Damian always had his way. Always. One way or another, he saw to it to achieve what he wanted, be it through clean and honest ventures that called for his business acumen, or through far more underhanded and devious ones born from his cunning mind. He had been raised to lead and to conquer, long before he had even been embraced by the capable Ventrue. He had been taught to wield his power since he was old enough to walk, about 607 years ago now, watching and learning from how his father moved among his subjects with such power burning from within that they would all bow down to him, and strive to satisfy his every whim, sometimes before he had even given the order.

607 years... It was a long time, and with knowledge and experience constantly acquired along the road, the talent that Damian had now developed, not to say perfected, for the concept of "command and conquer" was no meagre one. Sometimes bent and shaped to fit the modern times, but never taken away from. It was always added to, with every meeting, problem or opportunity that appeared in his way. He had learned to exude a power that had been known to make others cower in front of him, Kindred and kine alike, and he had the ability to command the atmosphere of an entire room with his aura, with the mere look in his eyes, which could express just as much or as little as he wanted them to, depending on whether he wanted the opponent to foolishly feel they had him at a disadvantage, or he himself wanted to make them feel three inches tall. These days, it was all an ability that came as naturally and effortlessly to him as breathing once had.

Within the walls of his office, and for the most part within his whole domain, it was common practice for him to keep others reminded and aware of his strength. A weak Prince, or even the illusion of one, would draw out all the troublemakers that wanted a chance to take him down, and there were quite enough of those already. He had far better things to do than to strike down attempts at rebellion as a result of an idea that he was losing his touch.

However, there was more to the strategy of warning people from challenging him, than simply standing there to let them drink in the numbing authority radiating from him as they approached him. Far more. There was the spacious office itself, and the expensive and elegant decor, showing wealth, but a relaxed attitude towards it, rather than the tacky, nouveau riche need to shove it in the face of anyone who came to see him. There was the way that his own chair was slightly more luxurious than the two on the opposite side of the desk, and the way that it towered just a few inches higher, so that the visitor would be seated slightly lower than him, and thus have to look up to meet his gaze. There was the placement of the mirrors in the room, there was the way that from the moment they stepped through the massive double doors, the visitor was under calm but careful scrutiny by both Damian himself and the sheriff, there was the distance they had to walk from those doors to reach his desk. All of it serving to provide Damian with as much current information about his visitor as possible, giving him the chance to determine their intentions before they even had a chance to turn them into actions.
Nothing was left to chance.

His current visitor, the young and clearly capable "Cameron Harker", was one that despite his general wariness, had earned herself an additional amount of suspicion from him, by acting in a manner rather uncharacteristic for a soon-to-be ghoul. Headstrong, wilful, refusing to cower. Dignified and proud, determined not to give in and offer the complete submission that his presence practically demanded. Interesting...
But oh so treacherous.

Even when she actually did submit, and started disarming herself - retrieving a bottle of "perfume" (containing the Pope's favourite brand, no doubt) from her purse, and a modified knife from under her skirt, earning herself a faintly amused smile from Damian in the process - it was only after a few moments of hesitation, that to some perhaps would have been unnoticeable, but that to Damian made a world of difference. She was reluctant to let the weapons go, she wasn't at all happy or eager to please him. Ah yes indeed, he'd best be careful with this one. Even by his own standards.

"Is there anything else you'd like me to do, Lord Alexander?", she inquired, as the sheriff moved towards the desk to confiscate the weapons produced, while keeping a vigilant eye on the young lady.

And while her demeanour so far had suggested that she was determined to stand her ground with him, if not through actual actions then at least by not compromising her pride and her remarkable composure, the look in her eyes and the tone of her voice told a different story. They spoke of willing compliance, with the kind of soft underlying purr of a million promises that since the dawn of humanity had drawn men into the abyss of a woman's desires. It would seemed there was a battle raging within her, one part of her crusading against the other in the fight over the power to decide whether to oppose him, or surrender to him.

Now that was more like it, even though it didn't mean he was anywhere near convinced that everything was as it should be. It would take a lot more to convince him, than simply obeying him when already at an obvious disadvantage.

"You tell me", he thus said, with his calm gaze still resting on her face, from which it had yet to stray.

As a way of testing her, he would simply leave it up to her to set the conditions of their relationship to one another, and by doing so make her responsible for whatever would happen to her.

"I leave it up to you to lay the foundation of our affiliation", he elaborated with a faint curving of his lips. "Your level of honesty with me will have me treating you accordingly."

Acting, Adrien realized at he watched the face of the young(?) woman in front of him light up with a smile, was much like riding a bike. Once you had learned how to do it, you would never forget it. Not any part of it. He may have spent the past three years portraying a deeply rooted confidence and a self assurance that just wouldn't budge, even when he'd been at a massive disadvantage, or been forced to do what he didn't want to do, lest he'd be made to pay a price he couldn't afford. Or, as the prime example, coming face to face with the one Kindred that had ever sparked a truly favourable albeit small feeling in him, yet been just about to die by his hand, only to manage a narrow escape at the last moment, and at the end of it all turned into his ultimate nemesis; Mina. His current Primogen, who was no doubt planning on making his stay in Los Angeles a most unpleasant one. As per the Council's orders, he was sure.

All this, he had suffered through for the last couple of years, and he had never once cowered or shown fear or even hesitation. He had kept himself cool and composed, even at those times when his insides had not been in full agreement with what his outsides portrayed, because he just would not allow them to see him falter. It was what they were waiting for, yearning for, and he would keep denying them to see it. They had won one important battle, but they would not win the war. That was the message that his posture would send while in their presence, whether he'd had to resort to partly acting it or not. Strength and confidence. Resolution and defiance. It was what he was, and it was the part that he would usually play when he wasn't.

This, however, what he was doing right now, was very different. Hesitation and insecurity were feelings that he had never allowed himself to feel towards others for a long time, nor had he lent his features to express them. They would have been a death sentence to everything that he was, and was clinging to in his struggle to keep everything that set him apart from Kindred kind.
And yet, out of practice though he may be, he did still have the routine down, judging by the reaction he received from the pretty blonde, for while she did seemed slightly startled at first, the tension soon seeped out of her delicate frame, making way for a smile so hearty and kind that he couldn't help but to think that she had to be human. Though he knew better than to actually trust that first impression. After all, acting wasn't a skill that he exclusively possessed.

"Well then, you've just found it!", the young woman beamed at him, and motioned towards the club as she explained; "Just go 'round that corner and you'll come up to the front entrance. Great big neon sign, can't miss it!"

Adrien, still playing the part of a somewhat lost Neonate, let his eyes follow in the direction of her gesturing, and tilted his head back a little to gaze up at the building in front of him, before dropping it momentarily to the ground, as if in an attempt to hide the embarrassed smile seizing his lips.

"Oh", he mumbled.

There was a brief moment of silence, but as he wasn't willing to let the encounter end quite yet, with him having gotten none the wiser at all, he was just about to open his mouth to speak and keep the conversation going somehow, when much to his satisfaction, the blonde did it for him;

"If you don't mind me asking though", she started somewhat carefully, "and feel free to tell me it's none of my business, is there a specific reason why you're looking for the club? I come here all the time, and maybe I can help."

Bingo. She was buying it. She had taken the intended bait, and swallowed it hook, line and sinker. Now all he had to do was to reel her in. Carefully. She might have gone for it, but that didn't mean that she wasn't suspicious. Nor did it mean that she had any clue whatsoever about what really went on inside the club. For all he knew at this point, she could just be an innocent who happened to be a regular at the place.
So, best put his theory to the test before going any further and risk realizing only far down the line that he had been wasting his time.

"Some... friends of mine recommended it", he started hesitantly, and shot her a glance as though he was trying to see if she was catching his drift. "They suggested that the... that the clientele would be my kind of crowd."

Now, if she didn't catch those hints, especially with him hardly looking like someone who belonged in a goth club, what with his stone coloured silk shirt and black slacks and all, it would be clear that he was barking up the wrong tree and she really was an innocent after all. And if she was, and would consider it odd for someone like him to think that the clientele was "his kind of crowd", well, then there were several possible explanations for him to offer.

((ooc:Ok I have to ask..Where did yall get your banner because I love them and want one... ))

(((ooc: innocent - Heh, Ghani made hers, and mine. *bows down to Ghani* robokitty made hers. )))

((ooc:ok, now off to make a cool banner, dont think I have what I need on my laptop though.))

Sort your head out.

Very few people know the appreciate gravity of self-awareness, and even fewer get to the point of self-actualisation. She’d yet to get to the latter and chances were, it was a pipe dream coming to an end this night, but the former, she got. She knew who she was. People base their identity on their looks, their wealth, their accomplishments and almost everyone stalls a few moments when posed the question “who are you really?”. It’s a bit of a delicate topic, and some philosophers will go down the “are you really who you think you are?” route.
Most people had their contradicting opinions about her – tease, demure, vivacious, docile, heartless, compassionate, simple, enigma – and she frankly didn’t care what they thought because you can’t please everyone. There were a few people whom, while she didn’t truly let them in, she still gave significantly more of herself to than the vast majority, because… because they were people who might not agree, but had the intellectual capacity of understanding, because they weren’t sheep, because… they had some strong personal identity to contend with. Most people don’t. Most people drift through life.
One such person was Jake Pemberly. Jake was… fun to argue with, and she could be open with him about a lot of stuff and he’d called her everything from the Biblical Serpent to Lucifer’s Charge (…in an endearing/banterous way, one likes to hope still), but he was good to talk to. Once he said that no-one’s ever really free, regardless of how far they push and so, brainwashing for the greater good – think of a more deviant, more forcefully indoctrinated morality – was alright.
It’s not. The greater good falls through when you have to infringe on people’s identity to get it. It’s not justifiable. So, when Christian made this immensely convincing argument about why the masquerade was important – because apparently, liked everyone, the freaks deserved to live and the humans will go psycho and “unfairly” so – she told him to go screw himself. Personal identity, whether you acknowledge it or not, is the only thing that separates you from the next wandering cluster of flesh and neurons. Hence, there can’t be a lot of respect imparted to people who a) are too dumb to get that, or b) just don’t give a damn. Because they haven’t earned it.

She’d unashamedly accept that for about the first twelve to thirteen years of her life, she had no concept of this. It’s a little embarrassing in retrospect that, for almost a decade and a half, she wandered around with no real sense of purpose but for the short term, just pretty much reacting to everyone else or playing around with them. It’s all fine and dandy whilst you’re doing it, but in the bigger picture… what a waste. When she died, her gravestone would be “Ooh, Alexis; never a dull moment around her. Even now, as she lays decomposing”. Nothing more. Going on like that, she wouldn’t have done anything with her life. Maybe part of that was because she never knew what she wanted. Independently. It was always a case of reacting to what others wanted her to do.
So, it took getting to the age of thirteen to just not care what other people thought or wanted her to do, and really focus on what she wanted. Maybe it was a whole factor of things that happened that year, or maybe it was because that was when she had to choose her GCSE subjects and that was probably the first time than someone genuinely asked “What do you want to do?” rather than going “Here’s what’s good for you”. Not that she got much of a say in it, Daddy and Mother had most of the pull in choosing said subjects. She manipulated to get a little of her way, but ultimately, they paid the expensive school fees and they figured they got the final say.
Two years of doing a bunch of subjects that made her want to perpetually gag sold the deal. She’d had enough and she knew what she had to do. She got the A*s everyone pushed her for and that was that. At sixteen, she left the private school he paid for and moved to a grammar school, because she despised them and their pretentiousness, because they were so fake and ultimately because she got bored of them. Daddy didn’t like that much, he didn’t like not being able to have a say in where she went, what subjects she took, her whole life. This essentially meant that he confiscated her car, cut the allowance, and eventually refused to pay for her university fees; apparently independence came as a whole package.
It was okay. She took the 7 mile bus trip every morning and evening, she used the money she already had saved and when it came to university… well, student loans covered the basics, and working for him during the summer and working as a part-time model and hostess during the other holidays covered the costs well. She could pay the student loans once she had a career. It’d be fine.
Not that the creepy, perverse men around, who figured she was fair game, made her feel safe or self-respecting in any way. Not that Daddy had a good grasp of nepotism. But she was… she was good. And she could hold her head up high; she was no-one’s puppet. Well….
Either way, personal identity was something she’d painstakingly earned, etched out against everything telling her what and who she ought to do and be. She hadn’t felt as real as a person should until she stopped letting people tell her what to think, and chose her own company. She wasn’t about to give it up to Christian or Damian or anyone.

