((OOC:ooooh!:clap: this is something for me may i join?:D))

Human touch had over the decades become something as elusive and alien to Adrien, as the concepts of friends and lovers. He shared his life with no one, and hadn't ever since before his self-proclaimed mission had fully blossomed into what it now had been for over a century; a stone cold, rock solid determination to wipe out as many Kindred as he possibly could, even if it killed him. As had already been proven. And to do it all with as little distraction as possible, remaining always focused on that one ambition, even if it meant it happened at the expense of even the most basic pleasures in life, such as the company, the friendship and the love of others.
Though there had been family once; a mother and, until brutally murdered by Kindred who labelled him a bad omen and a mistake, a father. Even a lover, a fiancée - Emmanuelle - with whom Adrien had intended to spend his life, before he had realized just how different his heritage had made him, and how he not only would outlive her and everyone else he cared for by centuries, but age only a fragment of the way they did while they were still alive.

Such a marriage had no future, because the most fundamental elements, would be the cause of an inevitable unjustice, that neither he nor she could ever hope to influence. Indeed, it was even the future itself that would always prove the biggest factor that would tear such a marriage apart, sooner or later.
Thus, Adrien had gradually started shielding himself from the human world around him, and those of his loved ones still in it, and he had not let any new ones in for that very reason, as well as a growing awareness of the survival of a hunter; what it would take, and what sacrifices had to be made. After all, if he was not meant for marriage, and a life similar to that of everyone else, he had to be meant for something else. And he was. Whether it was the ways of the universe, or simply those of his own mind, he had found his mission, and since then, he had been practically eating it, breathing it, living it. Becoming it. He had forsaken all else, everything but survival, and the endless hunt, distancing himself from the people in this world, and dealing with them only when necessary, in order to achieve or acquire something he needed.

However, and unbeknownst to everyone, even those who had spent a good amount of time digging into his past in order to find weaknesses to flaunt and use against him, there was still one aspect where he had remained physically involved in the lives of certain humans, yet without their knowledge. Watching from the shadows as their lives progressed, he had taken a great deal of interest, sometimes - though a very rare occurance - even intervening in ways of which they always remained unaware, when they seemed to be heading in the wrong direction somehow, by making a bad decision or placing themselves in danger somehow. Though as it would turn out, there was only so much discreet intervention that he could do in order to keep them all safe. One simply cannot protect people from themselves forever, and sadly, a few years ago, this case had proved to be no different. Certain events that Adrien could not prevent had occured, and everything had changed. These days, he truly did have only himself to look after. And maybe, in a cynic's way of viewing things, it was all for the better. There were no longer any tangible weaknesses to be found out about, and used against him in order to take him down. To everyone, he was a stranger; someone they may have heard about, even someone whose history they may known large portions of, but still someone that no one could claim to actually know. No one ever got truly close, neither mentally, nor physically, except for close encounters during battles and beatings.

He wasn't used to gentle, human touch, and so consequently, just like Lena resting her head back against his chest a couple of nights ago had unnerved him, so did the way her fingertips had brushed teasingly against his hand and his arm, as she made a bit of a game out of giving him her number, by writing it down on the inside of the latter, following what could only be described as a fleeting yet exploratory caress across his skin. Probably nothing more than just another way for her to lace the encounter with her usual sensuality, despite his perpetual lack of a response, only this time, it was a lack that proved not as perpetual after all, because this time, she had gotten a reaction. A small, barely noticable one, but still a reaction nonetheless; a flinch. Upon feeling her fingertips burning against the marbled surface of his own cool skin, a sensation not experienced in years, he had been unable to fully suppress the extent of the effect it'd had on him, and he had recoiled ever so slightly, almost like a skittish deer, or as though the touch had actually managed to sear his skin. But that was all. After the initial, split-second shock, he had remained perfectly still, save for allowing her to turn his arm in order to scribble her number on the inside. Even his gaze had remained firmly fixed on her face, long after hers had torn itself away and travelled the short distance to his lips, before dropping to the pen she'd held.

He could still feel her touch trickling along his cool skin, even though it had now been several minutes since she had wandered out of the alleyway where they'd met, with him following her example not too long thereafter, only in a different direction. For a few of them, he had joined the hustle and bustle of the crowded streets, but had now slipped back into the maze of dark, deserted alleys again, determined to shake the uneasiness that still lingered in the back of his mind somewhere. For even though he was a regular expert on shaking things off, this time Lena had actually gotten a little deeper than most did, her touch slicing right through a couple of his protective layers, and her words about "their" right to control him anchoring it there, for him to be unable to rid himself off it as easily as he usually did. It required a bit of a conscious and persistent effort, and thus he sought himself back to as much solitude as Los Angeles nightlife had to offer, since ridding himself of the memory of someone's's touch was something far more easily done when you didn't run the risk of having others bump into you and bring the sensation back to the surface. He had more important things to focus on, things that he'd had planned for a while now, but still had yet to get around to; getting himself a new car, and finding a place of his own where he could spend a few hours every night doing what he wanted without risking being spied on. Ever since making the decision to get one, he'd had to put it off, in order to deal with other things; the ball for Lord DeWinter that he'd been blackmailed into attending, Beyonca's curiousity, and lately everything it had entailed to meet Lena. If that was truly her name. Adrien kind of doubted it. But, regardless, he supposed it was a better name to know her by than 'Chatterbox'.

However, much to his dismay, he had now started sensing another presence as well. One following in his footsteps since he'd once again stepped away from the crowded streets, but one lacking the dead giveaways that the pesky Tremere ghoul that had been stalking him for the past couple of nights sported. Still a tail, but a far more skilled one. Furthermore, there was no breathing, and no discernable heartbeat, which could only mean his "superiors" had now honored him with a Kindred tail.
A compliment indeed, but sadly, one that Adrien was no more prone to appreciate, than he was having a simple ghoul stalking him.
Kindred or not, Adrien would still make sure to loose them, before doing anything whatsoever that might be worthy of their interest. He would rid himself of them, and he would rid himself of the uneasiness currently housed in his mind.

As it would turn out, while shaking off his tail would soon become secondary, shaking off the slight agitation the latest encounter with Lena had left him with, would prove more easily done than he had expected. Though as fate would have it, it was ultimately not because of his own efforts, but because something else entirely caught his attention and momentarily made him forget everything else that had been occupying his mind. Stalking through the darkness cast by the buildings towering around him, the faint sound of his purposeful steps bouncing back at him from their walls in even fainter echoes, heard only because he knew they were there, several gunshots and a scream suddenly cut through the nearby susurrus of cars and people's voices drifting in from the crowded streets only a few blocks away. A shrill, bloodcurdling scream that got cut off long before lack of air made it fade, halting Adrien dead in his tracks. That kind of scream, the one that was brutally silenced, leaving a new sort of terrifying quiet that seemed to drown out all noise, was for real. It wasn't punks just fooling around for laughs, it wasn't someone getting scared by simply being taken by surprise, it wasn't even someone escaping trouble. It was someone already knee-deep in trouble, rapidly silenced either by an assailant, or by physical injury somehow, possibly even death.

A loner and for the most part a survivalist, Adrien had made a habit of not getting involved in things that didn't concern him. He may fight evil, but it was a kind of evil so specific and long-lasting that usually it was up to him to pick the when and the where of a confrontation. He's wasn't the ever popular superhero who rushed to wherever someone was in danger, in order to save their life. In fact, he didn't come even remotely close to it, to giving life: He only took it.
Yet, there was just something about this scream, this urgent cry of desperation - female, young, and so clearly agonized - that he just couldn't ignore it. It tugged at what still remained of his heart, and made his eyes sweep the area in an attempt to try and discern where it had come from. The alley in which he was standing ran long and deserted in both directions, populated only by mice and rats, and the occasional cat on the prowl. Not a human in sight. To his left, four other alleys sprouted from his current one, two in either direction. To his right, there was only one, leading even further away from the more crowed streets, and then a dead end in the distance. Making a quick call, he started heading down the closest one, which was also the one in the middle of the three leading away from safety. That way, if there was another sound to point him in the right direction, he stood a better chance of finding himself nearby, than had he picked one of the other alleys, which while each of them offered a thirty percent chance of leading him straight to the source of the scream, also offered a possible sixty percent chance of doing the opposite.

With many of the street lamps smashed or even non-existent, and most of the buildings abandoned, light was scarce, forcing even a nocturnal creature like him to stop a few seconds at every intersection and peer into the darkness in order to discover if there was something moving there or not. Then, another scream suddenly pierced the silence, this time sounding as though it didn't come too far from him, and Adrien's head snapped in it's direction; the next alley up ahead, to his left. Quickening his pace, he soon slid up against the brick wall, stopping only inches before turning the corner and leaning forward to peak around it instead.

What at first he saw... was nothing. Nothing at all, only darkness. The kind of thick, compact darkness that made the mind instantly reject the idea of setting foot in there, on a level so profound that had someone asked you a minute later to describe the area, you wouldn't have even remembered that particular alley. And, while most people would've simply shrugged at the whole thing, to Adrien is spelled trouble.
Shadows where, even though light in general was insufficient, there ought to be none? There ought to be at least a change in nuance here and there, but there wasn't.
Add to that the feeling that stirred in Adrien's gut, and there was only one possible explanation for it all; there were Lasombra closeby.

"Figures...", he muttered to himself as he withdrew, resting his form back against the brick wall for a few moments while contemplating how to interfere.

Trust the despicable Sabbat to once again come between Adrien and his plans. Because with the screaming and the obvious presence of Lasombra, it was clear that there were some of their usual, depraved games going on, and even though it wasn't essentially any of his concern, Adrien loathed the idea of what they were getting up to. If Kindred existence was a cesspool, the Sabbat was the toxic slime at the bottom of it all, and Adrien just couldn't help but feel compelled to put an end to whatever sick games they were currently indulging in. Tail or no tail.

However, he couldn't just simply waltz into the alley, not knowing what to expect, nor could he force the shadows that had clearly been molded to keep outsiders out, and so had to examine it all a little closer before really doing anything at all. Thus, he started carefully backing away from the corner, and glanced up to see how tall the building next to him was. If he could get a bird's eye view of it all, he might be able to tell not only what was going on, but how many he'd be up against as well. Thankfully, the building was near perfect, four stories high; low enough to grant him a good, detailed view, but high enough to not make him easily spotted by those on the ground, as long as he was careful.

With no time to waste, he didn't bother trying to find a door to the building, but simply slipped in through one of the smashed windows, silently making his way up to the roof in less than two minutes. Once there, stealthy steps took him close to the edge, inch by inch unfolding to his eyes the scene below. At first, he saw only the forms of two males pinning a far smaller, female one to the ground, one holding her arms and the other straddling her with his head dipped down towards her chest. Then the latter straightened his back, and by doing so, revealled the extent of the damage done to their victim. Long cuts along her body, forming a wide, bleeding "H", which, along with what Adrien already knew of the Sabbat, didn't leave it much of a mystery what they were planning to do. Especially not with the fragments he overheard of the conversation, single words and phrases carried by the wind to his elevated position, making clear the amount of pleasure the two males took in their twisted game.
"Stubborn girl", "personal, isn't it", "daddy pissed off the wrong people"...

So typical of Sabbat scum, to target innocents in order to punish the "guilty". It wasn't the first time Adrien had seen it happen. That incident years ago, that had left him with only himself to care about... It had been the same back then, the lives of many innocents extinguished simply because the Sabbat had to cause a blood bath where there was no need for one, for no other reason than their own perverted enjoyment.

