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Alchemist
#1026 Old 9th Jan 2008 at 11:42 PM
((ooc: Sorry for this ooc post, but I just wanted to let you Atropa know Moira's droping by the Haven tomorrow, I've been out all day today. And hope you won't mind Aeode saying something to Jessica, Elektra. ))

If wishes were fishes we'd all cast nets
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Retired Moderator
retired moderator
#1027 Old 9th Jan 2008 at 11:47 PM
(((ooc: Ghanima - Jesus Christ woman, you scared me half to death! *s* When I was reading your post, I thought you were gonna say "Moira's droping OUT". *lol*
Anyway, Valerian will be thrilled. )))

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
#1028 Old 10th Jan 2008 at 2:29 AM
Default Beyonca and Archon - Algernon
At the moment of her knock reality somewhat hit Bee. Her mind started turning over thoughts of how furious Archon had been. It had been a long time since she had seen him and spoke to him. It wasnt likely hehad gotten any good reports of her behavior. She could see this conversation being a long and heated one. But she was to make sure to keep herself in check. The last thing she wanted was to make Archon anymore aggervated and annoyed with her as he already was. So she stood by the door waiting. It wasnt a ong time she stood waiting, but he didnt let her enter upon her first knock. Which to Bee regestered as a possibility of two things. Either he was swomped with work and was already under stress or he could be colecting his thoughts. Much like the calm before the storm. Of course thier was the possibility that she was very wrong in both things. But his temper wasnt something she wished to mess with.

"You may enter"

It was all she had heard him say. Quickly but gentally she open the door and walked in, making sure to close the door behind her. Gracefully she walked toward his desk. Taking in the sence of his office as she strode. It was quite beautiful. Everything was just breath taking. But nothing else should be exspected of a Ventrue Primogen.

"Primogen."

Bee said with a slight bow. The look on his face was actually calm. It somewhat left Beyonca feeling uneasy. Ventrue could always hide thier true emotions. Most did in fact. Except her. She mostly let hers show, exspect when she felt the need to hide them. Which was something she did now. The uncurling nerves in her body was not showing on the outside.

"You look well. I am glad to see you have returned to us. I hope your trip was pleasant."
Test Subject
#1029 Old 10th Jan 2008 at 4:46 AM
((Atropa- Thank you

Ghanima- No I don't mind.))
Alchemist
#1030 Old 10th Jan 2008 at 1:56 PM
Moira Sushill & Valerian - The Haven [Night #7]

A gust of wind swept the twin silk curtains apart, sending the soft burgundy fabric rippling upon the breeze which supported it with ease for a moment, then fell noiselessly back in place. Only the remotest of murmurs reached through the tall window panes, the distant buzz of life coursing through the modern metropolis spreading into infinity as far as the eye could see underneath a sky attaining the hues of washed ink as the final rays of sunlight bled into the horizon.

Moira Sushill's eyes did not however stop to encompass Los Angeles' modern jagged skyline; her attention was given to a sheet of paper balanced precariously on her lap. As the wind shifted the air in the room, the thin paper was carried away before irreverently descending to the floor, its corners rolled up slightly like an old parchment's.

The Toreador herself was seated upon the edge of the four poster bed which was the centerpiece of her surroundings, resembling an angel banished from Heaven in her luminous sating gown that blended perfectly with the pure white sheets that seemed almost an extension of it. Her oval face, haloed by loose auburn curls was inclined to the left, and her thin arms hung limply aside: a porcelain statue devoid of life or emotion...but it was not so. Through narrowed eyelids, her burning vision was centered on the fallen sheet of paper unblinkingly, as though wanting to set it aflame with its intensity.

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

And yet, it brought no joy to Moira to beheld her finished sketch. It wasn't the execution of pencil on paper: no, that was exquisite. It was the artistic value; Moira could recall a few dozens of all but identical depictions in which she had used the same technique, and the same theme. Setting was irrelevant: it simply held nothing original, nothing that would bring her art a step forward from the standstill she had been experiencing for so long. The Beast had an infinite number of possible faces and expressions, Moira having translated a good number of them on canvas already: she was a philosopher at heart, and the mystical grain of mystery of the Kindred “other nature” was a fascination of hers. And a reminder of why she held on to her dwindling humanity, of what she had to avoid at all times.

Her art left her with a dead, empty and breathless feeling, which eroded her very soul: it was the bane of a Toreador, to loose their creative muse and be unable to regain it for years and years; it drove some of them into torpor and others it transformed into broken recluses with no taste for anything in the world. Moira often wondered what her fate would eventually be.

With a final glance at the floor, Moira abandoned her contemplative stance, picking up the fallen paper she rolled it carefully, placing it on the nearby table where it had come into existence and storing it safely into its proper receptacle. Disappointing or not, she could not bear to tear it apart; if anything, it was a memento of the previous night's event, stored on paper as well as in her memory.

There was a subtle knock on the door, and a young man bearing a platter of food walked in at Moira's invitation; naturally, it was not the food she was interested in. As the boy placed it on an empty surface, she approached, the enticing potency of her Presence discipline enhancing her appeal to preternatural heights, as perceived by the mortal (and immortal) senses: the young man's eyes widened in awe, and his feet were frozen on the spot. Moira stroked his forehead gently, almost lovingly before she lowered her lips to the throbbing vein on the side of his neck, piercing the skin with ease and ravenous hunger.

It was ecstasy as no mortal could experience it, the very crux of her existence. It rippled through her body, shaking her to the core, the blood coursing down her cold veins like liquid fire, impossibly sweet and life-giving, burning its way through, flushing that pearly white skin with warmth and colour. The boy, too, shared the delight of the vampiric Kiss: his head hung back, his eyes rolled inside his skull and soft moans and whimpers spilled off his parted lips. His mind reeled and begged Moira not to let go, not to stop; but she did stop. She had to stop, before the loss of blood would harm him, and that was the most difficult struggle of all, for it was what defined the limit between herself and the Beast. If she allowed it to take control even for once, and kill, she was one step closer to something she dared not consider. With half a snarl, Moira retreated, her chest rising and descending rapidly; a tiny droplet of crimson hung on the corner of her mouth, which she slowly lapped up with the tip of her tongue, which she then used to seal the bite wound that oozed blood on the throat of her victim. He was somewhere between swoon and consciousness, his breathing a little harried from the intense experience granted by the feeding. Placing a palm upon his forehead, Moira whispered: “Forget.” and lowered him on the bed. He would awaken in an hour or two, confused and feeling oddly weak, but unharmed and completely unaware of what had happened: it was the way the Masquerade demanded it, and Moira upheld it.