That would have made a lot more sense if she knew what it was she was holding on to. It is such an abstract concept, personal identity, and you know what it is, but it becomes so alien to face not having it. So, it felt incredibly ajar to not know what she wanted. She knew what she had to – wanted to – do, but there was no real clarity over what it was leading to and to say that losing that bearing was unsettling was watering things down considerably. She didn’t want to die confused, of all things. She didn’t love him, Damian. Even if she did, it wasn’t really love, was it? But she didn’t. Not that she’d ever really loved a man – which was another thing she could briefly contemplate missing out on… what a fun and very unfortunately growing list – but he’s not… he wasn’t right. He was intelligent, successful and handsome which were all markers for every guy she’d ever gone for, but there wasn’t love. In and out of context of this, he was a man she should love, but he wasn’t someone she could love. There was intense hate, but there’s the chance that that’d turn to love after the third drink.
What’s worse? Being deluded that you’re in love, or being trapped to serve someone you cannot abide by? YAY! Which prize can I look forward to?
Neither. He wasn’t going to get his way.
But she wanted his touch, she wanted his attentions, she wanted him to look at her how every virile, testosterone-laden man did. She wanted to be in his arms, she wanted to feel his lips against her again. She wanted him to want her. So, question time; was that because that was one way in which manipulation took a shortcut since puberty, or was that because she just got on a one way train to Stepford?
Hmm.

See, as far as personal identity went, there was a gut instinct that told her who she was, that told her that there was just no way she was going to lay her head down at his feet for any damn reason without waiting to pull the rug out from under his feet. She knew who she was, but she didn’t know whether that was just a desperate clinging to what she deserved, or the actual truth. Wanting to believe something never made it real.
She was going with gut instinct, it was telling a much nicer story than self-doubt. So, the plan was still a go.

"You tell me,” he passed back with his silvery mist eyes still resting on her, sending small shivers over every inch of exposed skin for the electrifying command he held over the room, and threatened to hold over the occupants. Well, Lurch was already Damian’s bitch, so the focus was on her, really. Life in the limelight.
And the way his gaze had belonged to her since the moment she walked in made her feel like a slide under a microscope and yet, at the same time, special. And he could make her feel like a lobster at a seafood restaurant. It was best not to openly respond to this.

“I leave it up to you to lay the foundation of our affiliation,” he explained as his lips took a sliver of a smile, and she didn’t want to decipher the malicious repercussions of making the wrong choice. “Your level of honesty with me will have me treating you accordingly.”
Knowing you and me, with a coefficient of far less than one. Perhaps minus.

Do you know what’s rivetingly annoying about people who say “I want you to be honest with me”? What the hell have they ever done to deserve said honesty? You know, information is power and they just want you to give it up to them. As if. Should I just kiss your feet now, or… is there are more convenient time for you?
Well, I want you to spontaneously combust. I don’t see that happening, do I?
She knew what he was getting at; she lied to him then, she was lying to him now and he was onto her on at least one of those things. Jesus, if she was entirely honest with him, he’d kill her in three seconds flat. So, fair to him, he would treat her accordingly, and so she’d take his word for it.
The weapons… unless he strip-searched her for now, he won’t find it and game was rapidly speeding to “Over” if she lost the remaining knife, so she’d be keeping that one. It’s a bluff, after all. The matter of the domitor… hardly important now. And the name… she contemplated giving him another false name, but meh. More trouble than it was worth.
Okay. Don’t give him affirmation one way or another.

“Thank you,” she thus replied calmly with a small inclination of her head, her golden flecked peridot orbs still whispering their subliminal enticements to him. Fundamentally, have to give him credit for laying those cards on the table… not that there wasn’t much more to them. “I’m sure I’ll take that into consideration once our affiliation is cemented.”
He should know ghoul-she wouldn’t have a choice by then. But, she wasn’t his yet. He had to come get her, seal the deal. That piece in place, she moved on, making it less glaring.
“However, you have me intrigued by your lack of faith in ghouls,” she remarked with a curious amusement narrowing her gaze onto him. “Why keep them? How many?”
Well, let’s see if this “honesty” was a two way street. Probably not.

Beyonca waited patiently for the red beauty to answer. She couldn’t help but wonder what was going threw her mind. Was she scared of her or was she open to meeting and talking to strangers? It wasn’t wise to talk to complete strangers one meets on the streets, especial this particular stranger, but Bee wasn’t about to harm the girl. For one reason she didn’t even have the type of blood Bee’s body craved. Most of the Venture clan craved those of the highest class. Bee wanted something more specific, scholar blood. She wanted one whose blood was soiled with knowledge and arrogance. More often than not, she had to just settle for the aristocrats blood. She once had a blood doll that perfectly suited her. It ended badly. He wanted to be turned and Bee refused. It wasn’t that long ago that they had parted ways, thankfully she hasn’t seen him again.

The second reason was because of her pregnancy. Bee had decided at some time in the conversation she was going to turn to that line of thought. Bee was just waiting for the opportunity to do so. She wanted the women to trust her enough just to talk to her. She wasn’t asking for a long friendship. That was impossible to ask or think of. Bee hadn’t had a friend since her sire and she wasn’t going to change that anytime soon. The only other person she had really had much conversation with was Adrien. Wrong turn. She didn’t want her thoughts to turn that way. It had been a good week. She had stayed away from him. Her Primogen would be proud, even though most of her evening were a bore. The one that had her mind doing loopy loops was off limits. She was quite surprised she could keep her curiosity nailed down, but she was doing a fine job of it. Well maybe not, she is now trying to get a pregnant human women to talk to her. Not only that, but talk to her about her pregnancy. Curiosity was nailed down after all. And here she thought she was doing good.

“Annie, nice to meet you. And yup, so am I,”, the girl replied

Annie, what a nice name. It reminded her of the musical. It was somewhat amusing that they both had red hair. She wondered if maybe she was named after that. Of course the girl in the musical was young, this Annie was quite grown up. Probably older than Bee was when she was turned. Bee was now 275 years old, Annie was not quite that old, but in her 20’s for sure. Bee has lived all these years, knows so much, but yet still has to pretend she is 18 or 19 years old. A half smile slowly curved. How amusing. Maybe she should turn to talking to her own kind more often. At least she didn’t have to pretend to be someone she is not.

“As for your question, let's just say the past couple of days have been rather...intense”, Annie stated.

The sentence brought Bee out of her thoughts. The fact that she had said anything that might have been going on was a good thing. Most people would have said they were alright and left it at that. They wouldn’t have mentioned anything being wrong. This was a good start. Maybe slowly Bee could get the girl to open up. If she worded them careful. Maybe if she told her that she couldn’t have children then she would talk about it some more. A small hope started blossoming in Bee.

“Things could seem rather difficult at times. I am sure it time everything will fall back into place. Everything happens for a reason, well at least that is how the saying goes.” A friendly smile radiated off of Bee.

Maybe just talking would help her some. Event though she might not want it, sometimes a stranger could open up doors and put things in perspective. Well she al least hope she could do that for Annie. Maybe just be a fried for this night. It might help to ease her problems. Maybe talking with a stranger, someone she would never see again , would take the bolder off her shoulders somewhat.

“I couldn’t help but notice your pictures. I believe they were ultrasounds?” Bee continues slowly. “I am guessing those intense days involved the idea of being pregnant? I am sorry if I seem to be intruding on personal ground, but I am….worried. I just want to make sure everything is alright.”

For someone that Valerian didn't know very well, to be granted access to his chambers, to his own personal haven, was a bit of a rarity. Despite the young Toreador's openness and eagerness to make friends, and his sometimes naive trust in others, most of his acquaintances found their encounters with him taking place in the upstairs office of The Haven, or possibly somewhere else more or less secluded, but never behind the doors on the opposite side of the passage that lay between the office and his chambers. What existed beyond those doors, was something meant only for those who invested as much in Valerian as he did in them. For while every friend he had was what he considered a special one, he was also aware that there were friends that did not care quite as much about him as he did about them. And that was alright, because it was honest. He of course wouldn't have minded if the amount of feelings invested on both parts were equal, but he wouldn't try to draw out what just wasn't there, and force people to care more about him than they did. But even if he did wear his heart on his sleeve, and never tried to hide his feelings about anyone, there were still things that he kept mostly to himself, and those things were what awaited anyone that stepped through the doors of his chambers. The paintings hanging and standing here and there - some finished, some not - the discarded sheets of paper strewn all over the coffee table, the furniture, the decorations, even the ambiance itself; it was all something that exposed a part of him that was exclusive only to those who in one way or another willingly offered him as much as he offered them. Claudia, Melody, Moira, a few of his human lovers, Aeode in a way... and now Noah.

Even though it was a very fresh friendship, and one that hadn't yet seen much conversation, there were times when conversation was simply redundant, unnecessary in order to be able to determine the intentions and emotional investments of another. It would be a lie to say that Valerian knew, on a logical level, why it was that Noah was, as he himself had put it, drawn to Valerian and his home, but he didn't really feel that he needed to. There was just a connection between the two of them, intangible but strong, born from their very first meeting, when Noah had seemed so lost, and Valerian had wanted to offer a chance for him to be so, without the insecurities that came with it, so that he could find his way in peace. It was something that had been present in that very first encounter of theirs, and it was something that had been present in all of their encounters since. It was part of why Valerian was so intrigued by the Gangrel, and felt that despite their friendship being only a few days old, that they were equal, in that they were both so willing to give, yet without really asking for anything in return.

Another part was their conversations, the few that they'd had. They had all been so filled with contemplation on Noah's part, so very far from the generic small talk that some people would engage in. Some with the intent of moving on to the heart of the matter eventually, and some lacking the ability to ever move on at all. But Noah didn't beat around the bush, he got right to the point. Even when he said nothing, like just now. It was so very obvious to Valerian from the start that his visitor had something on his mind, that he couldn't have noticed it more clearly even if Noah had screamed it at the top of his lungs. But when he had seemed hesitant about how to start, Valerian had offered a little nudge, to assure the Gangrel that whatever was on his mind, Valerian was willing to listen.

"The city is on fire", Noah started somewhat cryptically, but soon went on to elaborate: "Since the last time I saw you I've learned that here are both the Sabbat and a hunter I wish I could forget. Though I try to remember why I came here in the first place instead."

As he listened, Valerian tilted his slightly in curiosity, and then gave a small nod in understanding. Ah yes, the Sabbat... They were indeed bound to be a cause for concern for everyone that learned of their return to the city. Even if the incidents so far had been few and scattered, they had shown no peaceful intentions by attacking Vevila. And there was that feeling of foreboding quivering in Valerian's heart, the one he had expressed only to Moira, about something ominous looming in the shadows of the near future. It could be the Sabbat, or it could be the notorious hunter, Adrien de la Cour. Both perhaps? And would de la Cour be the hunter of which Noah spoke, or were there others hiding within the city?

"You see", Noah continued after a moment of silence that both he and Valerian had seemed to spend in deep thought, "I believe Mother Earth has brought me here. To you. This is what I know, I know very little of anything else."