That time, Adrien hadn't been able to stop it. He'd been too far away, on the other side of the country, and found out about it only days after it had happened.
But this time... Even if he couldn't kill them, as he didn't want whoever was spying on him to learn what the previous night Lena had, and forward it to the Prince, he could still crash their party and overthrow whatever plans they had for their helpless victim.
With Sabbat perversion at work, Adrien wasn't one to stand idly by. Loner and survivalist or not.


(((ooc: Sorry if it's disjointed at times. Suddenly remembered something that I was supposed to include, only once I was halfway through the post, and so had to go back and edit it in, which may have wrecked the flow of the post a bit.

Also, part two is coming up. I just felt maybe I should divide it all into two seperate posts, as otherwise it would be far too long for anyone to feel like reading. )))

#32 [Night #14]

When Noah woke up that night he couldn't quite remember where he was. It took a few seconds before it all came back to him. He was laying on his back, staring into the vast darkness that seemed to enclose him and had the sheet twisted around his legs. Once he had broken free, he got up to turn on the light. He certainly lived like a warrior. He didn't hang on to anything without real importance. A bed, his duffel bag, a few clothes and the tin box. That was it.
This night, that had just begun to spread its wings over them all, he had no plans, save for following the instinct that lead him there in the first place. The need to find tranquility. It threatened to become more than a need - a desperate cry for help, if he couldn't keep his mind clear. Given that thought, he turned to the tin box. A little help from amulets wouldn't hurt. As he reached in to touch the wolf's tooth he had turned into a necklace, memories from a past so far away it didn't seem real washed over him. He could hear and feel the inital attack, right after the Wolf had spotted him. He had been torn pretty badly, before the warriors from his village came to his aid. Though armed with a knife, he had been able to give as good as he got, thus still having the tooth in his possession.

Noah closed his eyes when he put the necklace over his head, tightening the string of leather to make it come closer to his neck. After that, he took the rest of the necklaces and put them on as well, while remembering where he got each and everyone of them. They filled him with comfort, like they were all there with him; those who had anything to do with the amulets. Though in the next minute or so, it made him feel lonely, since all he could see in the mirror was himself.
It was time to get dressed and head out to The Haven. He found his brown leather pants and while searching for something for his upper body he soon held a nice shirt in his hands, from the bag that had belonged to Shandor's son. It wasn't something he would have thought if, if it hadn't happen to be there. It did give a good impression, letting him fit in a little better than usual. Though it was a piece of clothing he'd sooner picture on a Ventrue than on himself, it shouldn't stop him from dressing appropriate for the occasion. A shirt seemed to be a casual choice in modern times, it could be seen on both business men and club goers. So maybe it wasn't such a crazy idea, just never before thought of in Noah's case.
When he stood infront of the mirror, he had on the leather pants, the black sneakers and was about to button the black shirt. When he had buttoned it shut, something didn't feel right. It was something new entirely, but it felt like he was stuck. When he thought to unbutton the two top buttons, he found what was wrong. Though he couldn't breath, the shirt had felt stifling. He didn't look quite like himself, but it was still him. He raised his arms and felt that the fabric wasn't as loose as he'd like it to be. He wanted to be able to move, smooth and fast, without any interference. For a little while, he simply stood and watched himself in the mirror, finally deciding that a shirt was not for him. He changed it for a loosely fitted black long-sleeved shirt in a thin material and instantly felt better about everything. This was him, this was how he would feel free and still look like he belonged.

The silence broke when he left the basement and entered the store. It was closed, but Shandor stood at the cash register, going over some paperwork. Though he didn't talk at once, he merely met Noah's gaze and gave him a friendly smile and a slight nod. No matter how odd their situation really was, having a supernatural being living in the basement of his store, Shandor never acted like it was something out of the ordinary. He made Noah feel more human and less than a monster.

"Have you met any of your own?" Shandor asked. "Any... Gangrel?"

Noah stopped to think, as if it really was something to think about. He knew the answer, of course, but he hadn't realized that this was his fourth night in the city and he hadn't seen any of his very own blood. Since it was a city, that was probably why it hadn't occurred to him. One didn't quite expect the Gangrel to roam the streets. Noah shook his head, not sure what to say. His reasons for being there at all lacked words and he didn't want to seem lost. Even if he trusted Shandor with his life, it was a weakness he wasn't prepared to share.

"If you want to meet them I can make arrangements", Shandor said, when Noah said nothing.

Meeting Gangrel of the city, without any specific reason and not knowing who they were, made Noah uneasy. They might see right through him and deem him unworthy of their blood; being in town to find something so abstract as the feeling Noah had followed for some time now. He probably seemed more like a Toreador than a Gangrel, even if it was pure instinct rather than a feeling. He had a hard time remembering the last time he had met anyone from his own clan, but there was nothing to do but to nod and accept the offer. Otherwise he might be considered a coward and there should be no reason for him to fear is brethren. He was just so used to being the only one that his imagination played tricks on him.

Upon leaving the store, Noah didn't feel like going straight to The Haven, instead he went around to the back of the building and started climbing the wall. He would have been a great cat burgler, judging from how easy it was for him to scale up to the roof. Like there was nothing to it. Out of sight, out of mind. When he got there, he walked to the center of it and stood there, facing the sky. Just like the feeling of warm sunrays on cold skin, the moonlight tingled on the surface of his face. He didn't like how this night had begun, standing infront of Shandor as if he had been devoid of the means to speak, when asked about other Gangrel of the city. Though none could blame him and the likes thereof to be great communicators, if it wasn't a Gather or any other occasion that called for a great story.
The freedom up there, high above the city, made Noah remember when he had met a Chinese Gangrel that wanted to teach him Tai Chi. He had learned a few combinations, but they soon realized that though it could help one find peace, Noah would have to find some sort of focus before he could control himself in Tai Chi. He had too much anger, too much hatred and not enough balance. He had just the right combination for a fighter with no rules.
Noah had met many different kinds of people and he had tried to learn something from them all, even if it was the smallest thing. Like how important it was to know not only when to act, but when to do nothing at all as well. It could seem trivial, but it could mean the difference between victory and defeat.

When he landed on the ground again, he was ready to join the crowd he assumed already filled The Haven to the brim. How ironic, that the place he needed to go to also made him feel like walking into a trap. He could hear the muffled sound of music when he started to come closer to the club and he soon saw the queue outside. It moved surprisingly fast though, it didn't take long before he was inside, trying to navigate between all the people. Mostly humans, but he could sense the occasional Kindred, even if he didn't always spot them. Finding Valerian felt like a fairly easy thing to do, but Noah didn't know where to begin. He couldn't just walk upstairs, not when he didn't know if they were on good terms. Valerian hadn't seemed mad at him, but that didn't mean all was well. Noah decided to just observe and see if the Toreador suddenly appeared.






_______________________________________

((( ooc: Not approchable. Waiting for Atropa.

Noah's necklaces, most of them (Thanks to Alissa for the help.)
Noah's long sleeved shirt - no buttons on his though )))

Having achieved what he came up to the flat roof for in the first place - a good view of what was going on in the closed-off alley - Adrien soon withdrew from the edge, preparing to get to work. After all, while it might seem like the Lasombra *ssholes down there intended to take their time with the young girl, there were no guarantees that they wouldn't soon go past the point of no return, causing her injuries that while they would be fatal, would take their time draining her body of life. Even though Adrien himself would have the power to reverse it, should his interruption be a successful one, he would much prefer not to feed her his blood in order for her to heal. There were enough ghouls in this world already, cursed souls who didn't know any better, and he'd simply hate to possibly create another one. For once a human had tasted Kindred blood, the one drug that would make the effects of any other pale in comparison, there was a good chance they would never let the experience go, but keep on chasing that same rush, possibly finding it, and thus eventually turn into another mindless drone at the Kindred's disposal.

However, before making his way back down to ground level, he ventured over to the ledge overlooking the alley from which he had entered the building, finding, much as he'd expected, his Kindred stalker hovering near the corner of where Adrien himself had stopped to peer into the darkness obscuring the Lasombra and their prey from outside view. Only instead of keeping himself outside the Lasombra alley, he had ventured into it, past the shadow curtain, and his eyes were now fixed on what was infront of him, much further down the road, rather than what was currently above him. Apparently, his interest in Adrien had been temporarily lost in favor of the neighbourhood Sabbat show. Or, having most likely noticed Adrien's interest in what was going on, he was simply waiting for the notorious, former hunter to step onto the stage.

Either way, Adrien wouldn't let that interfere with his plans, though he would have to refrain from killing the Lasombra, even if he got the chance to do so, because no matter what clan his stalker belonged to, Adrien didn't want to let his secret out if he could help it. It was enough that he'd entrusted it with Lena, whom he still didn't know for sure that he could trust, and so if word did get out, he wanted the chance to know whether it was her who had sold him out, which just wouldn't be possible, should anyone else learn of it from Adrien himself.
So, no killing, "just" enough interference to get the young girl out of the clutches of those monsters. Which, ironically, would be a much harder task, than had he had the option of just dusting them and sending them into oblivion. Especially considering the fact that she was already in quite a bad shape, movement restricted by long, bleeding cuts, common sense dulled by fear and possibly having been knocked around, judging by the way her screams had been cut short before, thus leaving her possibly incapable of getting herself out of the alley while Adrien kept the Lasombra distracted. By the looks of it, it would be all up to him.
Not that it would stop him.

However, he didn't exactly wish to walk right past his stalker, into the alley, nor did he wish to approach from that direction, in case his stalker had happened to be spotted by the Lasombra. For even though they didn't act it, it didn't mean they weren't aware that they had an audience. Knowing them, they would probably get off on it, and leave it be as long as the audience didn't interfere.
Though unfortunately for them, the audience would. Only not from the direction they may have expected it to.

Thus, when Adrien once again set foot on solid ground, it was on the opposite side of the building, leaving him positioned about thirty feet behind the back of the Lasombra straddling the young girl - a blonde man with jeans and a long trenchcoat - and pretty much facing his partner, a darkhaired fellow with a most unflattering scar across his throat. Apparently, Adrien wasn't the first who'd wanted to slit that one.

With both men focused on their victim's writhing frame, he slid quietly along the wall, closing the distance with a few more feet while keeping himself neatly cloaked by the shadows. Then, when he could get no closer without stepping out into the faint moonlight, thus revealing himself, he paused for a second or two, while slipping his trusted bowie knife out of it's sheath in his boot and into the pocket of his coat, careful not to let the weak rays of light filtering into the alley from above hit the blade and give his soon-to-be-opponents a glint of warning of what was coming. The air around him felt as though it was almost vibrating with tension, much like it always did when back as a hunter he had been ready to strike. But more than that, it was thick and sweet with the smell of blood, taunting his sense of smell and his Kindred nature with temptation, bringing out the predator in him.
He had to be careful, and make sure not to sustain too many injuries, lest he'd end up getting the Lasombra away from the girl on the ground, only to turn into her bane himself if he frenzied.

Now... Showtime.

Taking his first step out into plain view, he allowed his form to release itself from the shadows, and the meager moonlight to flow over him, making an effort no longer to conceal the scraping sound of his thick rubber soles against the grit of the concrete floor, and even further announcing his presence with soft-spoken sarcasm flowing from his lips;

"Well well, if this isn't quite the Hollywood cliché", he said, and then came to a slow, casual halt. "Villains too busy gloating to realize their moment's passed."