A half an hour later, still savouring the taste on her tongue, Moira paced through the hotel lobby and onto the brightly illuminated pavement outside. She was wearing a black satin underbust corset embellished with red stitching and bound by criss-crossed lacing at the back, over a flowing silk shirt of the same colour, hanging lightly and airily over her breasts, back and arms, its sleeves finishing with an intricate lace pattern. An equally detailed choker enveloped her throat, with a small silver ankh hanging beneath it. The rest of the Toreador's outfit was composed of a custom made pair of hand made moulded latex pants made of the softest tar-black fabric that hardly seemed solid whenever she moved; latex was one of Moira's small weaknesses, perhaps her favorite addition to a woman's wardrobe presented by modern fashion, and she indulged in it often. A pair of narrow-pointed boots emerged underneath, the final touch. Dark Kohl lined Moira's catlike eyes, and her lips glistened with transparent gloss; as for her hair, she wore it unbound, curling naturally.

Although she could have arranged transportation, Moira preferred to let her own feet guide her through Los Angeles, allowing her senses to take in its colours, its scent, to experience it first hand. Many pairs of eyes were turned towards her as she crossed street after street, alley after alley, though all knew somewhere on a basic level of consciousness that dark beauty was not to be approached. Just as it could seduce the unwary, Presence could also inspire fear, and caution without the target even realizing the source of it.

Moira did however have a target in mind for that evening; her stroll was not incidental. Archon's words had lingered in her mind, as did the names Valerian and The Haven. Since she had no other prospects, it seemed the perfect occasion to visit this young Toreador and his establishment; if truth be said, they both had stirred curiosity in Moira. Although each Clan held its own fascination, the company of her own was unparalleled, if the other Toreador was indeed someone...special, as this Valerian was said to be.

Well, she was about to find out: the bright electric sign spelling The Haven shifted into view before her eyes, bringing a quick smile to Moira's lips: so far so good; she certainly hoped Valerian was present too. She did not bypass the string of patrons waiting to be admitted in; instead she waited her turn, walking slowly while her eyes registered every detail of her surroundings. The place had a definite dark feel to it, not overdone, though perhaps less personalized than Moira had expected it to be; still, Toreador touch was present, though subtle. Perhaps there was another owner who had different opinions on how the club should look and what would appeal to the largest number of patrons.

One thing however that stood out almost immediately in Moira's eyes was the painting overhanging the bar: she had no idea whether Valerian was its creator, but he had to be: it looked genuine and showed impressive skill. The London Primogen paused for a minute to take in its intricacies as well as gaze at it in its integrity as a whole, enjoying the simple act of admiring a work of art; if she was unable to create to her desired standards, enjoying the fruit of another's hands was the way she slacked her artistic thirst, to a certain degree.

Allowing her awareness to pass from the mundane spectrum into that of Auspex, Moira swept an insightful glance over the crowd: most of the auras she spotted were bright, vivid: the mark of a mortal, though the several pale nimbuses that marked Kindred presence did not escape her attention. This was a club for both to mingle, as she had anticipated.

Leaving her vantage point, Moira navigated the crowd until she reached one of those bearing an undead aura; he was a delicately handsome young man dressed in a style not unlike her own: leather pants and boots, and a snug black top. He radiated a magnetism she was fully aware of, having intimate knowledge of its uses herself, that went beyond the obvious attractiveness of features: it was enhanced by the Blood, and the Toreador wondered whether she had not already found her target.

“Excuse me,” Moira greeted politely in her soft British accented voice as she approached him. “I am looking for Mr. Valerian, who I am told owns this establishment. My name is Moira Sushill.”



((Aeode coming soon))

If wishes were fishes we'd all cast nets
Field Researcher
#1031 Old 11th Jan 2008 at 12:14 AM
Default Archon DeWinter & Beyonca - Algernon
#19 [Seventh Night]

Archon was a known, liked and respected Primogen. Among the Ventrue, that is. Although members of other clans respected him and some even liked him, many did not care for him at all. It was the toll that came with being Ventrue. If you considered yourself to be just a tad better than everyone else, some would hold it against you. It came as no surprise to Archon. Being inferior and having someone point that out would be hard for anyone. Of course, every clan had members that stood out. Greatness was not always tied to a certain bloodline. But the greatest clan of them all, had to be the Ventrue. After all, they had the majority of the Princes and they collected their members from kine leaders. It was no coincidence. They could not help themselves.

Cool and collected. This was the face Archon showed Beyonca as she entered the room. He would take his time, let her squirm if needed. He believed in being one step ahead, in the sense that he was not going to wait until she truly faulted before he did anything about it. It was not only in regards of the clan and the Masquerade. It was actions taken by a caring Primogen towards his subject. If she indeed was on the wrong path, it was his duty to give her guidance. She was a young one, at least in comparasion to Archon. And he had always felt she appeared younger than she was, in her demeanor and in her eyes.
No matter how angry he had been, hearing about the incident at The Haven and seeing her talking to the hunter, he felt quite like the father summoning his daughter. However, that did not make his anger disappear, but it did give him ideas on how to deal with the situation at hand. He rarely decided entirely on what to do, before having the wrongdoer present. And Beyonca had commited no crime against the Masquerade, she had merely shown a bad sense of judgement.

Nothing escaped Archon. He noticed that she must have contemplated her actions, as she seemingly had on purpose dressed herself in clothes more appropriate for a Ventrue, and she did not enter brazenly, like she had approached the hunter. Even though she seemed calm, she displayed that of a loyal and devoted subordinate. Yet, Archon did not believe this was an excuse on her behalf, but more an attempt to please him. She was no fool. She knew he was not happy with her. Had she been oblivious, their meeting would have been different. Archon chose his strategy based on several things, one of them was the state of mind of others. It was much like warfare, but with less violence and another set of arms. Though the same basics were useful in more simple matters, like a Ventrue with a stubborn mind of her own. He was not out to break her, initially he needed to understand her.

"Primogen", she said with a slight bow. "You look well. I am glad to see you have returned to us. I hope your trip was pleasant."