Those last few words were words that marked the start of yet another brief silence, yet one that ran a little longer than the last, as Valerian simply studied him at first, a small but somewhat incredulous smile emerging on his lips. To say that he understood why fate, or Mother Nature as Noah called it, would have brought their paths to cross, would have been an overstatement. He wouldn't claim to know, nor would he protest what Noah claimed to know to be the truth. If Noah was certain, it must be for a reason, regardless of whether he himself knew of that reason or not, and regardless of whether Valerian understood it or not. In a way, he supposed he did, though it was in a way that once again transcended actual logic, and instead lingered in the emotional sphere of things.
And perhaps that was just it?
Not everything had to make sense.

"I often find that... it is not what we know that is important", he started calmly, looking up at Noah with serenity tingeing his sapphire eyes. "That it is what we feel that makes the difference, and that we do allow ourselves to feel."

Of course, coming from Valerian, some would have said the reply he offered was bound to be something along those lines, since emotions were such an essential part of what he was. But no matter if it would sound like nonsense to them, to Valerian it was sense.

"Many have forgotten how", he said, this time with regret staining his voice for a fragment of a second, before it softened again, along with the look in his eyes as he beheld the other Kindred in front of him. "But not you."

Name: Mia Thomas
Age: 23
Willingness to be embraced: In the futur, yes. Right now she knows
nothing of vampites.
Occupation: Beyonca's Assistant
Short Bio: Mia was born and raised in L.A. Her whole life all she has wanted to do was be a photographer. At the age of 20, she got a job at a well know professional photographers. Not being a photographer but the secretary. Not to long after that the owner of the buisness (Bee) ask her to be her assistant. Because of the huge pay increase she acepted the offer. Now she strugles to make her photography know. It is hard to do what she loves doing when she has to cater after Bee all the time. Bee is very demanding and calls at all hours for Mia to do something for her. Being the good employer, she does as she is told, but secretly inside she screams. Aften doing what has been asked means doing the impossible. Somehow Mia always seems to get it done. Bee never asks how and Mia will never tell her all the details.

photo:





Additional Information: Mia has a secretly bottled deep indside her. AScting polite and mannerly all day is against her nature. At night is when the true Mia comes out. She is a natural bad girl. Draw to the wrong men, meanignless nights and some nights she cant even remember. Dares are the very things she lives on. Always she is dressed to be the center of attension and never fails to get what she wants. Even though she screams at Beef ro some of the things she has to do to get what she wants, deep inside she loves it. She gets to do excatly what is in her nature. BUt never will she admit that fact. No one knows of this side of her. Not even her boss Bee. She will do what ever possible to keep it from her. Her job is her life, despising it and adoring it all at the same time.


((ooc: I couldnt for the life of me remember what I put as Beyoncas assistant originaly, but now it is Mia. I am not really activating her until after the time jump, but I am going to post something so everyone can get an idea of who she is.))

He was being quite generous. As one who would usually reprimand his subjects in a way that would have them knowing their place and never doing again what had earned them his disapproval in the first place, allowing "Cameron" to set the bar and thus decide the nature of her affiliation with him, was quite the hospitable gesture when coming from Damian. Or most Kindred really. Few Domitors, especially Princes, would show such benevolence to someone who had yet to prove their worth, and to a ghoul no less. He had gotten an indication of what she could do, the first time they had met, that was true, and she was proving rather intriguing, with her apparent determination not to surrender herself to him on sight. But as far as actual usefulness went, she had yet to prove herself, and live up to his expectations. She had yet to truly deserve the generosity he was showing her, in leaving it up to her to set the bar, in letting her rest up in the comfortable suite below, as well as in feeding her his precious vitae. As a ghoul, regardless of whether she was a previously independent one or a bound one, she ought to be honoured that someone like him would show such interest in her, and also chose to sate her habit.

And, let's not forget that if one was to believe that bogus story she had told him about her "previous" Domitor, he was being very kind indeed, to swoop in and save her from becoming an orphaned ghoul, or even killed for being a loose end, and to do so not by simply foisting her off on some random new Domitor - many of whom could have been very unpleasant and used her for their own twisted amusement - but by taking her in himself. As a Venture, as an Elder, and, most importantly, as the very Prince himself. Things could have been made far worse for her, so as far as ghouls went, she was pretty darned lucky.

However, it would seem the young lady herself either did not realize it, or did not have the common sense to appreciate it, because while he had given her plenty so far, she had yet to reciprocate in any way. Except of course vandalization, bringing weapons into his office, and just bad manners in general. Which, frankly, he hardly counted as "reciprocating". And as if that wasn't enough, the reply she to gave to his generous offer now, was another blatant display of reasons for him not to trust her;

"Thank you", she said and gave a small nod in recognition of the offer itself, but then went on foolishly reject it; "I'm sure I'll take that into consideration once our affiliation is cemented."

In other words; she would only consider being honest, when there was likely to be too much within her urging her to be. She wouldn't be willingly honest with him. And the only reason for that, would be because she had something to hide, that she intended to keep hiding for as long as she could, until she no longer had a choice. A rather blatant rejection of the chance he had just given her, and one that showed that she apparently was not interested in a mutually benevolent arrangement.
So, alright then; bar set.

Which, frankly, only made the questions that were to follow - about why he would keep ghouls, and how many he had - seem rather redundant, since after the reply she had just given him, she could hardly expect him to be particularly interested in divulging anything: He had said that he would treat her according to her level of honesty with him, and he had meant it. Honesty bought honesty - to a point - and avoidance bought only avoidance and, of course, additional mistrust. She couldn't seriously be expecting that it wouldn't? Especially not considering the fact that he had already given her plenty - a place to rest with all comforts a young lady could wish for, and far more chances than any ghoul could have ever hoped for - and the only thing she had offered in return was ungratefulness. Now, the ball had been entirely in her court, and she had chosen to evade his hidden questions. Therefore, and as promised, he would treat her accordingly; for now, evasion was the name of the game, as per her decision, and it would be forever a factor taken into consideration by him, when it came to her and her well-being. She'd been granted a fairly clean slate, and it was the only one she'd get. The fact that she had chosen to immediately scratch it, had been her choice.
And as for his trust; as far as that all was concerned, she had just hit rock bottom, and without even blinking had started digging.

"You give me good reason", he thus simply replied to her first statement, even though it essentially served as a response to her actual questions as well, in that it left them unaddressed.

And with that to serve as a conclusion of that particular conversation, as well as an end of the line of chances she would be given for free, he drew closer, every movement laced with that smooth, masculine grace that seemed to emphasized his grandeur, yet with his silver gaze still fixed on her eyes. He didn't trust her, didn't trust that she hadn't intended to use the weapons she had brought - weapons clearly designed for fighting Kindred, and thus not just your average weapon meant for general self defence - and didn't trust that she didn't have more, or didn't think herself able to simply attack unarmed. Her eyes would be the first to betray any sudden movements that she might make, allowing him to see it coming. It was the one thing that no one living creature could ever control to the point of deception; the eyes always spoke, even when the body tried not to. You just had to pay attention.

"Frankly, I am a little disappointed", he said, and even allowed his tone of voice to ever so briefly reflect his words, before he continued in a slightly more assuring one. "But that is alright."

Never having stopped his slow advancement towards her, as he started moving past her, his one hand produced the modified silver thimble he would always use for drawing his own blood, and slipped it onto his thumb while still in her field of vision. Upon passing her, his frame brushed softly against hers, and then turned suddenly while his arm slipped around her narrow waist, and pulled her back against his chest, gently but firmly. His gaze flicked momentarily over to the sheriff, the mere look exchanged between the two of them confirming that the man wouldn't have a single motion made on "Cameron's" part go any more unnoticed than Damian would, before his full focus settled on the young woman once more. The heat from her body burned his skin through the fabric of their clothes, and the blood coursing through her veins was like a roar in his ears, taunting his predator senses to give in to the temptation of tasting her blood again, savoury and rich.
But it was not why she was here.

"I am a patient man", he concluded, with the expectation of seeing a change in her behaviour sooner or later resounding in his words, and the pointed thimble slicing through the skin of his wrist as he brought it to her lips.


(((ooc: Alissa - Hope it works.

innocent - Yey, a new character. She sounds really interesting. Will add her to the character list asap.)))

She didn’t actually care about the response. She hadn’t actually wanted an answer to begin with; the question was just a ruse to get him to get a move on, and the answer was obvious anyway; he was a slave-monger and he probably didn’t appreciate the irony of being that in America, in the 21st century, especially given the current President. Well. That’s a shame.
You know, this was becoming a chitchat for the both of them, and she knew better than to assume he just “wanted to get to know her better” unless he was really starved for company up in the Death Tower. Lurch was hardly Stephen Fry now, was he? Why wasn’t he getting to drug her again? Toying with her? Enjoying his conquest before her will was fully his? Did he want her to beg for it? Vitriol danced in edges of her demeanour.
Screw you, I don’t beg for anyone.
She could wait an eternity with this crippling trepidation, this anxiety, this… God, this terrifying longing to just see the finish line to this, but she wouldn’t beg him for anything. Not her life, not her freedom and most certainly not his blood.

He probably wasn’t going to make her wait. He’d called her up here for a specific purpose, and he didn’t care much about her thoughts and intentions until they were of use to him. It’s basic reward and punishment.
Overmier, Seligman and Maier did a set of experiments on dogs to demonstrate learned helplessness. They’d shocked them so many times that they dogs didn’t try escaping even when shown how. There are clear human equivalents. Is that when someone’s spirit really breaks?
Damian was an egoist, and he didn’t even see ghouls as beings with rights, he’d do that. He cannot empathise well with them. He was too refined to be perverse, but he was a far cry from humane. She’d misbehave because it wasn’t in her nature to be obedient; we all have our talents and our incapabilities and she just wasn’t good at doing as she was told. She took the fun and easy way of getting attention. So, how long before she became another case study?
She wasn’t resigning herself to anything, but just out of curiosity, how long? How many ghouls had he had? How many of them had he broken like that? How… creative did he get? How much did he enjoy it? Because you’ll do what you enjoy again and again, especially when nothing’s stopping you. You’ll cook up reasons to do it.

God, her head hurt. The cumulative effects of stress, a few nights’ sleep deprivation, the accident and general lack of sugar was taking it’s toll and she realised she was just staring back at his incisive gaze. She was exhausted. She didn’t have the energy to do much else but just wait. It was like every thought wove in and out, just beyond reach and it took all the more effort to try focus on one thing.

"You give me good reason,” he closed the chapter on it by killing two birds with a stone. She knew what she’d been doing. He tested her and she chose to fail, but it was well played to get him moving. And he did, with an air that made it seem like the world would mould itself to fit his intentions, he finally made a move.
Right. She urged herself into gear. Semantics.
Considering the egomaniac feng shui, the extent of Damian’s capabilities so far and well… Damian, it made sense that he’d look to augment his arsenal with what he didn’t have and so… the Mafia Monkey over there probably had disciplines that Stalin didn’t. He definitely wasn’t a Malk because Damian was too controlling to have a potentially uncontrollable psycho stand around with him all night, and that aside, she just didn’t want to address the scenario of being sanguine and in a room with Dracula and Dr Lecter. Not Gangrel… just didn’t have that “Me love dirt long time” vibe.
Oh, screw elimination. It’d be more beneficial to Damian if Lurch had things he didn’t. Celerity, Potence. Fast enough and strong enough to stop her. Distract him? Throw him off course? Yeah, she could do that….
She breathed out quietly as a chill spread over her skin; the end game really sunk in. She was going to die.
Oh, God…. No, she knew it beforehand, but it just… with everything else, she didn’t actually get a chance to prepare. Not that anyone really prepares… or maybe they do. She wasn’t ready. She was twenty-three years old, and she’d barely done anything with her life. She wasn’t ready to go. The worst part was knowing she’d really done nothing to be remembered for. Which was ironic, given that that was what Alex had wanted to avoid to begin with. Well, good to know irony was sticking with the sinking ship. She wasn’t ready… and there wasn’t enough time and with him making her feel exposed already… she looked away.
And a better idea too; no need to make a show of hostility when he was drawing closer. Not that he hadn’t taken precautions.

