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Original Poster
#926 Old 12th Jan 2009 at 10:17 PM
Default Adrien and Lena - up and personal in an alleyway
Little Miss Chatterbox's games were getting old. Really old. And Adrien was growing quite tired of them. No matter how many chances she got to show him where she stood - not that he was likely to easily believe her even if she tried, but that was beside the point; another matter entirely - she seemed ultimately incapable of taking them. For, over and over again, no sooner had she offered a hint towards one direction, before she was compelled by what seemed to be her very nature, to offer one in the exact opposite one. If she hadn't already offered both at the same time. She did seem to simply revel in being vague and ambiguous, after all, relishing the idea of keeping him on his toes, possibly not realizing it was pretty much a constant condition in his case already; he never let his guard down, and he didn't trust anyone except himself. Because bright kid that she obviously was, there were still things that even she seemed to miss, or disregard, even though the latter seemed unlikely because she was a bright kid. However, seeing clearly what she was capable of, he didn't put it past her, because there was still that part of her that defied sanity, and with it, logic.

But yes, regardless of the reason why, there were still things that she seemed to miss. One being that it actually wasn't all that effort of hers to keep him on his guard that truly did keep him on his guard. As already stated, it was pretty much a permanent trait in him, and so even though she performed a brilliant balancing act between reasons of doubt and reasons of faith, doubt still won an earth-shattering victory. And sadly for her, it wasn't even her doing. Secondly, she seemed to completely miss the fact that acting like a minx really wasn't the way to keep him interested in her company. If that truly was what she was aiming for. In fact, of all of her quirks and antics, that was probably the one that was the biggest reason why he was growing bored in the first place; the endless flirting. No, really. One would think that with all that creativity and appetite for adrenaline, she'd have a million and one different approaches up her sleeve. But no, apparently not. Or she just didn't consider him worthy of them, in which case she'd actually succeed with the minor miracle of proving him wrong, because then she really wouldn't be as bright as he thought her to be, but rather quite the opposite instead.

And as for the most recent thing she missed/disregarded...

"I have been rather constant in regards to our mutual enemy...", she said, as though she was pointing out something that was meant to provide him with a minor epiphany, and then added with - surprise, surprise - a slice of pure mischief; "We both like them a little more dead than they already are."

And this she said in the face of a Kindred, as though it ought to have him go "Oh... Right. Good point."? No matter how truthful she was attempting to make it all sound this time around, if she thought Adrien didn't immediately spot the loophole - one the size of the state of California, actually, especially to Adrien - and thus that same old tactic of hers again, of being ambiguous, she was indeed greatly mistaken. Or she was attempting to insult his intelligence. For surely she didn't think that he, Adrien de la Cour, vampire hunter turned vampire against his will, had somehow forgotten what he had been turned into? He hadn't. No matter how much he may like to, he never did. He never did loose sight of that one fact. And so if vampires were her enemies, that simply meant that he was one of them, because even though he himself set himself apart from the other Kindred, there was nothing whatsoever to imply that she made the same distinction. There was nothing to suggest that to her, he wasn't just another Kindred as well, and thus yet another one that she would prefer 'a little more dead' than he already was, when she deemed the time to be right.
Seriously, did she really think he'd miss that loophole? My, she really didn't think very highly of him, did she?

Furthermore, she had accepted the contract on him in the first place, and that meant that there had been reasons for her to do so. So, while there might be reasons for her to have changed her mind right now - if that was indeed what she had done - it hardly meant that there would be no reasons to change it yet again. Much like he had already pointed out to her.

Therefore, the only reaction she recieved at first, was a curious tilt of the head, as though he was wondering if she was being completely serious. Then, when a few moments later, it would appear that she really was, he silently quirked a questioning brow, while motioning suggestively towards his own appearance, inviting her to connect the dots regarding what her statement gave him reason to think.

However, before she had a chance to say anything, a genuinly amused smile, albeit a small and far from toothy one, made it's way onto his lips, and he shook his head at her, dark ebony tresses dancing into his face and forcing him to brush them away again.

"Chérie, the only thing you have been constant about, is being inconsistent. You're fickle. A liability, at best."

The smile still lingering on his lips, he then went on to do much the opposite of what he had been doing so far; instead of withdrawing from her to put some distance between them, he drew closer to her, coming face to face to her, eyes levelled due to her heels, and only a few inches seperating her warm body from his cool one.

"But, I'm flattering you, aren't I?" he added, still with amusement in both eyes and voice.

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
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Field Researcher
#927 Old 13th Jan 2009 at 1:02 AM
Default Melissa, Kat, Melody
((ooc: Sorry for keeping everyone waiting, and especially you since you're new, Black Sheep. Welcome to the group. Good to see you too, Brujah. Nice to see someone helping to fill in the blank spots.))

"Buzz, buzz, fly away," Melissa moaned from under the table. Who was this fly that she was mocking her like this? Couldn't she see this maggot was being crushed? That wasn't nice, not nice at all.

She glared at the newcomer from the shadowy recesses under the table, only the glint of her moist eyes showing in the dark above her alabaster arms. A low rumble threatened to spill from her mouth, an animalistic testimony to how vulnerable Melissa still felt, even to words that were merely insensitive. Like a little child, there were no little problems, no little slights, but everything could turn to catastrophe in her eyes.

"New fly buzzes loudly, heedless of the other bugs that hear her voice," Melissa muttered darkly, wiping crimson tears away with the back of her hand. "Perhaps she should fly away before she tries to stomp on a bug that bites harder than she does. There are many spiders in places like these... Club Diebuk might be a better place for her."

If Melissa got lucky, this mean little maggot would take the bait and move off to Club Diebuk. After all, she herself was in a similar state when the spider found her, her brains sloshing around inside her skull thanks to the urine-colored liquid she'd imbibed that provided such a shallow imitation of the heady rush of the crimson nectar that flowed down her throat only the night before.

Then she thought guiltily of whose blood she'd taken,and the very reason she cringed underneath the table in misery. She'd almost forgotten the anguish of her guilt in her irritation at the black-haired bug's cloddish intrusion. Her eyes darted nervously in the direction of the empty stage, though even she realized she could not see it from there. Even so, the concert replayed inside her head, this time with the blond Dolly's accusing eyes never leaving her face, his fear and loathing of her etched into his every movement as he swayed along with the music his lovely voice wove in the night air.

Suppressing a sniffle, Melissa inched forward until she could just barely reach the Melody Doll's hand. Gently, she reached forward and clasped the warm, rosy hand with her cold one, seeking comfort in a soul that had already demonstrated its capacity for kindness.

"This fly is sorry for bothering the Melody Doll," she whispered. She was afraid her new friend would leave her like this, and she didn't know how soon her Angel was coming by the rescue her again. The flies in her head still stung her brain, though some were now rejoicing at the delicious implications of her words to the intruder. She was afraid Melody Doll would react the same way her maggots always had, by shooing her, squashing her, or locking her away.

Fear now started to assault her from every corner, and she bit hard into her lip to keep from sobbing at the top of her lungs. What if... what if her Angel found her like this and was ashamed? Would she be rejected now for showing weakness in this moment, for her tenderness over the Dolly like any other maggot that had not been bitten? The very thought tore into her worse than the spider's fangs had, and her shoulders slumped.

She hiccuped. "What if my Angel doesn't want this fly anymore?" she cried softly into her hand.

Eagerly awaiting Silent Hill: Shattered Memories.
Alchemist
#928 Old 13th Jan 2009 at 7:26 PM
Melody, Kat and Melissa - Club Envy



Melody felt at a loss. For all the experience she had with Kindred - for a human that is - none of it had taught her how to deal with a frightened Malkavian who was beyond comforting and it seemed beyond reasoning as well. Her words carrying all the reassurance she could muster went unheeded, causing Melody to wonder whether Melissa had even heard her. Perhaps whatever tormented her mind kept it disconnected from the outside world. Poor girl, she thought sympathetically, growing more and more unconvinced that she could help her at all. Melody didn't have much to offer besides the willingness to keep her company and listen if she wished to talk...and blood. That however wasn't an offer Melody made lightly, or to just any Kindred. Honouring the agreement she had with Valerian not to mention heeding her self-preservation instinct, she was always careful to whom she opened her veins to, first ensuring they harboured no ill intentions and were capable of self-control. Sadly, the latter was not a characteristic Melody trusted Melissa to possess, not in that moment at least. Likewise, she doubted blood was the cause of her distress, she had seemed perfectly fine earlier, and Melody was familiar with the telltale signs of a hungry vampire. No, something else was troubling her, something she thought she'd done: but what? A feeding gone wrong? An argument gone out of hand? Or just an imagined guilt of her own design? In the end, it didn't matter, for it certainly was real to Melissa.

Then, the very thing Melody had been fearing since the moment her unusual companion took cover under the table happened: someone noticed them and, worse, decided to intrude. The sound of knuckles rapping on the enamelled surface above their heads caused Melody to flinch visibly, her heart leaping into her throat when it was followed by the scraping of chair legs against the floor.

"You guys do know how to use chairs right?” a female voice wanted to know. “See...you sit on them and not on the ground."

Melody's eyes darted to Melissa's curled form, searching for any hints of blood on her skin or clothes but to their fortune the girl was careful enough to hide her entire head between her coiled arms and the long tresses of her hair. The stranger's arrival seemed to distract her slightly from her misery, her comments, tangled to a stranger's ear but increasingly clear to Melody's being filled with disdain. Melody glanced over her shoulder at the woman, her lily white features bearing a slight frown above two large, apprehensive eyes, too preoccupied with Melissa to become truly annoyed at this woman who'd decided to intrude in a matter that didn't concern her. She did think about her comment, finding it rather out of place considering it was obvious that something was going on and they weren't sitting on the floor for fun.

“I don't mean to be rude”, Melody told her, “but this isn't really the best time. My friend is not feeling well.”

She glanced back at Melissa, hoping that the woman would heed both their words and leave it at that, possibly thinking she'd had one drink too many; if she persisted, she would be putting herself at risk too. Melissa's silent watcher was as still as ever yet his vigilance no doubt hadn't wavered: if the brunette saw something she shouldn't, he would notice, and then...

A slight smile found its way on Melody's lips when a small white hand inched towards hers and gripped it: it felt almost like a doll's hand, as cold and smooth as porcelain, when her own pulsated with life and sweat. She squeezed it reassuringly.

"What if my Angel doesn't want this fly anymore?" whimpered Melissa. Searching quickly through the memories of their conversation, Melody recalled what she'd been told about this “angel”, the Kindred who took care of her, her Sire perhaps. Was she supposed to meet her there and hadn't come, was that it? A forgotten childhood memory fought its way to the surface then, reviving a scene in an old schoolyard many years ago, and a seven year old Melody staring down an empty road in search of her father's car, who was supposed to arrive and pick her up but was an hour late. She was frightened and crying, much like Melissa was then, the only comfort being the presence of a friend who'd agreed to stay with her until her father showed up.

“Oh no, I'm sure that isn't true,” Melody said with all the conviction she felt capable of, carefully considering her words since the other woman could hear them. She kept the Malkavian's tiny hand firmly tucked into hers; in reality, she wasn't sure of anything, but it would have been no use to tell Melissa that. “Don't think like that, she wouldn't be your Angel if she didn't want you with her. Was she supposed to meet you here? We can wait for her, I can stay with you if you want.”

Throughout this unusual exchange, Melody did not lose track of the reason she was there in the first place, and this talk of Melissa's protector fanned that pressing need to see Valerian inhabiting the core of her being to new heights. If she were forced to go home for the day without knowing where he was, without talking to him however briefly, she would be unable to find peace for the rest of the day and would probably spend half of it pacing the empty confines of The Haven awaiting the moment he awoke, if she could stop herself from trying to enter his bedroom. Not unlike Melissa, a sickening dread took shape inside her, an irrational fear that he was avoiding her or...the deepest horror of them all... that he was leaving her. And yet, she couldn't just walk away and leave Melissa sobbing on the dirty floor of a nightclub; turning slightly to one side so that she could see both of them, she gave the bold brunette an anxious glance, awaiting her reaction to these strange happenings.

If wishes were fishes we'd all cast nets
Scholar
#929 Old 13th Jan 2009 at 10:05 PM
Default Claudia and Valerian - Valerian's chambers, The Haven
The factor that differentiated one individual from another often revolves around what they do rather than just what they feel. Of course, feelings influence the actions that a person resigns themselves to and thus, is judged by, but in the more responsible individual, though feelings play a part, the actions are more thought driven, rather than utterly at the behest of fluctuant emotions and thus, in short, thought is what a person is judged by, for it underpins their existence. I think, therefore, I am.

However, before Claudia stood a young man whose thought was emotion; Valerian. While Claudia pushed him more and more to the edge to bring out the side of him that he chose to ignore – the more analytical, thinking side to him – she always did wonder whether the result of that would truly be Valerian or whether that entirely overthrew the very essence of his being. While Claudia may, to others, seem like she regarded him much like a possession, she also wished to preserve him as he was, for that was what drew her to him in the first place.
However, yielding to those feelings left him in this predicament, struggling with the sort of self-inflicted guilt that his nature strived so hard to avoid and thus, Claudia had to wonder whether it was best for him to be the way that he was.

