to ask? She had already asked for so much, and been given the most extraordinary gift ever. Greed would not be becoming, not for her, yet she felt this was something different entirely. She did indeed feel as if she belonged in Mina's care, what ever it would mean. She was not her offspring, although there were brief moments she could dream of it.

"I do believe I am welcome to stay where I am...", Carmilla began to speak, as she felt she had been in awe with silence for too long, even if only for a few seconds. "But... my heart is not there, my Lady. It has not been for a long time, if ever..."

As she spoke, she felt numb, numb from all the feelings that claimed her as if she was a ship lost at a vast sea. She could not seperate them, and she could not feel them all at the same time. They took turns visiting the core; happiness, longing, hope... And a swirl of mixed emotions, as she was afraid to be cast away. Although she would never believe her Primogen would do that, she wasn't sure she would be entitled to actually study under the protecting wings of Mina herself. No one could ever understand, just how high Carmilla placed her beloved Primogen.
For so long, Carmilla had been used to appreciate being fed snippets of anything real or useful to a blood magician. She litterally stood in the doorway to heaven for any Tremere. Therefore, she fell to her knees, never loosing sight of Mina's eyes as if she was a guiding star.

"I do not have the right to ask you for anything more", she continued. "But I know not what to do, if I would not ask you to guide me. There is no one else I trust more. If you take me in, I promise I will do what you ask of me, without questioning your great judgement. I will not take anything for granted. I am a Tremere, and without your wisdom to show me the way, I am so afraid I will let us all down."

To behold Mina's gaze gave Carmilla harmony. In a few moment, all the emotions sorted themselves, and she could think clearly.

"May I please stay with you?" she asked, since she did believe Mina deserved a straight forward question. "Of course, I will accept any decision."





__________________________________________

((( ooc: Veldagia - Of course it's okay. :) I don't know if I've gotten back the feel of Carmilla, but I tried.

Penny - Archon will come tomorrow hopefully, I don't have time to post him tonight aswell, since I have work tomorrow. )))

[AtropaMandragora]

A vampire that was all smiles. What a most peculiar thing. In all his years, Adrien had never seen a Kindred with so many smiles to offer as this Beyonca. Especially not among the uptight Ventrue. Most of them seemed to take pride in maintaining the look of a face carved in stone; expressionless, devoid of emotion, possibly even downright cold. Beyonca seperated herself from that crowd. She had from the very start, by being the only one to approach him when everyone else refused. And what was more was that none of her smiles seemed even the slightest bit ill-boding. No matter what Adrien said or did, they always seemed open and genuine for the most part, and only sometimes sly, mischievous at the most. Only once had he managed to wipe her face of any traces of the gentle curve of her lips; during that first meeting at the Ball, when he had openly challenged her, taunted her, by crossing the boundaries of her personal space in his mock advance on her. That was the only time he'd had the satisfaction of knowing for sure that he had gotten to her, in a way far too uncomfortable for her to be amused, or even pretend to be. Other than that, she had been all smiles during their very few and very brief encounters, which left him thinking that either she was a rare specimen indeed, or she was the very epitome of the saying that one would catch far more flies with honey than with vinegar.
The idea that she might actually be completely genuine, and hold no ulterior motives at all, he did not consider a possibility. Life had taught him better than that.
And there was plenty of time yet to crack that facade of hers once more, and have her reveal to him what was truly underneath it all. Just like he had done at the Ball.

In the meantime, he would keep himself amused by playing this most interesting game with her, and take satisfaction in frustrating her with his elusive answers, as well as taking her by surprise. Much like now. As she momentarily had her gaze lock with his at his words of approval for her to 'ask away', he could see that it was clearly not what she had expected of him. It didn't even seem like she'd had a question in mind, as she soon lowered her head just a bit in contemplation, thick waves of ebony silk sliding over her shoulders like a curtain, blocking his view of her thoughtful face. It was a simple movement, and perhaps perfectly innocent, but it was one that struck him once again with just how devastatingly appealing she could be. And Adrien, being Adrien, immediately had the sneaking suspicion that she had been very well aware of the lure of such a simple gesture. After all, what woman with hair like hers was oblivious to the fact that it was one of her greatest assests, as far as captivating the opposite sex was concerned? Hair like soft silk sheets, striking eyes, or a toned, voluptuous body; all female attributes that were a sure recipe of what would get any man's attention.
Beyonca possessed every single one of those ingredients, and there was no doubt in Adrien's mind that she was very well aware of it. Most human men were not exactly opposed to expressing their appreciation, be it through vulgar outcries as she passed them by on the street, or something far more refined, such as using her as a muse for music and prose.
It made him wonder, if she was trying to awaken something in him, something that she - if it was so - would be disappointed to find was long dead and gone. He was not like other newly embraced Kindred men, his body did not still remember the feeling of carnal attraction, simply because it was something that had been buried deep within him already as a human. Back then, he could not afford such distractions, and that was a notion that remained true to this day. The only difference was that while still human, the carnal urges had 'only' been buried, and thus surfaced every once in a while when he'd felt safe enough to allow them, and satisfy them through a few hours spent in the company of a woman. When embraced, those very urges had already been safely tucked away once again, in the mausuleum for unwanted needs that he had created in his mind, and thus had quietly faded away, along with his breath, his warmth, and his heartbeat, never to be felt by him, or anyone, ever again.

And so, regardless of her intentions with that small and beguiling move, Adrien simply watched her, much like an art critic would a beautiful painting - with cool admiration and acknowledgement, but no desire - all the while thinking to himself 'Yes, that's it, take your time, and make it a good one', with his lips donning his trademark smirk.

And a good one it was.

"How about a new question Mr. De la Cour?" she finally said, returning to look him straight in the eye, now that she had decided with what question she would seize the golden opportunity he had granted her. "What did it feel like killing all those kindred? Was it triumph?"

Gone was that otherwise ever present smile of hers, bringing a severity to her words, as though she wanted to give some sort of sign that while the game was still very much on, to her this round was not to be a joking matter.

Still, it was a look that did little to stop the smirk on Adrien's lips from slowly widening, as he took in the question, and carefully tasted every word of it. If she had asked for the purpose of exposing a possible weakness in the form of a guilty conscience, a soul tormented by what he'd had to do for the sake of what he believed to be the right thing, she was sadly mistaken. There was not a single slaying that he did not remember with sense of sweet, sweet victory. He could still visualize the look on each and every face of those that had suffered Final Death by his hand, and he revelled in the memories of the sensation it had given him to feel their bedevilled bodies crumble to dust underneath his touch. It had been a rush unlike any other, the ultimate thrill, the intoxicating feeling of wielding total power. Of being a god.

The only regrets he had, were that there had been a lucky few that had gotten away. At least, those were the only regrets he was aware of. If there were more, he had buried them so deeply he himself would not find them, even if he'd ever care to try.

As slowly as the wisps of morning mist would lift in dawn's early light, the smirk on his lips begun to morph, taking on the form of a grin far more sinister than any of his previous ones. Though it would not have been nearly as eerie, had he not chosen this particular time to for once unleash the expression in his eyes, and allow every last ounce of the malice he was currently feeling to show. And why wouldn't he? It was what he wanted, was it not? For Kindred to see the pleasure he'd taken in bringing about the end to so many of their kind, and instilling them with the fear, with the understanding, that one of these nights, his hunter self would return, with a vengeance.

Still, he couldn't help but to tease, as Beyonca had provided him with such a perfect way of doing so.

"Yes", he stated plainly, with a smug twinkle in his eyes telling her that with that one simple word, he had indeed fulfilled his part of the agreement, and that consequently, she really was entitled to no more.

Though once the look on her face told him she had realized her mistake, he continued, just for the satisfaction of having her know that the only reason why she was able to learn anything about him beyond that simple 'yes', was because of his generosity, and not her ingenuity. Though in truth, it probably had very little to do with generosity, and more to do with the fact that he was more inclined to elaborate when given the freedom of choosing to do so. And it was a chance to gloat, to bring to life the ghost of what he had truly been in his prime.
But he had to be careful. She just may be attempting to blind him, by having him bask in his own triumph; something that would usually distract even the most vigilant of men from keeping their guard up, leaving some little weakness to reveal itself. If nothing else, then at least their pride, their hubris, the original deadly sin, and the ultimate source of all others.

"It was victory so sweet it never lost it's taste", he continued, ever so slowly inching closer to her while he spoke, pushing the same boundaries he had at the Ball, only this time he did not stop, but instead kept going, wishing to see if she would retreat, or stand her ground, even with his body pressing against hers.

An easy yet bold method of intimidation, for the sake of intimidation itself. Or to serve as titillation.
Beyonca was not the only one who knew how to toy with the opposite gender, and appeal to their primal urges. If this was the path she wished for their little game to take, Adrien would not hesitate to play.

"To know that even with all Kindred knowledge, all your powers, and your numbers, still none of you were good enough", he continued once more, his voice dropping with each syllable, until it was little more than a soft yet scathing whisper. "You were all still inferior to me."



(((ooc: Oookay, that turned out far longer than I had intended. :D Oh, and, just to clarify; all this are Adrien's thougts, not mine. He thinks rather highly of himself and the reputation he has, so... ;) )))

[Psyche_SC]

#35 [Ninth Night]

The Haven was intriguing, and apparently, so was Archon. He had a charisma, royaly sublime, that he had kept since his kine days. It was something within his soul, what was left of it, that shone through the ice. And the long black hair, the hazel eyes and the quite handsome face. No matter the ages, it always did the trick. The power of attracting others was a Toreador trait, however, even other Kindred had means to attract, especially the kine. And sometimes without even knowing it. Though, Archon's unbelieveable concentration, in a noisy place like this one, appealed to a few kine. The ones that was not too into the music, or alcohol, could spot him among all the rest. It was a wonder, how a man could just sit there with his laptop and not mind the loud surrounding. Now and then, he exchanged a few words with the younger man by his side, or was approached by someone. Some of these were undead, like himself, but some were kine and usually a botheration.
There could be a few Archon handled himself, with patience and sometimes curiosity. But the rest did not come beyond Roe, and he did have better people skills when it came to kine at The Haven. Archon could not help but have something in his eyes that made them shy away.

Most of the time he was left alone, or only approached by Kindred who had something to tell him, or wanted information. The Haven was a perfect place to conduct business, tap into what was going on among the Kindred or just keep up with the flow of data on the computer. Although, sometimes the electronic world could proove to be more difficult and dangerous than the real one. Either the kine was a random nuisance or the Nosferatu prowled the internet highway. Codes and puzzling messages was a must. But no one really knew just how deep the Nosferatu feral claws reached into the cookie jar.
And Archon had in one way or another participated in some of the raids on unsuspecting kine. They might just have stumbled upon something they either could never decode, or make anything of. However, their time started to run out as soon as the Kindred noticed them. It was like lambs to the Nosferatu slaughter. Sometimes it was just their affair, sometimes it concerend them all. The Masquerade had to be upheld, and issues between the clans had to wait.
At the moment, the electronic world was at peace. Any push on the keys could wake a creepy vampire, but Archon did not fear them. Leaving the internet to them, now that would be a cause for concern.

Right now, Archon's fingers danced with ease across the keyboard, typing down a message that contained a lot of words to hide the true meaning. His work was never done, or he would never let it be. There was always things that could be done in order to make sure the Ventrue prospered. It was their kingdom, but not everyone appreciated that fact.
A black sign appeared on the screen, just as he had hit "sent", and it acquired his attention. A few clicks, and he had unfolded a message that he had just recieved. There had been trouble in the east, problems to solve. A Ventrue affair, a threat against the Masquerade. It was not Archon's personal concern, nor any other undead soul in the City of Angels, though he had been asked for his advice on the journey abroad. A local issue, within the Ventrue, that had to be brought to the attention of the Prince of that domain. And now Archon learned that his advice had been followed and the result had been sucessfull. A rare, humble smile, lit up the face of the Primogen. It was just as rare as recognition from a fellow Primogen. They were all proud, and asking for help was no easy task. Archon was pleased to know that no Ventrue life had been taken, and sent a short message in return, the aristocratic version of "de nada".