What do you do? Do you make peace with God, or…? Screw it, she wasn’t getting to heaven anyway, and she’d enjoyed the ride so far.
She wanted to cry, she wanted to scream, screech at him. She wanted to rage about the unfairness of it all. Never mind what she’d done since, but there was nothing she’d done to deserve being dragged into this. Into something, unknowingly, when there was no way out. All she ever wanted was to have a full life. She wanted to scream her faltering heart out at him, and she desperately wanted someone to hold her. Just once. Not here, though. She almost smiled at the idea. The Sheriff didn’t look like the type and she didn’t want Damian. He had no right to as much as look at her.
She was going to die… it left her empty but brought with it a wave of serenity to soothe her failing soul, numbing the pain of her injuries, the tension, the panic. The rigidity in her small, tired body relaxed.
Kill Damian. Go out with a bang. Either way, this was going to finish, wasn’t it? Everyone was going towards death anyway, and here she was, ahead of schedule.

"Frankly, I am a little disappointed,” he confessed as if he actually meant it, as if he’d actually expected her to play along with this like it was a good idea for her wellbeing. Ha, disappointed –
Oh, God, Mum. Maybe it was stupid, and ridiculous but despite all the fights and the blatant rebellion and displays of contempt that coloured their connection, she’d always harboured this hope that one day when she older and not a total failure, Mother might stop nitpicking, and they’d actually have a healthy relationship of some sort. ‘Cause Alex loved her in some way. It was a chance shot to hell three years ago, but she was still there, alive and it’s hard to let go of something you want so badly when there’s just the slightest chance that….
Damian drifted from her eyes and her consciousness filled with everything she’d done and everything she wished she’d done. She’d never do anything worthwhile. She didn’t make it to her own graduation. She passed her exams first class, but she couldn’t go to graduation; “dead” by then. She never saw the look on her parents’ faces. She’d never been in love with good man and she’d never had anyone love her. Hell, she hadn’t even had anyone understand her. She’d never have children of her own… she’d never live a full life. She wasted three years being angry. Three years on them. It finally made sense now; she never escaped Christian or any of them. She just chose a different life sentence.
A sting ran through her sinuses and she felt her eyes moisten and her features faintly anguished as her heart crushed into itself beneath her breasts, as what the past few days had left of her vigour drained out, it’s cry coursing up her throat threatening to spill out and she shrunk into herself in recoil with a bittersweet smile.
No. She wasn’t going to break down in front of him, he didn’t deserve the bloody satisfaction. Besides, she’d had some stuff, she’d really had some good times. You know, regardless of what happened, it was pretty fricking awesome being her and there was nothing they could do to change that. That’s something to go out with. She composed herself, her imperious standing seeping back in as the tears that clouded her vision drained away and she met Damian’s gaze with every shred of dignity she had, watching him bring out the thimble he’d used before.
Of course he had other ghouls; he wouldn’t just carry that around because it was pretty.
"But that is alright."
Ah. So he had a solution to that, then? Don’t care, not sticking around for it.

His form brushed ever so slightly against hers and she felt like she was being circled by a great white, unable to do much but stand her ground and wait for the right moment until his arm hooked around her waist and pulled her against his rigid form, her hand clamping down on his in sudden panic as her eyes shot to his face, catching him shoot some encrypted look to Lurch before she looked away. Yeah, she was boxed in.
The fingers of her right hand ever so slightly quivered for the feel of the knife she could hold in them. She wanted to, badly. She didn’t want him feeding off her. The sub/dom weirdness aside, judging by the fact that her skin tone had become pale enough to be comparable to his during the course of the two days, she didn’t have a lot going spare. She was a human being, not a damn repository. She wanted the weapon, she deserved to be able to defend herself. Not yet.
Secondly, she noted the build of his form beneath his suit; rich people in the dark ages generally got fat. Damian… Damian had the kind of form that women craved in a man; built, exercised, seasoned. What’d he been doing before death? Clearly not a worker, because he was too refined to have been part of anything except aristocracy, so what? Soldier? Knight? Typical medieval jock?
Another fighter. Trained reflexes. Fabulous. Maybe it’d be better if he did feed off her, at least then he’d be a little distracted.

Her heart skipped a beat at a realisation.
Wait. What? What’re you doing?
Okay, wait, wait, two steps bound and she was contemplating his death to every last detail. She could do it, just… strike out and there was nothing stopping her. This wasn’t… this wasn’t what it was like with Christian. That was far more difficult. Or maybe that was because she fully bound…? Or… she was deluded. She wanted herself to stop, to not hurt him, this was double bluff.
But it just felt…
It didn’t matter what it felt like, right? Cold, hard facts mattered more and because feelings… they’d pulled the rug out from under her feet before and in this world it’s a way of macabre manipulation.
But before Christian, gut instinct had seldom failed her. She knew when to be careful, she knew what not to get involved with. When you’re mischievous by nature, fearless at heart, and flirtatious in demeanour, you’re just better off knowing who and what to avoid. You know to pick your battles. It was a sixth sense she’d clung to. And it was telling her what she wanted to hear, wasn’t it?
Or was it? Why should it work? Why? When every fibre of her being was both deliberately and naturally prone to resisting it, why? How was it fair?!

Her mind cleared for the briefest of moments. She wanted to kill him, she wanted to be free. That was it. Basic desire, the pulsing of her very heart; the girl underneath all those games, teasing and flirtation, screaming out for the liberty that no-one gave her, that no-one heard. Not Damian. Not surrender to him. The exact opposite of. It wasn’t working. It wasn’t working. Her ego was all her.
His bloody wrist is brought to her lips, but it’s suddenly so unimportant, even to the addict.
Her breathing almost quickened, but she controlled herself. She didn’t want him to know anything was… off. What if she didn’t have to kill him. What if she could take the third drink and just… walk away? Pick your battles, right?
The fear of the unknown gripped her. The fear of not knowing what to do and of not knowing where it’d lead. The fear of dying and the fear of existing as a mindless slave. The fear of ultimately being meaningless.
She needed to calm herself. She couldn’t look at the crimson coursing out of his wrist, too… tempting. For her and her dietary requirements (that is, no other clans except Ventrue, Tremere, Lasombra and Toreador), getting a fix was tricky. Those were the dangerous clans and therefore, she had to prey on the neonates. Damian… in a twisted, perverse sense, it was a treat to Grade A cocaine and the irony wasn’t lost on Alex, who’d spent all her life looking down on the drug abuse brigade, how good it was. He’d use this in reward and punishment too; withholding the poison and it’d make the dense ghoul feel sad. And also the fact that she was essentially drinking back her own blood. Recycling, Al Gore was out there somewhere, smiling.
Jesus, it’s sick.

"I am a patient man.”
His words sank in and she got the full extent of what he meant, because Damian Alexander did not seem like a man who waited for things to happen; either she started behaving, or he’d break her in.
Alright, that’s it. Indignance fuelled her fire. BREAK HER IN? WHO THE HELL DID HE THINK HE WAS?! No-one gets to break her in. What a bastard.
And you're gonna die because of this, Ashcroft? I judge you.
Her jaw set slightly before she forced herself to relax and exhaled, letting the anger seep out of her.
No. No, she would not be broken in. She would not be one of his pets. And no, she wouldn’t die because of him. He had had centuries. He’d had lifetime after lifetime, stolen from others. He’d exploited people’s sanctity for the riches he rolled around in. He would not add her life to it. She was worth more than that. This will not work. God, if she meant anything at all, this won’t work.

She didn’t bow down to lap up his blood like some thirsty kitten, she didn’t grasp at his hand like it was some elixir that she was desperate for. She wouldn’t let herself be a desperate, cheap addict. It called out to her, drew her in, and a part of her begged for it, scratched painfully at her doors of spirit to submit, to be it’s slave, but she mustered up what little might she had and held her regal refinement and her borderline arrogant panache, bringing his hand to her full lips, much like sampling wine, locking onto the wound, and letting the crimson tide seep into her mouth, scorching over her tongue and down her throat, the filthy pleasure she’d tasted so many times before embroiling her in it’s darkness once more.
Her breath hitched and she asked herself every question.

That was it. Everything fell into place. She told him what he wanted to hear because she didn’t want to mess it up, not now, before taking her leave of him, fazed through the elevator ride down to the ground floor, and unfeeling of the cold night air that wrapped itself around her.

#2 [Night #18]

When Phoenix was a little boy, the world had been a simple place. You climbed a tree, you stole apples and you had a secret club with the other children in the neighbourhood, where you collected different kinds of things from the woods for no apparent reason. Phoenix had been a pretty simple boy, smart, but he enjoyed the little things in life. Like his mothers hot chocolate, his fathers tales from the world of the adults and standing in the bedroom, blinking a flashlight in the window as a signal to another boy who lived on the other side, blinking his own light back.
Things didn't have to make sense, because you had no reason to overthink them.

Things had changed once he had grown up, once he had left his parent's house and moved on to fail at college. Though he didn't really fail. He knew more than most did, enough to be able to keep studying and have a career as a professor, he just didn't feel like it. It was not for him. And now, without a family, he had found his home in L.A. or wherever Damian Alexander decided to linger. The Prince was his father, his brother. His family. He gave Phoenix the world, everything he ever needed.

He didn't have much, should you count his things or the people in his life that really cared about him. In fact, no one really knew the real Phoenix. Not even Phoenix himself dared to take a closer look. At some level, he knew the man in the mirror was out of his mind. Completely off the deep end, though not as far as where the Malkavian realm began. Those morons made even his mind seem like a walk in the park.
When it came to friends, Phoenix had none, no one cared for him. It didn't matter to him, he was busy thinking of yet another way to please his Regnant. He had alot of contacts, women who enjoyed spending a little time with him, some people who came to him for financial aid or advice. They all wanted a little something from him, whatever he wanted he had to take. It was all the same, he didn't expect anyone to see him for who he was and appreciate him for it. He was beyond the human lie of altruism. According to him, there was no such thing. Everyone wanted something. Everyone and everything was a commodity. Except for one, the One above them all.

His cell often buzzed, many wanted to come in contact with him, wanted him to make things happen; computer problems to go away, close a deal or tip them of something in the stock market. Alot of them had to wait, both for real things and imaginary. Phoenix had his moments when he was so occupied by his own thoughts that he didn't even notice that the phone vibrated against his thigh. He would be like a painter, so caught up in his new work, that he wouldn't eat or sleep for days. Though he liked being sought after, irreplaceable. He was good at what he did and he was good at being discrete and undetected. Hiring Phoenix was like hiring a phantom.

Though right now, he was not Phoenix Bane, he was Benjamin Warrick. A young, carefree student of the world. Intelligent but kind. A combination he only dealt with when he played a role. Something he did almost all the time in different ways. How he kept them seperate was a mystery even to him, though he did it with ease. He had had years of pratice.