And as for the most recent candidate in exploiting his nature, Claudia did have to devise a plan to ensure that Annie learned her lesson. For yes, the end goal was to remove her from the situation – and Valerian’s attentions – but not without giving her enough punishment for her sheer audacity, especially for lying to Claudia, when she had no standing to even attempt to compensate for it that way Valerian did. So, in a way, not only was Claudia protecting Valerian, she was also asserting her modus operandi.
However, she had never wished for Valerian to think that she did it for the simple sake of spite or oppression.

"I do know that, Claude,” he admitted with his inherent gentle smile, assuring he that he did indeed understand not only that she loved him, but also the way in which she loved him. "I've always known that. And I do love you for it.”
Yet, there was more, as Claudia had deduced, for Valerian understood that he still had to make amends for his deception, the reasons for it aside.

“But...,” he started, only to hesitate for a few moments as he resigned himself to thought seeming to wisely choose his thoughts before he uttered them to her. “We don't always agree on what my interests should be.”
At that, something almost resembling a small sigh passed through her lips, eyes simply settling on his softly carved features as she silently affirmed the situation. Yes, they often disagreed on the best course of action to follow – particularly in business – and yes, sometimes they did disagree where Valerian’s best interests lay, for Claudia was far more likely to accept the ways of the world than Valerian was, despite his ability to perceive things.

“I know you're just looking out for me, and that you're trying to keep me safe, and out of trouble,” he further assured, her hands encapsulating hers once more as Claudia reaffirmed her standing to herself; she had to keep him safe, especially when he welcomed trouble with open arms when it came looking for him. “But, there are times when I really want to take a chance, because I want to help, and feel that I'm able to do so.”
The passion that stained his voice as he spoke reached out to Claudia, making his conviction an almost tangible force between them, yet using it’s strength to further cement her beliefs that she had to look out for him, because he simply wouldn’t – not only was he innocent, he chose to be… and of all the chances he took, only one of them had to be the wrong one in order to prove fatal.

“It was what happened with Annie; she came to me for help,” he explained, further fuelling Claudia’s fury at the girl’s audacity to run to Valerian for help, after portraying herself to be so very self-sufficient and resolute against Claudia. “And I saw a way of offering it to her, and protecting our kind, without her having to die.”

Right then, watching as his sinewy form inched cautiously closer to her, doing nothing to dissuade his advances, she did have to wonder which he’d choose to protect first, the girl, or his own kind, and what he would do if that choice ever manifested.... not that Claudia would punish him in that way, but she did have to wonder….

”That's partly why I didn't tell you at first,” he finally confessed softly, yet Claudia’s nature immediately catching onto the word “partly”, silently resolving to learn what else his reasons had composed of. "Because I feared you wouldn't see things my way, and agree to let me try. Out of concern for my well-being. And even now I get the feeling you're thinking of ways of getting me out of it all.”

Her eyes suddenly locked onto him as he craned his neck slightly to meet her gaze; "Are you?"

The truthful answer there was ‘yes’. Yes, indeed she was thinking of ways to protect him from the dangers that this posed, for really, it was dangerous for him to protect a human girl when once others found out about the situation – for they most certainly will if Annie continued her habit of picking the most opportune people to approach for help – they’d be even less prone to seeing things Valerian’s way than Claudia, and they most certainly would not have her degree of concern for him. After all, the kindred were predators and they would not rank their survival over that of a mere mortal.

“I’m thinking of the ways that this could endanger you,” she thus answered, not quite confirming his fears and yet not quite dissuading them, as she eased his anxieties a little by gently drawing his ivory form closer to her. “And how I simply won’t – can’t – let that happen.”
For though she understood that Valerian was claimed and ruled by empathetic altruism, Claudia had to balance it out with her natural analytical reasoning and thus, she had to make up for what he chose to ignore.

(((OOC: Hope this makes sense and works for you, Atropa
And welcome Vocman3! :howdy))

"Life is just a chance to grow a soul" - A. Powell Davies
Scholar
#930 Old 13th Jan 2009 at 11:26 PM
Default Lena and Adrien - Alleyway
There’s a certain part of human nature that is predisposed to disliking what it cannot understand. Hence, there was a need to ‘label’ things into quaint little categories, subconsciously making them into a controllable factor, when the best way is to use those labels as more… guidelines. Never assume something to be absolute. Thus, therein lay the talent of not just seeing what is, but also what could be.
To pinpoint the way Lena’s mind worked was a testament to this phenomenon – she understood things, really very well, and then used them, much like a scientist, because of the simple comprehension that what was wasn’t all that it could be. It applied to concepts, those that she had the ability to think up almost spontaneously, and thus, leading to the rather unique and creative weapons and methods that she employed, often not more than just a few times before she got bored and moved onto something new. And it applied to people, to figure out how their psyches functioned and how she could manipulate it to her own ends, and often, she got bored of them too and moved on to newer subjects.

That said, when it came to understanding Lena enough to predict her actions – bets were a bad idea. People don’t like variance in others. They liked stability, they liked predictability in the behaviours of others because it made them safe, it made it possible for them to assess your actions in order to perfect their strategy. “I want to get to know you” usually involves something that one should be worried about. Furthermore, it’s a heck of a lot easier and more possible to exploit a stable factor rather than a capricious one. Boston Matrix, anyone?
No surprise in the fact that Lena would be considered the wild child in that schema. Always the unpredictable factor… well, until that rather… unfortunate event that led to her being diagnosed with mild ASPD – though, after a few days in a psych ward, people decide that there’s absolutely nothing normal about you. And thus, everyone put everything about her in context of said label, regardless of whether they were right or wrong, because then, she ‘made sense’ to them;

Pure evil – actually, no; she could be downright lovely if she saw cause to do so. In fact, being a bitch all the time just made things really, really dull and thus, every once in a while, she played nice… just because she could. And she didn’t wantonly kick every puppy she saw on the street, for when she was given what she wanted, she didn’t bother to wreck havoc on the giver – why destroy a valuable resource?
Rebel – big mistake on that quadrant. A lot of people assumed that enforcing a rule down over her immediately meant that she was driven to break or violate it in some form or another. Truth was, that was so not the case. If it helped her to play by the rules, she played by the rules. If it was restrictive to her intentions to play by the rules, she had no hesitations in breaking them. In her world, rules were just things people talked about, like stories or the local gossip – she didn’t uphold them with reverence and she didn’t break them all with rage; she just didn’t care.
Without empathy – this one was a rather entertainingly gross misconception, to assume that she didn’t understand what someone else was feeling, because she most certainly did. The strength of her inborn intuition was one that really had no restrictions in the way she could see things from another’s perspective. Besides, it’d almost be tragic if she didn’t understand what she caused others to feel, because then, it’d mean that the only person who knew her capabilities was one incapable of appreciating it. However, empathy and compassion are two different things and thus, she understood perfectly, in fact far better than most; she just didn’t care… most of the time.

So right now, she most certainly grasped the fact that further keeping back what Adrien was pretty much now blatantly asking for – assurance in some form – was starting to exasperate him… she just wasn’t sure she was that bothered about it. But well, in the spirit of sportsmanship and all… he was an interesting variety to toy with and there was a lot more to be done with him.

However, he was rather busy working through the loopholes in what she’d said – kudos to him on that, but there was hardly anything Lena said that didn’t have loopholes left, right and centre – and let his paranoia clearly show through as he then gestured to himself, bridging the gap between what she’d said and how it’d applied to him. Well, well, well… didn’t that fit in perfectly with what she’d assessed of his nature so far – the really did believe everyone was out to get him… that was quite an interesting combination of paranoid narcissism.
Really, that made her lose some of the respect that he had garnered – it disgusted her to have him group himself with them, even for a moment and even if it was just for appearances.

“Chérie, the only thing you have been constant about, is being inconsistent,” he then declared, having made it clear that he rather amused by some of it – mixed signals, anyone? – and then moving onto make another proclamation about her nature, despite having only known her for a short while and added to that, under circumstances which she didn’t stick to one role; “You're fickle. A liability, at best.”

Well, in all honesty, he wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t right about it either. She was capricious – seeming mainly so because she didn’t abide by the conditions that most members of society stuck to… or at least attempted to do so. She was whimsical about what she did for entertainment, with no regards for the cost of others, seeming erratic in deciding what course of action she wanted to follow. However, once she wanted something, there was little that could be done to stop her from getting it – and really, this should be something that Adrien at least had a clue about.
Thus, her impulsive nature was one that was mostly in regards to others, while when it came to herself, she knew exactly what she was doing. But… no need to tell Adrien that… because there was lot to be done with that perception of her. As for her being a liability… in a world where you trust no-one as a rule, anyone who knew what you don’t want them to know was a liability.

Speaking of fickle contradictions in demeanour, after having made his assessment of her nature quite clear, Adrien then glided closer to her – which really had her wondering for a minute whether he was trying to beat her at her own game – though he’d expressed his disdain for whenever she did it. ‘Do as I say, not as I do’. Of course, she didn’t move a single muscle, simply keeping her eyes locked onto his face as amusement – one which she was now sure had to be backed by superiority complex induced contempt in some way – continued to make it’s mark.

"But, I'm flattering you, aren't I?" he asked clearly rhetorically, as if his assessment of her nature was supposed to be somewhat ‘better’ than the actual truth, when in fact, it was just scratching at the surface, though he was probably asking said question with the knowledge that she was indeed going to answer. It wasn’t her he was “flattering”; it was himself. Alright then, she’ll just indulge him, in a way to mislead him and toy with him further in a different way;
“I’m used to more,” came the simple, unaffected answer as if admitting that yes, she did indeed receive quite a few criticisms regarding his interpretation of her nature, when the actual fact was that more often than not, the vast majority of people were nowhere near perceptive enough to see it. Furthermore, she decided not to illustrate the fact that thus far, she had fed him one false, yet still plausible story about her history and one story alone.
And then she couldn’t help it, as the dissatisfaction in what he’d attempted to portray earlier shone through, in an attempt to preserve one of the things about him that kept her interested;

“And don’t do that,” she requested as rather cordially, yet still with discernable distaste lingering in her voice, just the way she’d protested to the label he gave her when she’d first tried to assassinate him. It was cheap and as much as he thought he was insulting her by doing it, he was doing himself an untenable disservice. “You’re about as much a vampire as I am a ghoul.”

Regardless of how was going to interpret that with his hostile cynicism, she stood her ground on her point, that labels weren’t absolute – it was actually why she even bothered to put up with his… issues, because he wasn’t like them and well, as for him branding her a ghoul – the definition of a ghoul was that it was a slave to a vampire and Lena answered to no-one. Similarly, a vampire pulled the classic routine of “My fangs make me more awesome than you, puny human” (often subverted by simply setting them on fire) and Adrien’s arrogance was just all Adrien and he actually did manage to see her as a (despicable, but she couldn’t care less) person.

"Life is just a chance to grow a soul" - A. Powell Davies
#931 Old 14th Jan 2009 at 12:17 AM
Default Kat, Melissa, Melody, and Marvin (that's a lotta M's) at Club Envy
The two women underneath the two-top still only sat on the floor, the blonde one comforting the dark haired and seemingly crying one. Only a few seconds after Kat had made her rude comment, she realized it was completely unneccesary and rude as hell. Kat started rubbing her temples, hoping the minor drunken-ness wear off somewhat quickly, if not now. She was startled out of her state of calm by the blonde woman.

"I don't mean to be rude, but this isn't really the best time. My friend is not feeling well."

Kat was now on one roller coaster of a guilt trip. The poor girl under the table should have just been left alone, I had the gall to make a rude comment to her. The blonde woman continued to comfort the girl, who actually appeared to be Kat's age. The two mumbled at each other, but Kat didn't care, she just held her face in her hands for a minute or two, and when che placed them back into her lap, the blonde woman was staring up at her.

"I am so sorry. I feel terrible." Kat got up out of the chair she had used to insult the two and put it back in its proper place. "I hope you two have a better night."

Holding her left hand to her forehead, Kat grabbed her purse from the table and set off to leave, not even acknowledging anybody else, except a unbelivebly handsome man, scanning the crowd. His sculpted chest was flaunted by his open leather jacket. Kat checked the time displayed on her cellphone. It wasn't too late, Rachel was most likely in bed by now, and it was Kat's Night. Putting her cell phone back into her unstylish purse, she decided he was unique and handsome enough to take time to talk to. Kat quickly brushed some lint off her jeans and long, light blue v-neck sweater and approached him fliratciously, twirling a strand of her hair (forgetting she was slightly drunk).

"Hi there..."

(((ooc: Okay that was kinda difficult haha, Welcome Vocman! Any changes let me know =D )))
Field Researcher
#932 Old 14th Jan 2009 at 10:44 AM
Default Archon DeWinter & Vevila van Roemer - Vevila's apartment
#68 [Thirteenth Night]

Walking into Vevila's apartment felt like walking into another part of the world. It was much brighter than the building and neigbourhood that surrounded it. Archon did not know what to expect, as he passed through the doorway, but he was still taken by what he saw. With small means, Vevila had created her own little slice of heaven. It was not like his home, that was for sure, but somehow it felt like it suited Vevila perfectly. Even if she seemed at home in his mansion, this was where she truly belonged. Or, perhaps, she could fit in anywhere. Like a chameleon. She could make any place seem better than it was. Just like she made him feel better about just being around her, while at the same cause cynical thoughts that would have scared off any pessimist.