This was when Archon's arctic heart came in handy. The lovely Kindred before him used her charm, and he could very well decide to forgett her trespassings. Had he not been Archon. Many had tried to indulge him, in order to lessen the blow. When in the presence of Archon, one could at least be certain to be treated fair. He would not make his decision based on his personal preferences alone. It was far down on the list. Archon was really a hardcore Ventrue, the blood of the clan flowed through his veins as blue as it came. He took great pride in everything dear to him. He could be harsh to Kindred that did not behave themself. And you would think he would let his own clan off the hook. On the contrary; he expected his fellow clansmen to portray the Ventrue with dignity.

Beyonca had made the first move, advanced with her first pawn on the board. And yes, her Primogen could certainly play the first part of the game according to her wishes. It actually worked well with his own intentions. None the less, she did not disappoint him at the moment. If only she had choosen to act as wise the nights before this one, they would not have found themselves in this position.
Archon gave her a nod, in recognition of her polite opening, but he did not respond directly to her words for the time being. He found that he could not reply without diverting from his direction, thus he spoke with another angle of incidence.

"I did send for you, but I will give you the opportunity to speak first, if there is anything you want to say before I begin."

He motioned to the chair before his desk. It was not as grand as his, but still after his own heart. It was clothed in red velvet, red as blood, and made from a dark kind of wood, crafted with angels in the legs. They did not look like the usual friendly cherubs, but like archangels decending from heaven to wage war on earth.

"Please, take a seat."




___________________________

((( ooc: innoscenteyes - This is so much fun. )))
Retired Moderator
retired moderator
#1032 Old 11th Jan 2008 at 12:31 AM
Default Valerian & Moira - The Haven
Daring hands on a mission to excite, to arouse, to awaken the lust that so 'clearly' dwelled within such a sensual creature, slyly slipping under the soft dusky fabric of his shirt. Smooth, deft digits working their way up, running gently along his torso, caressing every minute ripple of his slender chest, begging him to succumb to their seduction.
Then, sharp black nails, digging mercilessly into his cool flesh, clawing his ivory skin on their way down, forcing his eyes to close at the sensation of such sweet pain, drawing a gasp of surprise and excitement from his plush, tantalizing lips. A gasp that was cut off, silenced by his own teeth sinking into his lower lip, biting into the silver stud running through it.

Valerian had not roamed the club for even five minutes, before a dark gothic and quite brazen beauty seized him by the hand and tugged at his arm, inviting him to come play with her in the midst of sweaty, moving bodies and aerial pillars of colorful light sweeping back and forth across the sea of bobbing heads. A warm body had pressed itself against his, arms had wrapped themselves around his waist and a pair of dark blood red lips against his neck had been the only introduction she gave.

Now, as he opened his eyes once again, he found himself gazing down at a wicked grin, at the face of mischief itself. Hair as soft and smooth as black silk, powdered skin that made her equally pale as him, and twinkling eyes, with dark purple contacts that when not hit by one of the many spotlights appeared to pitch black. A neverending abyss of darkness, a gorge opening up to consume and never let go. And then there were those ruby lips, curling into a devilish smile, promising pleasure and pain in the sweetest form.

A temptation if ever there was one. Not on the grounds of physical pleasure, for indeed, human lovemaking held little thrill to the Kindred. Their libido had been drained from them along with their blood as they were Embraced. It had withered from their memories, and in it's place was now a drive far more powerful than any drive of mankind. The thirst for blood.
Nevertheless, a true rarity among his kind, Valerian still took pleasure in the act, though it was of a different kind than that of his partners. He thrived on the closeness, on the excitement and the gratification written on the face of his lovers, and most of all he enjoyed the sensation of their arms around him, or his around them, as they drifted of to sleep. It brought him peace, and harmony. A purpose, no matter how fleeting. It meant that he existed, that undead or not, he was alive.
That was one side of the coin. The one that shone brighter than the other, the one that no matter how many times the coin was flipped, would land facing up.
The other side, the one never seen, the one shrouded in obscurity, hidden by dazzling, affectionate smiles and an eagerness to please, was something far different. Few knew, although some who were familiar with his ways could probably suspect, that Valerian feared loneliness, more than anything else. He was fond of solitude only when he was painting, or writing.

Thus, he'd be quite willing to let the gothic beauty have her way with him, had his adulterous gaze not happened to stray from her face, only for a moment, and land on a certain someone across the roon. He only spotted the back of her, yet it was all he needed to immediately recognize her. The black, stylish shoulder-length bob, the long legs, the confidence lacing even the smallest of her movements.
Jessica.
She was sitting over by the bar, seemingly relaxed, with her legs neatly crossed under something as rare as a pale pink dress, making her look like the epitome of innocence in a club that seemed to have an unspoken dresscode consisting of black, dark purple, dark blue, dark gray, and the occasional red.
Valerian was surprised, to say the least. Considering her behaviour the other night - her worries concerning the new, stunningly beautiful bartender - and most of all considering his reply to those worries, he had not expected her to visit The Haven. Not while the reason for her anxiety was still working there.
But not only was she here, she was sitting not ten feet from the very person she had asked Valerian to "do something" about. It all seemed most odd. Either she must've decided to make herself known to the young woman, to resume what had started... what was it? Eight years ago, according to Jessica? Or, she had far more sinister plans in mind. With Valerian offering little help, had she decided to take matters into her own hands, and rid herself of the threat, and the world of a pretty, vibrant young girl?
He wasn't quite sure what to believe. In the time he had known Jessica, he hadn't really come to know her at all. She was his Primogen, and yet she seemed more elusive to him than any other Kindred, of any other clan. It frustrated him to no end, to not be able to connect with her on any level whatsoever.
He better keep an eye on her, and the bartender especially. If Jessica's plan was indeed to eliminate the threat, he couldn't stand idly by. Not when there were so many other ways, and all far more pleasant that draining the life of a young woman.

And so, he reluctantly freed himself from the gothic beauty's grasp, brushing his lips teasingly against hers just before he stepped back, giving her a faint, suggestive smile, filled with promises for later. Though he couldn't help but chuckle slightly, as her disappointment was clearly written on her face, lips pursing together in a sullen look telling him 'Not fair'. The facial expression of a sulking child, and at the same time so very far from it.
Giving her one last look, Valerian turned, and slowly started making his way to a spot that would offer a good view of the entire club. He had no intention of approaching Jessica. She didn't seem all that fond of him already, and he doubted putting his nose in her business would make a change for the better. He would simply observe, glance in her direction every now and then, while still acting the part of the lovable host, and hope to be able to figure out what she had in mind that way.