As Phoenix turned yet another page in his old copy of the Iliad, he noticed that Lola was back. She sat down by the computer, started reading but soon seemed to drift off in deep thoughts. Suddenly, she came to and appeared to be feeling warm since she opened up her coat and collected her hair in a bun. Her already noticeable chest seemed almost voluptuous and caught the eye of more than one guy around her. Though not Phoenix. He saw her in the corner of his eye, pretended to be taken prisoner by Homer's writing, which was easier said than done. The epic poem in dactylic hexameters was intriguing enough to consume him for real. But Phoenix had a strong will and kept his eye on the prize, for no one to notice.
He smiled a bit, as if something in the book amused him, but it was really the situation at hand. He saw her noticing him and more importantly; his books. She got up, but she didn't approach him at once, instead she sat down on a chair at the table next to his. Why was she hesitating? Maybe he looked like he wanted to be alone. He would soon find out how badly she needed the books he had. He just hoped it was bad enough. Luckily, she eached out her hand and placed it on his table, closing in on his stack of books.

"Excuse me. Could I borrow this book?"

She spoke to him, she had fallen into his trap. He would take his time to close it, he had to be careful. He first turned his head to glance at her hand on the book she requested, then he looked at her. He closed the book in his hands with a finger left between the pages and sat up more straight, to give her some attention though he would deny her the pleasure of getting her hands on the coveted book.

"No, I need that one", he said and gave her a small but kind smile. "When I take a break from the Iliad I need something light to read."

He couldn't say yes, because then she would simply take the book and go, which was the opposite of what he wanted. And he couldn't just say no, he had to add something that wouldn't just fly by. Though he would admit it was rather tricky. He could just as easily scare her away or lose her interest.

#74 [Night #18]

Once, Noah had believed in a promised land, the same land he had wandered without much faith for over a century. He had traded the golden deity for the frozen one, being forever shut out from her healing warmth. How he missed her, how he wanted to have a last look at her, a last feel of her rays. It was almost tangible, when he imagined how it had felt when he was still a child of hers. She had cared for him, waited for him when the night took him in. He loved the night and the moon as well, he just wanted to have access to everything Mother Earth had to give.

Though he was forsaken, soaked in silence by the gods, left outside in the cold. Not even his Sire had been able to make himself heard over the silence, never been able to fill his emptiness. Noah gave in to the pain and saw it as a companion on his travels, along with hate, vengeance and a sorrow that had him pierced clean through. A kind and noble man had become a miserable character in some dark tale. It was a crime against nature, the very force who had once given birth to his kindness and granted him a heart filled love.

Noah had walked in darkness, dreamt of monsters and been condemned to be chained to the past. This was what he knew, what he had lived with for longer than he cared to remember. Though he had to, he was the voice of the dead, the one who would keep them alive as long as he remembered them. It was a huge responsibility, a gift as well as a curse. He loved them, but he couldn't deny that the burden was killing him. He had felt it, more and more with each passing year, day, minute... It weighed heavily on him.
On his broken black heart. He never though there would be life in it again, something that brought him hope. The decision to follow his instinct to L.A., to go against all logical arguments why he shouldn't, was the best he had done. He had had an awakening, a brutal one, as well as beautiful. He had opened up for the possibility that his unlife was meant for something more, beyond remembering those that slipped through his fingers. It might be time to forgive himself, though he was not there yet.

Sitting next to Valerian, Noah could almost swear he was breathing. He felt all the human signs of life, like his chest was moving to let the air through. Like there was a heart beating inside his cage of curved bones. It was all a mirage, but he had to place his hand under his collarbones to actually know he was still a vampire. Everything was still. It was all in his head, every single humanlike emotion. Noah had always felt his way through life, but with Valerian, those feelings became something else. Sharper, more vulnerable - tangible like he had a pulse.
The silence that had taken place between them wasn't threatening, like many kinds of silence tended to be, it was more of a haven. A haven within a haven. Noah had never seen silence as a bad thing, just something that was a natural part of life, nothing to be afraid of. Certainly not this kind, when he was with Valerian.

"I often find that... it is not what we know that is important", Valerian spoke with his soft voice. "That it is what we feel that makes the difference, and that we do allow ourselves to feel."

Who would know that better than a Toreador, someone like Valerian to boot? No one. Noah reciprocated his smile with one of his own, to confirm that he was probably right. To allow yourself to feel... Noah nodded as he thought about the deeper meaning of those words. He wasn't sure he had really done that, not when it came to joy and feelings of that sort. He had felt them many times, but not without a little guilt, or alot. It was as if he didn't have the right to be happy, to be carefree, even if it was just for a brief moment. A fleeting one, that would ease his pain for just a fraction of a second. His heart hadn't been light since that night of turmoil.

"Many have forgotten how", Valerian continued, not without a little sting of bitterness in his voice, though soon exchanged for his familiar softness. "But not you."

It was high praise, Noah looked at him with his hazel eyes, a new soft smile graced his lips. Valerian was indeed a man like no other. Not afraid to speak his mind, his heart. And he did it in a way that only underlined the kind of man he was; compassionate, a warrior that didn't need to resort to violence. He fought for what he believed in with his words, his love for life and with simply being the rare Kindred that he was.

Noah was grateful to have met him. He felt as though Valerian already knew him and his story, without him having said a word about it. It was a strange feeling, yet comforting. He might not know the actual tale, the gruesome details of death and decay, but Noah felt Valerian somehow got the gist. It was either his Toreador blood, tapping into Noah's stream of feelings, or it was Noah, wearing his heart on the outside in that moment.

He pulled up the sleeves on his black tight shirt, just above his elbows. Both forearms had some scars on them, small ones as well as a couple of larger ones that probably was due to some kind of weapon. The other ones could be from play, or being tossed of a horse. They all told a story of their own, small shards of Noah's history. He wasn't ashamed of them, he would never hide them. They were a map of his life, something real that came from a time when there were "indian wars". He had more scars, many of them were from his last fight for his people. He knew he even had some under his raven hair. There were one behind his left temple, from when he had been bashed to the ground with a rifle, playing the part of a "dead indian" because he couldn't move. Though his scars and the story behind them was the farthest thing from Noah's mind right now. He thought about Valerian and the words he had spoken. They were not many, but they said alot.

He could understand Valerian's sadness, for the lack of compassion in the world. The hate and incapability to communicate one's feelings. Not everyone was empty, but many would become victims by the hands of those that had a hole in their hearts. It saddned Noah too. What was even worse to him was that he himself was a part of it, not the incapability to feel, but that he had chosen to explore the hatred that almost consumed him. Way back when, he had probably been more like Valerian - compassionate with a large heart than would fit everyone. And now, he felt afraid. He was never afraid, but right there and then he felt it. He was scared to walk out of Valerian's chambers and never feel that way again. It was not feelings that calmed him, but they opened up doors that had been closed for 144 years.

"I thought the gods had abandoned me", Noah said, with his gaze piercing through one of Valerian's paintings, hanging opposite of him, before he turned to look at Valerian. "But I can see them in you."

His heart took over, commanded him like it hadn't in ages. The darkness in him tried to prevail, hold him back. The balance between the two resulted in composure, which in reality meant he could keep from weeping. The darkness he had been cursed with was vast and deep like a labyrinth, but now his heart had found a way to compete, thus being a force to reckon with. Forsaken by the gods and now given hope that they were actually there and probably had been the whole time; watching over him, protecting him. It might be an imagination, wishful thinking. But the deeper he gazed into Valerian's eyes, the more certain he was that the gods were gazing back. They gave him a sign that he was not completely unholy. His unlife was not a waste, not as wicked as he had thought.

"I'm sorry", he said and turned to look at his hands instead. "I'm not mad. I just thought I had left everything on the battle field, even the gods."

Valerian must think he was strange, if not worse. Despite his grand kindness, he too must have his moments when he wondered what people around him were doing and saying. Or did he care for them even at their worst, or when they made no sense at all? Noah wouldn't put it past him, he was an extraordinary being. If anyone could see the good in man, even when there was evil all around, it would have to be Valerian.

"Were you like this as a human?" Noah said quietly, as if his fellow Kindred had joined him on his emotional rollercoaster and knew what he was referring to.

Her mouth drops open in shock for a microsecond before she turns it into a short, disbelieving chuckle. For a moment, she reflects in a heavy-lidded slit of her eyes, the slight curl of a smile on her full lips.

Smartass.

Wait.

LA was a peculiar city, profligate to the extreme and rivaled only by anything-goes Vegas. There weren't many other cities that had shit like starving teenage girls clawing over one another to play a stripper in some low-grade titty flick. LA had a burgeoning pornography industry as depraved as the city's lowest scum and a steady flow of starry-eyed hopefuls who would do anything for their five seconds of fame. It was the kind of city that had fifteen year olds working in sexy coffee drive-thrus in skimpy school girl outfits, for fuck's sake! And while not every LA local succumbed to this wanton lifestyle, it did seep into the culture.

Here, in this image-conscious, sexually omnivorous city, this is where Lola grew up. Here in LA, dating wasn't simply a past-time. It was gladiatorial combat.

So, either this guy was Doogie-fucking-Howser MD and completely socially awkward or he was simply being a bastard. And if he was being a bastard, then there was a good chance it was only to keep her interested and flirting. And that latter option was... intriguing. A fun distraction and something that Lola impulsively craved.

Her eyes flick to his and lock boldly onto him. She purses her lips in a tight, feisty smile, wetting them subliminally. Then, she quips in a biting yet somewhat playful tone.

"Sooo... which part of The Royal Society of Chemistry's 1996 anthology..." she says the journal's name in the affected voice of a professor, "...do you consider light reading, Doog?" She finishes, emphasizing her question with a good, sarcastic dose of name-calling and a skeptical, mischievous smile on her lips.

Kindred, ghoul or innocent... The call was often not an easy one to make, even to the Kindred. At least not at a bit of a distance, such as now, as well as in such a fairly noisy place, with the voices of other people and the susurrus of the traffic muffling the possible one of blood coursing through human veins, and the thumping of the music from inside the club masking a heartbeat, or the lack thereof. Too many impressions, and too many sounds intermingling with one another, to be able to easily tell them all apart. Senses as alert as always, and with decades of experience part of his very core, Adrien still had a bit of a hard time reaching a conclusion regarding the young woman standing in front of him, with generosity and credulousness lacing her comely features. Kindred, ghoul, or innocent? Tricky, tricky...

Fortunately, Adrien harboured a most competent mind, and thus knew how to use the dubiety to his own advantage right now. Posing as a Neonate newcomer, hesitant and insecure, having gotten himself lost among the maze of back streets and alleys since he didn't know this part of town, and now trying to tread carefully yet fumbling slightly as he had not yet learned to master the art of subtle hints; it would only add to the impression if she also found him struggling to try and "discreetly" analyze her appearance in search of signs that would tip him off about her nature. Blushing, breathing, swallowing; he didn't hide the fact that his eyes were trying to pick up on anything, any minute indication, that would help him determine what she was.

"Well", she said after eyeing him a little more in light of the hints he had just dropped, and in doing so signalled that while she might seem relaxed, she was not entirely so, "it is true that The Haven draws in all sorts of crowds, so I'd best let you decide that for yourself."

And there, finally, was one of the indications he had been waiting for; the trained subtlety that he himself had thrown aside in favour of the part he was currently playing. The tone of voice, the look in her eyes, they both carried a weight that would be felt by those aware of Kindred existence, but that would pass under the radar to those who weren't.

So, that ruled out innocent. Whatever she was, she was definitely part of the Kindred web of lies and deceit, and so now it only remained to figure out if she was Kindred, or human, in which case odds were she was that ghoul kept by the Toreador club owner. And, as there was another brief silence following in the wake of her latest statement, Adrien finally managed to catch signs of breathing, when just before she spoke again, she drew in a quick breath to do so.
Human then.

"You're new, huh?"

It was a question that, despite being asked in such a casual and amiable way, every syllable spoken in a way befitting her apparently friendly nature, was another big hint, and in a way seemed to be designed for the purpose of possibly pushing aside that curtain of ambiguity they had both been hiding behind, once and for all, and allow them to speak a little more freely. Although it was far from the same thing as throwing all caution to the wind, and be perfectly frank about delicate matters, such as Kindred terminology.