Looking around, Archon could tell that it was all mostly a gathering of art from all over the world, and not really displayed properly. Though there was an obvious lack of space, something in the clutter gave it charm. Where one colorful painting ended, an obscure photo in black and white began. And so it continued throughout the room. It was more like a story being told, than just a myriad of art. Archon quite liked it, to his own surprise. Though he was sure it would not be the same in his own home.

"Thank heavens no one has been here...", Vevila said with a low tone of voice. "What a relief."

As he gazed at her, he could not help but see fragility in her. She was a vivacious Toreador, living alone in a small apartment in a part of town he did not approve of, and he could not understand why no one had been able to win her heart. Of course - not many would be worthy, but still. She was young, certainly a Neonate, but she was too beautiful and too rare to just let her slip away. Judging from her paintings and photographs, she had not stayed in one place all of the time, and plenty Kindred must have had access to her. And they had all failed. No one could escape her beauty, keep from getting sucked in, and just walk on by without being affected. How come she was living alone, surrounding herself with art like she wished she was somewhere else. She should have no problem what so ever, to conquer the world of men.

"I'm going to go collect some things from my bedroom."

Her words woke him up from his deep thoughts, much to his gratitude. Ever since she had crossed his path, he had found himself thinking about things that did not help him at all. He was a Venture, not some fool that let his emotions run away with him. Archon straightened his back, and gave her a nod before she vanished into another room. He did have business to attend to, and even if that could wait, he reckoned he needed it to clear his mind. She had entered his life like a whirlwind, and he needed tranquillity, some peace of mind.

“I think that’s everything?” Vevila said, when she came back with a duffel bag over her shoulder, ready to leave.

The bag alone held information that Archon could not help but pick up. It was in his nature. It bore whitness of her life being scruffier than he had hoped for. Some would find it romantic, to go where their feet pointed, no matter how they got there. And though he did not picture her in that capacity, the bag provided him with such associations. Besides that, she was a lady, and should not carry her things herself.

"Here", he said and reached for the bag. "Let me take that for you."

Though the Primogen did not put it across his shoulder, he merely held it in his hand. Archon DeWinter was for the most part of time not a mystery at all, not for those who understood the nature of the Ventrue. If there ever was a poster childe for the clan, he would be it. He was refined and thought very higly of himself. Though not the the extent that it blinded him and put him in harms way. Just because he did not like a certain thing, did not mean he would not face it if it was needed, even whole heartedly.

"You have a nice home, Lady van Roemer", he said with a slight gesture. "Can I assume you enjoy traveling?"








_________________________________________________

((( ooc: Trampled - Sorry for the delay!

Brujah - Welcome! Nice to see a Brujah character. )))
Alchemist
#933 Old 14th Jan 2009 at 8:58 PM
Connor and Moira - Backstage at Club Envy


It was said that truth is always preferable to lies, but that never made it less complicated or easier to bear. In fact, the very reason people told lies was to escape, however temporarily, from bearing the weight of the truth and, in some cases, from subjecting others to the same burden.

Moira's reasons for not being entirely forthcoming with young Connor Hale contained both the selfish and selfless side of the coin. She'd always known she couldn't keep it concealed for him forever, but by then she would've been far, far away...now that the premise of the game had changed, and the truth was finally laid out in the open, the consequences weighed down on them both.

Watching Connor's inner struggle reflected so plainly into his outward appearance, Moira could almost see the frightful thoughts that must have been growing inside his head, laced with fear and confusion regarding a whole new world that had suddenly emerged from beyond the flimsy façade that he had taken for granted his entire life. It pained him, and it pained her to see it, knowing all too well it was just the beginning of a long trial of adjustment that Connor, simply by learning what he now knew, had barely just begun to conquer. He might never even manage, indeed, most ghouls often developed psychological issues that stemmed from the constant state of feeling and knowing they were inferior, and dispensable. That they were mere pawns who existed only through the grace of their masters, those wonderful but terrible beings that directed their moves across a deadly chessboard. The feeling of inadequacy and lack of self-esteem contributed to a ghoul's naturally intense nature, clashing with the overwhelming adoration they couldn't help but devote to even the cruellest of Domitors, slowly wearing them out from within, eroding their personality and restraint until they became a strange mixture of extreme paranoia and obsessive loyalty, prone to violent outbursts - too much for most Kindred to consider worth the trouble when a fresh servant was only three drinks away. It was the reason most ghouls didn't outlive a century, save for the ghastly Revenant families bred by the Sabbat.

As miserably as Connor felt, he remained unusually fortunate for someone in his position: he had gained what the majority of ghouls only dreamt about, the genuine affection of his Domitor. Furthermore he was what most Kindred called a “spoiled ghoul”, permitted as much freedom of choice as the Blood Bond could allow. It was true that Moira asked him a favour every now and then, something he could do for her, but they were always requests, never orders. A ghoul's heaven by all accounts. However, that was from the very grim viewpoint of a slave: a human being who suddenly found themselves in a position of inferiority was likely to feel shattered and betrayed, and once he managed to absorb some of what she'd just told him, Moira fully expected his mind to bend that way.

What she hadn't expected was for it to happen that quickly.

For a moment or two as Moira's introspective gaze merged with Connor's anxious one it seemed that the fire raging within was slowly mellowing down, returning a shadow of calm to his constricted features. Perhaps what he needed most was to realize he wasn't alone, that she was there to help him along his journey. Then, just as quickly the wisps of serenity were torn to shreds and a newly-found dread sparked to life in those baby blues that stared urgently at Moira:

"What am I to you?" he compelled her. "You said... 'Various purposes'... And clearly those two last night... and then the one a while ago..."

“The one a while ago?” was Moira's internal reaction. He had met another Kindred? She wanted to ask him but it could wait, more important then was the one concern apparently greater than all others in Connor's view: their relationship, and what she considered him. Since she'd more or less revealed what other Kindred usually considered ghouls, it was a predictable question, though Moira had expected him to feel overwhelmed enough by the rest of her revelations – regarding Kindred and their influence across the globe, who they were and where they came from, where she came from – for it to be the very first thing he'd focus on. Then again, Connor's own world had less to do with history and politics and more to do with her, so ultimately it wasn't so strange at all....just not what Moira would've asked first. Not what she had asked first of her Sire...but she had only been two-thirds blood bound to him then. It was strange, and rather frightening, the power contained in their Vitae.

"What am I to you?" he repeated, leaving no doubts about what plagued his mind. Moira dropped her gaze, then one after the other her arms from around his shoulders; when she gazed back at him, she was smiling, a smile that was carried a twinkle into her eyes as well. Slowly she raised one hand, tenderly brushing her knuckles against the softness of Connor's left cheek, then gently cupped his chin in her palm before withdrawing.

“I like to think of you as my companion,” she told him, the loving expression of her face suggesting the term was no less meaningful to her than “lover” or “boyfriend” would have been to Connor. And indeed, companion was so much more engrossing than either of those, for it could have contained either of them, or both, and much more than that. One thing Moira did not wish to do was to add to the deception by telling him what he most wanted to hear, but to gently steer him down the path of accepting their relationship for what it was.

“You have to understand though, what you mean to me and what you are to the rest of us are two different things: I have not shared this with anyone. To them you are my...retainer, and in London you are known as such, for your own protection. Politics.” Moira explained, wanting to clarify that once and for all. “But a servant? No, never. Not to me. I care about you, and I want you to be confident about that. If I didn't, I wouldn't be here, it's as simple as that.”

And that was perhaps the first entirely honest words to leave Moira's lips that evening. Her expression grew wistful, and bittersweet, gazing away into nothingness for a few short seconds as though lost down some winding memory lane reaching back into the recesses of her ancient mind.

“I'm an old woman, Connor” she continued. “I may not look it, but I feel in my heart. Even among my kin I am Elder, and they treat me as such. But you still treat me like a woman, and for that, I am grateful. Always.”

It was true: as Kindred got older, the distinctions between men and women lost relevance: a lady was still a lady, but to a vampire who had not felt the thrill of passion in centuries, love the way mortals experienced it, even mere physical attraction, degenerated into nothing more than distant memories and abstract concepts. Love could still exist (rarely) and beauty was still appreciated but...they were changed, shaped by their inhuman nature. Being among them reminded Moira of her dwindling humanity every single night, while Connor's presence replenished it, because he still had the ability to look at her with a man's eyes and treat her as if she was nothing else but a woman.

If wishes were fishes we'd all cast nets
#934 Old 14th Jan 2009 at 11:04 PM
Default Marvin and Kate at Club Envy Attn: Melody and Melissa
Marvin stood and watched the exchange between the three women with a mixture of amusement and disgust. The flutter of what was clearly a Malkavian whelp hiding under the table perhaps were meant to be cute or naïve. Especially touching was when she reached for the hand of the ghoul sitting with her begging her to stay. What neither of them seemed to realize was that the Kindred under the table was not a mouse, or a child or a bug as she referred to herself as. She was a breed killer and somebody really needed to take her aside and explain that to her. Not that he could count on her sire to do such a thing. Clearly this ‘Angel’ she referred to had been her sire undoubtedly abandoning her right after the embrace.

Marvin could hardly blame him or her because this little creature was so slight that if he didn’t know better he would have suspected her blood of being quite thin. Of course her sire was undoubtedly Malkavian himself and had probably forgot about the embrace right after it had been completed leaving this mess behind. That was hardly an excuse. Marvin had been abandoned himself and he had managed to find himself afterwards just fine.

All that gloom aside, the sight of such a weak vampire freely roaming, make that crawling the streets gave him hope. If the prince or his cronies were at all active in the city then this simply would not be happening. Any lack of social order was quite the plus in Marvin’s book. Now all he had to do was convince the leaderless Kindred to be the vampires they were and soon Los Angeles would be the city of utter chaos and flowing blood. What a joy that would be!

With those thoughts in his head, he was smiling rather broadly when the approach of the pretty mortal girl caught him slightly off guard. It wasn’t often that he was approached and without approaching his victim himself. He saw her slight weaving steps and understand that she was possibly under the influence of wonderful resistance lowering alcohol. His eyes quickly took her in as she approached him as if in slow motion. She was young, and evidentially very healthy and strong. Middle, possibly upper class and her blood would undoubtedly be very filling and warm. What luck, everything was falling into place so nicely.

“Why Hello yourself.” Marvin said with a sweet and charming smile his smooth English accent very much in evidence. “I was just thinking how much I would appreciate some company, but I didn’t imagine I find would someone half as pretty as you."

"Whoa there.” With a gentle hand he took her elbow helping to steady her whether or not she needed steadying. “I hope you don’t find me rude but are you feeling all right?”

Marvin glanced around the crowded club. He knew that he would have to get her outside to feed but to push her to leave to quickly might scare her away. His sharp eyes spied an open barstool at the counter.

He indicated the empty stool with a smile at her and a polite tilt of his head. “Why don’t we go and relax for a bit and you can tell me your name.” He grasped her suddenly again as if she had stumbled anew. He knew he had a good chance of fooling her into thinking that she was worse off than she really was. Humans were quite easy to manipulate like this, it was part of their charm.

“Or maybe some fresh air would do wonders in helping you to clear your head? A few deep breaths of this wonderful LA air will do so nicely to bring colour to your lovely cheeks.” Marvin finished this off with a gentle and caring smile.
Scholar
#935 Old 15th Jan 2009 at 8:40 PM
Default Seraphina, Fitzroy, then Melody and Melissa - Malkavian Mansion and then Club Envy
"Discretion's me middle name," John spoke, his eyes alit with a clandestine fire in response to Seraphina’s absorbing gaze, speaking to her of and out of the depths that his countenance concealed that discretion should indeed be his middle name, for his own sake as well as for that of others.
Should it be Seraphina’s too? Just for now? Should she keep secrets, or should she delve into them? Her own and others? How treacherous was discretion if it allowed her the contemplation of saving a sinner?

"Ah well," John tore himself from his contemplations, his words seeming to reach to Seraphina in the darkness of her mind as she wondered who the sinners were and thus, why the prey were who they were. "Yeh've already agreed to me stated proice. Ah don't see any reason to impose any further on yer good graces.”
For that, Seraphina simply graced him once more with a subtle smile, wordlessly thanking him once more for his services, for without him, she would not know the name of the one who gave her what she’d yearned for; someone to care for and someone who cared for her in return. And John thus gave her the choice between punishment and reward, or whether one was the other, to liberate Harold from his immortal prison.

“Even better,” he further offered. “Ah'll let ye know if any further developments come t'loight.”

“That would be most appreciated, Mr Fitzroy,” she thus replied softly, unsure somehow of whether the words had left her lips or not, and yet, feeling as though they didn’t matter at all, for regardless of when or where Harold was found, his soul was already condemned and soon, his earthly presence would follow.