The rigidity momentarily seizing both of the Kindred infront of him at the sound of his very first word, told him they indeed hadn't expected anyone to interfere. But, while the darkhaired one remained all tensed up, the blonde one soon seemed to almost relax, and took his good time standing up and turning to face Adrien as well, his penetrating blue eyes locking with Adrien's murky ones across the distance that remained between them, cool arrogance clashing with a self-assured dare, an unspoken challenge to deal with this most recent addition to the party first, before further tormenting the girl.
With a smirk slithering across his lips, the blonde one was the first one to respond;

"Do you always waste the first strike on banter?" he asked, while his partner got onto his feet behind him, pulling the girl - whom Adrien could now see had to be quite a bit younger than he'd first thought - with him in the process, though still holding her firmly restrained. "Quaint."

With that, he pulled out a knife seemingly from nowhere - though Adrien had already counted at least one other weapon on him already - and assumed a stance as though he was getting ready to lunge at Adrien, only to then suddenly thrust the knife backwards instead, shoving it deep into the girl's gut behind him and drawing another agonized wail from her fragile form, now writhing with pain.

"Ooops."

Sick, sadistic bastard. Adrien had better make this snappy, lest he'd give these guys enough incitement to kill the poor girl out of pure spite, before he had a chance to even attempt getting her out of this.
Thus, he didn't give much of a reaction, denying them both what he knew they would have just loved to see; a wince, a frown, anything that would testify to some emotional involvement on Adrien's part, and inspire them to cause the girl even more harm, as a way of provoking him into getting careless.
Instead, he simply let his gaze shift to her for a moment, seemingly in a gesture of nothing more than registering the deed, but in truth as a way of making sure that she was not yet hanging onto life only by a tiny thread; that she was still not quite beyond all rescue.
Not completely reassured by what he saw, his gaze then returned to the blonde Lasombra, and he gave a mere shrug of his shoulders.

"It evens the odds", he casually retorted in response to wasting his first strike.

Then, his eyes momentarily dropped to the blonde's waist, and the unmistakable shape protruding from underneath his trench, before returning to meet with his gaze again as a slight, teasing smile made it's way onto his lips and another few steps started carrying him closer yet.

"Now, is that a sword under your coat", he baited, "... or are you just happy to see me?"

Much to his satisfaction, that comment would turn out to have the sought after effect. Well, more or less.

"That's why I hate the French", the blonde one said, while his hands both dove under the coat, swiftly pulling out not only the aforementioned sword from it's sheath at his hip, but also an automatic shotgun from behind his back.

And just like he didn't waste any time delivering his comeback, he didn't waste any time before firing the gun either, sending off a loud, resounding blast the very moment the muzzle was aiming in Adrien's direction, as to not purposely give him a single chance to make it out of the way first.

"Queers never know when to save the innuendo for the bitties", he finished.

Fortunately for Adrien, he had seen it all coming, since both weapons required movements on Blondie's part that were more than enough to tip a skilled fighter off, and so as the gun went off, he threw his shoulder back, twisting himself out of the way just in time for the blast to go right past him, ending up hitting the wall behind him rather than sending him crashing into it.
So much evening the odds, huh?

"How typical of the Sabbat", the former hunter chided, shaking his head reprimandingly while retrieving the bowie knife from the deep pocket of his leather coat, twirling it in his hand for a moment out of habit before tightening his grip around it's handle, prepared for the actual fight to commence; "No sense of honor."

Though really, he had to appreciate the fact that his opponent had been so quick to reveal himself to be a dirty fighter. Had he cared to keep the shotgun concealed for just a little while longer, it might've been a little more tricky for Adrien to dodge the discharge in the close combat that now ensued, and any dirty tricks might have come as a little more of a surprise. Not much, since Adrien rarely trusted anyone to fight fair, especially the Sabbat, but still enough to possibly make just a little bit of a difference, whereas now his opponent had already blown his chance at getting the complete upper hand. Adrien now knew of the gun, and would make sure to get rid of it as soon as possible. Though clearly, Blondie didn't intend to make it easy for him, slashing and stabbing at him with the sword in a series of rapid and highly controlled movements that kept driving Adrien back every time he tried to get close, knowing that with his sword and Adrien's considerably shorter knife, as long as he kept Adrien at a distance, he would be in the most control of the fight.
Or so he thought.

The thing about knives is that one doesn't have to actually grip them in order to wield them; they make excellent long-range weapons as well, and even though he didn't much like the idea of releasing his knife, even if ever so briefly, Adrien soon found himself with too few options, not to give it a chance. Thus, after repeatedly parrying various thrusts of the Lasombra's sword with his knife, earning himself a superficial slash along his jawline in the process, and managing to keep the muzzle of the gun away from him with a couple of well aimed kicks, he quickly backed out of reach of the sword, seized the bowie knife by the tip of the blade, and hurled it straight into Blondie's shoulder. Using the split second of distraction if bought him, he then lunged himself at his opponent, slipping just close enough to reach for the knife, while at the same time managing to twist Blondie's gun and thus the hand that held it, into such an awkward position that Blondie had to either let go, or have his arm dislocated, in which case he'd have little choice in the matter anyway.

He let go, allowing Adrien the chance to slam the gun down on the sword that had gotten far too close for comfort, and change it's course. Though not without it slicing through the forearm of Adrien's leather coat and causing a deep gash in his flesh, forcing him to drop the gun as well, to the sound of a low, aggravated growl at the sharp pain.

Still, all in all, it had been a successful endeavor, because the gun was finally out of his opponent's hands, and with a forceful kick he sent it clattering towards the wall behind him, ensuring that if Blondie wanted it back, he'd have to get past Adrien first.

Now the odds were even.


(((ooc: robokitty - Hope it works. If not, let me know, and I'll edit.)))

((ooc:who is the girl? I will post an application tonight.))

(((ooc: Kyle - The girl is robokitty's Lola, and the "Lasombra party" that Adrien is crashing, is the one robokitty set up in her previous post.)))


Valerian didn't have many regrets. Despite having lived for well over a century, there weren't many things that had happened over the course of all those decades, that he truly regretted. He had always followed his heart, and even though it had sometimes lead him down the road of heartbreak and sorrow, be it his own or someone else's, he just couldn't bring himself to truly condemn it. Following his heart meant staying true to himself, and even though the price for doing so was sometimes high, it was one that he had to pay, because to him, there was no other way of living. The moment he stopped being true to himself, was the moment that he sold his soul. And that, he just would not do.

Still, while there may not be many regrets, that did not necessarily mean that there were none at all. There were still a few occasions where circumstance had eliminated the options that were in Valerian's nature to follow, thus forcing him to chose the action that under said circumstances was the closest to his heart, yet not truly the road he wished to travel. Furthermore, being the altruist that he was, the gentle soul that wished harm on no one and couldn't bare the thought of hurting anyone, there had of course been times when his actions had taken him down a path that had resulted in hurt and disappointment. One didn't have to look any further than to the events of the past couple of nights, the previous one in particular, to realize that. He had never meant to hurt Claudia, and yet, even though he had stayed true to himself when confiding in Moira, he had hurt her, because he had confided in Moira. And while he couldn't claim to regret that he had done it, he did regret that he hadn't done it in a way that would have perhaps easened the blow to Claudia's trust in him. Even though he wasn't quite sure that any such way existed. But nevertheless, he had ended up unintentionally hurting Claudia, and that, he did regret.

As did he regret giving Melody reason to fear a waning interest on his part, even though there really had been very little time that he could have spent with her over the past couple of nights. And so, knowing he couldn't very well undo it, he was now focusing on the next best thing; making it up to her. Even though he had just let go of her, and was preparing himself to climb out of bed - in a minute... soon... just a few more seconds... - he had no intention for the two of them to go their seperate ways this evening, unless she wanted to. At least not for very long. He intended to stay in the club all evening, preferrably keeping Melody by his side, and at his table, where they could spend some much needed time together, and he would still be available to the clientele, should someone come by for a bit of a chat, or even business, as long as it wasn't strictly Kindred related, in which case he'd have to choice but to excuse himself from Melody for a while. Not that he himself didn't trust her, but others of his kind may not, which would make it simply bad form if he insisted that she'd stay. But, if it was worldly business, especially concerning the club, Valerian liked to have her around, as he always appreciated whatever input she had to offer once the meeting was over. For while the decisions may be up to him and Claudia - well, mostly Claudia - Melody did still have a sharp intellect, she had known him and his preferences for a long time, and she shared his own esthetic vein, which made him truly value her input.

Thus, when asking her about her previous night, and her visit to Club Envy, it was partly a way of killing two birds with one stone; he was genuinly interested in her evening, as well as her impression of The Haven's most recent competition.

"Oh", was her initial response, as though she hadn't really expected the question, or as though he had just brought her out of deep thought. "It was ok as clubs go, I guess. I was more surprised they had New Empire, one of my favourite bands, playing there! I had no idea they were back in the States, so that was a nice surprise."

Upon hearing that, Valerian's head perked up slightly, and he propped himself up on his elbow to look at her, a few black tendrils falling like a shredded curtain over his chest as he did. Melody liked New Empire, the band that had incidently performed live at Club Envy that very night? Valerian hadn't known that. He didn't think he'd even known all too much about them before last night, except having heard their name and caught a glimpse of them on TV or in a magazine a few times. But he had never known Melody liked them. And now he was acquainted with someone who in turn was acquainted with the lead singer? Why, that really was some coincidence.
Should he ask Moira if it would be possible to arrange a meeting between Connor Hale and Melody? He didn't much like the idea of asking such a tacky favor, but if Melody really did like them, it might make her happy to get to meet at least one of them. And in that case it really would be worth it.

"As it turned out though", Melody continued, "I didn't really get the chance to watch, which is a shame."

Eyebrows venturing up ever so slightly in surprise, wondering what might have kept her from seeing the show which he knew for a fact had happened, since he himself had seen it, Valerian refocused his gaze on her, after having drifted off in contemplation for a moment. And upon seeing the hesitant look on her face - a signal that whatever it was, it was no small matter - he all but forgot about New Empire, and the prospect of bringing Melody to meet the singer. Instead, he listened quietly, and eventually with growing pride, as she told him about how she had met what she believed to be a young Malkavian, the strange behaviour that had lead her to such a conclusion, and how she herself had tried her best not only to offer comfort to someone whom most ghouls might've found creeping them out and thus scaring them away, but that she also hadn't hesitated to take on a responsibility that was not really meant to be placed on her shoulders. It really did her quite a bit of credit, and made her a true gem, not only to Valerian, but to all of Kindred kind. She was sensible, aware of the importance of upkeeping the Masquerade and honoring it by stepping up when she could, rather than shying away from it, like many others might have done if finding themselves in such a predicament. And, she had shown such compassion to someone of a clan whom most preferred to avoid, trying to offer comfort when she could have easily protected the Masquerade without investing much emotion in doing so.
Was it any wonder that Valerian cherished her?

"...and then this blonde woman in a long white dress just walks in, heading straight for our table as though she knew Melissa was there", Melody carried on, describing what to Valerian sounded like another Malkavian. "You can imagine the looks she got, personally I was afraid at this point we'd have half the club staring at us. Fortunately, people were happy to consider it someone else's problem. She was the Angel Melissa kept mentioning, and probably the only one who knew what was the matter with her. Either way, Melissa wouldn't accept anyone else, she barely accepted me. She, the woman in the white dress I mean, called me... a gift to her kind."

All throughout that vivid account of her encounter with Melissa, and now this blonde woman, whom Valerian suspected might be Seraphina, although he was far from certain, his lips had been slowly curving into a faint smile, which now, at her last couple of words, blossomed into a full, gentle one, in an obvious but silent display of how truly proud he was of her. He couldn't agree more, she really was a gift, and had he not seen that she still had something on her mind, he would have reached up to affectionaly cup and caress her cheek, to signal his full agreement and appreciation for what she had done.
But, the uncertainty that was now weaving it's expression over her young face, had him refraining from it, because if there really was more to the story, whatever it may be, he didn't want to make it harder for her by changing whatever course she was on. So, he simply remained quiet and unmoving. Still smiling, but quiet.