The screen got quiet. No new messages, no more unfinished business that could be taken care of in the nightclub and a silent cell phone. Though the night was no longer young, it was still pretty much alive, and Archon appreciated the rest. This meant he could actually lean back and do nothing more than observe what was going on around him. Drunken kine, of course, but also a couple of Kindred on the look out for suitable preys. There was the occasional beautiful woman, and one exquisite female Toreador specimen that possessed a great deal of that dangerous characteristic attraction and caused phantom pain in Archon's heart. He turned his eyes to the screen, as if he wanted something to distract him, and he did. In that moment, he could feel the energy of another anointed one approaching, a blood brother. Archon raised his head, and watched as Andre DeLucian made his way through The Haven and joined him in his booth.

"Hello Archon", Andre greeted him, with a respectful nod. "It's been a long time."

A long time indeed. Archon tried to remember the last time he had layed eyes upon the seemingly young man, though a prospering Ancilla, and established that it was not really that long ago. Not for a Kindred, although he had wished to have seen him more often. After all, Andre was one of the few that could call him by his first name and get away with it.

"Indeed it has", Archon agreed with a kind smile. "Good evening, Andre. I have missed our conversations."

As he greeted the fellow vampire, he closed the laptop and without a gesture or a look, Roe reached from outside the booth and took care of it. No business in the company of friends, especially not when it happened to be a Ventrue.
Andre had qualities that delighted any female eyes, but Archon could see beyond the surface and into the soul of a strong man with the hint of a troubled past. Though they had shared many conversations, Andre had not opened his heart all that much, so Archon could not know for sure. However, the Ventrue were not really the heart to heart type of Kindred, and when they did get down to informal matters, they still did it the Ventrue way. Archon had never seen a Ventrue cry, or any man for that matter - unless they found themselves in dire straits of a blood hunt or something of that sort. And even then, it was rarely a Ventrue.

"Have the years been good to you?"







__________________________________________

((( ooc: Penny - I hope what I wrote about Andre is ok? I got inspried by his bio, but I don't know how much you want Archon to know. But I gather they have talked about more than the weather, since they are on a first name basis. :) Tell me if you want me to change or add anything. :) )))

[PennyTheCorgi]

"Indeed it has", Archon agreed with a kind smile. "Good evening, Andre. I have missed our conversations. Have the years been good to you?"

Andre's mind skipped over his fervent nightmares, his unease around the time of the full moon, and the memories he tried to suppress; memories of a haunting young woman with scarlet curls.

"Yes, I suppose in the long run the years have been decent enough to me. I actually haven't been back in town for very long, I spent a great deal of time traveling. It feels somewhat strange to see everything so different from what I remember."

Andre did not bother to mention his whereabouts during his travel or that he had spent most of that time attempting to find Grace. Even among those who could be called friends he had never been one to say that which wasn't necessary, even in his kine days.

Even though he itched to ask Archon about the book, he said nothing. As a kindred, he hadn't taken him long to realise that immortality left you with plenty of time on your hands. There was no point in skipping the pleasantries to delve into business.

"And you Archon, how has time been treating you?"


((( ooc: Penny - I hope what I wrote about Andre is ok? I got inspired by his bio, but I don't know how much you want Archon to know. But I gather they have talked about more than the weather, since they are on a first name basis. Tell me if you want me to change or add anything. )))

That's fine, I kind of pictured them as old friends anyways. :) If it's alright with you I planned on Andre asking Archon about a rare book he's looking for soon. (It is Archon that owns Algernon, correct?) he's trying to find out more about what happen to Grace.

[Ghanima Atreides]

Damian and Moira - the penthouse office at The V --> Moira leaving

It was interesting indeed how in the short span of a few short days, Moira Sushill had shifted from her role as visitor of a foreign city to being progressively drawn into the flow of life which sustained its denizens, mortal and immortal alike. Chance and guided purpose alike had played a part into the London Primogen's transition, and burgeoning connections to the New World. The ball marked the beginning of this process, Moira's very first contact with Los Angeles' Kindred community, and the crème de la crème of it no less, an early opportunity to study and assess it, to “test the waters” so to say. Indeed, that had been a most memorable gathering indeed, marked not only by the hunter's bold appearance, but also by the more personal circumstance of acquainting herself with not only the Prince of the city, but the Ventrue Primogen as well. The latter subsequently set her on the path to Valerian's Haven, who provided not only one of the most singular, stirring experiences of the last two, maybe even three centuries but also the foundations of a deep connection between them.

The swift-moving chain of events had not ended there however, the meeting with Prince Damian Alexander constituting the succession and yet another door opened onto a whole new realm of possibilities. As she stood to finalize their conversation, Moira already envisioned what her next step would be, one which had the potential to provide her with a firm foothold into this foreign domain. Envisioning it however was one side of the matter: turning it into reality would prove rather more of a challenge.

"No date in mind, for the time being", Damian responded. "While I am eager to get the project started, I would also like for you to have the freedom to take the time you need to look over the figures, as well as be shown the building concerned.”

Although Moira had her own reasons to hasten the process, she could definitely use the extra time to ensure nothing regarding the project escaped her assessment, and if the Damian did not mind the small delay, all for the better. It appeared that the Prince also wished to avoid making hasty decisions regarding a matter that had already developed in an unusually short amount of time. There was no denying it, or the fact that Damian and Moira were little more than strangers, and no amount of hearsay could quite replace personal experience when it came to working closely with someone. Trust also accumulated in time; for the moment, they were merely cautious acquaintances embarking on a common project.

“Unfortunately, I myself will not be available to show it to you, but if you stop by my secretary on your way out, she will provide you with the name and number of one of my most esteemed employees, who shall be happy to give you the grand tour of the place. I shall see to it that he keeps himself available to you, and in the meantime, I will have the contract drawn up. Once you are ready, contact my secretary, and she will set up a meeting as soon as possible."

Moira inclined her head slightly in agreement; that much did not surprise her, as she had never gotten the impression that the Prince's involvement in the project would extend beyond that of a silent supervisor and fundings manager. After all, he had hired her for the rest, or at least he would once a contract held her signature.

“Very well”, Moira concluded and gave his extended hand a firm squeeze. “As soon as my preparations are concluded, I shall contact you again concerning the contract, the following week at the earliest. Until then, I bid you farewell, lord Alexander.”

With that final gesture, the Toreador turned around and, the folder in one hand and her bag in the other, exited the office, directing her steps towards where Damian's secretary waited behind her desk.

[innocenteyes]

From the widening grin on Adriens face she knew he wasnt at all set back from the question. It was what she hoped. She also wanted to smile in return, but she kept with her Ventrue ways and showed no sign of what he did gave her satisfaction. Even when he smirk took a graceful time turning into a glimpse of the devils grin, she showed no smile. Kept her face flat and emotion all locked inside. He was proud of his work and she knew it. Before she had even asked him she knew it. He hadnt even answered yet he already gave her one. Did he think that the grin on his face would some how scare her? Some how make her relize just how he was? But the malice on his face did not match the look in his eyes. Was he keeping something inside? Did he not want her to see just how evil he can get? If so why not? So many question plagued her mind from a simple grin.

"Yes", he said. Just one word. It was all he had to do to keep his end of the bargin. He could have walked away and left it at that. Bee would not have followed. She would have left him alone. But for some reason he kept going. Exsplaining to her how he felt. Maybe it was because he knew she wanted more. Or did he just want to bask in his own glory?

"It was victory so sweet it never lost it's taste", he continued moving closer to her. Far closer than he had at the ball. Still her face did not waver and her eyes never left his. Was he once again trying to frighten her? This time with words as well as actions? He was way off his mark with her. Every word he said to describe what he had done seemed to draw her in more. It had even more questions running threw her mind. Even when his body was pressed up against hers, she did not waver. No emotion took over her face. It looked as though she was just listening intentaly to what he was saying.

"To know that even with all Kindred knowledge, all your powers, and your numbers, still none of you were good enough", he continued once more, his voice dropping with each syllable, until it was little more than a soft yet scathing whisper. "You were all still inferior to me."

It was the wisper that plagued her mind. He was so close had he been human she would have felt the wisps of his breath. Had she been human, desires would have overwelmed her. His words did not boil her blood or make her want to spit on him with discust. All he said, she somewhat already knew. The new question that daughted her mind was why. Why did he feel this way towards the kindred? What happened to make him like this? But she had a feeling that it was a question for another time.

Now she let the smile slowly appear on her face and the twinkle once again to add a glow to her amber orbs. She no longer leaned on the pole but stood up straight to him and tilted her head to the side slightly. If it was closeness and a feeling he was trying to stir in her, then she couldnt help but play the game herself. Slowly she picked up her hand and traced his cheek bone and let her feel the coolness of his skin. Her eyes trail where her fingers had been. She missed the warmth. Missed a human warmth under her fingers.

"Such an ego you have Adrien." She said finlly dropping her hand back to her side and looking him in the eyes once again. "Has it always been that way?"

[AtropaMandragora]

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(((ooc: Alright, everyone, night #10 will be called approx. one week and 15 hours from when this post was made)))




.

[AtropaMandragora]

She was good. He had to give her that. She really was good. Despite not only doing again what had managed to rattle her before - forcing his presence on her, a presence that often managed to send chills up the spines of some of the younglings that had attacked him for sport, and even some older ones as well - but going even further by pressing his cool body against hers, making her feel the very manifestation of his mental cold, this time she did not even flinch. She simply remained standing firmly where she was, neither taking a step back, nor lowering her gaze to escape his piercing one. Such a beautiful visual that it was almost sad that there was no one around to see it. The Beauty, and what everyone considered to be the Beast. Only, unless Kindred, the roles were not what they appeared to be at first glance. Had a human observer known the difference between the man and the woman standing so close together, they may have considered her the Beast.

Though at the same time, Adrien could hardly be considered the Beauty. Neither physically, not mentally. Although born a nobleman, with every clean, aristocratic feature that entailed, his looks these days were rugged, with dark worn clothes, and unkempt black hair that hung into his face and was only rarely wiped aside by a gloved hand or a gust of wind. And those eyes. Those dark orbs, devoid of emotion and holding a chill of their own. A tiny, tiny window to his soul, where there was nothing but a barren wasteland; unwelcoming and austere.
A true Beauty was pure in heart and deeds alike.
Adrien de la Cour was not. Nor did he yearn to be. While the choices he had made, had been made with the best interest of mankind at heart, he had been fully aware that they were sure to set him on a path to Hell and back. Though never had he thought that "back" would be wiped from his future, robbed from him as he was violently thrown up against a cold, gritty stone wall in a San Francisco back alley, and forcefed a new one, that would make his descent into Hell all the more swift.


With his whispered words slowly ebbing away, dissipating in the cold night air, silence lowered itself between the two raven-haired Kindred, and settled in perfect calm for a moment or two, before Beyonca's lips finally spread into yet another smile, bringing new life to the scene. While it occured only because she allowed it to, it still sent another wave of smug satisfaction through Adrien, as to him, it was a sure sign that his words had not left her unaffected. Only unwilling to let it show that she was not.
That, in turn, proved beyond all doubt, that she had something to hide, and that he was best off not believing her claims that she wished him no harm. And had it not, what she did next would have done it instead.

Tilting her head ever so slightly, she raised her hand and put her fingertips gently against his face, brushing them against his skin in what seemed almost an affectionate caress. Internally, Adrien flinched. Not because the act itself surprised him, but because the fact that it stirred something within him surprised him.
And yet it was perhaps the most natural thing in the world. For years he had felt no other touch but kicks and punches, he'd had every last shred of memory of what a tender caress could feel like, wiped from his mind, and replaced with nothing but the physical pain he had since grown numb to.
Therefore, the soft touch of Beyonca's fingertips running along his cheekbone felt more like the lash of a whip to him, than the actual lash of a real whip would. It was like for one instance, the cogs of his mind were all aligned, and she could reach in, past all the protective layers and walls surrounding his soul, and touch the very quivering core of it. Or rather, jab it with a red hot poker.