Regardless of whether she’d spoken or not, and regardless of whether he’d heard her words or not, John soon produced the object of his affections, the dark feline form etching it’s eyes into her memory as the sadness inside it’s non-cognitive soul somehow understood the pain of the separation it was soon to endure, even before it had to endure it. Such was the fate of a ghoul. And there he suddenly was, held within her arms almost like a fragile infant.

"'E knows better than t'be any trouble to ye," John explained as he then produced a flask held by mortals to carry with them the cure to their misery, though in so many ways, that was what it held for the cat nestled in Seraphina’s arms. Blood. Wasn’t that where it all began and ended?

”It's been a pleasure doin' business with ye,” came the conclusion of a most informative meeting, as both participants paid their respects before the visitor left, seemingly in disregard for the being for whom he’d given up so much and yet, Seraphina’s knowledge speaking to her of his affection for the animal, through his lack of demonstration of it.

“Mariska,” she thus called, her secretary soon rushing into the room, her rainbow hued hair trailing behind her along with the rag doll she insisted on possessing every waking moment, dragged in one hand, the partial body armour she wore clanging it’s way into the previously serene room to find her almost bridal-clad mistress standing before the window, cooing to a black cat that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.
This wasn’t particularly out of the ordinary.

“I want you to see to it that our guest,” she began, indicating to the animal within her arms, now that her beloved snake had been coiled around the armrest of her hair, his hungry eyes poised at the animal for just a moment’s opportunity, forked tongue tasting the anticipated moment and yet in fear of his mistress’s wishes. “… Is well looked after… and fed his supplement at the required times.” There, she handed the increasingly confused cat over to it’s new carer, then making one final command. “Our guest is to be exceptionally cared for.”

With that, Mariska soon took her leave, the sound of her clanging attire echoing down the hallway as Seraphina ordered that the files regarding Harold Schumacher be brought in, along with the information amassed regarding the car that Melissa had led her to. And sure enough, the evidence gave her enough reason and means, to condemn him to the hellfire for a final time.
And yet… she wanted to thank him, not because he’d endangered them all, but for what he’d done for her, what he’d given his Primogen as a result, despite his actions possibly seeming detrimental to her authority. And then she wanted him to burn.
However… she didn’t need to thank him… only the desire to do so and thus instead, she would pray in vain for peace of his soul.

And soon, it was done, one phone call to the Prince, Damian informed of who, how and where he was most likely to be found, for Seraphina saw the point in knowing where each of her clan members were most likely to be located and thus, even if he wasn’t in his haven, Harold had to run to one of those places for comfort and she hoped that he did indeed find the peace he sought, for a short while before the wolves came to his door.
Having done the deed, she descended into the chair, in utter stillness as her world suddenly seemed to begin it’s halt, finally waiting so that she could match it’s pace, to find herself in synchronisation with it again, only to be betrayed once more as the slicing sound of her phone ringing shot it’s daggers through the air. Ah, yes… Mariska was still away…

“My lady!” came the shrill voice, fighting through the noise that plagued it’s background, seemingly calm anxiety, his unique ability to seem utterly unfazed when he bore inner turmoil, whistling into the room as Seraphina soon tuned into what Jasper felt, in a moment seized by concern regarding Melissa’s safety… he’d have hell to pay if he let her come to harm. Though… if she hadn’t trusted in his capabilities, she wouldn’t have sent him with her to begin with… but should she have sent Melissa at all?

“Jasper,” she commanded calm and soothed it into his mind with one single word, wishing to learn what the problem was as soon as possible. “Whatever it is, tell me it’s fixable.”

And soon enough, he spilled the words, at how Melissa had seemingly broken during the gig and resigned herself to the filthy floor of that ungodly establishment, only accepting the company of an unnamed ghoul in her times of duress. There was no question as to what Seraphina soon did.
Thus, there she was, effortlessly invited into the club, the slender form draped in the long ivory dress commanding attention that mixed awed admiration with bemused bewilderment as she seemed to float towards the bar, the crowds separating out subtly before her as she approached, soon deciding that she had to be some deluded mortal playing out a prank before returning to their business as Jasper almost fearfully met her gaze. If anyone saw anything, Seraphina would have to use Disciplines to ensure that they thought otherwise.
“It’s alright,” she spoke simply to him, her voice spelling out it’s silken comfort before she turned her attentions to the beautiful young ghoul who had kept Melissa from committing a masquerade violation, turquoise seeming to reach into cerulean as she waited until her gazes locked.

“You’re a gift to our kind,” came the small token of gratitude from the Primogen to the nameless ghoul, for keeping Melissa from the prying eyes that would have led to her violating their laws and thus laid her neck on the guillotine under the Prince’s order. Seraphina had to be careful in deciding where Melissa was allowed to wander during such early times. The face of one age and the eyes speaking another, she’d been a ghoul for some time in mortal years and those that were of that vein often desired to leave behind their mortal years. Then, a small need to offer the girl something valuable in return for her assistance, a few words to prompt her to consider whether she wanted to give away what some Kindred yearned so much for came forth on Seraphina’s lips; “Do you truly wish surrender to our curse?”

With that, her slender arm reached out to Melissa as she remained in her hiding place, Seraphina’s and Jasper’s forms blocking the visual access to the scene that transpired, in case there bloodstained tears reprised.

“It’s alright,” she soothed once more, her hand gently stroking the raven tresses of the childe as a mother would. “I’m here to make it better.”

(((OOC: SO sorry for the delay! WannabeSith, Atropa and Ghanima, I hope that works for you guys. If not, just let me know )))

"Life is just a chance to grow a soul" - A. Powell Davies
Retired Moderator
retired moderator
Original Poster
#936 Old 16th Jan 2009 at 10:50 PM
Default Adrien and Lena - alleyway
If there was just one thing that Adrien had learned from his encounters with Chatterbox so far - there were actually plenty, but let's presume for a moment that there was just one - it would be that the two of them rarely shared the same view of pretty much any matter, regardless of what it was. Well, yes, granted, they both obviously disliked vampires enough to be willing to do something about them, but just as obviously, their individual reasons why shared very few similarities, as did their ways of dealing with them. And everything else, too, for that matter. Chatterbox was playful and flirty, trying her darndest to manipulate and play games, whereas Adrien, with her, had taken the approach of being fairly straightforward, remained unaffected by her impishness and her smiles, and had now begun to tire of it all. He was no longer any more interested in dodging her games than he was in playing them, and since playing games was all she seemed capable of doing, regardless of what mask she decided to wear while doing it, he was done. She had gotten plenty of chances to make good use of this rather exclusive encounter with a living (well, kind of) legend, and still all she could do was to horse around, seemingly blind to what she stood to possibly gain from actually appealing to him, instead of trying to find his buttons and push them all at once. Whatever he said, she either disregarded the rather valid points therein completely, or she twisted it around into something that even it's father - in this case Adrien - could just barely recognize, often adding a bit of attempted ridicule or impish humor in the process as well, and thus never appearing to think this to be anything more than just another game. If at any point at all during their brief acquaintance, she had appeared fully serious about anything, Adrien sure as h*ck couldn't remember it. There was always that everpresent mischief in her eyes, and the silky smoothness of her voice, much like a Siren's song calling her victims to her, before dragging them down with her, into the deadly depths of the sea. And had Adrien been a lesser man, he might've actually fallen for it.
But he wasn't, nor had he ever been. Not since his career as a hunter had begun.

A shame it was really, that she was being so completely ignorant of who she was dealing with, as well as the convenience of striking up... not a friendship, exactly, since Adrien didn't have any friends, nor did he want them, but more of a... civil business acquaintance with him. One would only need even the slightest hint of an imagination, to realize what such a duo could accomplish. Because, all her annoying antics and flaws aside, she was skilled. More skilled than many of the Kindred that had come after him even. And that was saying something, because despite his tendency to vanish into thin air, there had been times when he'd had Kindred on his tail - though in light of the length of his career, they were rare occasions indeed - or when his target had managed to put up a fight before he'd extinguished that feral glow in their eyes forever. Furthermore, he himself wouldn't have gotten nearly as good as he was, had he not gotten a chance to measure himself against the best. Now, consequently, he was among them, and their number had greatly decreased.
It was just too bad that little Miss Chatterbox just would not recognize it.

Then again, it was really her loss more than it was his, because while he did indeed stand to gain something from a continued affiliation of the civil kind, she really did stand to gain more. Thus, while if she didn't realize what she did stand to gain, he missed out on something, she missed out on alot more. So yes, it would indeed be her loss far more than it would be his. Though it was a pity she didn't seem likely to even realize that.

It all just went on to prove what he had thought from the very start. Despite all insight he had tried to offer her, she was still clearly standing still on square one; she didn't get him. And it wasn't likely that she ever would. For even if she realized that what she was doing was annoying him, and even if it was her intention to do so, she clearly didn't grasp the consequences of it; that all she really managed to do, was to rob herself of the chance of a lifetime.
And with that in mind, it really was no use wasting more of his time on her, was there? If the past and the present evenings had not managed to make her see the light, it wasn't likely to change, even in the face of persistence. Not even Adrien's.

"I'm used to more", she declared in reply of his highly rhetorical question.

Yes, of course. Of course she would say that, because far be it from her to offer anything of a more serious nature in reply to anything he said. Even with his changed tactics - a move that in itself was meant to let her know that he was looking for her to provide something other than what she had so far - she maintained hers, and by doing so, only rooted him even more firmly in his decision to take his leave of her as soon as possible.
But then all of a sudden;

"And don't do that", she added in a voice that - lo and behold - just when he'd given up, suggested a glimpse of actual gravity, a glimpse of genuine, unmasked displeasure. "You're about as much a vampire as I am a ghoul."

Well! It was about bloody time, wasn't it? Finally, at long last, she was showing a bit of recognition, and saying something actually worth hearing. For while her tone of voice may not be a flattering one, her words still did suggest that, despite her behaviour, she thought more of him than she did just any random vampire, or hunter for that matter. Good girl. It only took her three entire nights and two rather lengthy encounters to see it, but still; good girl. Had Adrien been a religious man, he might've even given a resounding 'hallelujah'.
Maybe there was some hope for her after all?

Although, while she did make some progress, most people don't reach perfection in an instant, and neither did Chatterbox; there was still one thing that she missed. Throughout their entire 'acquaintance', she'd made it clear that the words she spoke held only the meaning she had decided to grant them at the time, and that said meaning was in no way constant; if her mood or intentions changed, so might the meaning of her words. Thus, when he had referred to himself as a vampire - as much as one could refer with gestures alone - he'd done it not with his own view in mind, but rather what he had figured might be hers.

Therefore, before delivering his reply, he tilted his head to the side once more, only this time not in curiousity or amusement, but in mild reproach of her thinking he had been illustrating his perspective, instead of the one she had given him plenty of reasons to assume was hers.
But he didn't comment on it. Instead, he focused on offering appreciation for what he deemed to be desired behaviour. At least partly.

"Glad you finally decided to notice", he said with a slight smirk, although one lacking his usual arrogance.

He then leaned in ever so slightly, his torso brushing up against hers as her slender frame still refused to give way, and whispered with his lips right next to her ear;

"Good night."

With that, he then simply slid past her without giving her a second glance, and his long legs began eating up the distance between himself and the opening of the alleyway. Pleased with her current change in behaviour, but not yet satisfied, he was making his exit, before she had a chance to ruin it all yet again.

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
#937 Old 17th Jan 2009 at 1:07 AM
Default Kat and Marvin
“Why Hello yourself. I was just thinking how much I would appreciate some company, but I didn’t imagine I find would someone half as pretty as you." The man's British accent slightly startled Kat. What were the chances that she would run into anybody with that accent? She was flattered at both his comment and smile. He quickly grabbed her elbow, suprisingly gentle, though nothing was really wrong.

"Whoa there. I hope you don't find me rude, but are you feeling alright?"

I feel fine. What is he doing? Is that one of those lame pick up lines that everybody rolls their eyes at? The man was quickly looking around the club, looking for a table. Whole he was doing so, Kat contemplated the possiblity of her actually not looking alright. There was the possiblity that the man could be an middle aged man, and Kat was just under the influence of beer goggles. No, that's not possible. All British guys are hot. I mean just look at Johnny Depp. It seemed the man had seemed to find a place to sit, at the bar. Just what she needed, more alcohol.

"Why don't we relax for a bit and you can tell me your name." The man grabbed her again, but she didn't stumble. At least she didn't think she did.
“Or maybe some fresh air would do wonders in helping you to clear your head? A few deep breaths of this wonderful LA air will do so nicely to bring colour to your lovely cheeks.” The man winked at her, but she didn't notice, to distressed at the comment about her color. She was sure now that she was going to pass out at any second, when in reality, she was just fine. Kat raised her left hand to ther hairline, holding her head and pushing a little of her hair out of the way.

"Maybe," she said, flustered, "maybe we should go outside. I'm feeling a little lightheaded. Maybe its just how loud it is in here." Kat began to seriously worry about her composure and health.

"Do I really look that bad?"