"Before I left, she asked me something", Melody finally said, and the way her gaze dropped to her lap and her teeth nibbled at her lip, only further confirmed to Valerian that whatever it was, she considered it quite a delicate matter. Then, after another few moments of hesitation, her eyes found his again and she finished, perhaps reassured by the encouraging smile he offered; "She asked whether I wished to surrender to her curse."

Ah. Yes, a delicate matter indeed, as it was the cause of quite a bit of conflict within Valerian - and Melody too, no doubt - as well as a part of Valerian's few true regrets: the fact that sooner or later, he would have to Embrace Melody.

It was a bittersweet regret, really, because if there was ever anyone that he, all consequences aside, would have wanted to Embrace, she was the one. He loved her dearly, and the idea of having her by his side completely out of her own free will, rather than the deceptive ties of the blood bond, and on as close to equal terms as they could ever hope to get, was one that he adored, yearned for even. She was the kind of young woman that would make you proud to be a Toreador, and she had already proven to be such a valuable asset to their Masquerade.

But, in all perfect honesty, the idea of free will was also, along with so much more, part of the reason why he feared the moment where her Embrace would turn from a distant future prospect, to cold, harsh reality. Despite it all having happened such a long time ago, his Sire's abandonment and the anguish it had caused him, was still fresh in Valerian's mind, and if he was to believe what Moira had told him - which of course he did - it was a fairly common thing, for Sire and Childe to grow apart and go their seperate ways. And that was a thought that tormented Valerian, even more now after his intimate confession to Moira, than before, because if there was one thing he feared, it was abandonment. He cherished what he and Melody had, and feared that once he Embraced her, things would begin to change, and that with her returning independence, would come the actual need for it.
It was a highly selfish fear, of that he was aware, but it was the truth.

Furthermore, while Valerian himself didn't see Kindred existence as much of a curse, he did understand why many of his peers did. He, like them, mourned the loss of sunlight warming their skin, the sound of their heart beating in their chest, and the sensation of filling their lungs with fresh air. He, like them, feared the gradual but inevitable loss of humanity, the Beast roaring louder and louder inside, and in a way, he did shy away from what he was; a bloodsucker, feeding on humans just so that he could continue to exist another night. And he didn't wish that fate on Melody, or on anyone, really. Had it been up to him, he never would have ghouled her in the first place. He'd had no plans of ever doing it, of corrupting her purity with the deception held in his blood. But he had gotten carried away, and she had remembered things that she wasn't supposed to, and as he couldn't bear the thought of wiping her memory of all traces of him, and leaving her, he'd left her and himself both with very few options instead. After alot of persuasion and convincing on her part, and that growing reluctance in him to leave her, Valerian had ghouled her, knowing then what he still knew now, only finding it a little bit easier to push out of his mind all those years ago.

These days, it was no longer easy, nor was it even possible. He could now see clearly the changes in her, and knew that in time, his blood would only cause everything that she was, everything that he loved about her, to deteriorate. To wither. They had gone past the point of no return; he couldn't disappear from her life and force the blood bond to break, because he couldn't subject her to what it would mean to her psyche to age almost a decade in a matter of minutes, once the last remnants of his blood faded from her system. He couldn't do that to her. Nor could he keep her a ghoul forever, and watch her become little more than a pale shadow of what she once was.
He couldn't.

But that didn't mean the thought of Embracing her, and taking away all the small luxuries of human existence from her, was any easier.

"Those are wise words", he thus said calmly, still propped up on his elbow and studying her, though the smile was now long gone from his lips. "Though in all fairness, I believe the Malkavians, and the Nosferatu, have it worse than the rest of us, as far as curses go."

Silent for a few seconds, as if to give his words time to sink in, along with the notion that each clan, even each individual, had their own curse in Kindred existence, he then reached for her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers, as a way of reassuring her that whatever were her thoughts on the matter, he wouldn't judge nor dismiss them; that she didn't need to fear his reaction to an honest answer;

"So do you?"

After all, even though it would kill him to see her slip into the same kind of Hell that most ghouls did with time, he would never, ever dream of Embracing her against her will.

Some time later, Melissa flounced in front of another mirror, this one in her own room. It was a pretty room, too, and stocked to the gills with dominoes of every color and size. To her childlike mind, there was no happier place in the world. It was the childhood haven she'd never had as one of the mortal young, with its Victorian-styled wallpaper and enormous four-poster bed with the velvet comforter under which she reposed every day. Not that she'd had many days here yet, but as her little heart yearned for nothing more than to be with her angel forever, it was doubtful she'd be leaving anytime soon. Besides, she knew the Gilded Prince wanted her watched. That would be why she would have to be on her very best behavior during the course of her current... enterprise.

She grinned broadly at her mirror image, stark white fangs glinting in the low light, a wicked accompaniment to the gaily ruffled purple pinafore she wore above an impish pair of striped stockings. Yes, the outfit would do perfectly for reminding the maggots of their child and what they had inflicted on her for so long. This would be the act that would make the circle complete, torment for torment, a death to the old life so the new one could proceed unhindered. Reaching for the little porcelain box on her vanity, she pulled out a pair of long red ribbons and completed the ensemble, pulling her dark hair into a pair of pigtails on either side of her head.

She was ready. Shortly after her earlier mirror painting, she'd wandered into the garage in search of some rope and was pleased to discover some coiled at the bottom of a large tool chest and dragged it back to her room, fashioning it into a noose. A noose which now hung over the polished wood of her footboard.

When she moved to reach for it, though, she was taken aback when a small dark paw shot out from under the bed to swipe at the moving rope. Ah, she knew she'd smelled something different about the house. Dropping to her hands and knees, Melissa peered intently under the bed and right into the wide-eyed stare of a fluffy black cat.

"Who are you?" she asked curiously, reaching forward a tentative hand. Soot scurried out of her reach, and she bit her lip in disappointment. Here was a new playmate and he was scared of her. She didn't want him to be. After thinking for a moment, she took the noose and wiggled the end without the loop in his direction and was utterly delighted when he took the bait and attacked the rope with his little furry paws. Slowly she drew the little creature out from under the bed with painstaking patience as he lost himself in the fun of the moment, causing her to giggle happily at the sight of his utter abandon.

Now that he seemed to realize that she wasn't a threat to him, the cat allowed her to pick him up gently and croon, "Sweet kitty". She lifted him to her face and laughed when he bit her nose when she tried to nuzzle him affectionately.

Wrinkling her nose, she said, "Oh, so kitty is thirsty. This fly thought she smelled something familiar about you." She brought her finger to her red-painted mouth and bit down gently on it, drawing out the tiniest little bead of blood, a vitae treat for the funny little animal. Then she offered it to the cat which lapped at it gratefully, despite its not having been starved, and said, "You need a name, this fly thinks. Yes, you look like a... hmmm... you look like a Muffin. So Muffin you will be."

She chortled, and then wrinkled her nose. Kitty's fur was permeated with a most vile stench, though her pleasure at finding him and enjoying his company kept her from noticing it at first. He smelled much like the bowl of a freshly used toilet.

"Muffin needs a bath," she told him, tucking him under one arm and clucking her tongue maternally at him. She carried the animal into the bathroom just off her room and closed the door behind her. "This fly has enough time to take care of that much before she goes. Muffin will be very well cared for here."

Despite the cat's rather vocal protests, she filled the sink and doused him, lathering him up with the prettiest smelling soap in the room. Due to the degree of his filth, she had to do this three times, but finally, the creature was probably cleaner than he had been his entire life. After drying him off with a towel, she smiled down at him and said,

"Look how pretty Muffin is now! Yes, he is such a handsome boy now." She opened the bathroom door and he shot out like he had Sabbat hot on his furry tail. Ghoul or not, kitties still don't like baths.

"Time for us both to play now," she murmured, picking the rope back up and gliding as silently as she could for the back door. It would not do to be seen, no. Though she was not technically breaking any of the Gilded Prince's rules, such actions as she had planned were likely to be viewed askance considering how unstable her clan, and especially an infant like herself, was viewed to be. That, and she did not wish to give her angel anything to worry about. Her plan was very carefully crafted and would risk no violation of secrecy as long as she stuck to it- which she would, considering her own desire to keep her head atop her shoulders.

Winding through many lonely streets and alleys, the young Malkavian stood at last in the shadow of a tall oak tree gazing up at the quaint, two-story home in front of her. It's weathered walls with their faintly peeling blue paint and the cozy little porch swing out front should have felt welcoming to her, but they did not. This place was hell, its sins lying festering beneath the surface.

Tonight was the night the horror of this place would finally begin being drawn into the light, and Melissa stared up at the attic window with a vicious smirk dancing on her lips.

First things first.

((ooc: Sorry about the name Muffin, lol, but I was really loopy when I came up with this post. Head colds can do the daftest things to thought processes. Good thing she's Malkavian. Incidentally, I know I'm late in saying so, but welcome to the RP, robokitty. And hi, Kyle, it would be nice to have you.))

(((ooc: Just a bit of a heads up to the people I'm currently RPing with; starting Friday, I have a rough week of work ahead of me. Working the night shift 6 nights in a row, which means I'll be home awake for about a maximum of 4-5 hours a day. I will still be trying to get posts in, of course, but if I take a while to reply, that will be why. )))


Never before having been the jealous type, but rather possibly the opposite, too trusting one, Connor had found his relationship with Moira to be a completely new experience for him, on so very many levels. Since the very beginning there had been the differences in maturity, authority, experience, confidence, security between them; something which Connor had later learned the reasons of, once he was made to discover what Moira truly was. And while learning about it had hardly erased the many differences, but instead actually made them all the more potent, it had brought with it an understanding and an acceptance that there was no other way for things to be, and that in turn had created a sense of harmony regarding those very differences. At least for the most part. Moira was centuries older than the then twentythree year old Connor, and had several lifetimes of experience and growth behind her, that she simply could not disregard, nor should she have to, and in an odd sort of way, Connor found comfort in her wisdom. Although, there were still times when the feeling of severe inferiority would sneak up on him, and poison his mind with the insecurities regarding the relationship, that he found himself to experience more and more often, and more and more intensely, the longer the relationship lasted. Most likely, that was one of the causes of the growing jealousy he experienced as well. After all, it's only a natural reaction to sense threats, when you're not feeling perfectly secure about something. A relationship especially. And the fact that it all really was a new experience to him, to be so jealous, probably only kept feeding the problem, since he hadn't yet had a chance to learn how to deal with this new side of him. He had always been the type to feel rather secure about whatever romantic affairs he got himself involved with, rarely having casual flings, but instead usually going for actual long-term relationships. He may seem flirty at times, though that was usually due to nothing more than his open, easygoing personality, that made it so very easy for him to get along with most people, and he never used to get upset or jealous if his partner did the same. Because he felt secure.

But these days, and last night especially... Connor couldn't quite put his finger on what exactly it was that had made him feel that black, burning sensation in his chest, when seeing Moira together with that darkhaired stranger, while he himself had been on stage performing. It wasn't as though they had been kissing or holding hands. They hadn't even exchanged those usual coy looks that always seemed to be part of the mating game. And yet, there had been a closeness there, that Connor had never seen Moira share with anyone else before, except maybe himself... and truth be told, that felt a whole lot more threatening to Connor, than had they been exchanging coquettish looks.