But like her, and like was always the case with him, he simply refused to let it show. Even though a physical reaction thrashed within him, pulling at the restraints of his mind, his rock solid determination prevailed.

Almost...

Despite his efforts, pain flashed in his eyes; a glimpse so brief and so faint that the moment it was gone, one would wonder if it had even been there, or if it had just been a figment of one's imagination. And Adrien left Beyonca little opportunity to register it, let alone pinpoint it, by sending his favorite weapon, his smirk, to banish all traces of him having felt anything other than what usually ruled the air about him; arrogance, disdain and smug amusement.

"Such an ego you have Adrien", came her voice when finally she spoke, and the gaze that had followed her fingertips and thus left the chance of her having seen the look in his eyes even more remote, returned to meet with his once again. "Has it always been that way?"

Back in full control of himself, Adrien didn't reply, but merely let his smirk signal that the stunt she was trying to pull did not pass unnoticed. Slowly, he took a step back, and then another, in movements so fluid it all seemed but one single motion. As he did, he also raised his hand and put his index finger to his lips, tauntingly reminding her that she had requested one question, and that question had already been asked and answered.

"Are you not a woman of your word?" he then asked with a kind of teasing mirth dancing in his eyes.

[veldagia]

"I do believe I am welcome to stay where I am...", Carmilla spoke after a few seconds silence. "But... my heart is not there, my Lady. It has not been for a long time, if ever..."

At this Mina meerly nodded once. The Chantry to which Carmilla currently belonged were unlikely to cast her aside for each was only as strong as its members. Within the tremere factions formed as with any other large organisation and although they all worked for the whole, mehods and motives differed and disputes between Chantrys were rife. To the outside world however all that was seen was a unity, the Tremere hid their dislikes behind the veil of clan loyalty. As secretive with their internal clan alliances as with the magic of Thaumaturgy.

"I do not have the right to ask you for anything more", Carmilla continued. "But I know not what to do, if I would not ask you to guide me. There is no one else I trust more. If you take me in, I promise I will do what you ask of me, without questioning your great judgement. I will not take anything for granted. I am a Tremere, and without your wisdom to show me the way, I am so afraid I will let us all down."

As she spoke Mina's gaze never wandered from her face. The deep emerald eyes unwavering as they judged what she said to be the truth. It was rare for a Tremere to speak with such open honesty for one to lay their destiny into the hands of another. But it was such honesty Mina appreciated. To take on an apprentice was not a light matter. They had to follow her guidance, and that required trust.

May I please stay with you?" Carmila asked. "Of course, I will accept any decision."

Seeing the younger Tremere on her knees. Mina bowed her head maintaining eye contact, before raising her head once again, simply indicating that she could rise. Such signs of respect were uncommon amogst todays fast lifestyle but Mina accepted the ancient gesture.

"You may stay and study amongst my household." Mina said, her voice low yet still it seemed to fill the room with a deep rich tone "All I ask is that you read carefully each word inscribed upon these papers to absorb the knowledge contained within, practice daily the skills and arts of our clan and obey and respect our laws. I will be here to guide but you must follow a pathway you choose for yourself. Make sure your decision is wise, there are many strands to follow, too many for even a Methuselah to ever hope to master them all. "

Mina paused, skipping over the formality of a full Chantry introduction. Carmilla need not be told the vitality of secrecy, of respecting other members and the consequences to any that broke the rules and laws of the Chantry. So she issued no warnings instead a soft smile broke upon her lips. "Should you accept what is asked of evrey member then you may choose any room you wish. I would however be delighted for you to take the vacant suite, next to mine on the penthouse floor. The room is bare but you may bring any furnishings you wish to make it your own,"

[AtropaMandragora]

If during the conversation with Aeode, Valerian had been uncertain of how wise, or unwise, it had been of him to tell her what he had, her departure from his chambers and the time to think that it left him with, added to the feeling tenfold. Perhaps they had all been better off if he had just told her that yes, she must have misunderstood, if he had used his renowned charm and dashing smile to just dismiss her worries, and have her do the same. The fact alone that she had heard the term 'Masquerade' was unsettling enough, he really should not have added to her reasons to remember it, by acting as though there really might be something shady going on and that it might involve Jessica, but rather insinuate that Jessica had a very vivid imagination, and strange ideas that would sometimes manifest themselves in her everday life, and in her actions. That, in short, she was a caring person, but not really 'all there', mentally.
And really, in light of what he had found out about her this evening, could one really blame him? What she had done could be described as foolish, at the very least.

Though no sooner had the thought entered his mind, than he regretted it. It was a terrible thing to think about someone. He was not that nasty. After all, he knew nothing of Jessica's reasons for doing what she had done, nor did he know of her intentions. How could he possibly judge her unheard?

Sadly, he doubted others would see it that way. Especially the Prince. While Damian Alexander had a reputation for being a fairly reasonable man, as far as Princes went, he was also widely known for enforcing Camarillan laws, with little to no mercy. Just a few nights ago, there had been a blood hunt, on a neonate (and barely that, from what Valerian had heard), who'd had the misfortune of unintentionally violating the Masquerade. He had been killed, and his Sire had been driven out of town. One could only imagine what would be the fate of those who broke the Masquerade knowlingy and willingly, and left a human to run around possibly telling others of what she had seen and heard.

Yet Valerian had no choice but to inform the Prince. One could only play the cards that one had been dealt, and by doing what each of them had done, Jessica and Aeode had both dealt Valerian a hand that he could only play one way, lest he put his own life on the line. And he wouldn't. Not when Jessica had had a choice not to tell Aeode a thing in the first place, and she'd had the choice to eliminate the threat that Aeode would pose once she had decided to go ahead and do tell her. And that was perhaps what bothered him the most; knowing that she held Aeode's life in her hands, Jessica had still placed her right in the middle of harm's way. For no matter what happened, the girl's life would never be the same. If it would even be at all. It was a selfish, careless thing to do, to toy with another person's life like that, regardless of whether they were human or not, and Valerian hoped desperately that there was something he could do to persuade the Prince to spare Aeode's life.

However, that was something that wouldn't be possible to do, until the Prince knew the full story. He was a man that wouldn't be tricked into giving a promise or agreeing to a favour if the person asking provided only hazy and evasive pretexts, and while Valerian was as skilled a liar as the next Kindred, he wouldn't dare to try and decieve Damian.

A heavy yet conclusive sigh pushed past his lips, finally marking the end of his dithering, and he set out to find his cell phone. Once he found it in the back pocket of a pair of dark jeans, after about ten minutes of looking, during which time he'd cursed on number of occasions as well as scratched his head in puzzlement, he flipped it open and dialed the number which he had memorized a long time ago; the one for Damian's office. Keeping it stored in the cell phone, or written down on paper somewhere, was out of the question, as there was a tiny risk it might end up in the hands of someone who really shouldn't have it. And besides, one never did know when it would come in handy.

A few signals went by, before the line was picked up, and a formal but pleasant, female voice in the other end announced that he had reached Semper Enterprises; Damian's parent company. With little hope of getting an appointment this side of Christmas, but figuring it was at least worth a shot, Valerian presented himself and explained that he needed to see Lord Alexander as soon as possible, regarding a most important matter. The secretary, obviously familiar with who, and more importantly what Valerian was, asked him to please hold while she contacted Damian to see when he would be able to see him. Much to Valerian's surprise, when she returned she informed him that Damian had just finished a meeting, and had a small opening before the next one, so if Valerian could drop what he was doing and dart over there immediately, Damian would see him. Not that she used those particular words, but it was the essence of what she said.
Ah, the ways of the Ventrue.

Of course, Valerian recognized an only chance when he saw one, and so accepted, saying that he was on his way. And he was. Almost. He doubted Damian cared much for leather, bondage and other gothic attire, and so thought it best to change into something less likely to make the Prince choke on his 'refined' tastes.

Only minutes later, Valerian left his chambers, now donning a dark pinstripe shirt, tucked neatly into a pair of black jeans, though on his feet were still his favorite pair of worn leather boots. After all, Valerian, despite his amiable demeanor, was rarely the type to suck up to authority, and so there was a limit to the lenghts he would go to in order to appease Damian's preferences; only enough to ensure that he would listen to what Valerian had to say, and not be distracted by inner grumbles concerning modern fashion.


(((ooc: Sadly, he's not approachable at this time.)))

[AtropaMandragora]

Much like a puzzle, or a painting, where the motif would only appear gradually, the mystery of the recent intrusion into the Nosferatu network and the retrieval of certain security footage, was slowly starting to unravel. On Damian's request (spelled 'command'), a couple of his so-called 'representatives' had been investigating the occurrence ever since he had been informed of it, and he had since learned that the culprit was one Desmond MacInthyre, who also went by the nickname 'Dez'. A very skilled hacker, according to Damian's sources, and quite the expert at covering his tracks. Good, but far from the best. However, as he was still better than anyone operating in Damian's service, Damian had sent one of his men to approach the Nosferatu in order to obtain the information. They were sure to have tracked down the person that managed to hack into one of their databases, as such a thing was bound to get their attention and have them take an interest in him. Though hardly surprising, they were as willing to share what they had learned as always. Meaning they were not. Not for free, at least, which Damian could both respect and appreciate, as he knew better than anyone that everything came with a price. What annoyed him was that the Nosferatu had little interest in money, and so obtaining information from them was not as easy as transferring money from one account to the other, or even hand over a briefcase holding a small fortune.
What the Nosferatu wanted, was either some other information in return, or a boon. Seeing as how it was the very Prince of the city that craved their knowledge, a boon in this case was worth a hell of alot more than a hefty sum of money. And it just so happened that there was this one matter on their agenda that they needed to be resolved, in order to move forward with their plans.
Damian, wanting to get to the bottom of his own matter so that it may be resolved as quickly as possible, had realized that if he wanted the information, he had little choice but to agree to the deal they offered. He wasn't happy about it, but as Prince, he had to do what he had to do, for the greater good.
Besides, it was not like the Nosferatu would have him running their errands in person. He had loyal subjects for that.

'We'll scratch your back if you'll scratch ours' over and done with, Damian had finally recieved what he wanted to know, and had wasted no time in putting his representatives to work, again. This time cracking the whip even harder. Time was of the essence.

Presently, with Moira having left his office about fourtyfive minutes ago, Damian had just learned that while his spies had found out a great deal about this 'Dez', they still had not found a conncetion as to why he would be interested in the particular footage he had retrieved, but... They had learned that a girl looking very similar to the one in the footage - Aeode Mallard, daughter of the prominent family gunned down at a large social event almost a decade ago - had been sighted speaking to Jessica at The Haven just a few night ago.
Now wasn't that a coincidence?

Could it be that the two women had happened to cross paths again, and one had recognized the other? Had Jessica chosen to reveal herself after all these years? Or had she been exposed? The recent interest in the footage of the event that connected the two, did point in that direction.
Or could it be that they had kept in touch over the years, even though Damian had been told that Miss Mallard had never learned who saved her life? It wouldn't be the first time someone had tried to decieve him. Though frankly, it did seem quite far-fetched, and it didn't explain why young Mr MacInthyre had gone to so much trouble? Unless, of course, it was Aeode he was after, and not Jessica...

Whatever the explanation, the whole thing smelled. And not of roses, that was for sure.

Add to that another tasty tidbit that Damian had just learned - that the Miss Mallard look-alike Jessica had been seen talking to was apparently not just a patron at The Haven, but an employee, and that about half an hour ago Valerian, the very owner of The Haven and thus Miss Mallard's employer, had called and requested a meeting - and it would seem that the truth was mere inches away from revealing itself. Perhaps before the night was over, Damian would've gotten to the bottom of it all. Finally.
All he had to do at the moment, was wait.