(((ooc: Sorry its a little uninspired. I had a major final today and was cramming all day yesterday)))
Retired Moderator
retired moderator
Original Poster
#938 Old 17th Jan 2009 at 1:10 AM
Default Valerian and Claudia - Valerian's personal chambers at The Haven
Always and forever on a quest for intimacy and affection, always hungry for a little bit of tenderness, or even rough possession, if fuelled by a heart filled with heat or desire, the best way of offering Valerian a bit of comfort and to soothe whatever anxieties might be plaguing his fragile being, was physical closeness. In that regard, he was very much like the child many thought him, in part, to be, soon lulled into complacency by a mother's or, as was mostly the case with Valerian, a lover's gentle touch; by their reassurance that they were closeby and that they truly cared for him. Simple words might do the trick as well, but to someone whose very essence supported the idea that the heart was stronger than any words, any thoughts, and the whole sphere of logical reasoning, nothing could ever hold the same potency, as a simple touch.

Consequently, being painfully aware that he had given Claudia all the reason that she, being who she was, would usually need in order to simply push him away when he sought to get closer, denying him what she knew he yearned for the most, in order to bring him to his knees, it came as such a relief to him when instead of putting her hands against his chest and forcing him to back away, she pulled him closer to her ever so slightly, almost as though she was looking to reassure him just like he was trying to reassure her. Recieving that encouraging answer to his silent plea, it instantly prompted Valerian to wrap his arms around her waist, lest she'd change her mind and withdraw from him. For even though he couldn't percieve that ill-boding glint in her eyes, that usually appeared when she was just about to take away what she had seemed to be about to give, in order to force him into submission, the past couple of years had offered him enough experience of similar situations - though in all honesty not ones where her primary reaction had been hurt, and not anger - to know that just because he didn't see it, it didn't mean it wasn't there. After all, he hadn't been lying, nor even exaggerating, when telling her that sometimes he just didn't know what to expect of her. And most of the time, she actually seemed to prefer it that way.
Or so he'd thought. Given the course of the conversation so far, he was beginning to doubt that was the case, since she seemed genuinely disheartened by what she thought to be his lack of trust in her.

And indeed, much to yet another shiver of relief in him, it seemed that this time around, Claudia truly was no more in the mood for playing games than he was, and so instead of turning onto a path smelling of trouble and acid, a narrow one where he'd have to watch his every step not to incite yet another lashing of her sharp tongue, she merely gazed back at him, complete gravity in her piercing blue eyes.

"I'm thinking of the ways that this could endanger you", she replied to his question, carefully avoiding giving him an actual straightforward answer. "And how I simply won't – can't – let that happen."

However, while Valerian might not always feel as though he knew what to expect of her, he did still know her well enough to read between the lines. And that reply of hers was most definitely an affirmative; ways of hauling him out of the entire mess, was exactly what she was thinking of, as well as ways of making Aeode someone else's "problem". Or possibly no longer a problem at all.

Yet the first expression to appear on his face was a smile. A smile at her words, because regardless of whatever other thoughts were going through her mind, concern for him seemed to be the most poignant one. And it warmed his heart to not only know it, but to have her admit it as well. Even though she had already confessed her innermost feelings on the matter to him a minute ago, it still warmed his heart to hear it again, just as much as it did the first time. Occasions such as these were so very rare to him, where Claudia was concerned, and thus he lapped up every last fragment of them, cherished every moment that they lasted. Even if they hadn't been all that rare, he still would have, because he knew what it cost her to reveal such vulnerability to him, even though to an outsider it was still hidden behind layers of authority, strength and self-assurance. And had there been something less important at stake, than the life of an innocent girl who was merely trying to deal with what knowledge someone else had thrown at her, without making sure she could handle it, without making sure that she did handle it, he might have even given in and let Claudia have her way, let her do what would have made her rest easier.
But for Aeode's sake, and for his own peace of mind, he couldn't. He had to follow through, and do his best to try and help her.

Thus, following the initial and warm smile, was it's ebbing away, in favour of concern returning to the shimmer in his eyes as he looked at his partner.

"Claudia, please let me try", he intoned, his gaze momentarily roaming her features in search of any sign of her impending reaction to his plea. "I know I did you wrong by not telling you, and I'm sorry. I really am sorry. But please, Claude... She's a good kid. She deserves a chance."

Then, his words started pouring out of him faster, almost as though he was afraid that she might react or interrupt, putting an end to the conversation, before he'd had a chance to fully state his case, and whatever circumstances might persuade her allow him to follow through.

"You could keep an eye on things, if you'd like", he hurried to say, indicating that there would be nothing more kept from her. "Just in case. You know I'd really value your input and your advice. If you'd be willing to give it, that is? And I also have a friend who's offered to help, and so even though it's a big commitment, it really won't require all that much of my time. I promise."

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
Field Researcher
#939 Old 17th Jan 2009 at 5:20 AM
Default Mieke Uehara-Kuhn - Human

name Born: Mieke Chiemi Kuhn || Goes by: Mieke Uehara-Khun

age Twenty seven

willingness to be a ghoul or embraced I wouldn't say that Mieke would
be thrilled about leaving her perfect life behind. However, I do believe that
she would most likely attract a Ventrue (and, with enough coaxing, she might
actually agree). Toreadors could also be in the running (but there are so
many Tories!), and Malks would make for an interesting story.
Basically, if it fits, drop me a line and we'll discuss it - hint hint nudge nudge.

occupation Ex-model turned manager/pr of Deep Models -
a high profile modelling agency based in various cities around the world

bio
Born on the island of Okinawa, Mieke was primed and prepped for world
domination from the very beginning. Born of mixed blood, her mother
being Japanese and her father being a German-American naval officer,
Mieke grew up multi-lingual - not only learning her parents' languages,
but German, French, Spanish, and Italian, as well. This was all due to
the trio's constant travelling.

Discipline was first and foremost in the Kuhn household and Mieke was
expected to excell not only as a student but as a lady, as well. Her
childhood consisted of voice and speaking classes, violin and piano lessons,
sailing with her father, and etiquette classes on top of her home schooling.

This is not to say that Mieke Uehara-Kuhn grew up sheltered. It was the
exact opposite, really. Worldly and open-minded, Mieke learned through
her travels and experience what it took to make it in the world.

However, a turn of events lead her in a completely opposite direction than
originally intended. The Kuhn's were based in Italy at the time and a
fourteen year old Mieke caught the eye of a manager of a modelling agecy.

From the start, Mieke had her mother's exotic looks. Yet it was her father's
height - which, initially was a hinderance - that made Mieke what she was.

Tall for her age, the lanky pre-teen still managed to carry herself with grace
and poise which lead to her start in the modelling world. She was tauted as
the next best thing and did not disappoint.

Years later, she was the face of various perfumes, designer labels, shoes, and
a certain well-known French-designer's muse. She was feautured in catwalks
from New York to Tokyo. And don't think she was just another pretty face.
Mieke made it to the top through sheer determination, business savvy, and
utter confidence.

Despite her rigorous modelling schedule, Mieke still found time for studies,
always knowing that beauty could carry her only so far. She put herself
through University in Paris and graduated with honours in 'gestion des
entreprises' (business management). Upon completion of her degree, she
immediately started finding her way up.

Now, don't think she used her looks to get to where she is. There was no
bedding of bosses, no brown-nosing, no 'do you know who I am?'. She
got to where she is now through fierce determination, ingrained discipline
and an inherent need to be something more. She wanted to run the thing.

Now Mieke is a true woman to behold. Best described as cold, fierce, and
cutthroat, Mieke is a force to be reckoned with. She's gone from being a
model on the cover of a magazine to running one of the biggest agencies in LA.

At the age of twenty seven, Mieke has no desire to slow down. Or settle.
She believes there's more to be done. A perfectionist to the point that it's
almost a fault, she carries an autocratic air about her. She's a no nonsense
kind of woman who is happily independent. A man - or woman, in her mind,
would only hold her back, slow her down. That's not to say she doesn't
have fun..

Mieke Uehara-Kuhn has a love of all things style. She lives in a luxurious
penthouse in the city's hub, spends her days in designer duds and heels,
adores jewelry, and is the sort who always looks flawless, regal, and
elegant yet with an intense, untamed edge.

She knows that money, knowledge, and contacts equal power and she
works hard to keep all at full capacity. She lives a fast life, but does it smart.

[[ May be edited in the future ]]


picture(s)





(pixillated version up soon - these will do till then)

[[ Mieke and myself are open to storylines..
Will be adding my Brujah character once I get his bio all sorted out
]]

// sun is in the sky oh why, oh why would I wanna be anywhere else //
Scholar
#940 Old 17th Jan 2009 at 4:34 PM
Default character app - Lola Dmitriev
((yay, kelsa ))

Human

Name:
Lola Dmitriev

Age:
15

Willingness to become a ghoul or embraced:
Her nightmares make her terrified of the idea. She would not want to be a ghoul or embraced. OOC, I'm open to the idea given the right plot.

Occupation:
At night, Lola works in a Sexy Java shop. It’s basically a little shack in the middle of a parking lot that people drive up to in order to get coffee from a girl in a revealing outfit.

Bio/Description
Almost every teenage girl dreams of love. She dreams of strong, fast men. Men who will sweep her off her feet, pluck her out of a dreary life, and fill her world with fire. A man under whose touch her body can blossom into a woman's. And in her dreams, she gives herself to him completely, and he, in turn, is hers.

Somewhere, Lola still dreams about such fanciful things. Somewhere, she yearns for those teenage fantasies. Somewhere.

Lola is a girl who grew up too fast. At the age of 11, she already had breasts the size of C-cups and the attention of older men with desires far removed from those of a teenage girl’s. And at that tender age, she dated a boy 7 years her senior who ended her childhood permanently. She thought he loved her, and the realization that she had been used ravaged her teenage heart. What began after that was not the starry-eyed teenage life she should have had. What began after was the jaded world of womanhood.

Lola is a cynic. To her, that means being realistic and honest about the world around her. She puts on a tough countenance and speaks with irreverence and blunt sarcasm. She tries to act aloof and doesn't let herself become too emotionally attached to anything or anyone. After all, once she reveals that she cares about something, it can just be used to hurt her later. Unwilling to let others do it first, she will often be matter-of-fact about pointing out her own failings. It's better to admit your weaknesses and act like you don't care than to let someone else make the first strike.

Inside, she is a vulnerable girl who has been burned one too many times. Despite her best efforts to control it, her vulnerability and sensitivity will occasionally come bubbling up in shows of emotion. Though she would never admit it, she would still love to be swept off her feet by Prince Charming. However, she thinks that she is doomed to continue dating jerks for the rest of her life.

Ever since she began menstruating, Lola gets nightmares so horrifying that she hardly sleeps during the night anymore. Instead, she sleeps for short periods of time during the day, often in school, and she rarely lets herself sleep for longer than 3 hours. The dreams often have metaphorical clairvoyant messages, but they are too oblique for her to understand. This prolonged sleep deprivation has mildly affected her acuity. Lola regularly sees a shrink about her nightmares, but has yet to make any progress in reducing them.

Lola has several major emotional outlets. She is an excellent artist, and her paintings and drawings are highly sophisticated for her age—professional quality. They usually depict heavy themes, a mix of the imagery from her nightmares and the distilled angst of her sex life. Once she finishes her disturbing pieces, she covers them and rarely looks at them again.

In addition, one of her ex-boyfriends taught her how to shoot a gun while trying to impress her, and since then she regularly goes to a shooting range to practice. She finds comfort in the sense of control and power. Aside from an isolated incident of one of her ex-boyfriends trying to knock her around, which ended their relationship, Lola has never been in a fight.

Lola is 15 years old. She has blonde hair with highlights and tanned skin. Her body is curvaceous and developed, but her face still looks young and fresh. She dresses casually, like a high school or college student, in clothes that are more revealing than normal. She is well aware of the effect her appearance has on men. She has blue-gray eyes that have the wearied look of a blasé cynic.

She lives with her mother who refuses to tell Lola anything at all about her father except that he was a good man. Her mother is a quiet, introspective woman who reads all the time and works as a librarian. Financially, they are lower-middle class.

Pics





.:Kitty Klan:.
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Scholar
#941 Old 17th Jan 2009 at 6:04 PM
Default Lola - in her apartment
Earlier in the night:

The girl runs frantically across her vast, twisting dreamscape, a gray landscape with mountains like shark's teeth. Her mind is flooded with pure terror. It pushes out all other thoughts, fills every muscle, screams at her faster, faster, faster. Behind her, she can sense, hear, taste, smell it at her heels. The beast is closing in, and she is running for her life.

The earth below her warps and sucks her down to her knees. It's thick like black tar, the kind that claimed the lives of the dinosaurs and creatures even more ancient and bestial. Her momentum flings her flat, pushing her face against the sticky ground. A wave of panic floods her brain, rattling her soul with the grim realization of what comes next.

Straining every inch of her body, she twists over to look into oblivion, to look at the beast, and it's like staring into the face of a horrible god--terrifying, powerful, and utterly incomprehensible. Its monstrous body shifts through varied forms so quickly they layer upon one another, all existing at once. It is a thirteen headed dragon with one thousand glowing eyes, a snarling lion with a mane full of writhing snakes and teeth dripping with thick, stringy spit, a man with three blurred faces breathing hotly on her neck. His eyes flash at her in a penetrative gaze, and she is compelled.