Ugh, how he hated this side of himself! Lucky Moira had a tendency to make it go away - and spare him the humiliation of not being able to keep it under control in her presence - sometimes even by the smallest means, such as a look or, as now, a soft smile. Despite still battling a feeling of uneasiness at the thought of her with that darkhaired hippie type, the curving of her lips as she walked over to him, and gave him a quick but affectionate peck on the cheek, did manage to soothe most of it. She was here, with him. She had spent most of the previous night with him. She had spent most of the day as well with him, until he'd had to leave. In fact, she had willingly spent a great deal of time with him ever since he had gotten back from the tour, so why should it bother him that she spent less than an hour with another man, in a place where Connor had been able to see them the whole time, thus knwing nothing had happened?

"Indeed he is", Moira said once she straightened back up, drawing a genuine smile from Connor as his eyes landed on the choker necklace he had given her the other night, her reassurance for a moment having twice the effect of her smile alone. Though his soon waned once more, once she continued; "His name is Valerian, and we've met last week at this club I mentioned, The Haven. I was looking at a painting overhanging the bar which belonged to him, and discovered our art shares some common themes. Last night we met again by chance at Envy while I was waiting for the performance."

Connor hated himself for it, but he couldn't help but to react. Having thought himself to be plain old silly just seconds earlier, he now found himself questioning if he truly was: She'd met the guy only last week, and already they were looking so very cozy?
It all didn't sit quite well with Connor, who at first had assumed she and this Valerian had known eachother for quite a while, to be so openly friendly with one another. Though at the same time, he knew better than to doubt her. After all, during their time together, who was it that had given their partner reason to doubt their fidelity?

Exactly.

Moira had never flirted with anyone else, and to Connor's knowledge, she hadn't even expressed a remote interest in anyone either, let alone cheated on him with anyone.
But, wasn't that kind of the thing though? He had never before seen her that enveloped and... intimate with anyone else, and so maybe that small but persistent voice in the back of his head had a point? The one that for months now had been questioning how he could possibly know what she was up to, while he was in another part of the world entirely, for the majority of several months?

Ah, he was going to drive himself insane if he kept this up. He had to focus on something else. Again.
What was that she'd said, about paintings and art? This Valerian was an artist? Would that mean he was Kindred? A Toreador, like Moira herself? Could that be why they had seemed so chummy? She had explained to him many of the different bloodlines, and how members of the same clan tended to share many of the same characteristics. Such as the Toreador, who were apparently known as the artsy fashionistas among the Kindred. And two peas in a pod were bound to get along... Right?

"Is he like you?" he thus asked, and peered curiously up at her, while leaning slightly forward where he sat, as though he would somehow hear her reply sooner than had he remained leaned back against the couch. "A Toreador?"

Then, as though he wanted to explain the assumption, he added;

"You did say many of you tend to be artists and musicians, right?"

He knew he was only taking wild stabs in the dark here, but the previous one, about her friend being the same person as the one Connor had seen her with at Envy, had apparently been correct, so there was nothing to suggest that this one wouldn't be as well.

((OOC: Sorry bout the delay! I've been having so much fun writing and playing the asylum, and it's hard to switch modes between har har har funny writing and serious moody dark stuff. Had a little trouble ))





The Smiler's fingertips pull at the corner where her cuts meet. With his knife sliding underneath her skin, he separates a small section of it from the muscle and fat underneath. Her consciousness rebels in shock, slipping into catatonia under the maddening feelings of her body coming apart. His cool tongue worms across her cuts once again, and time itself thickens as Lola's senses dull and make the pain bearable. When the Smiler notices, he slices through her daze and forces her into awareness:

"Tell me about your first sexual experience, Lola."

"What?" She gasps before finally comprehending the words through the haze in her skull. "F*** you."

"Do you want me to kill you? Or do you want me to f*** you and then kill you?" That evil smile splits across his face again, and ice fills her body. She has more to lose than merely her life.

"It... it was night, and we were by the water. And he was older th--"

"How much older?"

"I... I don't know.... Ten... ten, maybe ten years."

"Did he force it on you?"

"No."

"Did you want it?"

"No."

"But you let him f*** you anyway?"

The taste of bile reaches Lola's lips as she nods silently in response. Lucidity returns to her mind, and tears blur her vision--both from the excruciating pain and the deeply personal baring of her memories. Seeing her senses return, the Smiler grins smugly.

"How old were you?"

"Fifteen."

"You're lying. How old were you when he popped your cherry?"

Before she beings to respond, Lola feels herself being hoisted up--a construct of meat and bone that she no longer has control over. Charming is standing her up, and the movement stretches her skin like a drum. Involuntarily, she whimpers.

"Well, well, if this isn't quite the Hollywood cliche. Villians too busy gloating to realize their moment's passed."

What was that? A new voice? An ember of hope flares inside her, and she blinks her tears away to see the Stranger. He's dark and brooding and there's something about the way he moves, the way his black strands of black hair fall against his cheeks, the look in his eye that feels familiar.

When the Smiler turns his intense gaze away from her to meet the Stranger and deliver his retort, a great pressure lifts from her heart and throat. But before she knows what to do with herself, he sinks five inches of unyielding steel into her viscera, and agony pumps through her body like acid in her veins.

Something snaps in her lizard brain as the knife acquires intimate knowledge of her body. She screams. A deep, horrible scream laced with awareness of her own creeping death. She struggles frantically--clawing, flailing, and crying like a pig that knows it's up for the slaughter.

Charming claps his hand tightly over her mouth and muffles her wails. Somewhere, the Stranger was still talking to the Smiler, and she hears a gunshot, but none of it registers clearly in her hysteria. She manages to free one of her hands and immediately pulls the dagger out. As the metal slithers out of her stomach, the trickle of blood becomes a streaming, black glut that splashes hotly down her body. She fumbles in terror, and the knife falls from her hands, clattering to the ground.

She is delirious, unthinking. The dark world spins under her feet and the abyss covers her from above. The beast looms over her, and there is the taste of snake's blood on her mouth. It whispers dark secrets between her parted lips, and she can't tell what's real and what's not. His cold hand is pressed so close to her mouth she can taste his poison a thin barrier of skin away. Acting from pure instinct, she turns her head towards his fingers and snaps at them. Her teeth come down on his pinky with the full 200 pounds of force that human jaws are capable of.

His blood is tangy and rich and fills her mouth with myriad sensations, tumbling inside like one hundred pomegranate seeds bursting all at once and damning her to Hell. There's something forbidden in his blood, a fruit never meant to be tasted but by gods alone--a primal force that reeks with power and knowledge of fates worse than death. Repulsed and drawn at once to its potency, she sucks desperately at his finger and feels the pain leaving her body. She feels her skin closing and her insides stitching themselves up.

Charming growls rips his hand away from her bite, tearing his flesh and leaving a gobbet of his finger rolling on her tongue. His bloodied paw shoots for her neck and squeezes.

Her vision blackens instantly as he chokes the blood away from her brain. Blindly, she wriggles one arm away from his grasp and thrusts it wildly behind her. Her thumbnail scratches across his cheekbone then finds the hard, round opening of his socket. Instinctively, she drives her thumb inside like she's jabbing it into a plastic jar of squishy, wet Play-Doh.

His grip loosens, and she slips free. Her nine millimeter is still lying on the pavement nearby, and she scrambles for it. Behind her, Charming grabs the knife from the ground and lunges towards her. She dives for the gun as he dives for her. Her fingers close around its handle and she flips over, whipping it directly into in between his eyes--one black and furious, the other like a burst tomato.

The same way that the brain blocks out knowledge of its own mortality to protect itself, she has always feared the idea of shooting someone in the head. The idea has crept into her mind in vivid flashes that she would immediately thrust away--the blood, the bits of bone and grey matter, the way the features are destroyed then frozen in time---the utter irrevocable act.

But in this moment, she doesn't think. All she does is point the barrel into his face, and with her right hand, she makes a fist.

A crack of thunder shoots down her arm and tremors across the atmosphere. His head jerks back violently. But all she can bring herself to look at is the cloud of pink mist exploding into the air--like a fine puff of lady's perfume, light as cotton candy.

She rolls out from under his body, looks at his twitching form and his good eye lolling at her in his socket and realizes in horror that he is still alive. In a trancelike state, she grabs the knife from his hand and straddles over his chest. She can't think straight, but she sees that ugly scar over his throat, and she knows what she must do. There's this visceral memory of red curtains that spill across the earth, and it dances inside her muscles. The first murder, and a snake's head rolling about in her mouth. She spits his flesh from her lips. The head separates from the body.

She brings the knife down across his neck, and cutting into his body is easier than she imagined--disturbingly easy and natural as cutting through cherry pie. Still, the knife is small, and gives no leverage as she tries to force it through the bone. It's only after multiple, increasingly violent blows that the blade's edge sparks against the concrete, and he disintegrates into dust and ash underneath her.

Dazed, she feels the adrenalin seeping away from her muscles. The full force of what she's just done, the visual and muscle memory of hacking through his neck, crashes into her, and she feels nauseous. Her stomach tightens suddenly, pushing her insides upwards, and she reflexively covers one hand over her mouth. The acid rises in her throat uncontrollably as she rushes to a pile of trash nearby.

Her body shaking with fits, Lola retches forcefully into the city's refuse. When the final strings of thick acid leave her mouth, she feels unbearably weak and drained. With heavy lids, she looks into the viscid splatter of vomit and understands why. Intermingled with her stomach chyme are thick flecks of his stolen blood and power. And when she sees it laced into acid, she feels a tingle on her tongue that yearns for another taste; she feels sick all over again at the thought.

Lightheaded, she struggles to her feet, and the sudden movement shunts the blood from her brain. As her vision clouds with blackness, she stumbles to her knees. She feels her wounds open up again, feels her blood leaving her. She hears shuffling, clangs of metal, and tries to see what's happening between the Smiler and the Stranger's sparring forms, but they are engulfed in darkness. Black oblivion overtakes her and she passes out cold on the concrete.

For the world to truly speak to another, one must watch it, eyes and ears open, for all the soft whispers and sights that would grace the night air, and heart open for all the cuts that the world sought to bestow upon it. A sad life, one might suppose, but then there was the question of whether a life without those fulfilment senses, eyes shut tight, eyes unhearing and heart unfeeling, was a life at all. Did the heart not wither away with nothing to breathe life into it?
Would Seraphina’s heart wither away if not for the preservation of the Kindred flesh? Had it already?

Five hundred years passed, since she’d been given as a gift to another nation, Seraphina could no longer tell whether her heart had saved itself from the ravages of time, for she couldn’t remember what it had felt like in her youth. The sixteen year old was forever lost to the mists and yet, not to the dust, not yet.
Another however, was to be lost to the air, to be scattered for his crimes, one of hers, one of her own blood; Harold.
Did a withered heart mourn what it could not save? If so, Seraphina supposed she wasn’t entirely beyond salvation.

The meeting, the gathering of the cloaked beings, blood in flesh, monsters in human form, older and older until age wasn’t the only thing that made them inhuman, assembled in the throne room, all for the execution of he who gave unlife to another. The democracy of voting was one that passed, the unanimity of supporting the Prince regardless of the lesson that was truly unlearned despite how many of them were killed.
However, Seraphina voted for the execution of Harold, not because she had simply wanted to sing the song Damian had dictated for them, to scream the war cry in harmony with the other Primogen, but because of what Harold had done; he had almost created another Milo, so soon after the first… and it truly stung the depths of her condemned soul.