Though it would seem fate had other plans. Just as he reached the spot where he had intended to begin his observation, there was something that drew his eyes away from the bar, something that demanded his attention. A presence so strong he could but obey.
Approaching him was a most stunning woman, a creature of such beauty it left no doubt in his mind she was not only Kindred, but a Toreador as well. Fire and ice. Those were the words that came to mind as he gazed at her pearly white features, framed by locks of flaming red hair, ruffled ever so slightly by the breeze outside.
He had seen her before. At the ball the night before, where his eyes had been drawn to her much like they were now. Though back then, it had been mostly out of curiousity, as he had been all the way across the room, engrossed in an elegant waltz with Beyonca, when he had spotted her, and only noted that she was someone he had never had the pleasure of meeting. He would've gone over to introduce himself, once Beyonca withdrew from his company in order to take her leave of the ball and go home, but alas, Claudia had found him just then and requested that he'd dance the last dance with her. But perhaps it had been for the better. Valerian doubted he would've approached even if he had been left with the opportunity, for the alluring redhead had been engaged in a conversation with Archon; something that Valerian wouldn't dream of interrupting. He respected Archon, not only as the Ventrue Primogen, but as a friend as well, and even though he doubted the man would be angry with him if he had chosen to interrupt - slightly annoyed perhaps, but not angry - he also knew how... uptight the Ventrue tended to be, especially during occasion as official as this one had been. And so Valerian had left the ball, leaving his curiousity to be sated at another time.
That time, apparently, was now.

"Excuse me," the redhead greeted him softly, her voice flowing like velvet from her lips, revealing the charming British accent that he himself had lost a long time ago. "I am looking for Mr. Valerian, who I am told owns this establishment. My name is Moira Sushill."

It didn't matter how many times before he had been called 'mister', or 'Sir', it still always rung like the melody of an out of tune piano in his ears, and made him cringe inwardly. Yes, it was the proper and polite way of addressing someone, but it was also a title that put so much distance between people. Valerian didn't want to be a 'mister', he simply wanted to be Valerian.
However, he soon forgot how much the word bothered him, when offered the knowledge of her name. Moira Sushill... He couldn't decide if it was a name he had heard before or not. Something about it sounded familiar, but he wasn't sure of the circumstances.
But, if he was expected to know it, he would soon find out.

"Miss Sushill", he greeted her in return, and his lips parted in a warm, welcoming smile. "It's a pleasure meeting you. I had hoped to make your acquaintance last night, but didn't want to interfere with your conversation with Lord DeWinter."

Usually, he would've scooped up her right hand with his own and brushed his lips against her knuckles, as he usually did when his gut told him the lady would accept the gesture. But with Moira, there was such an air of... authority that made him wary of possibly going to far, and so since she didn't offer her hand, as was the proper way of triggering the gesture, he didn't reach for it either, but simply inclined his head in a slight bow.

"I would be the man you seek, as I am the owner of the club", he continued, still with the warm smile lingering on his lips and his eyes twinkling with genuine enthusiasm over this new acquaintance. "But please, call me Valerian. 'Mister' makes me feel so old. Now, what can I do for you?"


(((ooc: Sorry it took sooooooo very long. As one of my other characters in another RP put it; it seems me and my creativity are having a disagreement. *s*)))

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
Alchemist
#1033 Old 11th Jan 2008 at 2:29 PM
Aeode and Jessica [Night #7] at The Haven

It was a busy night at The Haven.

Leather and lace clad patrons gyrated beneath the dazzling stroboscope light, bodies pressed together in the madness which had enslaved them through rhythm and sound. Personal spaces were invaded, hands roamed freely and often boldly, lips parted in search for air or eachother, as though every single person was connected with the rest, blurring the line where one silhouette ended and the next begun. As time went by, more and more individuals joined the teaming whole which was the dance floor, a sea of bobbing heads ever shifting, never standing still – bathed in flickering multicoloured light, the tableau was dizzying.

Aeode Mallard, however, had no time for contemplation; their exertions on the dancefloor caused many of the patrons to temporarily leave its midst in search for drinks to quench their thirst or daze the mind, often both, and the young woman had been busy provinding these much needed refreshments for two hours straight. Tiny droplets of sweat formed on her forehead, moistening her skin, while her hands had grown red and raw, having been kept soaked in warm water, cleaning glasses only to redistribute them again to the demanding crowd. It was a mechanical process Aeode was accustomed to, but it still required a large part of her focus to remember each order correctly and deliver it accordingly.

At last, the throng of people seemed to thin a little, allowing Aeode a few minutes' breather, which she welcomed gratefully. With a deep sigh, she slumped back into her stool, wincing at the uncomfortable sensation surging throughout her tired limbs, sending tiny pinpricks to the very tips of her toes. It was then that a flash of candy pink caught her eye, a vision of light in the midst of the encompassing darkness. Shifting her gaze, Aeode took notice of a young woman seated at the bar, with no glass in front of her, wearing a light pink dress that contrasted with everything around her. She did not seem to notice though, or even care; instead her stance bespoke stark confidence.

Unsure why she was still gazing at the woman, Aeode found herself drawn to her like a moth to a flame: it wasn't attraction of course, she had never been interested in women that way, but it was something akin to it: a strange sort of magnetism that tugged at her senses and refused to let go.

Deciding quickly, Aeode left her stool and approached the woman, crossing her arms together:

“Hi there, sorry I missed you before, it's been crazy here tonight” she said casually, though her gaze only grew keener as it perused those smooth, beautiful features, and blinked away the momentary vision of a blurry figure that had haunted her dreams for eight years. “Is there anything I can get you?”

((ooc: Atropa - not at all, a day can hardly be considered long. lol))

If wishes were fishes we'd all cast nets
Inventor
#1034 Old 11th Jan 2008 at 3:32 PM
A cold wind rippled through the streets,
rustling the edge of the woman's long, well-worn
coat and sending her dark hair swirling around her
face. She moved purposefully down the street
towards the bright lights and intoxicating beat of
The Haven, her thick soled boots barely
seemed to touch the pavement as she glided silently
towards her goal. Stopping in front of the thick
doors, she turned towards one of the silent guards
posted near the wall. "I need to speak to Valerian."
She said, her voice the deep velvet purr of a jungle
cat. The guard shook his head dully. "I won't bother
him without an appointment or an emergency."
He grunted. The woman shifted her weight to lean
on one hip. She sighed impatiently,toying with the
small pendant around her neck. "Tell him,
Ada Von Vita is back in town and wishs
to speak to him."
Alchemist
#1035 Old 11th Jan 2008 at 4:24 PM
Moira & Valerian - The Haven

Moira's sparkling blue orbs which ever so often attained hues of lavender when in contact with artificial light rested firmly on Valerian's face for a few instants while he introduced himself, forever engraving his handsome features in her memory. She was pleased to have found him so easily, although picking him out of the crowd hadn't been exactly a coincidence; a Toreador was difficult to miss even in a place as teaming with people as the Haven was, particularly for another Toreador.