Hopefully, it wouldn't be for very long. Valerian was intelligent enough to recognize the generosity Damian had shown, by agreeing to see him this very evening, and so would be wise to get here as swiftly as possible, before it was time for Damian's next meeting.
There was no need, Damian had decided, to let the young Toreador know that there was no 'next meeting' this evening, simply because Damian had told his secretary to cancel them. Not because of Valerian, but because after the phone call that Damian had recieved first thing after Moira left, he had felt he wanted to spend the rest of the evening delving into the info it had presented him with. Though seeing as how Valerian might have something to contribute, his request couldn't have come at a better time.

Much to his satisfaction, Damian soon found that he was indeed correct in his perception of Valerian's person, as it had been no more than half an hour since the young man's phone call, and Damian's secretary already announced over the intercom that he had arrived.
Good.

"By all means, send him in", the Prince said, and then released the button on the small device, to lean back and watch as his guest entered.

It wasn't the first time Valerian stepped through those doors. He, like everyone else who entered into the city, had presented himself before the Prince when he had first arrived, and had also accompanied Claudia on one or two occasions, when she and Damian had met for business purposes. Though it had been easy to see, even for someone lacking Damian's keen eye and sharp senses, that Claudia thought of Valerian more as an accessory that made her look good, rather than a full-on business partner. And what was more was that Valerian himself appeared to be very well aware of it, yet didn't seem to mind.
Most odd, to a man like Damian, who would never be caught dead playing lapdog.

Still, regardless of how many times an outsider had stood before him in this office, Damian rarely strayed from his habit of watching them as they approached, always assessing them, always re-evaluating his impression of them, and always, always making them feel like they were under the microscope. Though some handled it far better than others.

Valerian had always been among those that handled it well indeed, which could mean one of two things; either he was a talented actor indeed, hiding his ulterior motives with a skll that would make the professionals green with envy. Or he simply had no ulterior motives.
Judging by his reputation, Damian was inclined to believe it was the latter, even though he would never completely disregard the possibility of the former, as that reputation also included an ability to play mortals like puppets, and an effortless, spellbinding presence that had managed to draw in it's fair share of people, Kindred and kine alike. And as he watched Valerian approach the desk, carrying himself with that smooth feline grace he was known for, Damian could understand why.

"My Prince", he greeted Damian with a gentle bow of his head.

Damian, who still remained seated, simply gave a small but firm nod in return.

"Valerian", he said, greeting the young man by his first name even though he would have preferred to use a title, or at least a last name instead.

Using first names suggested an acquaintance that went far beyond the one the two of them had at this stage, but 'Valerian' seemed to be the only name people knew him by. Which, if one would ask Damian, seemed rather fishy indeed, and pointed towards the possibility of a past that the young man didn't want others to know about.
But then on the other hand, it was hardly an uncommon occurence in Kindred society.

"Now, what can I do for you?" he added, sensing that Valerian was waiting for him to give the go-ahead.

Clever boy. He may look alot like the brassy, exhibitionistic and rather disrespectful youth of today, but in his case, looks were decieving. He did indeed know his manners, and was well known for it, too.

"First, I'd like to thank you for seeing me on such short notice", Valerian started, choosing what he said with the greatest care.

He wanted to word this right from the very start, as Damian's sentiments could very well make for the vital difference between agreement and rejection, and so keeping him in a favorable mood might indeed help Valerian's cause. He was quite an imposing man, oozing with power and authority, holding the kind of presence that would be felt throughout a room, no matter how large and crowded. Valerian had seen others cower simply by finding themselves the targets of his observant gaze. Even just standing next to him was enough for some to shrink like flowers left without water for too long.

"I realize you must be very busy," he continued, "and that it might seem presumptuous of me to request an impromptu meeting like this, but I assure you, I have good reason, as I fear the matter might be quite urgent. Though I'm not quite sure where to start in order to provide you with the full picture..."

Still sitting comfortably leaned back in his chair with his fingers casually interlaced across his abdomen, Damian merely listened, thinking to himself that whatever it was, it obviously couldn't be all that important, seeing as how Valerian took his time explaining what it was all about. Would he just get to the point already?
Bloody Toreador and their inability to just spit it out. No, they had to first go through a lenghty and detailed description of how it came to be, how it made them feel, what everyone was wearing and, if one was really unlucky, what color was the wallpaper.

Thankfully, it seemed this one was far more perceptive than many of his peers, which was no small achievement, as within seconds he had picked up on Damian's subtle impatience, and quickly moved on to tell Damian of what he had recently learned; of Jessica's association with Aeode, of Aeode's search for answers and her iron determination to find them, and lastly of what Aeode had told him about her latest encounter with Jessica.

The Prince, although listening intently, judging by the intense look in his eyes, never moved a muscle. To read his reaction was virtually impossible. There simply was nothing that revealed what was going on in his mind; no gestures, no movements, no expression other than the one carved from stone, not even the slightest twitch. Valerian even found himself for once having difficulties sensing his feelings, as though he had intentionally put up a wall around his mind, to keep intruders out, to keep anyone from knowing what he was thinking. And no matter how skilled Valerian was, he was still just a Neonate, and thus had nothing on the powers of an Elder.

However, despite what his lack of a visible reaction might lead one to tink, there was alot going on within the walls of Damian's mind.
He was furious. How dared she violate the laws of the Camarilla? Jessica, the very Toreador Primogen, one of the lucky few to have made it into the Prince's council, supposedly because she would represent her clan with wisdom, and promote their cause? To serve as a link between them and the Prince, with a certain amount of trust being placed o her shoulders by each side.

Had she come to him first, and explained her plan - if she did indeed have one - he might've given her his blessing to reveal herself and her nature to this mortal girl, provided that she agreed to take care of the consequences, whatever they would be.
But to just blurt it all out, about vampires and their entire system of security, and risk the lives of everyone by leaving the girl to run her mouth off to whoever might care to listen to her tale... Unforgivable.

And to think that she had done it only a few nights after he had personally called a blood hunt on another Kindred, for doing the same thing, only for reasons far more understandable, not to mention that he had done it unintentionally. Did Jessica think that just because she was a Primogen, the rules did somehow not apply to her? Did she think she was The Exception, that her position - both as a Primogen as as an Elder - put her above the laws? The very laws that had been created to protect them all? Or did she think he simply wouldn't find out?
Bah! Damian always found out. Sooner or later, the truth would always find it's way to him. And when it did, the sinners would be made to pay. Dearly.

"Thank you," he said once Valerian had finished, and even now his face nor his voice bore any trace of the thoughts that raged within.

Had there been any visible reaction at all, it was the look in his eyes, hardening from cold steel, to solid stone.

"I appreciate that you brought this matter to my attention. I will see to it that it is dealt with promptly."

He was just about to give a dismissive wave, to have Valerian understand that he was now excused and expected to leave, when the hesitant look on the youngs man's face halted his motion. Apparently, he had something else on his mind as well.

"Yes?" Damian demanded.

"My Prince, if I may...", Valerian started. "I do not claim to know what you intend for the future to hold for Aeode, but... Could I be so bold as to ask that you allow me to handle the matter? She did come to me, which suggests there is a bit of trust there, and with your permission, I would like to examine if it could be somehow used to our advantage, as well as hers, and at the same time, spare her life."

For a few seconds, Damian studied him in silence, clearly considering the request. Although a warrior since he was yey high, Damian was no fan of killing innocents. And if Valerian had the devastatingly magnetic effect of people as his reputation said, then letting him deal with the girl might just be the preferrably solution.

"Very well", he concluded, in a tone as though he considered his decision to be a generous one, and then shot Valerian a stern look. "Do with her as you please, but I advise you to rid us of the threat she poses, one way or another. Otherwise, the next head on the chopping block just might be yours."



(((ooc: Sorry so long, but since they are my own characters and it's difficult for me NOT to elaborate on their thoughts and personalities, it was bound to be. But I did my best. :) )))



(((ooc 2: Approx 32 hours until we move on to night #10.)))

[Ghanima Atreides]

((ooc: *dances* sorry I just have to say it :) I got the shivers reading that, seriously amazing post!))

[Ghanima Atreides]

Aeode Mallard - leaving the Haven - her apartment

When Aeode stepped through the doors of The Haven and out into the humid, smog-filled night air, chaos raged inside her mind. She paused and glanced surreptitiously over her shoulder at the now closed doors and saw herself reflected in their gleaming opaque surface which hid the interior from view but offered a perfect view of the exterior. They looked somehow forbidding, accentuating the loneliness of the street: not a soul in sight at either end, automobiles rushing by at considerable speed, remote and uncaring. Aeode did not often succumb to feelings of helplessness, or fear, but as she gazed tentatively at her bleak surroundings, a chill crept up her spine. Despite the fact that her meeting with Valerian had gone unexpectedly well, and his assurance that she could count on his help, Aeode hardly felt that she had accomplished anything, apart from potentially stirring a hornet's nest of proverbial proportions. Jessica's pleas for secrecy, and Dez' warnings returned to haunt her consciousness and refused to subside throughout the young woman's lonely journey back to the derelict apartment building she had temporary dubbed “home”.

Aeode was surprised to discover the hour was only over midnight when she at last slumped into the stained couch crammed between a square table cluttered with everything imaginable from bottles, remnants of old pizza boxes, a radio and a remote controller, papers and books and the wall, facing a small niche housing a 16 inch screen TV set and the still empty shelves of a bookcase. Aeode drew in a long, deep breath until no more air fitted inside her lungs, expelling it slowly. She was being stupid and whiny, she decided. All that could be done, had been done. Beyond that, it ceased to be her business.

Nodding silently to herself, Aeode pried the remote controller loose from underneath three pizza boxes stacked haphazardly on top of eachother and flicked the TV on. She browsed the available channels for a minute or two, before concluding there wasn't anything worth watching, and decided to grab one of the six beers chilling nicely in the fridge. She kept the TV on, glancing with disinterest at some late-night re-run of a documentary on Ancient Rome, both for the illusion of company and to keep her mind from wondering again.

Four empty beer cans had been added to the clutter on the table before Aeode could no longer bear it and retrieved her cellphone. She could give Dez a call and tell him what had happened, she could have used a second opinion and his she trusted. And, if nothing else, the company was welcome.
The phone rang a few times until a click was heard at the other end of the line followed by Dez's voice:

“Aeode...hi.”

Aeode immediately knew something wasn't normal: the words sounded forced, as if speaking to her was precisely what Dez had not wanted. Since her secrecy and word game quota for the day had been exceeded already, Aeode's reply followed bluntly:

“What's going on? And don't say nothing.”

Dez sighed into the receiver, pausing briefly.

“I'm not sure yet,” he said. “Someone was in my house, 'Yodey. Nosing around, in my files too, particularly those about you.”

Aeode's stomach lurched uncomfortably: whose server had those files been on? According to Dez, whoever had designed was a pro, better than him. Much better. Were the intruders the very owners of the server, aware of who had retrieved the old footage? And most importantly: was Dez in danger for it? Was she?

“Are...are you okay?” was all that she could think appropriate to ask. “Do you need a place to stay, because I can fit you in here if needed.”

“No, I don't think it's a good idea. I've told you from the get-go, I have a very bad feeling about this, and I've just had it confirmed. It's best if you aren't getting further involved in it. I'm going to lie low for now, do some backups of my stuff, I don't know, maybe get out of LA for a while. I suggest you do the same. I'll call you when I'm sure it's safe, don't call me again until then. Take care of yourself, and try to avoid those nighttime walks of yours, okay?”

With that, Dez hung up, leaving Aeode to stare blankly at the small screen. The phone was slick with sweat in her grasp, and her heart throbbed audibly in her temples.

[Psyche_SC]

#36 [Ninth Night]

An eerie feeling still lingered inside Archon. It had entered his mind a few moments after he had joined the patrons at The Haven, and though he had tried to get rid of it, it would not go quietly into the night. It was something in the musty air, surrounding them all, slightly smelling of mildew or decay - or was it just too many warm bodies at one place... However, something gave him a feeling he did not care for, and so he had told Roe to keep both eyes wide awake and the mind sharp as a razor; more than usual. The young Gangrel had given him a look that did not reassure him that nothing was out of the ordinary, from a wolflike point of view. That was perhaps even more unsettling. It was not only high pitched noises that made Roe cranky.