Thus, the punishment ordered, there was little to do but express the gratitude for the Prince’s clemency, in the eyes of all else who bore scorn for her clan, for their inability to adhere by the expectations, for their curse. The game had been played and now the dice were lost and all that was left to do was to fly.
The wings were gone. The moment Seraphina stepped back into the outer office, the wings were torn from her cold body, the cool silk of her dress suddenly scorching as her eyes fixed upon a face so unknown and yet so stabbingly familiar, one in a garden, years upon years ago, lost with another. Her wings were gone and yet, she simply couldn’t find where she’d lost them, where she’d seen that face before.

“Harold,” came the cutting voice of Cade, tearing into her thoughts, the snicker in his tone unmistakable as her turquoise eyes turned to him. “Another one for us to bag.”

That face was all she could think of as she promptly left, words uttered to Cade in dissuasion of his hostility, her nobility smothering his lack of refinement, soon finding herself in her car, eyes unseeing of the world that passed across her window, form unmoving, until suddenly;

“Balthazar, stop,” she said in almost urgency, opening the door as soon as he complied, and stepping out onto the pavement, at one with the air once more; “I wish for some solitude.”

With that, she walked away, into the tessellation light and shadow, searching for something that she did not know of.

(((OOC: Sorry for crapness, approachable – if anyone wants, she’s just out there in the streets )))

#71 [Fourteenth Night]

The Ventrue Primogen was enjoying the silence in the conference room, sitting all by himself, waiting for his business contact to arrive for their meeting. It was underestimated to make use of the little things - and they were not as little if they could come into good use. Given how long Archon DeWinter had lived, he had had some time left to explore that which the common man usually neither had time for nor had any interest in. He had read all the books he deemed important, some of them several times, and found that as the world grew older the books that were written were not as good. Once in a while, there could turn up some rare gem that captured him, ang gave his refined soul some nourishment. He could actually not decide if he liked music or books better, maybe because they were so different experiences. Books about music bored him greatly though. He would read biographies about his favourite composures, but that was it.

In the middle of a thought about the recent Council meeting regarding the Bloodhunt he could sense that someone was approaching the door to the room. Not just one person, but two. As the door opened and revealed a woman and a member of the hotel staff escorting her, Archon stood from his seat to greet her. So this was Elle Archer. She was dressed impeccable in a black dress that seemed to be made just for her. It fitted tight around her body, ended by her knees and had a thin black belt around her waist. It was discrete, yet elegant. It was not just a dress, it told Archon she took her job seriously and cared to make an impression that would be to her benefit. Details was the most important thing in doing business, because there would be no perfect big picture without them.

"Lord DeWinter, please allow me to introduce myself; I’m Elle Archer", the woman said and instead of reaching out to shake his hand she curtseyed.

It was not the first time a human had done that in his presence, but it was the first time in L.A. in modern time. Archon was impressed, but could not help to wonder why she went to that length in order to greet him. Most humans would not, it was simply not done anymore. Maybe by children in extremly wealthy families, but not by adult women that had a mind of their own. And Archon could not credit it to being because he was such an impressive man, though he thought very highly of himself, he did not let it go to his head.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you", she said with a smile, most certainly meant to reel him in with her woman ways.

Even Archon smiled, but it was a just a hint thereof, because he did not want to start the meeting with anything but a blank canvas. He did not want to seem overjoyed to meet her or anything in any direction of possible emotions. Neutral and cordial, respectful as a Ventrue should be in a business situation, but nothing more. After all, he had had time to perfect his conduct, every single detail of it. He had tried out different ways and learned from the outcome, he could read people and anticipate their next move. Though every meeting was a new challenge, especially when it came to a new acquaintance.
Elle Archer moved to the opposite side of the table, letting her escort pull out a seat for her, though not sitting down, but instead acquiring about Archon's well being;

"I hope you are well?"

She did indeed seem sure of herself, not intimidated at all by the situation, at least not as far as Archon could tell. He liked that. It meant she would not spend precious time to try and prove herself. However, he guessed there must have been a period in her life when she had done just that. Right now, he was curious of the presentaion of the deal itself.

"Miss Archer", he said with a nod. "I am perfectly well, thank you. And you?"

At the same time, he motioned for her to sit, while he did the same. Infront of him, he had his notepad with a silverpen on top of it. He turned to the first clean sheet and wrote the date on the first line.
He then looked at her, quietly, while the escort left the room. Whatever she did, whatever she said, he would register it all to further understand who she was and what she wanted. It could not be as simple as the deal alone, now could it? Archon was always suspicious of ulterior motives.

"I..."

Hesitation. Interruption. Having spoken only a single word, Melody suddenly stopped herself from continuing on with what was perhaps the most human of responses usually given when one felt one needed just a few moments longer to think, to feel one's way to an actual, honest response; "I don't know". It didn't matter than she had silenced herself before uttering it all, for the tone of voice, the beginning rhythm of the speech, always spoke louder than the words themselves did, and so Valerian had only had to hear that very first syllable, to instinctively know what would have been to follow. But she stopped herself, and that, along with feeling her fingers twitch ever so slightly before closing tighter around his, told him that aside from being encouraged by his subtle hint that he would not deny her if it was what she truly wanted, she also already knew the honest response, and that she knew that she did.
She did know.

"Not yet", thus came her sincere reply, once she started over, calm and self-assured, indeed aware of her feelings on the matter, rather than doing what most might have done, and simply tried to convince herself, and him, with an affirmative answer, regardless of the level of truth in it. “I've thought about it many times, and I don't wish to rush it. We both need time to prepare, I think, and there are a couple of things I need to do, a few loose ends to tie before... before it happens."

To Valerian, those were words that brought with them a sense of relief and, again, pride. In a matter where so many tended to let their imagination, their fears and their impatience for something, everything, to happen right now - lest five months, five days, or even five minutes would prove to be too late - run away with them, Melody remained sensible and levelheaded, able to take a step back and the time to analyze. To realize the need for closure, to finish the still ongoing chapters of her human existence. Her loving Domitor truly admired her for that, for Lord knows he himself sometimes lacked those very qualities. His own Embrace being one of the instances when he had, and when he really would have needed them, for there had still been things left for him to do in the human realm, which hadn't dawned on him until it had been too late, and he had already been turned.
But Melody... Melody, in this sense, still had both her feet planted firmly on the ground, unlike him who had been completely swept away by the largely falsely romantic notion of eternal life that many in his shoes fell prey to. Though perhaps that had a little bit to do with the time given to think; Valerian had agreed, or rather been persuaded, to be Embraced after only weeks of first having met his Sire. Melody had been given years to ponder it.
It didn't make all the difference, since Melody still in many things remained more mindful than did Valerian, but it did make for some.

"This is my world as well, my life", the young woman continued, further sharing her view of the matter with him, while following him as he slid to the edge of the bed - not as a sign of rejection or of distancing himself from what she said, but simply as part of the already started prelude to getting out of bed, reluctant though he may be to do so - and once there draping her arms around his shoulders. "You don't have to say anything now. Just think about it, I will do the same. Just know that when we're both ready and if it's also what you decide, there isn't anyone else I'd ever want as my Sire."

Even though the thought of Embracing her still appeared to him a grim one, and even though his feelings still waged a war within, Valerian couldn't help but to allow his lips to form a soft smile, so very faint, yet with a warmth that seemed to slowly spread in the entire room, like that of an open fire gradually conquering the chill of a winter night, and render words redundant. Lifting his hand, he seized on of hers once more and brought it to his lips to bestow upon it a kiss so light it would make a feather's touch seem heavy.

It was to be his only reply. He said nothing. Melody had indicated no need for words, and thus he felt no need to provide them. Instead, he merely stood, the sleek fabric of the satin sheets sliding off of his naked, statuesque form, and then hers as he assisted her graceful departure from them as well.

"Duty calls", he murmured in her ear, wrapping both his slender yet sinewy arms around her from behind and tugging her towards the closet harboring part of his extensive wardrobe, as well as some of hers. "Now, what do you suggest I wear?"

Like all couples, he and Melody had their quirks, their games, their habits, and this was one of them; dressing one another. They were so comfortable and carefree together, knew eachother's tastes in most matters, and both enjoyed surrendering themselves to the other to dress. It shattered the conformity of one's own choices, and offered a closeness only achieved by those who shared a mutual trust, who could laugh together, even be silent together, and never feel the need to excuse who they were to one another. Almost like an old, happily married couple. And yet at the same time, so very far from it.

No less than almost an hour later - one filled with laughing, playful and random attacks of tickling, even a quick outburst of pillow fighting - the two were finally making their way out the double doors of Valerian's chambers, towards the stairs leading down to the crowded dance floor, each of them with one arm wrapped around the other's waist. Valerian, all according to Melody's selection, now dressed in a snug-fit, patterned pair of pants in black and dark purple, and a black silk shirt, untucked and unbuttoned at the neck, leaving just the upper part of his smooth chest visible between the lapels, while Melody's slender curves had been draped in a knee-long black babydoll dress with a part lace bodice, and with a pair of black wedges to match, as chosen by Valerian.

Slowly descending the stairs together, Valerian allowed his gaze to scan the growing crowd, much like he always did upon emerging from his chambers, to see what regulars and Kindred were there, greeting those whom he recognized with a soft smile and a nod, but leaving it to them to eventually approach, should they want to, rather than possibly interrupting whatever they might be up to by approaching them himself.
However, there was one set of eyes that when they met his caused him to blink with both surprise and unexpected delight, and that with their sheer intensity had him sensing that their owner had been waiting for him, specifically.
Noah.

"Come", Valerian told Melody, sending the Gangrel a quick smile to indicate he had spotted him, and was on his way over, while sliding his arm from her waist and gripping her hand in his instead, as to be able to move through the crowd more smoothly without loosing her in the process. "I see someone I need to talk to."

Though they'd only just barely set foot on the ground floor, when the bouncer next to the stairs called for his employer's attention by giving his arm a nudge and then handing him a small white note, saying it was from someone called Vevila. In an instant, Valerian's face lit up as the mere sound of the name was enough to draw a smile from his lips, although this time there was a hint of worry therein as well. Roe had assured him that his dear friend was indeed alright, but there's just something that even though you're being convinced someone is doing fine, you still yearn to be able to confirm it yourself. And Valerian hadn't caught even a single glimpse of Vevila's strikingly beautiful appearance for over a week now, and thus was indeed highly concerned, to say the least.

So then, it was much to his relief when he discovered that not only was the note indeed written in Vevila's elegant handwriting, but that it also assured him once more that she was doing alright, that she was being well taken care of by Archon, and that she would see him soon. It wasn't the face-to-face encounter Valerian had been yearning for, but it was still the next best thing; a message from her personally. Thus, when he and Melody continued on towards Noah, it was as though a small weight had been lifted from his chest, propelling his smide to grow both wider and warmer with even bigger ease than usual, as the two of them came to a halt by the Native American Gangrel.

"Noah", Valerian greeted, his delight at the unexpected meeting twinkling in his blue eyes. "It's quite the pleasure to see you once again honoring The Haven with your presence."

After all, given the general Gangrel's loner nature, as well as the rather complicated events of the previous evening, he could imagine just what it had to cost Noah to come here again, and consequently gathered that there had to be some reason for his repeat visit, other than enjoying the club scene.

"This is Melody", the young Toreador then went on to introduce the beautiful blonde by his side. "Melody, meet Noah, a new acquaintance of mine."