Thus, Adrien opted for the middle road: He allowed a small but clearly relieved smile to wash over his previously hesitant features and light up his eyes, as though up until now he had felt like he was walking on egg shells, and she had just offered him a spot of sturdy soil to stand on.

"Yeah, I am", he confessed, shedding his natural tendency to mind his language and not use such sloppy modern phrases as 'yeah' rather than 'yes'.

He was supposed to be a modern American youth, after all, and so speaking with the verbal rigidity of someone originating from decades long past, would risk putting her on the defence. And the best part of it all, was that he didn't even have to lie. He was new, because no matter that he had spent a century hunting vampires, with somewhat supernatural abilities, he had only actually been one for three years. And three years to a Kindred, was nothing. He was new indeed.

"In more ways than one", he added however, since he was also supposed to be new to the city, and not just the Kindred. "I just arrived yesterday, and I've been trying to catch my bearings, and find someone who could help me do that, but.. it appears that there is currently no one like that for me to turn to?"

Somewhat out of the loop or not, he had still learned that the Toreador currently stood without a Primogen, following a Masquerade violation made by their previous one, causing her to have been run out of town. And with the possibility of the young woman in front of him being a Toreador ghoul... well, it couldn't hurt to try and appeal to her a little more, by claiming to be what she was already somewhat partial to, right? Along with trying to probe her for information, since there was no Toreador Primogen to help him settle in.

"Except maybe in there?", he added, motioning slightly towards the club building. "I was told it would be the second best place to go...?"

((ooc: The new Beyonca!!))




Why was she doing this? Why does she even ask the questions? Why was she even interested in the pregnant women? Nothing would come from the information she could get. It would be just one more thing that would be on her mind. Not that it never was on her mind but this would make it worse. Pain once again struck in Bee. This is the reason she had just wished all humanity would be lost to her. Pain was a horrible thing to feel in the heart.

Maybe she had just lived to long. 275 years is a long time to be on this earth. So many vampires had walked into the sun and now Bee could understand why. It was just cruel. This is the curse to giving up your soul. The is what you have to sacrifice to live forever. Is it really worth it? Live forever, but forever with pain. Bee wondered just how many others felt this way. Most vampires she has meet seem happy. Are they really miserable inside? For some reason she didn’t think so.

She sighed a bit. She had always been a bit different from the rest of her clan. Why wasn’t she just the snob most of them were? Most didn’t think of such things. She didn’t think most of them could even feel pain. They are so locked away from the rest of the vampires. Rarely did they come down from their pedestal to how see how the rest of us fared. It had been that way for centuries. Now Bee just wished she could be one of them. Maybe with more effort she could. Maybe without knowing, she just held on to her humanity to strong. Maybe she should just let go. It wasn’t like she was going to be human again.

This is the last night. No more would she feel this pain. She is just going to let it all go. She is going to sit on her rightful pedestal like the rest of her clan, maybe she will do better there. Certainly her Primogen and Prince will be happy. Bee didn’t know of any Ventures to cause as much trouble as she had. It was for the best, Bee reassured herself.

Well it was better than getting her eternal life taken from her. Even though she feels this pain, she doesn’t want to end her life, but for an instant she wonders how she would do it. Certainly she wont live forever. One day she is going to have her final death. How will it be done. Maybe some hunter will do it. Bee cant really see herself walking into the sun. they are interesting thoughts, but she put them out of her head for now.

Aeode didn’t seem happy at all when the ultra sounds were mentioned. Annoyance radiated from her. Bee couldn't really blame her. She is a complete stranger, the girl doesn’t know anything about her. How could she possible believe her to open up to her. Bee decided to take the conversation into a lighter tone. Hopefully it would ease the mood and make Aeode less miserable talking to her. They didn’t have to talk about the pregnancy, but if Bee could get the girl to relax maybe she could get her to spill the beans on her own.


“Why wouldn't it be?” Aeode said in the manner that gave Bee the idea that there was no way she was going to get to talk about it anymore. “And yes, they're ultrasounds. I just found out yesterday, so the idea is very...fresh. It'll take some getting used to.”

Bee thought a moment how to respond. Turning in a different direction might be a good idea. They could talk without having to bring up the pregnancy, hopefully she would spill on her own though.

“I’m sorry, I can see that I have brought up a sore topic. I shouldn’t have done that.” Bee was sincere. She really didn’t want her to be aggravated with her in the slightest. She wanted perfect calm and talkative.

“Maybe we could go to this café down the street and have some coffee? It is the least I can do to make up for my inappropriate behavior.”

Bee liked the girl even though she wasn’t talking about what she wanted to hear. She was spunky and had an attitude. Probably be a good Brujah maybe. But Bee didn’t know her enough to be for certain.



((ooc: I hope its enough for you to go on. Let me know and I will ad some more for you.))

If there was one thing Connor was afraid of - besides losing Moira, which pretty much filled not just the first, but the three top spots of the list - it was to get Moira into trouble, or to get himself into trouble with her. Over the past few days, he had been made to realize just how little he had known about the Kindred and their world before, and had come to suspect that he still didn't know even half of it. One could say it was a classical case of feeling that the more you learned, the less you knew.

Not surprisingly, in this case, of being somewhat aware of how protective the Kindred were of their secrets, and of the consequences it might have to make an error, that all lead to a tangible fear in young Connor Hale, to mess up. He was afraid that his remaining ignorance regarding the Kindred would lead him to do something foolish, regardless of having the best of intentions, and that trying to find things out for himself, would have dire consequences of which he wouldn't be aware, and thus wouldn't be able to avoid, or see coming. He was afraid that what he did, would get Moira into trouble with her peers, one way or another, be it by doing something that might turn them against her, or something that might give her enemies - for he assumed that after six hundred years, she had them - an opportunity to get to her. To exploit his oblivion, and hurt her. For he had now been taught a lesson in just how unpleasant they could be, and he harboured no illusions that what he had seen under the bridge a few nights ago, was the Kindred at their worst.

Before his recent return to Los Angeles, he had never had much to do with them. He was unsure if he had even ever met any other Kindred than Moira. But, after the end of the tour a week or so ago, that had all changed, in a way that at first had left him feeling as a mere pale reflection of what he used to be. Something he didn't recognize, as he had been made to look at himself with altered eyes, that saw something very different from what he had believed himself to be. He had been made to look at himself as prey. As something stripped of both personality and rights, something that was just there for the taking, to be toyed with, and to serve as entertainment to the minds of the twisted. For even though he had not known it at the time, that the two women violating him had both been Malkavians - aptly nicknamed Lunatics by the other Kindred - they had still been worlds apart from the compassionate and nurturing Moira, who had proven, at least in Connor's young mind, that vampires weren't nearly the monsters that the myths would have them be. And if love and compassion were possible for the Kindred, it could only mean that it was only the twisted ones that acted like monsters. Much like in the world of humans.

What it didn't mean, however, was that whatever enemies Moira might have, had to be twisted in order to try and get to her. One didn't need to be insane in order to be competitive or vengeful, they were both traits typical of human nature, and so there were no guarantees that even if Melissa and her so-called 'Angel' - both of whom were clearly demented, judging by what he had seen of Melissa, and the fragments he remembered of the other one - were not after Moira, that no one else would jump at the chance to use him and his ignorance to hurt Moira in whatever way they could. And if Melissa and the other one really were after Moira... Well, just the possibility that they were, along with his fear of getting Moira into trouble by doing something stupid, was reason enough for him to fear that driving Melissa home the other night, had indeed been a stupid, stupid mistake.
Something which, thankfully, Moira would soon set his mind at ease over;

"No, you did the right thing", she soothed, as her hand wrapped itself loosely around his, and drew a faint smile from his lips.

Partly because of the gesture itself, partly because of her words, and partly, perhaps even mostly, because he had seen the look in her eyes as he had told her what had happened; the way that their usual mystery and wisdom had darkened to aversion at the mere mention of his two attackers, spoke loud and clear of her genuine concern for him, and how she did not take kindly to what had been done to him.

"She sounds like a Masquerade violation waiting to happen", she continued, putting into words some of what had been going through Connor's head as he'd decided to approach Melissa, before moving on to even further emphasize her care for him; "though I am not thrilled by the idea of you being alone with either of them until I get to the bottom of this. Connor..."

The brief pause, signalling better than any flashing neon sign ever could that what was to follow was important, and something she was eager for Connor to understand, drew his eyes away from their intertwined hands, to lock on her face again, and the faint smile on his lips to melt away in anticipation of what she had to say.

"I believe she is Malkavian", Moira explained, "the other most likely as well. Every member of this Clan suffers from a mental derangement – put simply, they are all insane: dangerously, incurably insane. Worse still, they are able to project their madness onto others, make them see things that are not really there, experience feelings that are not their own..."

Malkavians... Connor remembered her mentioning them briefly some time ago, when telling him a little about the different clans, and he also remembered how she had talked about how one of them consisted of mentally unstable individuals. But never had he imagined them anything like how he had seen Melissa act, almost like a little child being scolded for some wrongdoing, and talking... pretty much gibberish at times.

"Oh...", he said slowly.

It made sense, didn't it? Melissa had, much like he'd told Moira, really not seemed to be 'all there', so to speak. She'd ranted and raved about things he hadn't understood - some of them not fully, some of them not at all - and that had sounded like scenarios taken right out of some kind of nightmare, with spiders, flies and snakes, and... Wait... Make people see things that were not really there, and experience feelings that weren't their own...?

"Ohh", came his voice again.

Only this time it was filled with sudden realization, as it just dawned on him what must have really happened under the bridge, when he'd been out of his mind with anxiety and sorrow, when he'd thought he'd seen Moira watch the sickening scene unfold, and just turn her back on him and leave.

"So... they did that to me?", he asked, and looked up at Moira for confirmation, his eyes still somewhat narrowed as he struggled to comprehend what she had said, and at the same time search his mind for answers to the wave of questions crashing over him.

Though few emerged. He understood what she said - at least he thought he did - but he didn't understand for what reason the two women had targeted him. They'd already had him in their grasp...?

"But...", he said helplessly, as all the confusion he felt seeped into his voice. "Why would they do that...?"

Life, to Valerian, regardless of whether it was human life or Kindred unlife, had always been about self-exploration and realization. About fulfilment. Although, since Valerian was Valerian, it of course wasn't ever on a physical plane, nor on a material one. He had little interest in money and power, didn't crave possessions or influence over others. As a human, he had been poor - as an adult at least, after he'd been disowned by his family - and he had since grown to become fairly wealthy. And he had been equally happy through all of it, or at least not any less so because of one or the other. It was life and experience themselves that he cherished, it was the beauty of the things around him that he enjoyed, and he didn't necessarily strive to possess them. Their beauty was theirs, and would be regardless of who owned them. To him, the things around him were just as beautiful if they weren't his, as they would be if they were. Ownership made no difference to him, and possession of things didn't make him happy. To him, it was giving, and sharing that signified true happiness. To bond with someone else, to acknowledge what was in their heart and mind, and to be acknowledged himself. To co-exist in perfect harmony.

With humans, it was easy, even when they tried to keep everything bottled up inside. There was still so much raging through their bodies, so many physical processes going on, that spoke more clearly to a Kindred than words ever could. Reactions and reflexes of the living, that would tell the beholder stories that they may want to tell him or her themselves, but lacked the courage or even the knowledge of how to do so. Valerian would listen to those stories, he heard the unspoken tales, and he didn't judge or condemn. He merely listened, and welcomed it all with open arms. It was why so many tended to feel at peace around him; because there was no need for words or explanations, they could talk about trivial matters, or not at all, and there would still be a warmth permeating the encounter, from the very first minute, to the very last.