Though, as time passed in the busy Elysium, Archon had managed to store the feeling in the back of his mind in order to take care of business. And when Andre DeLucian had joined him, he really had to put all else aside. A Ventrue debate was like nothing else; a true meeting of the minds. Even if the subjects might seem and be nothing more than a remark on the weather, one had to be on one's toes. It was not always easy to know when the winds shifted. Though, being outdone by another Ventrue might be better than any other Kindred, since it would be to keep it "in the family". However, one could always take Ventrue branded emulation to the bank. Despite, this was scarcely a debate. They had yet to get past the formal greetings.

"Yes, I suppose in the long run the years have been decent enough to me", Andre replied. "I actually haven't been back in town for very long, I spent a great deal of time traveling. It feels somewhat strange to see everything so different from what I remember."

Was the city really that changed? Archon pondered, as he let his eyes wander for a brief moment. To him, it was all too familiar. Then again, he had never left the city long enough, since he had become Primogen, for it to become unusual. The rest of the world seemed to change, but Los Angeles stayed the same. In reality, Archon moved with the angel times, tapped into the pulse of the city life and unlife, and in the end nothing took him by surprise. Though, he could somehow envy Andre's fresh take on L.A., wondering what it would be like to see the city as if it was for the first time. Archon's first time was so long ago, when one could hardly call it a city. It had grown on him, and now he could not imagine living anywhere else but either there or in London.

"And you Archon, how has time been treating you?" Andre inquired.

The question was as polite as could be, but one did not have to be Ventrue to decipher the importance of returning the gesture that had been shown by someone older. None the less, Archon appreciated it, he could never accept a behaviour rough around the edges, unless it was for a good reason. It could take some time, to get the pleasantries out of the way, but a Ventrue needed it like they needed quality blood. And Archon would go so far as to demand it, if needed. Some Kindred was in desperate need for a lesson in manners, or several. However, there would always be Kindred that the effort would be wasted on. The thought of the Brujah scum was never far away, when contemplating the importance of courtesy. Even the Nosferatu, the one clan that did nothing without an ulterior motive, could appreciate the act of politeness. They even saw the humour in it, when the highborn Kindred had to say "please" and "thank you" to the hideous ones. It was comedy for the masses.

"Well.", Archon began his reply. "I am afraid there is no sleep for me, for ages to come."

He said this with a hint of a smile, as if he meant it as some sort of a joke, but it was hard to tell. The Primogen rarely let on how he really felt, or his true state of mind. It was a weakness to wear ones feelings on the sleeve. Or, if nothing else, dangerous. Take Valerian for instance. He put himself in danger every time he ventured the world, more so than any other Toreador. He was young, curious like a newborn, and an easy target for just about anyone. But hurting Valerian would be a cowardly act, as it would be nothing short of going at a puppy with a stick. Further more, Valerian was a danger himself. He could attract anyone, like the call of the sirens, with or without intent. Knowing Valerian; without. And Archon should know, since he had been charmed on several occasions by the youngster. One only had to be inside the walls of The Haven, to be inside the allure of Valerian, whether he was around or not. It was the Toreador appeal, in its purest form, as pure as all the gems still waiting for man to uncover.

Though Andre was no Toreador, he did have an appeal about him that many Ventrue men lacked. Archon did not have to wonder, since he could see the gazes from the female patrons, and the occasional male. The latter was something Archon choose to ignore. Although he did not understand it, he had decided to accept it. The occurance would not be denied, and it did exist among the Kindred aswell, therefore it was no sense in fighting it. Honestly, it would be a waste, since there were more important matters in the world. Both in the kine one, and the Kindred. Also, he could not accept Valerian, if he did not accept them all.

The evening concluded with Andre still at Archon's table. Old friends catching up, it made time fly by as if only a few moments had passed. They informed each other about what had happened since the last time they met, shared memories and also a few comments on the current situation in the city. The blood hunt was mentioned, but hardly beyond that. The incident in The Haven, involving Ada and Beyonca was carefully left out. Archon knew that Andre was quite familiar with Ada on a personal level, and he assumed that Andre had been informed by other Ventrue that Beyonca had visited their Primogen and sorted the matter. It was now water under the bridge. For the time being at least. There was no reason for the old friends to get into an argument over something that had been resolved, and would possibly not aspire to anything good.

Although their conversation was a harmless one, dealing with simple matters and friendly walks down memory lane, Archon sensed that Andre had something else on his mind. What ever it was, he never got around to talk about it, if it even concerned his Primogen at all. Instead, the night went by, until The Haven started to empty. Archon did, however, leave Andre with a request that they should talk again soon. Alot sooner than this time.

Archon had missed him, and that would be easy to remedy with Andre now in the city.





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((( ooc: Penny - I hope the wrap up works for you? :) About Andre asking Archon for a book - it's more than alright with me! It's too bad we never got around to it this night. But if you want to, we could maybe have them get together again next night or something like that? If it doesn't interfere with other plans. Let me know what you think. :) (So yeah, Archon owns Algernon.) )))

[Psyche_SC]

#33 [Ninth Night]

On her knees, Carmilla was even more humbled by Mina's presence, yet she could not divert her eyes from the Primogen's. Mina was a strong one, and it was really her locking Carmilla's gaze in her own, than Carmilla persisting. It would be easy to get lost in the eyes of the Elder, drown in all her glory and wisdom. Like a sailor over board, getting lured into the depths by a mermaid. Carmilla was filled with the desire to gasp for breath, a feeling she had not had for ages upon ages. When she rose, she felt unstable, the titles on all the books became a blur.

"You may stay and study amongst my household", Mina began.

She kept her voice low, yet it appeared to Carmilla as if it filled the room to the brim with all its might. The tone alone took a hold of the younger Tremere, demanding her undying attention as if she had not already surrendered. But ah, the words, the meaning in that single sentence made Carmilla shiver. Her dreams started to change from a mirage to a spoken reality, a promise from Mina herself.

"All I ask is that you read carefully each word inscribed upon these papers to absorb the knowledge contained within", Mina continued, "practice daily the skills and arts of our clan and obey and respect our laws."

It was as if everything around them moved, the bookcases and the furniture, even the ceiling - in slow motion. The only thing that remained the same was Mina, her appearence and her voice. The offer hung in the air, like a good omen, boiling with knowledge and the entrance to a world Carmilla had only enjoyed in tidbits. Now she would actually be able to make it all fit, gather the puzzle, even if she would never have a complete set.

"I will be here to guide but you must follow a pathway you choose for yourself", Mina added. "Make sure your decision is wise, there are many strands to follow, too many for even a Methuselah to ever hope to master them all. "

Although Carmilla would gladly lay down her life for her Primogen and her clan, she knew she had to find her own way. It might not even be the same as Mina's, but Mina would be there to show her the tools. If there was ever a perfect happiness, this would be it. Although she had yet to uncover the Tremere secrets that layed ahead of her, Carmilla was in euphoria. Her state of mind shifted into blinding white, blazes of glory, that lit up her senses as if they were on fire. She knew she was high above, in the clouds so to speak, and Mina was as close to a god as anyone could come. This would be a good night to die, even if it would deprive her of all the knowledge to come. Right now, she could not stop the blood from exiting her eyes, even if she had tried to. Crimson tears made rivers down her pale skin. Neither could she speak.

"Should you accept what is asked of every member then you may choose any room you wish", Mina concluded. "I would however be delighted for you to take the vacant suite, next to mine on the penthouse floor. The room is bare but you may bring any furnishings you wish to make it your own."

Words. The situation demanded words. Something in return, in recognition of this unearthly generosity. Should she let her decision known now, even if it was a given? Maybe it would be a sign of respect to take the time to consider, though it could also be interpreted - in this case - as if she was doubting her initial wishes. Mina's words had not scared her, she was only afraid to make a mistake in her acceptance of them. Though, Mina had not only welcomed her in, she had invited her to stay in a room next to hers. There should be no cause for concern.

"I cannot express...", Carmilla tried to reply. "...in words... what this mean to me. If you were to feel the blood in my veins, it would sooner inform you what I am unable to put into words... Although I have a vivid imagination, this is beyond what I could ever have hoped for. You are far too generous, far more than I deserve. But I will not let you down. I will do everything within my power to accommodate your requests. I will not fail, lest it will be the end of me."

She would not have to be asked twice, to accept the suite next to Mina's. With or without furniture, she would gladly sleep on the floor if needed. A more willing student was nowhere to be found. Carmilla knew she was far and beyond, in risk of overwhelming others since she herself was overwhelmed. Though, for the same reason that brought her to her knees, she simply had to make her intent known. No one, certainly not Mina, would ever see the need to question her motive. She was a blank canvas, ready to be filled with Tremere myths and magic.

That day, she could hardly sleep. Much like a child with a new wardrobe, longing to wear them, Carmilla wanted the night to break so she could return to Mina with her belongings and eager to learn.





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((( ooc: Veldagia - I hope this works for you? Let me know! :) )))

[AtropaMandragora]

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http://www.crimson-tale.com/Temp/Night10.jpg




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[Ghanima Atreides]

Aeode Mallard --> her apartment --> the Sentinel --> the Haven


Aeode Mallard awoke to the rank smell of warm beer and just a hint of old pastry wafting from the remnants of past meals stacked up on the table, her petite frame scrunched up on the narrow couch of her livingroom. An unpleasant chill prickled her exposed skin and her neck ached from the awkward position it had been forced in during the night. Groaning audibly, Aeode rubbed her face and passed her extended fingers, rake-like, through her frizzy hair which fanned out rebelliously like the rays of a setting sun.

What a night! Struggling to make some sense of the cacophony of thoughts and memories tumbling inside the walls of her mind, the young woman realized she did not remember falling asleep, but the six cans of beers and a half empty bottle of scotch laying haphazardly at the foot of the couch, as well as a searing headache, provided the explanation why. She could also recall being seized by an acute mixture of guilt, fear and frustration which followed the interrupted phone conversation with Dez, a combination which had spurred her surrender to alcohol's temporary escape from reality.

Any beneficial effects long gone, Aeode was left with a grandmother of a hangover and no relief from her worries. The TV, having run all night, currently displayed a cheery vacation advertisement with a tantalizing tropical beach background where a happy family frolicked about without a care in the world. Aeode gave it a dirty look and switched it off, squinting briefly into the screen of her phone, which informed her it was nearly two in the afternoon.

As she stood in the shower, enjoying the reinvigorating feel of the warm water on her face and body, a steely resolution settled over Aeode's consciousness. The time for frustrating deliberations and bothersome worrying was over. Once she had showered, drank a liter of water and eaten something, she would go and see Dez and obtain the full story, one way or another. Or, at least, she would make sure he didn't slink back into the shadows of the underworld for god knew how long, leaving her in a state of constant expectancy. They had begun the investigation together, and they would finish it together!

An hour later, feeling less queasy and more determined than ever, Aeode stood at the edge of the nearest avenue, ready to hail a taxi. Explaining their destination to the driver proved to be a bit of a challenge, considering she did not know the name or the street she needed to find, only the general location and the name of the bar: The Sentinel. Eventually, after a bit of guesswork and intuition on both their parts, the taxi came to a halt in front of the derelict establishment with its array of parked bikes and unsavory-looking patrons hovering about.

“Are you sure you want to go in there by yourself, miss?” the driver asked Aeode as she passed him a ten dollar bill, gazing with some apprehension at the bar's dirty windows and the small group of burly men in torn jeans and leather standing outside by their bikes.

“Yeah.” Aeode replied simply and pushed the door open without another word.