(((ooc: Sorry if the ending is crappy. Ran out of time and inspiration. *s* (too little sleep) )))

(((ooc: Ghani - Oooh, ooh! I know! "Kindred; The Embraced". Lily Langtree (sp?). Am I right? )))

((ooc: Bingo! Yay, I'm glad I'm not the only one who remembers that show. </ VTM geek>))

Metal against metal, like the faint echo of a time long past, when mankind still waged war amongst itself with armies of spears, axes, shields and swords, rather than the lily-livered guns and nuclear bombs of modern time. The days when the weapons you used didn't allow you the cowardice of killing your opponent without looking them in the eye, without owning up to them what you were doing, and what you were robbing them of. The ways of old, and of honor, when the enemy had still been allowed to die, to leave his mortal coil with a bit of dignity still attached to his name. At least when in battle.

The current fight with Blondie here held very little of that concept. Fighting Sabbat scum very rarely did. They had no sense of honor, and no understanding of it, nor did they even care that they didn't. Quite the contrary. They revelled in their atrocities and cherished the depraved dark pits that were once their souls, they thrived on horror and death, sought destruction wherever it might be found, and went to great lengths to humiliate their victims and their enemies, stripping them of all their worth and their pride, preferrably slowly and as painfully as possible, in the hopes of getting to ram it all down the throats of the poor bastards before they drew their final breath. Or, in the case of the souls already damned, turned to ash.

There was no doubt in Adrien's mind of what similar, grotesque scenarios were currently playing out in Blondie's twisted one. It was so clearly visible in his piercing blue eyes, the enjoyment he took in the fight, in thinking that Adrien had bitten off more than he could chew by interrupting their little torture party, simply because he had sustained a few injuries more than he had caused so far, when in truth, the cuts he'd recieved by Blondie's sword had been sacrifices willingly made in order to shape the odds into someting that was far more to his liking: Gone was now the shotgun, and with it, Blondie's chances to focus long enough to use his Disciplines, lest he'd run the risk of ending up the loosing party in this tête-à-tête. He now had no choice but to fight on Adrien's terms; with honor, without cheating.

"So uptight...", he chastised with a sneer, as once again Adrien managed to dodge an attack almost before it even happened, making it look much like a feint of Blondie's part, especially as the motion then died abruptly before it was fully launched, when in fact it had been meant as a full-on offense. Blondie knew it, and Adrien knew it. "You should try getting a little nasty with her. You know, work a load off. She tastes great."

Behind him, out of the corner of his eye, Adrien could see the girl now fighting her other assailant, the darkhaired one, in an eruption of pure mortal fear triggered by the dagger that Blondie had thrust into her gut, but that had since been pulled from the wound and was now lying on the hard, cold pavement, her blood on the blade glistening in the moonlight, like predator eyes in the dark. Like a silent testament to Blondie's words.

Seeing her fight was largely encouraging, because it meant there was still plenty of life in her. But it also put her at greater risk of getting herself killed in the process, as the darkhaired Lasombra clearly didn't care much for the struggle, his aggravated growls intermingling with the sounds of her desperate efforts to defend herself, as they both raced to be the one to come out of the fight alive.
Much like Blondie and Adrien, only with far less equal conditions. It was time to start wrapping things up, lest failure would be his only option.
And that, it never was.

Thus, he let a smirk steal across his lips as he tossed the knife to his other hand, changing details about his tactics to keep Blondie ultimately unable to use observation and experience of him in order to figure him out as an opponent.

"I don't get my kicks from scaring kids", he jeered. "And dusting Sabbat hide really is so much more fulfilling."

Those gibes were enough to send Blondie launching into a renewed attack, eyes aglow with both relish of the fight itself, and determination to make Adrien eat his words. Sword cutting through the air, over and over again, he managed to push the former hunter back a couple of feet, before Adrien launched his counter attack, having used the past couple of seconds of retreat to study closer his opponent's pattern of moving, and now putting his conclusions to the test by using them to make an advancement of his own. Once again, the alley filled with the clanging noises of blades crossing, a rapid but irregular rhythm floating through the air like the basics of an unfinished melody. Then suddenly, another loud blast shattered the harmony, pushing the men away from one another in surprise, Blondie's sword, in mid-swing, ending up making a lucky strike across Adrien's chest, causing a long, bloody rift in his shirt and the skin underneath it. For the fraction of a moment, both pair of eyes darted over to the other two fighters, only to find the girl in the process of easing herself out from underneath the darkhaired Lasombra's quivering corpse.
Against all odds, she had prevailed.

However, neither Blondie nor Adrien could afford to let the realization distract them, and so within the bat of an eye, their gazes had locked once more. Though Blondie's soon strayed ever so briefly, to the tip of his sword where a few drops of Adrien's blood now clung to the shiny metal. Seeing them, his eyes took on a new glint of malicious delight, as they returned to meet with Adrien's. With the two of them now hovering several feet apart, in anticipation of their opponent's next move, he then brought the tip of the sword closer to his face as if to examine it, but instead ran his finger carefully along the blade, swiping the crimson liquid onto his own skin, already sullied by both his own and the girl's blood. And with his eyes now not leaving Adrien's face for a single moment, he brought the finger to his lips, slipping it between them and into his mouth, to sample the blasphemous mixture with a nefarious grin, revelling in the delivery of such a slap in the face to Adrien.
Though the only visible reaction it bought him, was a disdainful sneer. At first, before Adrien decided to make use of the intended provocation. Not to get angry and careless, as had been Blondie's intention, but to appear angry and careless, thus hopefully bringing about an end to this fight, finally.

With a low growl rumbling deep down in his throat, he shot towards Blondie in what would seem like an impulse attack, and which ended up having the same result as one; Blondie, having anticipated such an offense, easily managed to fend Adrien off, and even sent him tumbling back when the sword made another swipe - although this time a miss - for his chest.
Then, grand finale.

Once more, Blondie came at him, the sword slicing threateningly through the air along the ground by his feet, much like it had done once before during the prelude to one of his attacks, and sending the few remaining droplets of Adrien's blood flying from the tip before they crashed mercilessly against the pavement.

The mistake. The one Adrien had been waiting for, and the only one he'd need. The motion, the silent challenge made by Blondie, urging Adrien to try again, turned out to be an invitation that the former hunter answered too soon. It wasn't yet complete, it wasn't even halfway through, when in the split second of opportunity Adrien seized control, firmly and with both hands, just as the tip of the sword swung back too far to make it back to the front in time to either fend off or cut short his sudden burst of movement. Throwing himself at the now exposed Blondie, the sheer force managed to knock him over and send them both tumbling to the ground in a flurry of steel, limbs and leather, Adrien using his advantage as the instigator, the one with the chance to register their individual positions on impact, the one foreseeing the rolls that ensued, to land on top of his opponent.

The sound when he drove his freshly retrieved stake into Blondie's heart, was none. Without a single whisper, not even a faint sigh, it slid easily right through the fabric of the Lasombra's shirt and the dead skin and flesh of his chest underneath. In a matter of mere moments, life drained from his limbs and from his wildly staring eyes, as though he'd been suddenly frozen in time. Unmoving. Rendered harmless.
Staked.

"There...", came Adrien's voice in an almost lulling sough, in the now eerily silent alley. "All better."

Then pulling himself to his feet, he would have probably taken a few seconds to just stand there, gazing contentedly down at his latest achievement, had it not been that concern was currently overruling satisfaction. The last he'd seen of the young girl, she had been stumbling and slumping to the ground like a tiny and torn little rag doll. And looking over there now, he saw her she still laying there. Thus, a contemptuous glance was all that Blondie recieved before Adrien slid the bowie knife back into the sheath in his boot and stalked over to the girl, acutely aware of the Kindred eyes burning into his back from the outskirts of the alley, where his stalker still hovered, eager to see what would happen next.
Well, let him watch. So far, Adrien had done little that would give anyone (justifiable) reason to get him into trouble.

Thus, reaching the girl, he simply knelt by her side, and turned her over to examine her wounds, knowing already that she was still alive. He'd heard her heart beating even before he'd gotten to her.

However, much to his initial surprise, he found that her many cuts, and even the stab wound, seemed to have healed quite a bit already, and for a moment, confusion drew a small crease in between in his eyebrows. But then, his eyes latched onto the traces of blood around her mouth, and from there darted over to the stinking puddle of partly bloody stomach contents not too far away, and realization dawned on him. Somehow, she'd gotten vitae into her system.

Dammit!

Though at the same time, perhaps it had been the preferrable scenario, if the alternative was her bleeding to death. And at least this way, by the looks of it, he wouldn't have to take her to a hospital and be forced to leave her there when dawn approached, thus making himself accessory to a major breach of the Masquerade since Lord knows what she might've ended up telling people about what had happened.
But still, the idea of her having tasted Kindred blood - even if it was hopefully that of someone who now appeared to be nothing more than ashes being scattered by the wind, thus making her no subject to the first stages of a blood bond - didn't sit at all well with him. Not since he knew what relentless and destructive desires that single first taste had been known to stir.

There was no time to worry about that now, however. He needed to get her out of here, and then deal with currently lifeless Blondie back there, before fate decided to throw more trouble his way. Deserted though the place may be at the moment, vampires weren't the only creatures with a tendency to sneak around in places such as this, and so it was just a matter of time before a thug or a bum came scrambling down the alley, to find a corpse with a wooden stake shoved into it's heart. And that would hardly make Adrien any more popular with the Camarilla than he already was.

So, after wrapping the small, battered and scantily clad form at his feet in her coat, he carefully picked her up in his arms, stubbornly blocking out the sweet, sweet scent of the blood still leaking from her wounds and trickling over small parts of her skin, threw a glance back at Blondie instead, to make sure he was behaving and that no one was yet around to stumble across him within the next minute or so. Then Adrien set off in the opposite direction. Walking briskly, he'd soon put quite a bit of distance, as well as quite a few twists and turns between himself and the arena of tonight's Sabbat encounter, and so when he reached a large dumpster surrounded by various black trashbags and a couple of large, soiled carton boxes, he figured it would have to do. She was still out cold, but he had to return to the alley to clean up the mess still there before he could go any further. Thus, with her still in his arms, he kicked a few of the trash bags aside, to make room for her next to the dumpster, and then sat her down, just as carefully as he'd picked her up, and then stepped back. Lingering there for a moment, to see if perhaps the coolness of the dumpster seeping through the fabric of her coat would be enough to wake her, which it wasn't, he then hurridly returned from whence he'd come.

Unsurprisingly, Blondie was still there, and he was still alone, staring blindly into nothingness. How easy it would have been, all Kindred rules aside, to just leave him there. To let the sun rise and wipe his wretched existence from this Earth. Or to just pick up his sword and sever his head from his shoulder, to watch his body crumble infront of Adrien's eyes, like so many others had done over the years.

But, no sooner had Adrien's thoughts touched on the subject, before he felt something familiar and so very, very despised tug at his inner core. The chains that kept him bound. The mental restraints he had tested so many times already, and never been able to break. No matter how much he wanted to, no matter if he hadn't even been under surveillance, he still wouldn't have been able to kill Blondie. He felt it, as soon as the very thought of just picking up the sword or the knife, and ending the Lasombra right here and now, entered his mind.

So then, that meant that the mystery of last night's achievement and the purpose of the possibly upcoming excursion with Lena had now been solved; apparently, he could only kill if it was in self defense.
Figures.

"Merde!", he cursed to himself, shooting Blondie a brief, hateful glare, but then swiftly got to work.

He'd have to ponder all this later, in peace and quiet. And even though his ability to kill was limited to killing only in self-defence, rather than killing those opposing the Camarilla - which was what he'd been hoping for - the bottom line was that he could still kill. And there was plenty to be done with that.