Willingly, she yields herself to him, and he defiles her. One long serpent slithers down her throat,and snakes through her viscera. He violates her body to the core, devouring her, sending out unimaginable waves of agony as he slakes his monstrous hunger inside of her. She can't move, can't even scream, and as the pain mounts higher and higher, she reaches her limit.

She bites down, and the head of the snake comes off her in mouth. From its open neck, an unrelenting fountain of blood pours out, dark and heady. She coughs and chokes, refusing it. As the downpour threatens to drown her, she swallows his black poison.

And in that instant, she knows why children instinctively fear the dark, why the night makes the wolves howl, the cats scream, and the bats come out in droves. Unspeakable horror, all-consuming, ever-present, ancient, chthonic, malevolent. We are not alone.

In that instant, they know each other.

---

In an LA apartment, Lola's eyes flick open wide with terror. Her chest shoots up straight like a rake that's just been stomped on, and her breath comes out hard between her gasps. Her heart pounds in her chest like a jackhammer, threatening to bust open her ribs. It takes a minute for her to register her familiar surroundings--the mass-produced Navajo ochre paint of the walls, the colorful pony dolls from a childhood long forgotten, and the collection of paint canvases facing the corner like naughty children.

She's in her bedroom. It's 8:38pm. She slept 3 1/2 hours. No f***ing wonder.

Beside her, a warm body stirs gently. Still half-asleep, he blindly reaches one arm out for her and she pulls away from his touch. Nate.

Nate, the man who came to her tonight for sex while his body was still laced with the teasing, flowery scents of another woman's perfume. Nate, the man she's been f***ing for the past two months and who's been cheating on her for half the time. Nate, her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, Nate. The Nate who's been using her the entire time they've been together. That Nate.

Still naked, Lola slips out of bed and heads into the shower. The water hits her skin, and the filth from their encounter becomes slippery again, wanton, then washes down the drain to join the rats and used rubbers in the sewers below. She dries off and slips into a black silk negligee that hugs her curves and reveals the shape her nipples underneath its slinky fabric. Not the most considerate thing to wear when breaking up with a man, but she doesn't care. Let him suffer.

Sidling up to the bedside, she rouses him. "Nate... wake up. It's over."

"Wha--?" Nate mumbles with sleep still heavy in his voice.

"It's over," Lola repeats with finality. "Between us. I know about you and Clarice."

At the sound of the other woman's name, his body tenses and he sits up. His eyes search for an excuse. Finding none, he denies it forcefully. Too forcefully "What? No... we never... I never--!"

"What kind of dickhead do you think I am?" Lola snaps back. Her eyes flash with more hurt than she'd like to betray. That lying son of a b****.

She wasn't stupid. When she met him, she knew he'd never love her. She knew he'd end up cheating on her. She knew it. But she f***ed him anyway because she was using him as much as he was using her. Because for a brief time with their bodies locked together, she was the center of his universe. In a transcendental moment of carnality, he needed her. And now, she needed him to love her, knowing he never would.

Evenly, bitterly, Lola continues. "Tonight was it--one last time. Just get your s*** and go."

Without further fuss, Nate swings out of bed naked. He spends a few minutes finding his clothes and putting them on. He rifles through a few shelves for his old CDs and grabs the change of clothes that Lola keeps in her closet for him. When he's done, he walks out of her life for good.

Lola turns away from the door that Nate disappeared through. She looks at her easel, at the fresh blank canvas beckoning her. She lets out a long breath over her lips, dabs a brush in thinned Prussian blue, and roughly sketches. From nothingness, the beast comes alive on canvas.

She is alone again. Good. Fine. Better off that way.


((OOC: Just an intro post to get me started on fleshing out the character. Not approachable atm, but open to ideas via PM))

.:Kitty Klan:.
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Field Researcher
#942 Old 17th Jan 2009 at 10:02 PM
Default Noah & Aeode Mallard - Outside Club Envy, Outside The Haven
#29 [Night #13]

When Aeode crossed the street infront of Club Envy, Noah followed her without a sound. He remained silent when she bought her food and when they started walking to where she lived. He didn't know what to say, and he was actually pretty surprised that she had let him accompany her in the first place. Even if he had both wanted and wished to, he didn't have much going for him when it came to her trusting him, or even wanting to be near him. But there they were; walking side by side, and though not having much of a dialogue, they walked in peace. Aeode was the one who did the talking, and Noah took care of the listening.

"Funny how things work out sometimes..." she said, but it seemed to be more of a comment to something she had thought of, that something he should reply to.

Though Noah, eager to learn more about her, tried to decipher what she could mean. It could be the easier option - that her assailant was now walking her home, like there was nothing to it. Like he hadn't scared her senseless at one point. But there could be more to it, another dimension that Noah just couldn't see. He hadn't been human for years upon years, and he did originally come from a people that was still listening to the nature when others built train tracks. It could be that his simple upbringing was too complicated for the modern world, that by not seeing all the layers, he saw everything more clearer and thus not understanding all the obstacles that kept people occupied. Though, being aware of this fact did help him to understand when he didn't understand at all.

"Here we are: my workplace-slash-residence."

Noah looked at Aeode, and then on the sign above The Haven. He had been so busy noticing her, that he hadn't realized where they were going. Was she really both living and working at Valerian's place? Something about that realization didn't sit well with Noah, and the reason for that could be a myriad of things. Within the simple Native American that was Noah, resided deep canyons and caves, ready for him to lose himself in. He tried to uncover the true nature of the feeling that took hold of him. It started in his stomach, and made its way up through his chest. Was it bewilderment? Maybe he was just puzzled that the place the Malkavian had pointed him towards seemed to be the Rome where all roads led. If Aeode lived there, it could mean she lived with Valerian. But then again, if she worked there, it could mean something else. After all, he was a Kindred and she was not. Falling for members of the human race was rarely a good thing. Princes didn't approve an Embraces based upon infatuation. Valerian had probably just been kind, giving her a place to stay. Then why did Noah feel bad about the whole thing? An emotion of the darker side crept in every corner of his being, tugged at his senses, telling him that it was threatening something. He was still more man than animal, and that meant he could play the games humans did, and let it all sink back into his mind like it had never been there. If he acted like everything was fine, no one would ask him questions. It was a code they had, something that could be ironclad, foolproof and keep dirty little secret hidden for years. Humans were fascinating, but odd.

"Hey, Annie."

Noah's attention shifted to the man who had uttered the words, since Aeode turned to his direction and waved. Judging from his attire, it was a doorman at The Haven, similar to the one who had let Noah in, if not the exact same one. He called Aeode by a different name, or it could just be a nickname. Whatever the reason, it was none of Noah's business. Especially since they didn't really know each other, and because Noah himself didn't use his real name. Though one could argue that it was in fact his real name, that it was given to him to mark his new life - not totally unfamiliar with the way the Cheyenne saw things. He had two names, one for his days under the sun, and one for the nights that belonged to the moon. And to him, the name Noah felt as real as the blood in his veins. While the other one, Maiyun, had gone with the wind. To call himself that, would be to say that he was worthy of his legacy. To be forgiven might not be entirely impossible, but it could as well be, given how deserted he was.

"Long story", she said, as if she felt she needed to explain herself. "But anyway, this is where I stay at...for now. Thanks for, er...for this. I know it's probably not what you had planned for tonight either."

The latter was said after some hesitation, and Noah gathered that no words could really manage to sum up what she thought of the passed evening. It was almost as if he couldn't believe it himself, and he was allowed to whitness anything, whether it was natural or supernatural. Where as she only did so by the permission of a man she knew nothing of. The "higher ranks" that Valerian had spoken of. Noah couldn't imagine what it would be like to even suspect that someone else ruled over your very existance. Though, in a way, they were all subjected to the whim of the Prince that governed the domain they happened to be in. Humans could be innocent, but never a vampire. Those who knew about the shadows and what went on in them had a responsibility to uphold a law that was more for the protection of the humans, than the Kindred. Noah's race was truly lethal, and only the sun held them back. If vampires ruled the world, would they change it dramatically, or just dress it up differently? There would still be politics, hidden agendas and people getting hurt. There might be another Dark Ages, since the humans would be allowed to live, but most likely only as food and slaves. Noah could see it clearly in his mind, as if it was a distant memory. He was grateful that they had a weakness that kept them chained. Probably not even his gods would be able to tell the impact the Kindred would have on the world if they could walk in full disclosure. They would take over, there was no question about that. And given who the leaders were now, the Ventrue, it wouldn't be pretty. To Noah, a single Ventrue might be possible to talk to, but as soon as they grew in numbers, illusions of grandeur seemed to get to them. Not totally unlike some humans.

"I don't really make plans", he said, thinking about what it actually entailed to do so. "This city has a way of turning the tables on you anyway."

Since he had come here to follow the signs that appeared to him, he didn't really see any point in trying to make any plans. If he did he might miss important information that only was available to those who remembered to open their eyes.

"If you stay at The Haven, I am afraid you might come across me again."

He said so, as if he truly thought he would do his best to avoid her, and if they met it would be her doing or just plain old serendipity. But he knew he couldn't walk the other way, if an opportunity to talk to her presented itself again. She was the only one who could stop him. His third night here, and he already felt exhausted, mentally. He had met perculiar members of the Kindred society, and now even such from the human world. But there was no turning back. The wastelands had nothing for him, not until he had found what he was looking for. The gods might never speak to him again, but he would find something that would make eternity bearable.







__________________________________________

((( ooc: Ghanima - Sorry for the delay!

robokitty & summerkelsa - Welcome! )))
Retired Moderator
retired moderator
Original Poster
#943 Old 18th Jan 2009 at 12:07 AM
Default Connor and Moira - backstage at Club Envy
(((ooc: summerkelsa and robokitty - Welcome! Glad to have you guys. )))


Sanity is a much peculiar thing. Never stagnant, even for a moment, as every day it's subjected to an endless string of trials and challenges, no matter how minor most of them they may be, there are times when if only given the right circumstances, it will bend ever so slowly, gradually adjusting to the pressure it's put under, and in by doing so, manages to bear even the heaviest of burdens. At other times, all it takes is a careless yet not even an overly forceful blow, to instantly break it, to shatter it into a million tiny pieces. Sanity can be one of the most resilient things in a human being, and at the same time, one of the most fragile, all depending on something as fickle and unpredictable as circumstance.

Currently, young Connor Hale could literally feel his sanity buckle under the weight of what he'd been told, about the world he'd always thought he'd known, and about his own place in it, and for a moment, he had been fearing that it truly would break. That it had already broken, and that he was now falling helplessly into an abyss of nonsensical thoughts and confusion, unable to grasp even something as simple as his usual way of thinking, or even feeling. Thoughts were still swirling in his head at breakneck speed, leaving him dizzy and downright dazed, although they had been considerably slowed down by Moira.

Yes, Moira. Even though she was undeniably the cause of his frazzled state in the first place, she was still also one of three things that each on their own were helping him cope. The first was the mind's ability to throw up a wall when reality presented it with too many things to deal with at once, keeping the majority at bay, and letting them in only one at a time. It was why even though there were a million questions darting through Connor's young mind, he was ultimately able to focus on just one, and start there.
Second was the sudden realization that despite this all being a most turbulent experience, with a reality of which he hadn't been aware crashing over him, it wasn't the first. He'd been through something similar before, when Moira had first told him about what she was, and the small fragments of what it entailed that had been his only knowledge of the matter up until now. That too had presented him with concepts so hard to grasp that it had taken him weeks and months to even make some kind of sense of it all. But that was just the point, that was exactly what dawned on him now, and what he began clinging to for dear life; no matter how long it had taken him to make sense of it, he had eventually managed to make sense of it. He had managed to grasp it, and understand it, at least partially, and so even though it might not feel like it right now, it may just be that he needed time. Time to come to terms with what he had just learned. Realization, and more importantly understanding would come to him when he was ready for it, and thus there was no use in forcing it. It would only cause him even more distress.
It was a thought that even though it didn't exactly ease his frustration, did still take some of the burden off his mind, and help him cope with the situation he was facing.

Then lastly there was, of course, Moira. For it was through her mere presence - the sound of her voice, and her touch burning through the fabric of his shirt as she had gently seized him by the shoulders - that his most dire anxieties were laid to rest. The look in her eyes as she gazed at him, the look that to Connor seemed as though it would've easily calmed even the most stormy sea, reached right through all the confusion enveloping his core, and touched his mind. Much like when someone dips a single fingertip into a dead calm sea, it sent tiny rings of serenity rippling through his being from within, ultimately manifesting themselves as tension seeping out of his shoudlers, causing them to slouch ever so slightly as relaxation, mingled with a good dose of pure and simple fatigue, started spreading through his limbs.
All due to a simple look in her eyes.

Though it didn't end there, and for that, Connor was eternally grateful, because even though she could so very easily convey to him what she was thinking by looking at him a certain way, there were still shards of last night's events piercing his memory, shards that'd had him questioning his own perception, and not entirely trusting that he truly saw what he think he saw. Therefore, when she reached up and brushed her knuckles gently against his cheek, in a sign that even a faulty sense of perception would correctly register as a sign of affection, it sent a wave of relief washing through him, and he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, thankful for every moment that it lasted.