She found the Sentinel pretty much the same as before: filled with crude laughter, clanking of glasses, thick cigarette smoke and loud hard rock music. Several members of the almost exclusively male clientèle paused whatever they were doing to glance at the new arrival, some more readable than others in their thoughts. Not that Aeode spared much attention their way: her eyes sought out the back door which she knew lead to Dez' basement. Ignoring what stares and slurs were directed her way, Aeode crossed the room towards it, but found it, not surprisingly, to be locked. While she pondered calling Dez again, a large hand reached for her shoulder and pressed down on it:

“Now now...where do you think you're going?” said a male voice with a hint of amusement.

Aeode pivoted on her heel and took a step back, seeing the heavy arm retreat. A curious grin spread on the man's unshaven face as he looked down at her from above the rim of his sunglasses. She recognized him, only because she saw him standing behind the bar a minute earlier.

“I'm here to see Dez. Can you...can you open this door please?”

“I don't know any Dez,” the man chuckled, but Aeode did not share his humour.

“Look, whatever your name is. I am a friend of his and I need to talk to him. I know he lives in the basement, so if you could just stop wasting my ti-”

“I know her,” another man said, making a show of getting to his feet from his seat at the nearest table. “She was here with Dez yesterday. Perhaps she can tell me why he's split without paying the last four months' rent!”

Forgetting her irritation for a moment, Aeode's eyes widened with surprise: he was gone?

“He...he left?”

“That's right, missy” the man continued and reached into one of his voluminous pockets, from where he retrieved a key and unlocked the door. “I am the proprietor of this here establishment, and I let that cyber rat live in my basement as long as he pays me in time. This morning though one of the boys found his door wide open and no trace of him anywhere! No, no, go ahead, have a look for yourself!”

Despite the distinct feeling that her stomach had been yanked upside down, Aeode ran down the narrow flight of stairs, stopping in the middle of Dez' deserted hideout, the first thing she noticed being the missing electronic equipment. Everything else seemed much the same as she remembered it.

“Now, how do you suppose one man can disappear with all that overnight, without being seen or heard by anyone? This place runs 24/7! Eh?”

It turned out that the owner of The Sentinel and his bartender were less malicious than they innitially appeared. Not particularly pleasant by any means, and obviously more annoyed at the loss of money rather than worried about Dez' apparent disappearance act, but otherwise not showing any aggression towards the bewildered Aeode. They shook their heads and muttered something about cheapskates before turning around to follow the stairs back to the bar proper.

“Oh yeah,” the owner added and tossed Aeode the key. “Put this on the counter when you're done.”

Not knowing what else to do, the young woman pulled out her phone and dialed Dez' number; in the silence that ensued, her heartbeats and the beeping in her ear sounded achingly loud. He did not answer, and several tries later, Aeode was forced to admit defeat, not without a round of angry cursing.

“Dez...where the hell are you?” she whispered and began looking around what remained of his basement, but no clues revealed themselves. All of her friend's personal belongings were in place, as was the furniture. All, except his electronic equipment of which no trace was left apart from some old monitors, tangled wiring and discarded CDs that contained games or other useless information. Aeode could hardly picture Dez sneaking away undetected with all of that, particularly in so short a time and without attracting any attention or taking anything else. In fact, it seemed impossible, and the suddenness of it pointed towards something far more unsettling: what if he had been kidnapped? What if they had been right all along about the danger they were walking into, only not knowing just how right?

“It's all my fault,” Aeode whispered and slumped on the edge of the unmade bed. The entire affair, beginning with the night her family had been gunned down, the discovery of the lost footage involving her and Jessica, continuing with the surreal meeting between them and the yet uncertain role Valerian played in all of it, and culminating with Dez' worrying phonecall which must have taken place not long before his disappearance had the mark of danger etched in it: the living, present kind. The longer she thought about it, the quicker Aeode's hopeful wish that the ominous threat of her past was gone, melted away into a frigid pool of fear and a sickening feeling of responsibility.

Aeode stepped through The Sentinel's single door as though in a daze, each of her previous actions -leaving the basement, climbing the stairs, locking the door and returning its key to the rightful owner - executed with mechanical apathy. For the rest of the afternoon she wandered one nameless street after another, a fierce storm raging inside her. She placed about a dozen more calls to Dez and more than a few cautious glances around her: had he not warned her about safety? What if he was right about that too? The helplessness was unbearable, as was the uncertainty. She had set out to settle her worries and ended up doing the opposite.

Aeode arrived at The Haven early that evening, downcast and grim-faced, passing through the employees' entrance with nothing more than an upward glance and a brief “hello”. She welcomed the prospect of several hours of work behind the bar, where at least she would be required to think of something different...for a while.

[AtropaMandragora]

Responsibility weighed heavily on Valerian's slender shoulders. Like a metaphorical yoke of pure led it would press down on him, make it difficult for him to breathe, to even move forward. It always had. As a human, it had been what had ultimately caused a irreconcilable rift between him and his parents, when they had wanted him to 'mature' and let go of his 'illusions and pipe dreams' as they called it, and he had refused to do so. As a dreamer, those were the very things that had kept him alive, and there had been no way that he could push them aside, to neglect them. They had been as important as food and drink, and, since his Embrace, as important as vitae. It was the force that drove him, part of his very essence.
And throughout the century that had passed, he still hadn't grown any more willing to have more responsibility than was absolutely necessary placed on his shoulders. It was the reason why he had no problem with letting Claudia run his beloved club, and why he didn't particularly care to get involved in the conniving, the plotting and the vendettas of Kindred society. He was perfectly happy with his rather carefree existence.

However, despite it all, there would always come a time, every now and then, when he would have to step up, and sometimes even did so willingly. Last night, when he had asked Damian that the responsibility of seeing to it that Aeode Mallard would no longer pose a threat was handed over to him, had been one such occasion. Though while accepting it willingly lightened the load, it was only a by little. So little that it hardly eased the burden at all. It merely shifted it, since accepting responsibility meant that if you failed at what you were expected to accomplish, the fault would be yours and yours alone. And in this case, the consequences for failing were far more dire than Valerian would have normally risked.

But, he cared for Aeode. Granted, he hardly even knew the girl, but he cared for her nonetheless. She had been dragged into something so much larger than she knew, than she ever could know. Something whose existence she threatened by merely being alive. And it was not her fault. What had taken her there, and put her in this most precarious situation, was not her own doing, but the doing on someone else. Someone who, in Valerian's eyes, had committed a crime by placing an innocent like Aeode in harm's way.
Jessica.

He hadn't been able to stand the thought of Aeode having to pay for something for which she was not to blame. Especially not when she had touched his heart by putting her trust in him, in order to try and help the very person that had gotten her into this mess in the first place.
How could he not want to save her from what he knew others of his kind regarded as the 'easy way' to solve a human problem? Heavy responsibility and possibly dire consequences or not, he had to try.

And in order to have any chance of succeeding, he needed to keep a close eye on her, and to filter what she knew as well as what she found out. To a certain extent, with a minimum of deception.
Just how he would go about doing that, he did not yet know, and it was what was occupying his mind this evening, as he was going through his nightly routine of getting himself ready; showering, dressing, and grooming until satisfied. When he left his chambers, he was donning a purple, somewhat faded and loose fitting t-shirt, along with his trademark black leather pants, and a pair of black army boots. Completing the ensamble was a long leather strap haphazardly wrapped around his right wrist; a little something he had decided to wear as a good luck charm. Last time he had worn it, had been during his first meeting with Moira, and now he had decided to wear it again, in the hopes that it would somehow infuse him with a little bit of her cool composure, and her wisdom, as though some of it still lingered in that thin piece of black leather.
A silly thought, but comforting nonetheless.
Making his way down to the club in his usual, relaxed manner, he took his time descending the stairs, while surveying the dance floor and then the bar, first registering who was at The Haven this evening and who was not, and then searching for Aeode's face among the bartenders. Given that there were only a few on duty at a time, finding her was easily done, and he was soon headed towards her end of the bar.

On the way over, he noted that even from afar, she saw him coming, and he wondered to himself if she had been watching the stairs for him to make his appearance. Though really, it was to be expected, wasn't it? He had told her he would get back to her as soon as he could, so of course she would be anticipating the moment that he did.
But still... He couldn't help but feel that there was an added air of wariness about her, as though she'd had second thoughts about trusting him, or something had happened to rattle her even further.

With her eyes watching him like that, there was nothing he needed to do to get her attention, and so when he came to a stop at the bar, only a few feet away from her, all he had to do was to lock gazes with her, to make his wish to speak to her clear. However, there was still the keeping up of appearances. Thus, as soon as she had finished serving her current customer his bottle of beer, Valerian leaned slightly across the bar, and said in a voice just loud enough for her, and anyone that might be taking an interest in them, to hear;

"Annie. Ask Jim to cover for you. We need to talk."

[Ghanima Atreides]

Aeode and Valerian - the Haven

In spite of valiant efforts to rid her consciousness of the worry and guilt that plagued it, Aeode could do little except try to ignore the uncomfortable knot gripping her insides and attend to her clients with a seldom fading, benign smile which did its best to screen the emotional torrent raging behind it from the rest of the world. The weight of her phone, tucked away in one of her jeans pockets, made Aeode constantly aware of its presence and, with each minute that ticked by, its silence. Surely, if Dez was unharmed and free to act, he would have noticed the few dozen missed calls she had placed and attempted to contact her in some way? The thought brought absolutely no comfort.

Feeling as though she would likely explode if she received no news whatsoever, Aeode took advantage of any spare moment she had to survey the staircase which only a day earlier had lead her to The Haven's upper floor and Valerian's chambers with unanticipated eagerness. Aware that it could take him days, if not weeks, to approach her with the promised result of his investigations, Aeode found herself hoping for the opposite and, at the same time, brought forth a new reason for suspicion: was it not interesting how Dez house had been broken into immediately after her conversation with Valerian? The old notion of “seeming fair but feeling foul” insinuated itself into the young woman's mind: after all, what did she truly know about her employer? In spite of the compelling desire to trust him, to trust somebody, the seed of wariness remained planted.

Hailed by a nearby man who wished for a bottle of beer, Aeode abandoned her surveillance post and went in search for one. As soon as the transaction was completed and her gaze once again leveled with her surroundings, a sudden stringency surged across her features as she became aware of an approaching figure: none other than Valerian. Pulse increasing expectantly, Aeode followed his movements with forthright, though guarded interest.

"Annie.” Valerian called to her across the bar while taking care not to raise his voice too high. “Ask Jim to cover for you. We need to talk."

Aeode did not doubt for a second that his motives were related to their earlier conversation. The tone, the urgency, even Valerian's somewhat cautious stance all pointed in that direction. Nodding firmly, she took a few steps towards the other end of the bar which was being tended by Jim and told him that “the boss wanted to see her”, something that Jim did not question.

Having dried her hands on a towel, Aeode scooped up her jacket and prepared to follow Valerian, silently wondering what would follow.

[Psyche_SC]

#34 [Tenth Night]

Although there had not been much sleep, Carmilla had finally been able to dose off a couple of hours before dusk. So she woke up with a start, feeling as if she had wasted precious minutes of getting ready for the big move; the first one on her own terms.
The Tremere in the building understood, and had offered to help her. The one that had passed the note on to Mina seemed a bit sad to see Carmilla go, so Carmilla gave her one of her favourite books and told her to come and visit when ever she wanted.

Besides her personal belongings, clothes and books, she didn't bring much else. The bed was a must, cause there litterally where no furniture in the suite she had accepted. Along with the bed, the Tremere also let her take a desk, a chair and an armchair. It was not her furniture to begin with, but they didn't want to appear petty infront of their Primogen. Further more, they had really grown to like Carmilla, and the Tremere took care of each other. No one should be found wanting.

When Carmilla and the Tremere arrived at The Museum, Tremere unknown to her let them in. Her friends seemed to have been there before, but Carmilla took it all in, wide eyed like Bambi and happy like never before. It was all too much to fully grasp. Not only was she on her own, granted permission to study under the protective wings of Mina - but she was also welcome to stay right next to her. It was overwhelming, heartwarming.