But for now, he'd focus on the matter at hand; unstaking Blondie, while ensuring he didn't get any ideas of coming after Adrien once he did. Gathering the scattered weapons and disposing of everything except the shotgun as well as the girl's small one, both of which he decided to keep for now, for the sake of convenience, he then stood himself over Blondie, while contemplating the best but non-lethal way of slowing him down. Finally - though it had been only a few seconds - he then reached down, putting his heavy boot on Blondie's chest and wrapping his fingers around the stake, yanking it out with a swift motion, only to plunge it straight into his gut instead, just as his body twitched out of it's catatonic state. Adrien's murky gaze locking with Blondie's now pained blue one, a teasing smirk stole across his lips.

"Ooops."

And with that, he was gone, quickly slipping off into the shadows, disappearing as easily as though they had simply swallowed him up, and returning to where he had left the girl.


(((ooc: robokitty - As discussed through PMs, he'll just pick her up again, and keep carrying her until she comes to. Sorry for rushed ending. Ran out of time again. Might elaborate once I get a chance, but that's the gist of it)))

I would like to join the roleplay but have some questions about things, as I am uncertain what to do with my character. What are the exact rules on dhampirs for instance, as I know Adrien is one, because I would like to either make my character a dhampir or a tremere. Also, do we absolutely have to post a picture of our character, or can we get by with a description?

(((ooc: gdayars - You'd be most welcome to join. New players are always appreciated. However, the thing is, dhampirs haven't been included as playable characters. Adrien did use to be one, but for the duration of this RP, he's been a vampire. That said, I'm not completely opposed to introducing the possibility for one or two dhampir characters (maximum, since they are very rare), if the other players agree.

As for pictures; no, you don't have to include any. A verbal description is perfectly fine. Most people just tend to want to use pics, since it gives a nice visual for others to work with when describing their character(s). )))

(((ooc Sorry, meant Adrien was born a dhampir. Hope I am doing this right. and thanks robokitty!)))

1. What clan you belong to: Tremere

2. Name: Selene Clarke

3. Age: 587 years, elder (Embraced in 1422 at the age of 16)

4. Disciplines: Auspex, level 5, Dominate, level 4, Thaumaturgy, level 5

5. Short bio: Selene was born Selene Payne in 1406 in Devon, to a wealthy merchant family. A nobleman threatened to accuse her entire family of being heretics when she spurned his advances. As there was already some suspicion among the locals that her mother and she were guilty of witchcraft (with reason I might add), people would have readily jumped at the accusation. A member of the Tremere clan, Christopher Clarke, had already been contemplating making the beautiful Selene his childe when his plans suddenly had to be sped up before the nobleman's threat of having them accused of heresy could take place. The erstwhile Tremere benefactor approached the family, offering to help them with their dilemma if Selene would agree to become his wife. As he was far more powerful, due to both political standing and vampiric abilities, than the nobleman, the Tremere succeeded in preventing the charges. Selene married him out of gratitude, only to become embraced on her wedding night. She and Christopher spent several hundred years together, very happily until the French Revolution, when Christopher was caught and beheaded. Not because he was a vampire, but rather because he was a nobleman.

6. Picture: (not available yet)

7. Additional info: Selene is 5 feet tall, with silvery blonde hair, silvery gray eyes, and very pale skin. She is a very beautiful woman, with delicate features.

She lost herself by the water in the deep, black sea--by the crashing waves that pounded into her body without making her clean. They pulled her below into cold, quiet abyss. With her back lying on the sea floor, she gazed at the stars and saw nothing through the choking darkness save for schools of vibrant fish. They were as iridescent blue as a swarm of Morpho butterflies. And there at the bottom of the sea, she lost all sense of time as they danced above her in the water like flashing knives.

---

Lola stirs softly to the intimate feeling of being tightly held by someone strong and sturdy. She feels the cool skin of a masculine hand in the shapes of diamonds through her fishnet stockings. There's a stinging pain in her gut, and it feels wet with blood, but something about this Stranger's presence calms her.

Her sense of smell returns first. So close to his body, her nose breathes in his scent of soft leather, iron, and blood, and it's a stupid f***ing thing, but he smells like home, like the smell before the rain. A fleeting quality, ephemeral but necessary. After smell, her eyes slowly flutter open and take the world in blobs of color. They find the Stranger's blurred face, and as she blinks he comes into focus.

He looks like a lion left out in the rain. Dignified features, proud--but he's seen better days than this one. His face is young and handsome, his messy raven hair falls over cheekbones to die for, but there's something weathered and worn about him that belies his youthful appearance.

As she comes to, she adjusts her position to ease the pain on her wound. She shifts in his arms, and she slings one of her arms around the back of his neck; one delicate hand grasps his solid shoulder and steadies herself. The movement brings her eyes down across his body, and she sees that he's been cut. Her eyes drift over the blood on his clothes, and its smell suddenly becomes strong in her nose.

It's only a moment that her eyes flicker at his wounds before she pulls them away to look into his eyes.

There is a throbbing fire in her gut, an ember in her heart, and a numbness everywhere else as she tries to make sense of all that's happened, but it's impossible--like a deluge of raindrops that leaves her skin desensitized to each individual one. What does someone say in a situation like this? There are hundreds of questions she could and should ask, but her mind settles on the most immediate.

She parts her lips to speak. They feel dry and stick together slightly before coming apart, so she licks them without thinking of it. Her voice is soft and smooth, as though she's just woken up from a meditative slumber and not after a horrific attempted murder.

"Where are we going?"

(((ooc: Ghani - I adored that show. Bought it on DVD last year. Such a shame about Mark Frankel. If ever there was a real life Ventrue, he was it. Completely understand why they cancelled the show after he passed away, but still... Such a shame. It had such great potential.

gdayars - Your character has been added to the active characters list. Feel free to get started. )))


Piecing together a puzzle is usually very hard work, work that requires alot of patience and systematic thinking, as well as, to some extent, luck and the ability to experiment, to take a chance every once in a while. Having had the world as he'd known it shatter completely, into a thousand pieces, only to then have another thousand new ones thrown into the complete disarray that had ensued, Connor was now finally ever so slowly beginning to ease his way out of the frustration of standing in the middle of it all, with everything whirling around him from all directions, without a single chance of making the few pieces he could actually grab onto fit. He was starting to take a careful step back, out of the mess, to be able to view it all as a larger picture, and sift through all the pieces until he found the corner ones, from which he could then try and start piecing things together in a more studious and reflective manner, as opposed to just grabbing two pieces and trying his darndest to make them fit, much like would a toddler, which only ever resulted in even more frustration.

Over the past couple of hours, the world had seemed to slow down around him, to it's usual, still fast but at least bearably so pace, and he found himself finally once again able to produce a long string of logical thoughts. There were still many questions burning in his mind, and each answer he recieved gave birth to a dozen more. But they were reasonable ones, backed with quite a bit of afterthought, and not ones thrown out at radom, when at the height of his frustration he had only blurted out whatever few words had actually managed to pop into his dizzy head. No longer scared out of his wits, nor confused to the point of a mental breakdown, his natural but calm inquisitiveness was being handed the reins of his mind, and he was starting to investigate the many mysteries brought before him, starting to piece together the puzzle of his new world. For yes, even if at this time, jealousy was obviously picking what road to travel first, it was still one meant to lead to the answers to some of his many questions.

However, it was as though Moira sensed that despite his growing endurance to handle what he had been just recently presented with, the ideal way of going about exploring it all, was to take things slow, lest it'd all once again spin out of his control and render him little more than a mess of tangled thoughts and poor nerves. And since currently he himself seemed unable to let it all rest, urged on by his jealousy and his curiousity, she took it upon herself to see to it that he did; she offered distraction. Mischievous tease that she could be when she wanted to, able to make his knees go weak with yearning with no more than a mere suggestive look, she offered him potent, unresistable distraction, taking his mind off of things almost instantly as she lowered herself in between his legs, with a smile on her lips that with the greatest of ease drew a rather naughty one from his in return.

"You catch on fast", she playfully commended him for his conclusions, the impish look in her eyes a Siren's call to his desire, stirring awake urges that would soon have had even the most chaste of men thinking of impurities. "We're the sexy ones: we like to entertain."

From there, she went on to illustrate her point quite vividly, leaning closer to him and brushing her crimson lips against his most welcoming ones, nibbling at them ever so lightly in what would have soon become the prelude to him at least attempting to claim hers with the sensual hunger now flaring in him at the taste of her, had she not decided to end it there, giving a small, teasing tug at his lower lip as she pulled away, her retreating form drawing with it a somewhat ragged breath from his lungs. Having closed them to fully enjoy the kiss without any other impressions to intrude on the sensation, Connor's eyes then opened again, slowly as though the lids had grown heavy with desire, and the shadow of a smirk stole across his lips as he watched the sultry creature that was Moira withdraw towards the bathroom, a wicked smile still on her lips. She knew exactly what she did to him, and she enjoyed every moment of it. And frankly, so did he.

Yes, if all Toreador were like her, they were the sexy ones indeed...

"Speaking of entertainment", she teased as she disappeared off to the bathroom, "are we going to enjoy ourselves tonight or stay here talking about it?"

Smirk growing slightly wider, Connor took that as her signal that she was ready to leave, and thus pushed himself off of the couch, following slowly in her trail. Though once he reached the point where he found himself right in between the bathroom and the outer door, he stopped to wait for her to emerge and join him, while gently rubbing his index finger across his lips to rid them of any traces of her ruby lipstick.

"Staying here has never gotten in the way of enjoying ourselves before", he innocently pointed out, while checking the result in the hallway mirror, and then running a hand through his hair to adjust a few disobedient locks of silken gold. "I'm sure we could've found something to do."

Just then Moira finally emerged from the bathroom, and Connor turned to shoot her a most angelic smile, before leading the way to the door and pulling it open, motioning to her an elegant "Ladies first".

Though deep down, despite the now rather blithe and carefree mood between them, he still couldn't help but to wonder; why had she been so swift to change the subject earlier? Had it been just a way of further reassuring Connor by indicating that this Valerian was not so interesting that he was worth talking about anymore, OR had it been a way of trying to conceal what was truly going on between the two of them?
Or, as now seemed to be the constant third option, was Connor was simply reading too much into things? Granted, he had every reason to do so, since experience had taught him that not too long ago, he had read far too little into certain things, thus resulting in a great portion of last night's emotional rollercoaster.
But still... He just couldn't shake that nagging feeling that something was not right.

Selene, who had just arrived in town, was on her way to introduce herself to the local Prince. She hadn't had the pleasure of meeting this particular Prince before, but had heard that he was the ultimate Ventrue, and a force to be reckoned with. She was wearing a long white coat with silver embroidery on the edges, white silk skirt and blouse, white leather boots, and a silver dragon necklace around her neck. She often wore it as her personal symbol was the dragon. She had come across the symbol during a long ago journey to China, back when Christopher was alive. They had traveled the world, never staying in one place too long for fear that people would find out what they were. Besides, members of the Tremere clan often found that the compulsion to learn, and to delve into mysteries was almost as strong as the compulsion for the blood that fed them. Almost. They researched each region's personal mysteries and culture everywhere they went. It was their misfortune to travel to France, at the King's request mind you, at the worst possible time. Selene had barely escaped, and only then because Christopher had essentially sacrificed himself so that she could do so.

All these random thoughts ran through her mind, much like an ongoing commentary, as she walked the streets of L.A. for the very first time. Suddenly, she spied another member of the kindred walking alone down the street in a beautiful silk dress. There was something about the woman that made Selene think that she was Malkavian, and quite old, much like Selene herself. She debated whether to approach the woman or not, especially since Malkavians were so very strange so much of the time, but decided that nothing ventured, nothing gained.

"Hello" Selene said to the beautiful Malkavian woman.

(ooc: the woman is Seraphina)