With Kindred, too, despite things being a little more complicated where they were concerned. Their dead bodies lacked the physical processes of the living, didn't give off those easy to read signals, and more often than not, they were far more reserved about their inner workings than humans were. And considering how over time mankind had grown to be a suspicious lot, that was saying something. Most Kindred would guard their thoughts and feelings well, knowing that if the human realm was a dog-eat-dog world, theirs was tenfold so.

Though there were of course exceptions. Valerian himself was proof of that. As was Noah, albeit in a slightly different way. He was open, yet somewhat standoffish at the same time, frank about what was passing through his head, but reserved about what had lead up to it. Valerian was getting the distinct impression that the Gangrel was guarding a deep and vast darkness within, that it would seem he thought was guarding him, and thus was unable to let it go. Or at least make his peace with it.

"I thought the gods had abandoned me", he said thoughtfully, as once again the circumstances reiterated to Valerian just how in tune he was with his surroundings, since the thought had entered his discerning mind only moments before such a statement, that would seem to in many ways prove his observation right.

There hadn't even been any eye contact between the two of them, no shifting of the colour in the Gangrel's eyes to convey the message before his words did. His gaze was aimed away from Valerian, lingering on something far off in the distance, that only Noah could see.
Though when he continued, he did so only after turning back to have his eyes lock with the compassion in Valerian's oddly warm blue ones.

"But I can see them in you."

It was a statement that... Valerian didn't know how to respond to at first, mainly because it carried such emotional vastness and importance that to react to it immediately, would have been to not take the time to take it all in. To overlook the full extent of what was being said, to disregard the significance that Noah was actually ascribing to him, by claiming to see the gods that he had thought had abandoned him, in Valerian. To suggest that Valerian, despite not having known Noah for more than a few days, had already managed to bring hope, where before it had been wearing thin...

"I'm sorry", the Gangrel continued however, long before Valerian could muster up something to say, that would properly convey how truly glad and overwhelmed he was, to learn that Noah so valued what he had to offer. "I'm not mad. I just thought I had left everything on the battle field, even the gods."

After that followed yet a brief silence, as both Gangrel and Toreador took a few moments to gather their thoughts, before Noah spoke again, and in doing so changed the subject, perhaps disconcerted by his own frankness earlier, or possibly the fear that Valerian did indeed think him mad. Which he did not.

"Were you like this as a human?", he asked, in voice so low that it would sooner join the silence, than shatter it.

Still gazing at him - for indeed, his eyes had never really strayed from Noah's form, even though they had drifted over his appearance a few times - Valerian remained quiet at first, while his mind journeyed back to the days when he had still been human, some century ago. Had he been then what he now was? Obviously, there were certain things that had changed, and drastically too, but in essence and in nature, was he anything like what he had once been?

It was a difficult question to answer. Much like he had told Aeode a few days ago, change happened gradually and all the time, in life as well as in unlife. They say that you can never step into the same river twice, and they were right. No person remained the same, for more than just a few seconds, if even that, because each moment that passed added to your story and your experience, and changed the world around you. Make no mistake, no matter how minute the change, there still was a change. But not all change altered what was in your heart.
And so:

"I tried to be", Valerian broke the silence at last with the soft, dark velvet of his voice, yet his thoughtfulness lingered in his words for a few moments as he spoke. "There are so many things imposing themselves on a human life - time most of all - that sometimes the path to happiness turns into a long and crooked one. The embrace gave me freedom, to craft my life to be what I wanted it to be, and myself to be the man that I want to be. It gave me the freedom to truly choose."

There he paused momentarily, but only to seek Noah's gaze, as though his eyes would help emphasize what he was about to say;

"I believe if we are being held captive, it is only because we are our own captors."

She was lounging back in the armchair, half-full glass of wine loosely held in her hand, left leg stretched out before her as she laughed heartily in disbelief, turning to the redhead beside her in sceptical, outraged amusement.
Christian sat on the bed, resting back against the wall, his cool eyes on her. He wasn’t pleased, she could tell. It was after formal dinner, and they’d all gathered in her room to just banter before a night out. Well, they were going, she was staying behind to work. Sleep had become tertiary, and she had what, three essays to do by Wednesday? She deserved a bit of time out. She’d told him that, that she’d be busy. He wasn’t invited here tonight, but he turned up anyway and it was… awkward. She said nothing, though. She didn’t want to upset him.
Gareth walked back into the room, eyes noting the lack of chairs and he wasn’t going to join Cranky McAntisocial on the bed – partly because no-one actually knew much about him, and they didn’t know about her “relationship” with him, but Alex had a lot of friends, it figured – and his eyes locked onto her, lounging comfortably on the armchair. She saw it coming.

“No,” she warned sharply, assertive eyebrow quirked and forefinger peeling away from the wine glass to point at him. He didn’t listen, instead just walked on over, ignoring the minor shriek ad he scooped her up off the armchair and into his arms, turned around and settled down into the seat, then considerately allowing her to lounge on his lap instead. Nice. They come into your room, they steal your chair….

“That’s so rude,” she declared, with moral support from Jake, Bianca and Ezra through their amused laughter.

“Thought you’d be more comfortable like this,” Gareth defended with an innocent look in his eyes, combated by a knowing narrowing of hers and a sly pout. She settled comfortably down, lounging again, and adjusting the dress over her thighs, a slow nod, a naughty wink and a small kiss blown Gareth’s way.
She liked jealously, it means that the other person cares. Hence, she looked over to Christian and his face was… disinterested. He was watching her intently, but he showed nothing. Fine. He wanted to play it like that, did he? Okay. He wasn’t getting to ruin her night.

“So, you coming out?” Bianca chimed in and Alex flicked her gaze over to the pile of papers and half written essay on the desk. Bianca shrugged it off as a problem; “So? Just do that in your tutorial.”

“I have standards,” fobbed it off with a feignedly incensed laugh, and Jake, sat behind her, decided to scoff in protest to her claim. She leaned back, looking over her shoulder a little and just stuck her tongue out at him. Sent the message. “Besides,” she then carried on, turning back to Gareth before flicking her gaze over to Christian because… she felt discomfited excluding him and letting him mull like that. “A little bit of objection would be –”
She stopped. He just stood up and left with a passing farewell and her words caught and hung in the air, in the complete inelegance of the moment. What the hell was his problem? They hadn’t even fought about anything…. Whatever, loser. Go be a socially retarded prat.

No… no, there was something in her that panicked at the sight of him walking away like that, away from her. Something that needed for him to come back, and tell her he wasn’t mad at her anymore, how to fix it because she didn’t even get what was going wrong in the first place.
It compelled her to go after him, and playfully telling everyone else in the room to behave themselves in her absence, she found herself at the doorway before she realised it, starting after him and it took her a moment to realise what she was doing. Her gaze caught Jake’s, the look of suspicious concern in his dark eyes and she looked away. She was ashamed at how… dependent she was on Christian’s company, on how tolerating she was of him, and she didn’t understand it. This wasn’t like her. At all. And she didn’t want to discuss it with or explain it to Jake.
She just followed Christian out into the hallway and foyer, and outside the building, speeding up just to catch up with his strides.

Her annoyance at him diluted at the sight of his distancing frame and she composed herself, finding the right tone before stopping, folding her arms loosely over her abdomen and shifting her weight onto one hip, her bare feet burning against the cold stone steps as she called out in her natural, teasingly jovial tone;
“Risking ending up like Billy No Mates –”

“Tell them to leave,” he replied – ordered – turning back to face her and draw closer, and she couldn’t be offended by that, not when he said it like that. “I want it to be just us. Tell them to go.”
Aww, he wanted to spend time with her. He was upset because he couldn’t, and he wanted to spend his time with her…
No, but… she had plans, he knew that. So, he just didn’t care? They’d discussed this… Hey, she had a life outside of him, you know. But it felt really wrong to deny him; it’s stupid, he was more important than anyone else, and for a second, she almost turned around to dismiss everyone, but…

“I think I'll do what I want with my time,” she said it before she had time to process it. Did she really just say that?

“What?” he snapped in a mixture of surprise, confusion and disapproval and… she’d upset him. Her heart jumped into her throat and she wanted more than anything to take it back. “What did you say?”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean...,” she immediately retreated in words a with sickeningly unnatural amount of apology in her voice as her fingertips rubbed at her forehead, before reaching out to tenderly grasp him in case he just left out of exasperation, and somewhere in the back of her mind, it made sense that with all the times that she should have been apologetic, this one didn’t even begin to compete. Yet, she just felt so bad….
No. She’d done nothing to be sorry for. She grasped at her self-assurance. “No. No, I did mean it. I'll do what I want with my time.”

“You don't mean that,” he told her firmly and she wanted to listen because she wanted him to know her well and he had her best interests at heart, he cared… No. No, he didn’t get to tell her what to think.

“Yes, I do,” she reiterated. She needed to get the focus off her, she needed to turn the tables. She decided on offence as the best defence. “Why did you come here tonight? You knew I’d be busy.”

“I wanted to spend time with you,” he replied and bland though it was, it spoke so much more to her. Him just wanting to be there meant more and she relaxed as his arms wrapped around her, surrendered herself to the draw of his kiss.
No, wait, he could have spent time with her tonight, but instead he decided to mope around and make everyone uncomfortable. She pulled away, knowing it was only temporary; she just wanted a question answered, she was curious.

“Do you want me just for sex or do you actually enjoy my company?”
No answer. Well, there you go then. She didn’t want to process it right then because the scariest part of his non-answer answer was realising that if it was just sex he wanted from her, she’d gladly play along. That was… no, that wasn’t right… she just wasn’t like that. She peeled herself away from him and turned away from his intense, fixated gaze, ready to take her leave and….
It washed over her. She couldn’t. He was more important. Everything else didn’t matter because she loved him, and it was something far more potent, powerful and precious than her and her selfish desires. It didn’t really make sense, it didn’t really sink in, but it was overwhelming.
“I just - they're my friends,” she closed her eyes in surrender before locking her contrite, imploring peridot eyes onto him, surrendering herself to him. “They'll be gone soon; we have all the time in the world.”
She wanted him to say it was okay, she wanted him to forgive her. Nothing else.

“Good girl,” he affirmed and she felt at peace, enough to discard that faintly accomplished look in his face. “All better now.”
No… it wasn’t… was it? She that underlying gut feeling that something was wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. But she didn’t say it, because it was better for him being right there with her.

…

Some things you don’t often reflect on. Like how you used to be a mindwarped idiot too blind to see it for what it was. You tell yourself you’re smarter, tougher, stronger and faster now. You train yourself to not get attached to anything and you play fast and loose enough to stay ahead of the game, remain untouchable. You know you’re damaged, but hell, you can survive and at the end of the day, being damaged was a damn sight better than being broken. It’d be a cold day in Hell before she let anyone break her. And you don’t do it yourself.
So you don’t think about the things that hurt. If you want to keep your sanity, you’ll do well to lock away certain things about yourself and just learn not to feel. You don’t – you can’t – forget because… that’s all you’ll ever be and it seems like a betrayal to just let it go, but you learn to shut down. Because some days, it’s a toss-up between pretending nothing can ever hurt you or just curling up to cry. Frankly, she had better things to do with her time than cry because of them. How weak is that?

You tell yourself not to think of certain things, but in hindsight, that conversation… that was just weird, wasn’t it? How far bound was she right then? Was that how ghouls behave? If so, why did he look that surprised? How could you be so stupid…? Why did she feel like this now? How long would it last?
What should she do?