The silence that followed, as all the other Tremere left her alone, gave her comfort. Like no silence had ever done before. She had always found something eerie when there was nothing to be heard. It was like she feared something unspeakable hiding beyond all words and other sounds that gave proof of man. But not this time. She sat down on the floor, watching her new surroundings. It was a very beautiful room, it reminded her of a time long gone. Her furniture fitted perfectly; they were all made from dark wood, and matched the decor of the walls, ceiling and floor as if they had come with the room.

It had taken time, so many years had passed since she was a mere little human girl, but now she had found her home. This was truly it. She could feel it in the air, lingering around her, and in her mind, where all the thoughts started to gather in order to understand what was happening. An unbelieveable treasure had been bestowed upon her. No one could ever understand just how much it meant to Carmilla. She was in awe, he heart felt heavy. Everything layed before her now. Wisdom. Knowledge. Magic. And she would be damned, if anyone tried to take it from her. This was her destiny, all the pain from before was just the path she had to take, to reach to this point. She would grow stronger, and in time she hoped to be able to give something back - to Mina, and to the Tremere.

There was no time like the present. She could not remain in her room, no matter if the fact that it really was hers had yet to sink in. Instead she took her bookbag, filled it with books, pens and notepads, and left for The Museum Library. She was eager to learn, and though she was sure Mina would have understood if she wanted to spend her first night in her room, she was determined to show her Primogen that she meant every word.
Of course. She could not just dive in. She decided to start where she could find some familiar territory, and go from there. It didn't take her long to find a section of books she recognized. Seath had not deprived her totally, but it felt like kid's stuff to her now, standing in a elaborate library that was nothing short of breathtaking. However, Carmilla was better prepared than she felt like at the moment, she was just a myriad of opposing emotions. She was shy, yet gifted. She was pendulous at times, yet strong.

With several piles of books around her, Carmilla sat down at a large table in the center of the Library and started to take notes. It appeared daunting, but at the same time consoling. Books had always been friends of hers. Now and then, she rose from her seat to find a reference in another book, and she walked like in a maze with a dreamy smile on her face. She could pause next to an interesting book, that wasn't directly linked to the present matter, yet caught her attention. And she could stand there, reading pages upon pages, about a single gem or the meaning of a certain word. Nothing was trivial.

[AtropaMandragora]

In a club like The Haven, with neon lights cascading down over a sea of different faces and different styles of dressing, behaving, being, all of them unique in their own little way, and a suggestive beat beckoning you to listen and surrender to the music, it would seem quite difficult, if not downright impossible, for most to tune out the multitude of impressions constantly washing over one's senses, drowning them with the irresistable temptations of joy, pleasure, excitement and sex, all in their darkest forms. Even to one as used to it as Valerian, who spent most of his waking hours somewhere in the club, as though the two were living in a kind symbiosis, where each would draw it's energy from the presence of the other, it could prove to be an endeavoring task, to shield himself from the myriad of fascinations to which he would often be even more susceptible than most.

But this evening, he heard and saw the beauty of his beloved club only in the distance; as something alluringly elusive hiding in the shadows of the path he was travelling, too faint to turn him from it. His focus was on Aeode and on what he had to do. The club's draw was no match for when someone's life was in jeopardy.

The main issue, as he saw it, was to find a way of watching her closely, and giving her thoughts a nudge in the 'right' direction. The only 'safe' way of doing that, was to be upfront about wanting to keep an eye on her. If he wasn't, and she sensed that she was being followed, he had little doubt that she would be out of the city before he had a chance to stop her. But, if she agreed to let him keep an eye on her, for her own safety, that would put him in a position where he could influence her.

Though stubborn and able young lady that she was, it would surely take some real persuasion on his part; the full use of his charms, and, just to be on the safe side; more.

Eager to hear what news or pieces of the puzzle he had to bring her, Aeode wasted no time in responding to his request. She immediately sought the attention of her fellow bartender, a well built youth by the name of Jim, and told him that 'the boss' wanted to have a word with her. She then returned to Valerian, showing that she was ready to seek a more secluded place to recieve whatever news he had to tell.
Valerian took the lead, guiding her out from behind the bar with a sweeping gesture, indicating in which direction they would be heading; to the back of the club. Not up the stairs to his chambers, not to the second floor office/lounge, not even to the usual table in the corner of the club, where he could often be found entertaining guests, or being adored by his small but devoted fan club of human girls.
Instead, he headed towards a door in the back, which would lead them to the storage area; a quiet place, and, in comparison with the flair of the rest of the club, quite dull and grey. All the while he was glancing about himself, seemingly casual, scanning the crowd for familiar faces like he always was. In reality, there was only one person he was looking for, and only in order to avoid her, and avoid her seeing him and Aeode. Claudia. He didn't want her be a part of this, at all. He knew her too well, and was well aware that if she learned he was going to such lenghts as putting himself at risk in order to protect a human girl, it might awaken her jealousy, and with it that less likable part of her. The part that would have no qualms about interfering, and doing it in a way that might end up costing Aeode her life after all, despite Valerian's efforts to protect her.

Luckily, it didn't seem Claudia was around The Haven this evening, and Valerian and Aeode could slip through the door in the back without being spotted by her, and rousing suspicion.

That part over and done with, it was time for step two; ensuring that Aeode 'realized' the need for someone to keep an eye on her, for her own protection. That she was no longer safe at whatever place she was currently staying, and that she would be much better off keeping to a place where no one would look for her. And that, if his efforts were successful, would of course be The Haven.

Finally reaching the spot he'd had in mind - a fairly large area, with open space in all directions to allow them to make sure no one could be close enough to eavsedrop on them - he stopped, and turned around to finally look at Aeode, with a carefully measured amount of concern etched into his striking, pale blue eyes; not a complete act, since the apprehension he could feel coming off of her had him thinking that something was the matter. Something beyond what she had told him the previous evening.

"Are you alright?" he asked, and looked at her as if searching her face for answers before her words could offer one, and in his voice there was that gentle worry that throughout history had caused the inner restraints of great a many people to crumble, and give in to the desire to have their troubles just spill forth from their lips.


(((ooc: Ghanima - Sorry for taking so long. Was in no state to write yesterday. :)

And once again I'm wondering where everyone is... Seriously, nothing will happen to your character if you don't put them out there, and make something happen.)))

[AtropaMandragora]

Adrien hadn't gotten to accomplish what he had set out to do the previous night. The encounter with Beyonca had sidetracked him, and once she had left him alone and he had made sure she wasn't still following him from a distance, there had not been enough time to deal with anything but the most pressing matter; feeding. Finding a victim that fit his preferences and that provided him with an opportunity to strike was no easy task, and so when finally he had fed, it had been time to retreat to the so-called Haven that had been forced on him.

Finding another, and a place to study, would not be accomplished this newborn evening either. Come nightfall, he had re-evaluated the plan he'd had, and for once, he had actually changed his mind. A rare occurence indeed. So rare, in fact, that in comparison, one could call the sighting of Halley's comet a common one. Adrien, being who and what he was, had made a habit of never deciding on a plan, until everything - every detail and every angle - had been taken into account. Nothing could be affored to be dismissed, or overlooked. It didn't mean that changes were never made, once the plan was set into motion, as there was always the factor of life's unpredictability and ironic sense of humor, that could completely change the basic conditions, but with a plan as close to perfect as possible, there would always be something to work with even when things didn't go as planned.

This time, however, he had actually decided on a plan, but when unable to execute it the previous night, he had pondered it some more, and decided to make a few adjustmests. The plan was still basically the same, only with a bit of a... prelude added.

The original plan had been to go about obtaining a place to himself, partly as a way to test his boundaries. Were the ghouls watching him good enough to ferret out what he was up to, and if so, would actions be taken, either to try and simply keep tabs on what he was doing in that apartment/hotel room, or to put a stop to that little bit of freedom altogether? Would it draw Mina out to give his leash a violent tug, or would she send someone else to do it for her? Again.
But then he had thought to himself... Why gamble with the possibility of a place of his own? Why not start out testing his boundaries with something smaller? Whatever reaction it would bring, it would offer him even more knowledge to be taken into consideration before going ahead with the rest of the plan, and thus a way to better decide what tactics to use. Like a prisoner, he would systematically examine the walls of his confinement, trace every inch with his fingertips, search out the weaker spots, and the areas that would give way, but not break. He would find out where he could push, and how far.
Such knowledge always came in handy sooner or later. Especially when one was planning a jailbreak.

And what would be the perfect place to start, if not Mina's domain, the very embodiment of his confinement in Los Angeles? There was one place there in particular, that he knew was bound to bring some attention his way, as soon as he stepped foot in it, whether it be the attention of Mina herself, or the other Tremere milling about in the Museum; the Museum library.

Having showered and dressed, in the same dark colours he favored, and disentangled the necklaces he always wore from one another, he left the "sanctity" of his room, and slowly made his way towards the upper floors, where he knew the library was located. Well aware of the temptation and the lure the books would hold to him - knowledge that he craved, but had been refused in San Francisco, and would surely be refused here as well - each and every step he took served to build and fortify his self-control. If they were to follow, in order to stop him, they would not find him with a book to snatch away from his hands, and if they were to simply spy to see in what he was taking in interest, they would find that there was nothing to report. He would simply roam the passages between the bookshelves, glance at the titles, and memorize what was there. Nothing more, nothing less.

The closer he got, the more eyes he could sense watching him, and the tension in the air kept grew stronger and stronger, the anticipation of his next step building until it seemed the very walls around him were holding their breath. Yet, there was no one else in sight. But, he could sense them. He could even hear them. Faint steps, shallow breathing. Somewhere nearby, there was a ghoul, sneaking as thought they didn't think his sensitive hearing would register their human sounds.

Adrien snarled to himself at the thought, but played along, pretending not to hear the awful racket, and instead simply stepped into the library. There, the sounds of his stalker faded away, only to be replaced by the sounds of another. Someone who, even though they were far more quiet than the one he had just left behind, he could still hear clearly. The soft whisper of turning pages, the faint shuffling of feet. No breathing.
Another Tremere, then.

Moving as quietly as always, with a soundless grace practiced and perfected already as a human, he slowly rounded a corner, and stopped when his dark green-tinged gaze landed on a young darkhaired woman, standing at the opposite end of the passage, holding a book that by the looks of it, had captivated her completely. Still without much of a sound, Adrien remained there, leaning casually against the bookshelf, studying her, and saying nothing.


(((ooc: Sorry if it's messy. Kind of scatterbrained right now.)))

[veldagia]

A solitary candle cast its golden glow upon the desk. The room was filled with the musty scent of incense. It flowed into the nostrils threatening to choke with its clogging sweetness if a breathe was taken too deeply. Water from an ancient spring filled a silver goblet to its brim and earth from a grave settled upon a golden plate. The four elements earth, air, fire and water all represented upon the alter. But they waited for the fifth, the spirit. And that was contained within the heart and soul of the magician.

Mina approached the alter, head bowed. Her face hidden beneath the folds of clothe that swaved over her head. Before her a dusty book lay open. Revealling a handwritten calligraphy of latin, the language of the past. One pale finger traced over the words "Oculo omnividens te vigilet " as her ruby lips murmered the formulate. Then her eyes closed, the passage memorised long ago. The book acted as nothing more and nothing less than a symbol, a connection between the planes of reality and magick The invocation fell from her lips like autumn leaces blowing in the wind. A request for protection to sanctify the space within the four walls and finally giving thanks to the spirits, the elementels which aided.

It was over almost as soon as it begun. The earth and water scattered around the boundaries of the room, smoke and fire following. As Mina maintained the low chant, meerly a murmur that brushed her lips, almost inaudable to even vampiric ears. Once over, she closed the book extinguishing the candle, she needed no light to guide her within the room.

Her power had become stronger, her hold on this city fortified within the Tremere. With Seathe leaving the elders' threat was diminished. One from his chantry was already within her wall. In time others would follow.