"Miss Sushill. It's a pleasure meeting you. I had hoped to make your acquaintance last night, but didn't want to interfere with your conversation with Lord DeWinter."

Ah yes, the ball. Moira recalled catching a few brief glimpses of Valerian amidst Archon's guests, particularly as he carried an enchanting white-clad brunette across the dancefloor before retreating somewhere out of sight.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Moira replied and inclined her head ever so slightly. She was acutely aware of Valerian's appraisal as he was of her own, noting a subtle hesitation here and there. She did not seek to cause him any sort of discomfort, something her presence had the tendency to induce in younger Kindred, back in England. A Primogen's company was something often disquieting to others, robed in layers upon layers of protocol, inhibiting conversation. Moira doubted Valerian knew of her title yet, and sincerely hoped it would not hinder their acquaintance once revealed: she was a guest in his city, and her intentions were informal.

“Perhaps our meeting has worked out for the best after all,” she added with a knowledgeable smile. “It may indeed shorten that long winded road of protocol. Lord de Winter sends his regards, by the way.”

Moira's lips widened in a soft smile as she beheld Valerian's look of genuine enthusiasm; he was young, she could see it in his movements, a whole array of body language that whispered a tale to her: he had not yet lost his human gestures and habits, but above all he radiated an energy made so much more vibrant by the fact that he was Toreador. Her own cheeks were flushed a soft pink following the recent feeding, granting her an almost human appearance; had she made the effort to feign breathing, the illusion would have been complete. Breathing, however, was a habit lost to Moira.

"I would be the man you seek, as I am the owner of the club. But please, call me Valerian. 'Mister' makes me feel so old. Now, what can I do for you?"

A touch of bitterness intruded in Moira's smile, and she experienced a twinge of nostalgia; he was fortunate that he still required something to feel old, when she could hardly remember ever feeling young. It was...endearing, recalling a time when she had been simply Moira, possessed by a veritable creative force she had imagined would last for eternity. How very wrong she had been.

“Very well, Valerian,” she smiled with a little more gusto. “Then I shall be Moira, for once free of the ever present formality which surrounds us at every turn. I simply wished to visit your club and meet you if I could, as both have been most highly recommended to me. Forgive my curiosity, but I couldn't help noticing the canvas overhanging the bar, quite the centerpiece indeed – are you the artist...?”

If wishes were fishes we'd all cast nets
Test Subject
#1036 Old 12th Jan 2008 at 12:52 AM
Default Jessica and Aeode
"Is there anything I can get you?" Jessica was sure this was the girl from 8 years ago, but she probably has no idea. She had beautiful red hair, and freckles. Even prettier than she remembered.

"Yes, actually, some water would be nice. Not in the mood to drink tonight." She felt eyes were on her. Everywhere. Maybe her dress choice wasn't the best. A mental note, don't wear pink to The Haven again. "You're new, aren't you?" I haven't seen you here, or have I just be coming around your shift?"
Test Subject
#1037 Old 12th Jan 2008 at 6:32 AM
Dawn had come by the time Carissa managed to retire into her bed. Outside the sky was a pale blue, no sun was visible, but one could effortlessly guess at its location by the orange horizon that stretched out beyond the city. The sun had only moments before it would peak over, spreading its light through the city.

She fell asleep in no time, slumbering through the day as the humans went about they're business in the city below. Above the city, the sun slowly glided from east to went, eventually sinking below the horizon.

A new night.

Carissa awoke about an hour into the night, finding herself once again faced with the delema of what to do. She contemplated her choices as she readied, and by the time she was finished, she had come to a conclusion.

The Haven should be fun. She thought it over as she walked down the street. Valerian was by far the only person here who she knew. That she had run into, of coarse. The past couple nights she had been too busy with other things for socializing and searching for possibly still remaining old friends.

She kept her eyes on the ground as she walked, looking up occasionally to check her surroundings and location. There were very few others around tonight, some random humans, she saw one or two other kindred, with whom a friendly smile was exchanged, but mostly she was alone.

It was during one of these brief moments of glancing around her that another kindred caught her eye, walking from the opposite direction toward her. At first glance, she passed him as another stranger. But upon getting closer, she recognized him, her brows instantly rising in interest.

Adrien De La Cour.

((Trying to reinspire myself. Lol. This seemed like something interesting to do.

Uhmm...do whatever you want Atropa. o.O))
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#1038 Old 12th Jan 2008 at 3:10 PM
Default Valerian & Moira - The Haven
(((ooc: Penny - Glad to have her back! . And XsnowdropX - Glad to see you back. I'm sure it can turn out pretty darned interesting. *s*.)))



"The pleasure is all mine".

Despite the thumping music filling the club, reducing the sound of any human voice to nothing more than lips moving, Valerian had no trouble hearing Moira's reply. Her voice was soft and pleasant, like a melody on it's own, delicately weaving it's way through the pounding metal beat, and reaching his ears with the greatest of ease. Accompanied by a graceful bow of her slender neck, it offered her cordial response to his greeting. Valerian simply couldn't help but to smile. Her accent alone was enough to make his lips curl with appreciation. Though he did come to the conclusion that he had done the right thing by not imposing his lavish greeting on her. Not because of the aura of authority that surrounded her, but because she seemed rather reserved. Most people did, Kindred especially, when meeting someone new. And Valerian really did want her to feel welcome. Not assaulted. Thus, he settled for offering his usual warm and disarming smile, hoping it would get his point across.

"Perhaps our meeting has worked out for the best after all," she said with a smile of her own. "It may indeed shorten protocol. Lord DeWinter sends his regards, by the way."