Well, firstly get off the streets…? She had no idea where she’d been wandering mindlessly to and judging by the present company, it wasn’t any place advisable. Secondly, she got the distinct impression she was being followed. She didn’t bloody well give a damn if it was just paranoia. Besides, it’d make sense that Damian would have her followed, wouldn’t it? He didn’t trust her, he had her watched during the day from another fricking building, and judging by the impression she got of him, he didn’t trust most people to do as he wanted without pushing and shoving. Bound or not, he’d have her watched, and like he said it himself, with how things had worked out, she was giving him good reason. With good reason, too!
First thing to do was fish out the tail and lose it.
She bit into the edge of her lower lip, looking around, but almost chastised herself for it; he wasn’t going to have her followed by a balloon carrying mob of buffoons, now, was he? Stealth and all that jazz. Nevertheless, she had a good idea of the people around her. If she saw them again, she’d know. She walked around aimlessly for a bit, seeing who was watching her, who followed diligently. She looked tired, like she’d been out clubbing and she was pretty fazed anyway, so wandering around like a moron was a look that currently worked.
A few possibilities for watchers. These people were good, even by her standards.

She put it out there, deliberately – when you’re a dancer, you know how to use your body to get attention and every girl knows how to look easy – and soon enough struck gold. One of the gawkers figured it was his lucky night and waltzed up and she was ready, checking him out like a kitten on the prowl, about to get eaten, because why not make it a fricking hat trick? He was about twice her size, in his thirties, she looked about nineteen. This was a bad idea.

Well, in any case, it wasn’t like this was the worst thing to have happened over the past three days, and nevertheless, this she could handle. This was the kind of guy who’d straight out punch another guy, there was no trained finesse, she could tell. The self-possessed carriage that defined someone who knew how to use their body wasn’t there. So, yeah, she flirted for a bit and he responded with what she could only presume he considered appealing as opposed to “Hey, I’m a guy who looks ominous and is socially challenged, wanna risk getting killed tonight?”, which, to be fair to him, was a running theme in her life these days. So, game on, then. She said she wanted “a bit of fun”, he had this “house party”, which to her translated as “I have a ride and I can get you the frick out of this place with speed”. Deal.

He had a motorbike. Brilliant. Short dress aside, she had a feeling she might just snooze and fall off. But hey, beggars can’t be choosers, right? She’d just hold on tight. She took her seat and her weight shifted off her small feet, letting the pain faze out for a bit and she realised, bastard hadn’t even offered her a seat. What a gentleman.
A trickle of hope dumped out whatever adrenaline she had left in her: she was still here, thinking all of this. She wanted to get away from him, nothing else, and all that back at the V, that was her playing to get her way. That was something to believe in, right? Slutty and manipulative is way better than being bound. At least she was used to the former.

She shot her gaze around to see who was watching with interest as the bike roared to life, filtering out further candidates from the pool she had before and soon enough, she and Cool Rider were out on the motorway – after he decided to try stunting a little to show off, as if she was in the mood for this crap – and she kept her eyes either behind them, or in the mirror (Cool Rider figured she was just checking herself out) to see who was following, and then got him to overtake a truck in slow traffic, blocking all view to anyone behind them and knowing everyone around them was there by chance. Then she got off the motorbike and literally just walked off into the surrounding outlet. If they wanted to follow her, they had to get out of the… whatever vehicle they were in, and she’d have made them.
Cool Rider was not amused by this, but screw him.

Bugs… she checked herself for things. Damian was the only one who came close enough to plant anything and she didn’t think he had, but she checked anyway. Zilch. Didn’t mean there wasn’t anything. She got the cash and such, and dumped the purse, wiped the phone and dropped it in the river.
She walked on for a little while, employing anti-surveillance techniques just in case, and caught a cab to get her to somewhere more useful. She had things to do.

(((OOC: One more post and I’ll have her where she needs to be )))

Cells, proteins, lipids, carbs, dissolved gases and ions floating around in water. You even know the ion composition, you can replicate it. You’ve done it before. There’s nothing actually special about it – save for the fact that you’ll die if it isn’t there and all… and that you can grow bacteria in it and they do all sorts of nifty stuff. It’s just a method of transport and it doesn’t matter if you lose some or drink some. Pull yourself together, it’s just a freakish solution….
…And bits of flesh and… oh God.

She threw up in the porcelain bowl again. She never actually fed from Christian, he was master drugger, probably because he knew she’d freak out like hell. Generally, drinking blood is sick enough, but sucking it out of someone’s body… jump from emo freak and proto-cannibal, it wasn’t something she could handle well. The funniest thing was probably the fact that Alex was a vegetarian (affectionately called vegetable, which could well be the case now in regards to Alexis), for more ethical reasons than any of the pansy “Oh, noes, poor Dolly!” crap. Ethically, one should have no real qualms about feeding off a guy who fed from you in the first place, in some bizarre “I’ll take some of your blood, make it cool, and give it back to you” ceremony, but screw it; one does.
She washed the taste of chyme out of her mouth. Does Damian practice dental hygiene? Well, why should he?

Break her in.
Who the frick did he think he was? What, he’d forcibly drug someone and then when protest comes into the matter, he’s fricking upset? What kind of a tawdry, cheap bastard says that, let alone does it? He should just spend his fricking endless nights with that blow up doll of himself that everyone knows he has. What the frick did she look like, Bessie the fricking cow? She was gonna find the blueprints to that building and blow it up. His days were numbered now. End of fricking story and then we’ll see who’s been breaking who in. Self-obsessed, narcissistic, tyrannical, monstrous fascist.
Why the hell are you thinking about him?!
She used the electric toothbrush she’d bought (along with other things) and the complimentary toothpaste (which incidentally tasted like cement, not that she was in the habit of eating toothpaste, but you notice these things) in the hotel room to brush – chyme and Damian blood – out of her mouth. Her heart raced against her sternum, and cold hands pressed against her eyes and she looked back up at the mirror.
Tiredness, bloodshot eyes, smudged eyeliner… not great.
Oh, jeez. Why was it always her?! What do you have to do to make it stop?

There’s the vein, Ashcroft. Well done, now you actually look neurotic. Well, do you know what, if a girl is justified in getting worked up about anything, this features!

And God… you look like a zombie. Well, hey, if everything else doesn’t work out, I could always audition for a Sam Raimi film.

She moved back into the bedroom and opened up another can of coke. Brain runs on sugar, and nothing else. Because it’s a bastard like that, but these days, who isn’t? The minimum requirement for this farce was a functional brain, so she felt fine decking it back. Okay, phone call done and fine… deal with that when we get to it, if we get to it, and if we don’t get to it, then we’ll find something else, but now what? Sit around and twiddle your thumbs? Pace around like a maniac?
She felt really restless, but couldn’t actually focus on anything. Like there was so much to do that she couldn’t do any of it, but still she wasn’t doing anything at all.
Can’t go home because she didn’t know what he knew about her, and she’d wasted all this time giving them the slip, so it was stupid to possibly walk right back to it. Besides, now he knew she didn’t want it – because she made an attempt to escape – going back was definitely stupid.

Right, yes. Toothbrush. She took the head off it, exposing the mechanism, and knowing that it was well charged. The she superglued the corkscrew head onto it. Superglue wasn’t made to fix bone china; it was made to hold soldiers together in the battlefield. So while salt has a propensity to dissolve normal glue, this baby would hold regardless of the amount of blood it came into contact with. Makeshift drill. Next, the steam gun – she had a bathtub full of Holy Water to drown someone in and while you can dodge a stream of water, it’s impossible to dodge steam when it’s shot at you. Plus the face contains exposed living tissue. Plus, the holy water goes in the epipen and the squirt gun. Old tricks die hard and all. It all hurts like a bitch and takes ages to heal. Enough of a distraction. Next, the nerf gun. She decimated the wooden chair and stuck the appropriate splinters into the nerf darts. Crossbow. Then the nailgun, the alcohol explosives and an actual gun. Funny story; some parts of L.A. if you hang around looking like easy prey, someone will try to attack you and you can then steal their gun. The world loves karma!
…Right. Little else to do now but wait.

She should have written an e-mail to her parents, or at least leave a voicemail. What do you say?
“Hey, guys. It’s me, Lexi… guess what? I’m not dead. Well, I might be soon, but the past three years, not so much. Vampires exist and it’s kind of a huge conspiracy. Do you remember Christian, that guy you were really suspicious of? Yeah, turned out he was a vampire. And yeah, as embarrassing as it was, you setting me up with Richard, I should have gone for him. He was a pompous, pretentious douche, but at least he was human.
So, here’s what every parent wants to hear: you were right. Oh, and if Rebecca Maybury told you anything, don’t believe her, she’s a psycho… along with several others, I’m sure.
…I love you and I really did miss you.”

Tempted… she’d never see them again, but at least it was something….
No. They wouldn’t let it go, they’d get drawn into this, and so… no. They were in their late fifties, they deserved to live out their lives in peace.

Despite the French court and it’s decadent excuses to indulge oneself in utter luxury and effectively spend the revelling in said luxury, Olivia had never been all that partial to it. To her, it was important to have purpose in one’s life, to stand tall where others had… languished away. After all, there had to be something that separated the commoners from the better of mankind. These nights, it was a matter of what separated the Ventrue from the… others. Hence, yes, Olivia preferred to do something with her time rather than mull it away, and even when she was simply enjoying herself, she saw to it that there was significant use to gain from it, such as during her time away. After all, eternity is a gift Damian had bestowed onto her, she wouldn’t ever risk making him regret his decision.

The previous evening had been spent becoming reacquainted with the affairs of L.A., from the epicentre. While Olivia had her sources, there was nothing like finding things out for oneself, and furthermore, seeing who was privy to what information and added to that, who was willing to impart it to you. In essence, she wanted to know the reshufflement of the Kindred importance because while time itself seemed to stand still for them, nothing ever remained the same for long. Hence, it was a small party (of course one can no longer call it a dinner party, regardless of the ghouls being present) where she’d made a few new acquaintances and strengthened old bonds. And also kept an eye on the goings on at the V, which seemed to involve a visit from someone Olivia only knew by proxy – Damian’s old mentor, the rather elusive Alfmundr – and some other human who apparently stayed the night. But then, this wouldn’t be the first time one of Damian’s guests had stayed over, so she thought little of it.

She awoke again, in the comforts of her own sheets, in her own bed, in her home and she most certainly had missed being here. Regardless of everywhere else she’d been, she had to admit that this place held the most draw for her. However, again quick not to waste any time as she nestled between the sheets, she rose soon after the moon, the darkness in the suite soon flooded with the artificial light that had illuminated her life since her embrace, showered and dressed, soon ready for another night of productiveness. She’d ensured that Leon – her assistant, not ghoul, because he hadn’t earned it yet – had her affairs in check and she had spent hours the previous evening going over the figures, ensuring that everything was as required.

Now… where to go? Yes, she’d spent time socialising with the Tremere, Toreador and fellow Ventrue the previous night, but they were all acquaintances and “friends”… tonight she craved something better and with Damian engaged in his usual and doubtlessly important affairs, there was another with him she’d be delighted to properly reacquaint herself with; Lord DeWinter, or Archon, as she had the privilege to call him, for he truly was like a second sire to her. After having to fend for herself once the revolution started, she knew how lucky she was to have them both.
Hence, she didn’t want to resign their meeting – after so long – to a public gathering and thought it better and personal to pay him a visit herself. If he was otherwise engaged – which, being a Primogen, he was very likely to be – she could rearrange another time.

Hence, she had herself driven over to the DeWinter residence, soon being shown in into the parlour as it seemed – luckily enough – that Archon was indeed home and more so, at leisure to receive her. How delightful!
Her eyes scanned over the magnificent furnishings of the room, the lavish seating and the grand piano, the polished wood that accentuated all, and most importantly, Archon himself sitting in solitude, immersed in reading.

“It is an immense pleasure to see you again,” she greeted, smiling with the warmth only noticeable between two Ventrue of their calibre. “Thank you for receiving me at such short notice.”