Carmilla would grow to become a powerful allie. The seeds already had begun to germinate. Her skills in the Tremere disciplines were developed to a fine degree for her age. And she showed the qualities most admiral of a student: a respect for her elders, a huumbleness of her own status but behind it all was the brilliant sharpness of intellegence. She woulkd not dissapoint. But that was not why Mina kept her close, to allow her residence within her own floor. An elite position close to the Primogen. Carmilla was one of the few in which she had any trust , someone she could almost confinde in. And that, to Mina, meant a lot.


((OCC Mina is still within her room, but approachable to anyone who cares to knock on the door or contact her by phone or email. :)
* translation - May the all-seing eye watch over you - I think
Psyche - a perfect tie-up! Sorry everyone I dont have as much time now to RP as I used to but I still wish to continue despite my irregular posts))

[ElektraNatchios33]

Jessica loaded her now useless clothes into the trunk of her car. She was going to see the Prince, which meant that she either was going to be executed or banished from the city. She hoped she was exectuted, because if word got around that it was she who put every Kindred at risk, she could never be accepted in Kindred society again. She had not contacted anybody since she last talked to Aeode. It bugged her that if she was banished, she coulde never show her face near any of her dear clan members again. She should have thought of an excuse 2 nights ago, when Aeode confronted her.

Jessica pulled off the cheap blonde wig and let her shoulder length black hair free. She was wearing one of the few clothing items she took from her apartment. As she stepped into her beautiful Volvo, she twirled her key ring around her fingers. Both her car and apartment would be lost either way. Then she remembered Aeode, and how she was working nights at a bar being paid minimum wage, possibly working two jobs. There was her large bank account, and all of her clothes, which she assumed could fit Aeode, or she could have them let out because she had such a small frame.

She started up the engine, and headed from the abandoned warehouse to her "old" apartment. When she walked in, things had been scattered from when she rampaged through here last night, grabbing everything she might have needed. Jessica began to pick up the apartment, so that it would be clean for whoever she left it to. She took pride in hanging up her clothes in her regular bedroom sized walk in closet. There was still some food in cabinets for show, but looking at the dates, it had expired over 5 years ago. She quickly ran to the small grocery around the corner from the building, and picked up simple items. Bread, cheese, milk, fruit, canned vegetables, cereal, shampoo and other necessities. Then back at her apartment (after running two blocks) she unloaded the groceries. Everything was clean and ready for whomever she left the apartment to.

-- About 15 minutes later --

Jessica arrived outside The Prince's penthouse. She stood in the awkward elevator contemplating her impending doom. One the doors opened and his reception desk appeared, she suddenly wanted to freeze in her tracks, but her body pulled her in.

"I'm here to see The Prince."

[AtropaMandragora]

Damian Alexander III had a strong aversion to not being in control of things. As a Prince, as a Ventrue, as a man, he desired and required control. It was when he set the rules, when he was conducting the game, and when he was pulling the strings, that he came as close to being at ease as he would ever come. And even then he was far from fully relaxed. He knew human nature, and he knew Kindred nature. It was always just a matter of time, before someone messed something up, and he would have to find a way of dealing with it, without stepping on too many toes, and at the same time without making it seem like he was paying all that much attention to said toes. If people only knew how much consideration it took be be so inconsiderate...

Though frankly, it was perhaps during moments like this one, when things were not completely to his liking, that he thrived. He excelled at manuevering people and situations, at bringing order where there was none, and at, in short, being the one who saved the day. It had always been the times of crisis that weeded out the weak leaders, and left the strong ones standing tall. It was when everyone around him was made to realize just what he had in him, and as long as there were situations for him to deal with, to sort out or clean up, everyone would be constantly reminded of why he was the Prince, and they were not.

That, however, didn't mean that he liked it any better when others mucked things up, simply because there was usually already about a dozen things he needed to deal with, either as Prince, or on a more personal level, as a business man. And they were all equally important, if one was to believe those that came running to him like children to their parents, crying "It's broken, it's broken! Fix it, fix it!".
Still, there were things that were admittedly far more important than the bickering and pulling of pigtails between the clans. Breaches of the Masquerade being one.

He had been quite relieved the previous night, to shift the burden of Aeode Mallard from his own shoulders to Valerian's, even though it would still ultimately be up to him to decide her fate. But at least this way, he would not have to involve himself with that part of the matter too much, nor would he have to have her promptly eliminated to save himself the trouble. And, the best part was that even though he did not go out of his way to try and save her life, he would still be credited for safeguarding the innocent.

With that part being dealt with, and the Nosferatu 'taking care' of this Desmond MacInthyre - who, he had learned by now, was a friend of Aeode's after all - that only left the matter of Jessica herself. Unless, of course, Aeode or Desmond had blabbed the story to someone else. But that was Valerian's and the Nosferatu's problem.
As Jessica hadn't presented herself at Damian's office last night, as requested, the first call Damian had made this evening, was to send his scouts to look for her, and when (not if) they found her, to bring her to him. He would not be ignored.

But, as it turned out, she had come to her senses. That, Damian was made aware of when the intercom buzzed, rousing him from his thoughts, and his secretary declared that lady Jessica was here to see him.
Finally. Finally he would see the end of this ordeal. One way or another.

"Send her in", he ordered, his booming voice already declaring that he was far from pleased with the lady in question.

Before she had time to enter, he stood and turned his back to the doors, gazing out over the city nightlife, filled with a myriad of lights of every color imaginable, clasping his hands loosely behind his back. Partly as a way of drawing strength from the serenity of the night sky, to keep his cool despite the anger that was causing his blood to boil, but also as a sign; she had fallen from grace, and was thus undeserving of having her presence recognized until he saw fit to acknowledge it. But he was still watching her approach. The darkness outside the windows provided him with a good reflection of the room behind him, and so he could watch her every step of her way to his desk, and she would still be none the wiser.
Not even when the sound of her foot steps ceased did he turn to look at her, but merely gave a short, firm order;

"Sit down."

[Psyche_SC]

#35 [Tenth Night]

The world had drowned out long ago, and been replaced by a world of words. The library appeared as a majestic realm, absolutley beautiful to the naked eye and to the spellbound minds of the Tremere - nothing short of irresistibly enchanting. Carmilla was greatly charmed, embraced by all the knowledge and whispers from the eminent past of her lineage. In an instant, she understood why they were feared, as well as respected. In the very point of origin within her, from which the clan's blood had claimed her, the tale was told. All Tremere knew about the myths and legends that surrounded them, but in this moment Carmilla could feel and see why. Experience, through a touch of a book, revelations in a few sentences and combining it all to a discovery of high praise and regard. Her world would never be the same. Every step she took from now on, would add to her vampiric abilities and strength. She had only taken a mere baby step, yet she felt this night would be one of a kind.

She put the book away in its place, and moved further down, to the end of that row of shelfs. There it was, the book she was looking for. It contained the reference she needed, to fully grasp what she was reading in the current book by her notepad. Although, something else caught her eye. Next to it stood a fairly tainted one, either used with diligence until it barely held itself togheter, or treated worse than a low ranked ghoul. Carmilla picked it up, carefully as if it was more fragile than a petal. She held it in her hands, like it was their Holy Grail, though it was far from one of the most important books to her bretheren. She wondered, if there were books safely locked away somewhere, or if they where all displayed here. Her mind brushed against the thought of the Seven, and what wonderous books they must have in their possession. She did not dare to explore that sentiment further, instead she turned her attention to the book in her hands, and opened it with anticipation. Already in the first sentence, she was spellbound. All of her knowledge, every single snippet, tidbit and Tremere treat she had accommodated through the years, gathered and gave her a partial understanding of what she was reading. She knew in a wink of an eye, that she would return again and again to this particular book, and when she had learnt more she would understand more. However, that did not keep her from reading.

New gates where opened, even if only for a peak. It was enough to make her feel like a choosen one, as special as every single Tremere was in the universe and to the clan. No one was expendable, no one was a waste. At least not in theory.
A soft smile grew on her lips, as she felt content, in the same time as she craved more, more. There were no end to her love for everything written, every single thought of substance put into words on a sheet of paper. She raised her hand, and touched the pages of the worn book, gentle with her fingertips. It was as if she secretly hoped for the letters to affect her skin as well as her soul. She closed her eyes, longing for everything yet to be revealed to her, and when she opened them again she realized she had turned a few pages. The words that met her dazzled her, played with her mind like a game of roulette. Sinister, amiable... Bewitching.

Though one would hardly be alone in this Chantry, or any other, she had felt very much alone in the library, until the air shifted. Or so it seemed. She thought nothing of it, as her blood told her to not be alarmed. No matter who changed the elements in her close proximity, there were no place safer than this. It was a fortress. Though it had not occured to her that it did in fact harbour a different kind of Tremere, until she lifted her gaze from the pages, and beheld Adrien de la Cour at the other end.

Of course. The hunter resided within these walls, above the unsuspecting humans by the neon screens. The one vampire they did not have to fear as much as the rest. Carmilla had been so into her newly found surroundings, Mina's acceptance and all the knowledge to be had, to give the strange man from the Banquet another thought. And now, he stood not far from her, locking her in his dark gaze. The traces of green gave his orbs a second dimension, and made her wonder if the one who claimed him had made an addition or if it was in fact a gift from birth.

The set of feelings in her chest rearranged, and a new one took form in the center. But what was it; fear? He had instilled fear in her at The Ball and cast a shadow over the intended welcome feast for the Ventrue Primogen. But this time, it was different. Although she was alone with him, as far as she knew, she was not afraid. Respect and reservation, but no fear. Instead; curiosity. She knew but one thing about him for certain; something they had in common - being embraced without consent. Of course, she knew about all the killings, but that was redundant. One could not hear about him, and not think about the vampire causalities in his path.

He did take her by surprise, but not the one she would have guessed. It puzzled her that she had not been startled, stricken with at least some fear. Was it because he didn't look quite as intimidating as the first time she had seen him - frightening an entire ocean of vampires - or was it because they were alone. The very fact that would tell anyone to run, run from the hunter. Although she would not have to be half as smart as she was to know it would be suicide for him to hurt her, she couldn't figure out why she wasn't scared. Her mind and her reaction in the flesh did not always co-exist, so why this time. The only visible thing, was her reduced smile.

Adrien de la Cour was a monster. It just happened to be, that he was a very handsome one. The raven hair, tresses teasing his eyes, and a firm jaw. A most dangerous monster. Evil in a charming form, certainly one of his best weapons. Who could believe him to be a killer, a vile creature sneaking around destroying her kind - that was now his kind as well. Though she did believe, she belonged to the clan that were in the business of carrying out his punishment.

Carmilla found herself feeling calm, and the soft smile returned to her lips in its former capacity, though he did not give her nearly as much to smile about as the book in her grasp.

"Mr de la Cour", she said with her pleasant tone and gave him a nod.

She was not about to call him a brother, but given the circumstances, she could do nothing else but greet him as she would anyone. After all, he had to be quite intelligent to be as successful as he had been. Therefore he would not hurt her. The mere thought made her smile widen, just a tad. If he were to go on a suicide mission, she doubted he would start with her. A man like him, would most likely take as many as possible to his grave.

Despite her stillness within, she wondered about that mind of his. She did prepare herself for the possibility of all her sentiments being utterly wrong. Maybe he saw in her a target she could not see herself. After all, she was not the one who had spent centuries erasing Kindred.

Fear or no fear. If he really intended to harm her in any way, neither would save her. She put her trust in her blood.

[Game Shark]

Is this O.K.? I apologize for any inconsistancies in this Bio. Please point them out to me so I may fix them. Also, can someone inform me where everyone is. I don't want to, for example say I am at The Rave Arcade when everyone is at The Museum. I'm really nervous about his post because I am paranoid that I did something horriblely wrong or made a very stupid error.

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1. Name: John Doe
Age: 30

2. Willingness to be a ghoul, or embraced (if so, by what clan): Honestly, I am fine being embraced/be a ghoul for whoever, whenever. I wish to advance the story as much as possible, even if that means my ow