Moira had now entered one of the very first stages in learning about Valerian; the stage of realizing just what a wide range of different smiles the young Toreador possessed. There always seemed to be one on his beautiful face, for a variety of reasons; joy, mirth, delight, excitement, gratitude, appreciation, bashfulness, irony, and on the rare occasion even melancholy. No matter what feeling was currently ruling his being, there always seemed to be a smile to properly convey it. There were, of course, times when he was serious, but even then there often appeared to be an ever so faint curve to his lips. A serenity, as though his very essence was harmony and joy of life, and so strong it kept shining through.
This instant, the smile on his lips was that of humility. By Moira's comments, he understood that it must've been Archon that set her on the path to The Haven, and it made him feel deeply humbled, simply because while he was aware that Archon approved of his club, every sign the Ventrue Primogen cared to give was a true compliment, not to be taken lightly.
Valerian would have to thank him, when the right opportunity presented itself. He could only hope it would be soon, for they still had things to discuss. Archon had hinted at a business proposal, and quite frankly, Valerian was dying to know what it was. The two of them had dealt with one another on a professional level before, but never on a particularly large scale. This... This had sounded like it would be something different.

"Very well, Valerian," she agreed to his request to be called by his first name only, and gave a slightly more animated smile as well.

Though he didn't fail to notice how for a moment it had been tweaked by a hint of bitterness. Every so often he would see it on the face of Kindred, when they saw in him what had at times been described as his overwhelming youth. Mostly Elders, sometimes Ancillae, rarely Neonates. Sometimes with a tinge of jealousy, of wanting what he had and would so love to share with anyone who would let him. Sometimes with a saddened shadow that stole across their face, in mourning of a time long gone. And sometimes, it was just bitterness, plain and simple.
In some, it seemed neverending. In others, like Moira, it seemed a fleeting moment. The sadness came and went in the blink of an eye.

"Then I shall be Moira," she said, "for once free of the ever present formality which surrounds us at every turn. I simply wished to visit your club and meet you if I could, as both have been most highly recommended to me. Forgive my curiosity, but I couldn't help noticing the canvas overhanging the bar, quite the centerpiece indeed – are you the artist...?"

Had she been on a mission to make him adore her, she would've succeeded. No sooner had she mentioned her observation of the painting, than his eyes lit up and his smile widened. Every compliment paid to one of his pieces, was a compliment paid to him, and there was no approval that he treasured more than that of a fellow Toreador, for in his mind, they were the most skilled critics.

"Thank you", he smiled, completely forgetting to confirm that he was indeed the creator of the painting, in his eagerness to tell her about it. Though his enthusiasm should be answer enough. "I wanted something a little more dark and eerie than the last one. Something to really add to the feel and the experience of The Haven, not just decorate it."

Not that any of his art didn't succeed at being more than just decoration, but this one did hold a bit more intensity than it's predecessors. Mostly because none of the predecessors had shown much of his truly dark side. Those paintings he mostly kept to himself, and to those of his friends that took an interest in the fruits of his creativity.

"Oh, that reminds me", he continued and lit up once again, as though he had just thought of something. "I finished my latest one just about an hour ago. It's drying in my studio. Would you like to see it?"

However, before Moira got a chance to reply (much to Valerian's dismay), they were interrupted, when a young, pretty blonde approached. With an apologetic glance at Moira, she put her hand on Valerian's arm, and reached up to make her voice heard over the music.

"Ada's outside."

For the first time this evening, the smile faded from Valerian's lips, and he turned his head to look at the blode - Melody - almost as if questioning if he had heard her right. Melody simply nodded, and remained by his side, apparently awaiting instructions.
For a moment, Valerian was silent, considering his options. He couldn't ignore Ada, for two reasons; if he did, she could choose to defy the ban, again. Granted, her actions would be on her head, but Valerian really didn't want any more trouble. And, if she was here to make amends, he should give her the chance.
At the same time, he really didn't want to have to excuse himself from Moira's company. He wanted to keep talking to her, learn more about her, hopefully even befriend her.

"That woman's timing...", he muttered to himself, before turning to Melody. "Show her to my door out back, I'll be there in a minute."

His young ghoul nodded, and after another glance at Moira, started making her way back through the crowd, leaving Valerian to turn to his new acquaintance.

"I'm afraid I may have a situation on my hands", he said, with a small apologetic smile. "It shouldn't take long. May I invite you to wait in the VIP lounge upstairs? I would so love for us to have a chance to talk some more."



(((ooc: Penny - In the back alley behind The Haven, there is a metal staircase leading to a locked door on the second floor. That is Valerian's personal entrance to his chambers. He's basically instructing Melody to show Ada to that door. He'll soon be there to let her in. Feel free to RP her going there if you want, otherwise in my next RP I'll just assume she's there and have him let her in. Sound ok?)))

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
#1039 Old 12th Jan 2008 at 4:04 PM
Default Beyonca and Archon - Alergnon
He didnt speak a word to her, nor did the exspression of his features change. He just nodded. Letting her know he had heard her. So this wasnt going to be a friendly visit in any manner. It was just going to be buisness. Beyonca always thought of it a curse of the Ventrues. Business always came before pleasure in every field. There heads are focused on one thing and that is the goal they have in mind. Which clearly is what was on Archons mind. What ever he wanted to get from her was there, what ever he wanted her to say was on his mind. He had no problems letting her see that.

"I did send for you, but I will give you the opportunity to speak first, if there is anything you want to say before I begin."

What should she say? Try to exsplain her action? No matter what she said there was no exsplainations for her boldness last night. It was wrong of her todo that in front of all the kindred and at the ball that was welcoming her Primogen home.

"Please, take a seat."

Beyonca didnt refuse his request. She sat in the beautifl chair. No doubt he had it custom made. She had never seen one like it before. One thing that stood out to her was the angels on the legs. They looked more like warriors than real angels. Like bringing hell to earth. It was quite ironic to her, they fit to her situation.

"Primogen, I know there is no excuse for my boldness last night. I should not have approaced Adrien at he ball. It was improper and rude of me to do so. So I wont even try to exsplain and justify my actions. I do apologize for my inoproperiet behavior."

Bee didnt know what else to say. What else could she say? She did have a question though. What were their plans on dealing with Adrien? But now wasnt the time to ask any questions. It would have to wait.