"I like to think of you as my companion", she assured him as she slowly withdrew, and his eyes fluttered open to see the look on her face emphasize the meaning of the term.

It warmed his heart to register the gravity therein, for it was a term that even though she had just explained so many facts that in the world of the Kindred placed them miles apart, as far as social standing was concerned, it suggested as much equality as he imagined was possible, with the wide gap of time and experience that would always seperate them, and even the hierarchal differences that existed in the eyes of her kind.
At the same time, he couldn't help but to feel a sharp stab of pain in his heart, at the distinct absence of the words he himself would have used, and still had felt they weren't enough to do justice to what he felt for her.

And it was about to get worse.

"You have to understand though", Moira added, "what you mean to me and what you are to the rest of us are two different things: I have not shared this with anyone. To them you are my... retainer, and in London you are known as such, for your own protection. Politics."

It really didn't matter that she claimed it was politics, and for his own protection. The prase "I have not shared this with anyone" still hit him below the belt, as a vicious blow to his abdomen. For while he had already gathered that his kind - he had yet to accept the term 'ghouls', as it still left a foul taste in his mouth - were not highly thought of by the Kindred, it pained him to learn that Moira, the one he thought of as nothing less than the very love of his life, apparently not only wouldn't profess to the world that she loved him, but she'd even gone as far as to make the conscious effort not to tell a single soul about it. As though she was somehow ashamed of having feelings for him, as though it mattered more to her what others thought of her, than to acknowledge him for what she claimed to consider him to be.

Yes, indeed. If her lack of the term "love of my life" when explaining what he was to her, had stuck the knife into his heart, the term "I have not shared this with anyone" twisted it violently around, and for the first time, since as far back as he could recall, he willingly pulled away from her.
Though only slightly, as it was at that very moment she continued speaking, and the sound of her voice again was enough to halt his motion.

"But a servant? No, never", she said, most likely having witnessed his reaction, and quite possibly wrongly interpreted it to have more to do with the thrall aspect of it all than it really did; the terminology may still be hard for him to stomach, but his mind had ever so slowly started getting used to the concept. Not by far accepting it, but at least getting used to it. "Not to me. I care about you, and I want you to be confident about that. If I didn't, I wouldn't be here, it's as simple as that."

There she paused for a few moments and her gaze drifted off into the distance, while Connor himself fought to stay in control of his temper and his actions, fearing that if he failed, one of those violent tantrums he'd been known to throw would be the result, and he very much doubted it would raise Moira's opinion of him. Not to mention the fact that he really didn't want her to see him that way.

Thus, he tried hard to focus on the reassuring things she'd said instead. For even though some of it still pained him, she had also said quite a few things that were of great comfort to him, and so that was what he had to focus on; she did genuinly care about him. Regardless of being willing to admit it to others or not, she did care about him, and that mattered more than anything else. Which, he somewhat bitterly realized, sadly included his pride.

"I'm an old woman, Connor", Moira resumed as she returned from wherever her mind had wandered off to, and even though at the moment he found it difficult to look at her, knowing his eyes would betray him, and all but cry out to her what exactly was going on inside of him, he couldn't resist. "I may not look it, but I feel in my heart. Even among my kin I am Elder, and they treat me as such. But you still treat me like a woman, and for that, I am grateful. Always."

Those were words that, despite that dull, grinding ache still in his heart, managed to draw the shadow of a smile from his lips, because they indicated that he truly did have something to offer her, and that regardless of being considered inferior by her kind, it was something they couldn't give. Couldn't, or wouldn't, whichever it was. Despite her being older, and wiser, he still had something to offer her, something that she clearly valued. And after having felt, for most of their time together, that nothing he could give her, except his love, would be unique to her, it meant the world to him to hear her say it.

At the same time, her words brought back that myriad of questions that had been swarming his mind earlier, before the matter of the meaning they held to eachother had blasted them all into oblivion. The way that she talked about herself, as an elder even among other vampires, sent it all back to prod his mind, to tug at it's sleeves like an annoying child, demanding that he pay attention to it.
But he wasn't ready. He was still dealing with the aftermath of that one statement that now had him feeling almost numb.

Backing away from her, he then turned and took a few stumbling steps towards the couch, managing a mumbled "I need to sit down" in the process, before dropping feebly onto the cushioned piece of furniture and shoving his hands into his hair once more, while his elbows rested on his knees. There he remained, still and silent, as the seconds began ticking away. Silent, but not easily so. He was still battling himself, only this time his opponent was no longer his temper, but rather the urge to set off on some pathetic tirade, questioning why she hadn't told anyone about the true nature of their relationship, but instead had everyone thinking that he was nothing more to her than a mere servant. Because even though he may have every right to feel hurt, he did also feel that it would be pathetic, for him to whine like some spoilt child about not getting exactly what he wanted and, again, it probably wouldn't help improve her feelings for him. And even if he found a way to better express it, there was still the risk that accusations would come flying, and accusing her of not loving him enough was the last thing he wanted to do.

Consequently, he remained silent and unmoving at first, while fighting to push that all out of his mind - at least for now - and instead focus on something else. Because through this entire emotional ordeal, aside from the tumult of fear, gratitude and hurt, he'd gotten the feeling that Moira expected something of him, something he had yet to deliver, and so after taking a deep breath in an attempt to clear his head, his thoughts returning to all that she had told him earlier, he allowed his fingers to slip ut of his tangled tresses, and his arms to drop, while he raised his tired gaze to finally look at her again.

"Six hundred years...?" he said, starting where she herself had just more or less left off. "Why didn't you tell me that from the start? Why three hundred, why not six?"


(((ooc: I'm so sorry, he's totally emoing about bloody everything, and as odd as it sounds, I didn't know it would head in that direction when I started writing this post. Once again it simply wrote itself, so... What can you do? :shrug: )))

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
#944 Old 18th Jan 2009 at 9:44 PM
Default Marvin and Kate at Club Envy
Marvin grinned at the confused and slightly bewitched girl that he subtly kept a tight grip on. “No you look so lovely as I told you before. It just all the smoke and noise in here is a bit much, don’t you think. We will just step outside for a tick and return before you know it.”

In every guise of a concerned gentleman he started moving his pretty little victim towards the door. Without being obvious Marvin kept a weary eye towards the table under which the fledgling Malkavian continued to crouch. Of course he wasn’t the least worried about her, it was her Elder who had finally come to retrieve the little embarrassment that was of possible concern. As it would be quite obvious to anyone of experience exactly what he was up too. Not that he expected any Kindred to care that he was about to seriously alter this young girls life that he currently held in his hands. However he had learned before that at times nobility could fly out of the ass of anyone at any time so watch he did.

Upon reaching the entrance to the club he moved slightly ahead of his innocent companion opening the door for her as a gentleman should. Also it was amusing to give her the choice, to see if she would willingly walk outside to her own doom. “Oh and I’m so sorry, I haven’t introduced myself yet. My name is Marvin, just that. I would be honoured to have your name. It must be such a pretty name for such a pretty girl.”

Leaning his head against the door in a boyish way Marvin grinned at her as he waited for her to follow him outside or not. Knowing that if she did she never would stop following him. That was until he finally grew weary of the adoration that only a ghoul could give.

{{ OOC: Welcome to the new players! }}
Alchemist
#945 Old 18th Jan 2009 at 10:02 PM
Connor and Moira - Backstage at Club Envy


It couldn't have been avoided. Moira had considered it for a while, whether telling Connor precisely what he most wanted to hear in response to his question thus weaving a rose-tinted version of what their relationship truly was, would compensate for all the trials she'd already forced him through, placing acceptance closer within reach. Eager for that ultimate confirmation of her love, a love that matched his heat for heat, it would have been too easy, and no-one existed to disprove her words.

Or did they?

No matter how difficult, how painful it was, the greatest disservice she could have made Connor was to further deceive him about his position in relation to other Kindred, including her. Or rather, especially her. Like all ghouls, he was an extension of his Domitor, a fact that a sharp mind would notice and try to make use of, and therein lay the greatest danger for them both. Therefore, Moira couldn't spare him this last ordeal, and there was little comfort she could give him: the matter had already been decided.

The actual moment however proved far more trying than expected: there was a ripple of raw emotional turmoil as Connor pulled away from her if only slightly at the sound of words he had perhaps dreaded. Very much aware that only the Blood Bond was keeping him tethered, unable to storm out of the room in anger, Moira simply lowered her gaze momentarily before it drifted back into focus, compelling him to look beyond the immediate surface, and try to understand. She could imagine the sort of thoughts that must have been revolving around in his tormented brain: that she was too ashamed to admit to her peers that she loved a ghoul, someone inferior. That maybe she didn't love him nearly as much as she claimed to. His emotions and human conditioning didn't allow him to see the big picture, one that Moira's vampiric eyes glimpsed perhaps a little too easily. A Primogen's entourage was an item of interest, and Connor's presence had of course not gone unnoticed; there had been in fact no comments made on the matter by Moira herself, but rather assumptions had been allowed to flourish of their own accord: a ghoul was automatically thought of as a retainer, regardless of how a Domitor treated him. Moira had neither confirmed nor disproved this, happy to keep Connor and the special connection they shared all to herself; unlike him, she had no intention of proclaiming it to the world, and only part of it had to do with a need for privacy. Indeed, she did feel reluctant to admit to profound feelings towards anyone, especially a human, not because Connor was unworthy but because she was what she was, a vampire Elder and Primogen, a position she intended to keep. It went without saying she'd acquired her share of antagonists over the centuries. Known emotional ties were a weakness in the deadly game of Jyhad, they could be exploited, and humans were so fragile...it was what had lead to Josephine's murder, and Moira would not let it happen again.

In the meantime, Connor's racing thoughts appeared to have slowed down, and in spite of the inadequate comfort he'd managed to gather from the situation, crisis seemed averted. Crushed by exhaustion, both mental and physical by that point, he slumped into one of the couches and buried his slender fingers in the unruly mass of curls that haloed his oval face. Moira said nothing but merely sat at his side, waiting for the moment he would be ready to speak again. Which was soon.

"Six hundred years...?" he reiterated Moira's own words, summoning her gaze to him. "Why didn't you tell me that from the start? Why three hundred, why not six?"

Ah yes. How could she tell him it was because those missing three hundred years contained events Moira would rather forget, things she'd done she wasn't exactly proud of, or wanted anyone to know? That the only Kindred currently in existence who had an inkling into the darkest of them was Valerian, someone Connor already felt jealous of?

“Because telling you my real age would have raised questions over a past I didn't wish to remember or discuss, and because simply eliminating it was the easier solution,” Moira explained. “It is the same reason why I haven't told anyone about us. Have you ever considered the reverse side of the coin, that Kindred look down on mortals because they resent the loss of their own humanity? In the eyes of some, you may have the best of both worlds: Kindred perks without any of the downsides. They might end up envying you, and that is dangerous for us both.”

Moira probed Connor intently with her uwavering gaze, as though to emphasize the importance of this.

“It is not an excuse, simply a reason. I know that much of what I've told you is unfair and difficult to understand, and yet I must ask you to try: try to understand, Connor, and accept things as they are. It will take time, but we have that in common, the two of us, and I will be there every step of the way.”

She offered him her hand, a symbolic pledge should he wish to accept.

"Will you try?"


((ooc: Welcome robokitty and summerkelsa!

Poor Connor, I must have both Moira and Melody give him a hug in game, he needs one ))

If wishes were fishes we'd all cast nets
Retired Moderator
retired moderator
Original Poster
#946 Old 18th Jan 2009 at 10:27 PM
(((ooc: Gosh darn it, Ghani. Your post made me all misty-eyed! *s* Amazingly well written. As always. )))

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
#947 Old 19th Jan 2009 at 6:24 PM
Default Kat and Marvin
(((ooc: Hahaha, Its a new player surge =P. Welcome guys!)))


“No you look so lovely as I told you before. Its just all the smoke and noise in here is a bit much, don’t you think. We will just step outside for a tick and return before you know it.”

Kat wasn't sure if she could trust the kind stranger. Though some people meet their soulmate like this. 'Maybe I should just say goodbye and call a cab.' At least her awareness was increasing, and the drunkeness beginning to wear off. Now the stranger was at the door, waiting for her to follow. He smiled and opened the door for her. He seems pretty anxious...

"Oh and I’m so sorry, I haven’t introduced myself yet. My name is Marvin, just that. I would be honoured to have your name. It must be such a pretty name for such a pretty girl.”

Panic once again struck Kat. Her name? What were the chances that they would ever see each other again in their lifetime? He would probably go back to England and she would stay in LA and continue to work 16 hour days at the studio. She began to quickly think, seeing he would think something is wrong if she took too long. If she gave him 'Kat' that is more specific, and he could probably track her down, especially since her and Rachel were trying to get the show picked up on an actual network like NBC. Maybe if she gave him 'Katherine' it would be more difficult, since its a common name with women her age. Or maybe a fake name altogether.

Now to address the issue of going outside. The man was a stranger. He could kill her and nobody would know who he was or where he was from. She looked around the club, figuring people would be leaving and going outside. There would probably be more people outside than inside pretty quick. Marvin leaned his head against the door, most obviously waiting for her. She smiled and walked infront of him.