((ooc: I am sorry it isnt that good. I didnt get off work until 11 last night and I am still grogy this morning. ))
Inventor
#1040 Old 12th Jan 2008 at 4:28 PM
Default Ada Von Vita - Behind The Haven
The guard grunted again, turning his ample back away from Ada. With an annoyed huff she turned from the doors, long coat swinging behind her and ebony hair swirling around her face. A spark of a memory made her smile, and she slid unnoticed down the side alley into the darkness.
The stairway curved almost unnoticed against the building up to a darkwood door. Ada climbed quietly up the stairway, her boots making only the dullest clunk. If she couldn't get in to see Valerian the normal way, she'd just have to improvise.
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#1041 Old 12th Jan 2008 at 5:44 PM
Default Adrien & Carissa
It was amazing how in a hundred years, a city could change so much, and still remain the same. Adrien had visited a number of metropols several times during his century and a half long existence. In essence, none of them were ever different, despite the time that had passed since last he had set foot in them. Buildings and people changed. The atmosphere didn't.
The fast pulse of New York, the sophisticated charm of London, and the romance and sensuality of Paris, lingering in every street corner like prostitutes, calling out to each and every passer by to surrender to their intoxicating presence.
Even Los Angeles, that in the past hundred years had become one of the grandest cities in the world, felt the same.

He was walking slowly along the sidewalks, studying the streets, the buildings and the inhabitants of Los Angeles, choosing at random where to go. Not with the open enthusiasm of a tourist, but with the skill of a warrior. He was doing what he had intended to do the night before; reaquainting himself with the city. Taking in anything that could be of use; buildings that could offer hiding places if he'd need them, landmarks to guide him, what kind of people roamed this particular area, even what the traffic was like. As a hunter, he had never left anything to chance, unless forced to.
Instinct, pure and simple. In Adrien, it was highly developed. He was so accustomed to the feeling in his gut, that he no longer questioned it. It had been his only true companion over the years, still sticking by him when his mortality was stolen from him. And it proved to be even more useful now, when he was no longer the hunter, but the prey. Even as it lead him down various streets that were unknown to him, he did not doubt it. It would guide him back to the Museum eventually. It didn't even worry him that much that a fiend might appear, and decide to go after him. He was ready to defend himself, with actions as well as words, even if he was inferior or outnumbered. Though there was always that one unsettling thought deep down that bothered him; the thought that one of these nights, someone would take it upon themselves to defy the Princes of San Fransisco and Los Angeles, and kill him.
It wasn't that he feared death. He had gotten quite used to the idea that sooner or later, they would all tire of the game they tried to get him to participate in, and he would be sentenced to his Final Death. No, what bothered him was the chance that he might not face death the way he wanted to. He refused to die by his own hand, but he also refused to die by someone else's, and leave them to be celebrated as the one that rid the Kindred world of Adrien de la Cour.
The end that Adrien wanted, was to take whoever was to be his executioner with him to Hell.

However, this evening, he had yet to spot or even sense another Kindred. It was almost as though they were still avoiding him, and he had to wonder... Was this some kind of strategy on their part?
But, no sooner had that thought passed through his mind, than one appeared in his path. With the sidewalk almost empty, his eyes settled on an approaching young woman. Or rather, a woman. Adrien doubted she was truly young. He could tell she was Kindred. The way her gaze had locked on him, and the look of recognition in her eyes told him that, just as clearly as if he'd used his Auspex.
Gradually his steps slowed, and his senses sharpened, readying for a possible battle. Finally he came to a complete halt, his eyes flaming with warning for her to keep her distance.

"Vade retro", he hissed.




(((ooc: To those who don't know "Vade retro" is part of a medieval Catholic formula for exorcism ("Vade retro satana"), and means "Step back".)))

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
Alchemist
#1042 Old 12th Jan 2008 at 7:49 PM
Aeode and Jessica - The Haven

"Yes, actually, some water would be nice. Not in the mood to drink tonight."

An amused smile played on Aeode's lips, cocking her head to one side to better take in the image of the pink-clad woman seated before her. The uncanny sensation of magnetism persisted, but Aeode's senses were becoming accustomed to it, the rational part of her intellect slowly emerging to the surface. She was exhausted and a busy night still loomed ahead of her; it was natural that her mind was playing tiny tricks on her...just like that familiarity she glimpsed, creating that brief yet uncomfortable void in her stomach as though someone had suddenly opened a bottomless pit underneath the soles of her feet. She was a stranger, Aeode was certain of it, and yet, just like it had been the case with Andre, a fragment of her consciousness disagreed.

Furthermore, the previous night's most unusual exchange between them had revealed she and Andre had, indeed, met before in circumstances less than innocent, widening the metaphorical pit gaping at her feet.

“Water it is,” Aeode smiled and offered a clean glass filled to the brim, placing it neatly before the woman.

"You're new, aren't you?" I haven't seen you here, or have I just be coming around your shift?"

“Yea, I only started this week,” Aeode replied as she soaked up some excess water off the bar's surface with a towel. “I wouldn't have pegged you for a Haven regular, though” she added with a brief glimpse upwards and a playful smile, momentarily forgetting her worries. She hoped the lady would notice the joking tone in her voice, she longed for some sort of relief from all the stress weighing down on her mind. “It's nice though. The dress. Probably more pink than some of these kids have seen in the last year!”

Soft laughter, clear as the trickling of a swift mountain river spilled off Aeode's lips, the unruly waves of her short hair bouncing lively as she shook her head in amusement, before attaining a more serious look, focusing once again on the woman she had privately dubbed the “Lady in Pink”.

“I'm Annie, by the way.”

If wishes were fishes we'd all cast nets
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#1043 Old 13th Jan 2008 at 9:47 PM
Default Valerian & Ada
(((ooc: Okay, well, since it's been over 24 hours, and Ghanima hasn't replied, I'll just take the liberty of moving Valerian along. I don't want to keep Penny waiting any longer. Though this probably will be short, since I don't know if Moira accepted Valerian's offer or not, and so I can't include any of his thoughts on the matter. )))


Swift, determined steps carried Valerian towards his personal chambers. As always, his every movement was the very epitome of animalistic grace, though in this instant it was a different one than his usual sensual and kittenish prowl. It was the strong, purposeful stride of a predator. He wasn't sure what to expect from Ada, but would face her regardless, with the authority he, to the surprise of quite a few people, actually did possess, but rarely saw the need to use. Ada, however, had already seen it, during their last two encounters, as neither occasion had been particularly pleasant.