"It's Katherine." She walked outside, and listened for his following footsteps behind her.
Retired Moderator
retired moderator
Original Poster
#948 Old 20th Jan 2009 at 7:03 PM
Default Connor and Moira - backstage at Club Envy
Acutely and painfully aware that there was an abyss, a black hole of sheer torment, ready to reach up and engulf him, to swallow him completely if he stopped for even just a second, and looked back at what he was currently trying so hard to push ut of his mind, Connor was fighting to keep focused on the matter he had just brought up, the very first thing his mind had latched onto when searching that black pool of despair for something, anything to avert his attention from his aching heart; Moira's true age. To him, a young man still restrained by the notions of mortals and the innocence and naivity of humanity, as well as of his own nature, it had made no sense for her to confess to him that she was Kindred, a being several centuries old, only to then lie about the actual number of centuries that her existence had spanned. Unless, of course, she for some reason had thought that three hundred years would be somehow easier to accept than six hundred. In which case she would have been both right and wrong; twice the age would have meant twice the amount of questions for her to answer, and it would have sent Connor's imagination on a journey twice as long. But it had been the fact itself, that she was a creature that as far as he had always known was only a myth, that had challenged his ability to comprehend. Not her age.

So no, no matter how he tried to look at it, it made no sense to him for her to lie to him about it. For some reason, he failed to even for a second actually consider the fact that all those centuries might actually hold more trauma than Moira would want to acknowledge, and dwell on. To him, she was the strongest, most stable person he knew, and add to that the fact that she'd had several centuries of experience, centuries to grow and get to know herself, and the idea of her wanting to escape even part of her past was downright alien to him. As naive as it may sound, it was. Mostly because it had all remained on a subconscious, emotional level, and never been explored by him. Thus, there had been no chance for logical thought on the matter, and in turn no reflection on the fact that most people have things in their past that they'd prefer to forget.
Even now, when logical thought and reasoning was inevitable, he still didn't see it. Or maybe he simply refused, in order to still have something to cling to, to escape the abyss he had just barely managed to avoid falling into. After all, for as long as he was banging his head against a wall, he may not move forward, but he wouldn't be moving backwards either. His mind had found itself a small ledge where at the moment it was fairly safe, and so he hung onto it.

And, it actually worked. Frustrating though it was, to not understand her reasons for lying to him about her age, it worked, because it distracted him from thinking about her reasons for keeping her feelings for him nothing short of a dirty little secret.
Well, at least at first. Then, Moira spoke;

"Because telling you my real age would have raised questions over a past I didn't wish to remember or discuss", she said, easing the door open to all that which he had been unable to see, and flooding his mind with instant realization, "and because simply eliminating it was the simpler solution."

Indeed, once uttered by her, it all suddenly made perfect sense to him, and even had him briefly wondering why he hadn't thought of that himself. Obviously six hundred years of living was bound to have left scars and perhaps even still open wounds. Heck, even his own measly twentyfour ones had managed that! Of course there would be things she may not want to address, or even forget. He could understand that. Although... That only lead him to yet another batch of questions; didn't she realize that he would've respected it? That despite his curiousity, if she indicated she didn't wish to talk about something, he wouldn't push?

Though he didn't get much further than that, because what Moira said next not only put an immediate halt to his train of thought, but for a moment, it hauled him right back into what he had been trying so very hard to push out of his mind;

"It is the same reason why I haven't told anyone about us", she said, causing Connor to immediately flinch at the sound of those searingly painful words being repeated, and turn his head away from her, unable to bear meeting her gaze.

He even squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, as if trying to block it all out, visually as well as mentally, before Moira's swift continuation slowly pried them open again, as the explanation found it's way past his resistance;

"Have you ever considered the other side of the coin", she asked, "that Kindred look down on mortals because they resent the loss of their own humanity? In the eyes of some, you may have the best of both worlds: Kindred perks without any of the downsides. They might end up envying you, and that is dangerous for us both."

While she spoke, her voiced beckoned Connor into slowly turning his head back to face her, clearly listening intently to something that he had indeed not considered before, and was now mulling over in his currently rather sore, jagged mind.

"It is not an excuse, simply a reason", Moira continued, her gaze locked with his ruminative, slightly wavering one. "I know that much of what I've told you is unfair and difficult to understand, and yet I must ask you to try: try to understand, Connor, and accept things as they are. It will take time, but we have that in common, the two of us, and I will be there every step of the way."

His gaze then dropped from hers completely, as she extended her hand to him.

"Will you try?" she impelled him.

Long pause.

At first, Connor simply looked at her hand. Not because he was hesitating in accepting it, but because he was still deeply immensed in thought about what she had just said. It occured to him that he had been rather selfish when reacting so strongly and sulkily to what she had said, and in thinking that her reasons for keeping quiet about their relationship all revolved around him and her peer's opinion of him, rather than herself, her own protection. And his. Had she not just told him that she held an important position in London, and that among her kind many prioritized their own interest above all else, to the point of complete ruthlessness, just like in the human world? And just like in the human world, that meant that the higher up you were, the better you had to protect yourself and those around you, lest an enemy found a way of exploiting whatever could be percieved as a possible weakness.
And if there were truly those who envied humans their humanity...

Moira was only looking after him, and herself. And he should too. What kind of loving companion would he be if he put her official acknowledgement of him as such, above her very safety? How could he possibly do that?

And so, it was with that thought in mind, that he slowly lifted his hand, even though at this point it felt as though the entire limb had been cast in pure led, and put it in hers.

"I'll try", he promised with a weak smile.

Inching closer, he then carefully slid his arms around her waist, seeking comfort and perhaps even forgiveness in her embrace. For even though he had managed to keep from lashing out at her, back when he'd still been so caught up in pain he'd felt at her words, he knew that she must have sensed what had been going on in his heart and in his mind, and wanted her to know it had only because he hadn't been thinking straight. That he did value her safety more than anything, except of course her closeness and her love, but as one didn't stand in the way of the other, it had only been due to confusion that he had tried to make them.

"What you said, about teaching me...", he said slowly, his head resting on her shoulder, as he recalled all the things she had actually said about keeping him as safe as possible, all the things that for the past couple of minutes, he had somehow forgotten about. "What did you mean?"



(((ooc: Yeah... He's one messed up young man... *s*)))

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
#949 Old 21st Jan 2009 at 9:34 PM
Default Marvin and Kate outside Club Envy
Katherine.Marvin echoed with a smile as he walked after her closing the door behind. “I was right, it is such a pretty name.” He was beside her now as the sounds and the brilliance of a Los Angeles night swirled around them both. For a moment Marvin stood strangely still next to the pretty innocent he had found and just watching the harsh lights of the never-ending traffic.

Without looking the Kindred knew several things very quickly. There were a few people that were milling around near enough to notice anything devious. However a quick casting of Presence could easily distract them. Giving Marvin more than enough time to grab and subdue his pretty little prey, a tight hand over her mouth to silence any startled cries she might have. He would drag her with, or without her consent to the alleyway and do as he pleased with that marvellous vein on her neck.

It was all very simple and straightforward and that was exactly the problem. He had done that very thing so many times, with so many faces. They had so many random names with their many innocent eyes always turning to complete panic and then utter horror and terror. The scenario always played out the same way and though their blood was ultimately rich in the end it was completely unsatisfying.

Marvin’s green eyes turned to examine the young lady beside him. He should be satisfied with such an easy feed, but really he was just bored by it. He was a vampire, Kindred and a child of the greatest of them all. He was made to hunt, to fight and to conquer his hapless prey. Frankly he didn’t want it handed to him no, he wanted to earn it. Oh yes the thrill of the chase, even in this soulless urban jungle it might be possible.

“Pure.” Marvin finally spoke with a smile to the naïve woman beside him. “That is what Katherine means. It means pure.” His cold fingers move to brush down the length of her deep brown locks. With a tilt of his head he tucked some of it behind her seashell shaped ear. The moment seemed to stretch on forever as he just looked into her eyes memorizing her unique scent. That is all he allowed of himself before stepping back with a small smile.

“I hope you don’t truly mind but I seems to be a bit more exhausted from my trip then I anticipated. I think I’ll find my way back to the hotel for now. I trust you will be all right now?” Turning Marvin gave a small bow to Katherine beside him. An old habit from days long past that still worked somehow despite his punk exterior. “I hope to see you again sometime my pure one. It has been a sincere pleasure to meet you.”

Somehow those final words rang more true than anything else he had said as Marvin turned to walk away.
Alchemist
#950 Old 21st Jan 2009 at 9:39 PM
Aeode and Noah - Outside the Haven


The Haven's bulk looming above their heads put Aeode's mind into motion, its perpetually dark windows and the dim thump-thumping of music reaching through the outermost walls reminding her why she was there and the task ahead. The voice of an unnamed singer rose mournfully above the surrounding noise for a brief moment, which sent a shiver down Aeode's spine. It was strangely ominous in combination with everything else: the dark stone building in between two equally gloomy ones, on a dim-lit street and there she stood in the company of a vampire. It wasn't Noah's presence that made Aeode feel most alert though: no, for the first time since their meeting she permitted her thoughts to dwell on The Haven and its inhabitants, who for the better or for the worse were now intertwined with her fate. There was no point in trying to dodge that simple fact, regardless of the vexation welling inside her at the very thought: as long as this..arrangement lasted, Claudia would be involved in it. She had done her darnedest to weasel her way into it when all she had were some mistaken assumptions – now that she knew, Aeode hardly expected her to back away, she was too much of a busybody for it and she would no doubt relish the opportunity to launch more accusations and thinly-veiled slander at her. It was one of the reasons – a big one – that she simply had to find a place to live elsewhere, a place of her own where she could at least spend her spare time in a measure of privacy and relative safety, if such a thing even existed. She had ceased to believe in it.

Thoughtfully sipping her coke through a bent straw, Aeode turned to Noah, searching for a proper way to say goodbye. How did one say such a thing? “Hey, see you around, Undead-Guy-Who-Nearly-Bit-Me?” A wry smile tugged at the corner of her lips at the thought; sarcasm helped. It meant the shock was lessening, and she had to admit Noah's mellow, even friendly, attitude helped: she could almost look at him now and not see the snarling, fanged creature crouching on top of Valerian.

"I don't really make plans" Noah replied and Aeode was relieved at his lack of reaction towards Jasper's impromptu greeting. "This city has a way of turning the tables on you anyway."

A slow, wistful nod hailed this remark: that was true. That had always been true. For all of Aeode's peregrinations across three continents, no other place held more significance than that one city, and not just because it was the place of her birth and that of her tragedy. She had travelled far and wide running away from it in the hope that the past would gradually become easier to bear, or that at long last she'd be granted that one revelation that allowed her to move on with her life, but eventually she had been drawn back, sapped of the strength to keep running. Since then, her whole world had been turned upside down, and although the ultimate epiphany, the one thing she needed to find in order to start living again, and not merely surviving, remained illusive, progress was made: she now knew more than she ever had, intuitively she felt she stood closer to her goal than ever before – whichever that was. Revenge? Death? Acceptance? Something else entirely? Aeode herself didn't know.

"If you stay at The Haven,” Noah continued, “I am afraid you might come across me again."

Aeode eyed him over the brim of her glass, a brow pushing gently through the ginger fuzz that the wind kept tossing back onto her forehead: he didn't look much of a club-goer to her, especially not the kind who would frequent a place like The Haven. Strangely enough, she didn't feel particularly opposed to another meeting as long as they remained on similar terms: he was intriguing, both his character and of course his nature and currently Aeode's best chance of delving deeper into this shadowy world she'd barely glimpsed. Curiosity was, after all, such a human trait and even the jaded Aeode posessed it: perhaps he'd be more willing to talk instead of suggesting she was better off in oblivion. Then she made another connection: he was a vampire, the same as Claudia and Valerian, and he knew Valerian so perhaps that had something to do with it. Somehow, the idea of a whole coven of vampires secretly congregating there didn't thrill Aeode at all.

“Only temporarily”, she told him with a small shrug of her shoulders that didn't turn out as unconcerned as she'd wanted it to be. “Until I can find a place of my own, which isn't easy in this city.”

Aeode paused and appeared to be considering something, sucking on her lower lip in contemplation. Seconds later as she crushed the remains of her dinner into clumps of paper and cardboard, she peered at Noah through dense eyelashes:

“You've been in LA long then?” she asked. “I'm only asking because you don't look like you're from around here.”

A city girl born and bred, Aeode could always spot the outsiders, even those who did a reasonable job of blending in. Noah did anything but blend in, and his current appearance had less to do with it: the wilderness she'd seen in him was very suggestive, for it made her think of the great outdoors, plains and woods, not a concrete jungle like Los Angeles. Normally she wouldn't have asked this of a stranger, happier to not know and keep herself from being known, but that evening's rampant events, and having been able to at least partially overcome their initial antagonism and reach a point where they could have a casual conversation created a certain...not exactly closeness, but something similar. They said one knew another best when at their worst.

((ooc: Atropa: thank you! :spin:
Sorry for the delay, Psyche! I hope this works and all.))

If wishes were fishes we'd all cast nets
 
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