Reaching the doors to his studio/chambers, he hoisted the key from his pocket and unlocked it. Upon entering, he flicked one of the two light switches right next to the door; the one for the kind of dimmed lighting he preferred. He only used the much brighter light when showing someone his artwork, and sometimes when he painted. But only if he really, really had to. He found such fluorescent light to be quite disturbing, as it would often banish the mystery of the room, from which he drew some of his creativity. Most of all, he favored the warm, flickering light of lit candles. But there was hardly time for that now.

Shutting the door behind him, and locking it, he then crossed the entire room, until he reached the other door, the one leading outside. There he stopped and listened for a moment, in an attempt to hear if Ada had already made her way there. It seemed she was on her way up the stairs, for he could hear the faint noise of someone ascending the metal steps, and so he opened the door and came face to face with her just as she reached the small platform outside the door.

Valerian's first thought, believe it or not, was how beautiful she was. Somehow, that had seemed to slip his mind. Or perhaps it was that during their last two encounters, he had been in a fairly defensive mood, too busy being protective of his club to notice the rich black hair that danced around her shoulders in the gentle breeze, and the big light brown eyes with the bold, defiant gaze. Standing there, just a few feet away from him, proud and encased in boots and a long leather coat, she reminded him of a black panther.
Not surprisingly really, as Valerian always did have a tendency to come up with associations and metaphors for the people he met. In his head, everyone had their own special title. Damian Alexander, the Prince, was the Ruler Of Undead. Mina, the Unattainable Keeper of Secrets, among other things. He had many names for her, as his vivid imagination never tired of toying with her mysterious nature. Vevila... That was an easy one; the Angel Among Men. And just a few minutes ago, Moira had been dubbed the Queen of Fire and Ice.
Now, there was Ada. The Black Panther. A bit different, simpler than the other descriptions, perhaps, but none the less fitting. But then again, who would object? Valerian never told anyone about the titles they had earned in his mind, simply because he knew all of them were probably quite cheesy and cliché.
However, despite his observation and appreciation of Ada's beauty, he would not let his guard down just yet.

"Ada", he simply greeted her, and gave a slight nod. "Come in."

Stepping aside, he motioned for her to enter his personal quarters. Not something he would usually do, but it did seem the best place to talk, in order to not cause yet another scene.



(((ooc: Bleh.)))

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
Alchemist
#1044 Old 13th Jan 2008 at 9:54 PM
((ooc: Sorry about that, Atropa, I didn't have time to sit and write a post today, and I kinda assumed you'd be moving Valerian anyway. I will post Moira's reply asap and include her thoughts before moving her to the lounge. once again, sorry.))

If wishes were fishes we'd all cast nets
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#1045 Old 13th Jan 2008 at 9:59 PM
(((ooc: It's fine, Ghanima. No worries. I was just explaining, so people wouldn't think I was just ditching you. )))

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
Test Subject
#1046 Old 13th Jan 2008 at 10:45 PM
Adrien seemed to notice her at the same moment she recognized him. His eyes met hers, and she noticed him beginning to slow.

She was surprised, having acually expected him to walk on, paying her no attention, much like he did at the ball, ignoring all the hatred directed his way.

Though, it could jsut be an act of caution, its only common sense that none of the kindred were very fond of him. Some may go as far at to attempt to return the favor he had delt upon all those vampires, an eye for an eye. Such a thing would not have happened at the ball.

As she kept her eyes locked with his, Carissa found herself wondering how this situation may possibly turn out. He could just walk by anyway, the two exchaging glares until the angle at which were at with eachother made it immpossible, and he could then forget this moment. It was just another encounter with a resentful vampire.

He did not continue past her. Instead, his steps ceased, stopped entirely. Carissa stopped as well, surprised, her mind alert. Something warned her that this may not end as well as she had imagined. A confrontation wasnt quite what she wanted.

Their eyes still locked, his now glaring brutily at her, Adrien spoke. It was an angry hiss, warning her he was serious. "Vade Retro."

Carissa knew the meaning of the words, and they simply served to irk her. It seemed dear Adrien just was not at home unless he had others fearing him. His headstrong hatred for the kindred still lingered, it possibly had no chance of being erased.

Carissa disliked heeding those whom she despised. She narrowed her eyes, looking more strongly at Adrien, who's eyes were nearly on fire, daring her to test him.

She didnt fear him. She didnt wish to show that she did. As much as she knew that it was most likley a foolish move, she stood her ground. The closest thing she did to "stepping back" was move one foot, which was ahead as that was how she had stopped, back, making it level with her other one.

She kept her eyes locked with his, frowning, her brows raised questioningly, almost asking why she should be backing away.

((Hmm...um...yeah. lol. My creativity has betrayed me. I also probably doomed myself. XD.))
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#1047 Old 13th Jan 2008 at 11:25 PM
(((ooc. Hmm... May be a little tricky to reply to, cuz I don't think he will say anything if she doesn't. *lol* It'll be a staring contest! Will try though.)))

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
Test Subject
#1048 Old 13th Jan 2008 at 11:49 PM
((I had trouble thinking something up too. :P. Umm..I can edit it an dhave her say something if you want? Make it easier :P))
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#1049 Old 14th Jan 2008 at 12:00 AM
(((ooc: Only if you can really think of something. Don't want you to feel like it's forced. )))

~ * ~ Volition ~ * ~
#1050 Old 14th Jan 2008 at 12:16 AM
Default Kira walking the streets
Kira left her studio after painting yet another picture. Her creativity had came back full force. She was feeling happy and filled with herself. it was a major relief to be able to paint again. It was like her day was now complete, even thought it was well after dark. She didnt quite feel like going home and she was avoiding Sam. She still hadnt spoke to her after the incident. But Kira was fine with that. Company wasnt sometihng she strived for, she was happy and content by herself.

The cool night felt good again her skin. She dint even grab a sweater tonight. The coolness aginst her bones was something she wanted. It feel all to ..... comforting. Paint was still plantered on her clothes as she walked down the street. Even a little was in her fire red hair.

Her head was down and not really paying much attension to where she was going. She didnt really care where she ended up. Just as long as she was stuffed in doors. It was times like this she missed home. She could have took her hjorse and went riding. She longed for the feeling of gliding threw the air. No lights where there to shine in her face. SHe couldnt see where she was going but knew the paths by heart. One day she will have that feeling again. She hoped she did anyway.

((ooc: I know it is crappy, but I needed to get Kira out. She is approachable on the street if anyone feels like approaching her.))
 
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