#33 [Night #14]

Just like the last time he had been there, the thumping music mixed with the beatings of their hearts. To a Gangrel, it was down right intoxicating, if you couldn't snap out of it. Usually the humans were not that many and he could tell their heartbeats apart, but not this time. It reminded him of the confusing feeling when he was a boy and was so fascinated by the dancing warriors that he came too close and suddenly found himself in the middle, with no way out. Though he was not a child anymore, but a predator. However, a much older Kindred would perhaps view him as a childe, still learning the ways of the Shapeshifters. After all, Noah was not yet a Shapeshifter in the true sense of the word. But by the time he became one, he would be better at these things. Or so he hoped. Though he was not afraid he would give in to the Beast's cravings and let the blood loose for him to drink, he had a better grip on himself and his needs than that. Besides that, he loved the hunt. Any Gangrel did, or something was not as it ought to be. They were not all one and the same, but some things were as vital to a Gangrel as air was for a human. The Haven was no hunting ground. It was not only against their laws, it would be too easy. Noah had already been approached by women who wanted to get to know him, but he had respectfully declined. Especially when they were so drunk he felt sorry for them. All in all, he didn't understand the power of attraction that alcohol had. A human existance had to be really dull, since so many of them choose to change their view of it artificially. He was painfully aware of the fact that too many Native Americans had been staring down the bottle instead of fighting for their way of life, their traditions and culture. Though Noah understood that it would be an endless battle with no winners. He couldn't blame them for giving up, only mourn the fact. Further more; Noah had never lived the life that they lived now. When he was a human, the tribes were still free and no one had heard the word reservation. Though his mortal death had occured in the midst of the white man taking over, he had died a human and turned Kindred when life as they knew it was at the brink of extinction. He had watched mankind from the shadows and with a bleeding heart let go of everything he knew. He had witnessed the humiliation, death and decay of a proud people that had met their masters.

There were many differences between the dancing warriors of his childhood and the dancing humans around him now. His people had made him fascinated, proud and scared that when he grew up he wouldn't be able to be just as great as they were. He wanted to walk in their footsteps, to be a worthy part of history. He had accomplished that, only to be left alone to face a world where he didn't feel he belonged anywhere. Instead of dancing around the fire, giving praise and thanks to the gods with people who was like him and understood him, he was standing in an ocean of humans that had no idea who he was. Noah didn't need them to know, he didn't need them in any sense of the word. Though their sheer existance and overwhelming amount made him smaller and everything else as big as a gaping abyss. It came down to this; Noah as a pure Gangrel, without a human past and diregarding his trembling Neonate nature, didn't need anyone. He could go for a long period of time, only meeting those he fed on, and be content at that. Though his animal core entwined with his human past, who he had been and still was, making him into a Gangrel with a longing heart. He was completing a puzzle, not knowing yet what all the parts looked like. In many ways he felt like there was just one piece left to find, in other ways it felt like that last piece might open up for either a new puzzle or a part of the current one that he just couldn't see right now. Maybe it wasn't a puzzle at all, but a gateway to a new dimension. Noah contemplated this, as well as what the humans around him would taste like if he were to sink his fangs into them. Their swirling, jumping bodies; sweaty and energized. In a way, they exuded the scent of animals in fear, running to save themselves. He thought of the panic he would cause, if he were to openly feed on them. One by one they would notice, scream and bleed and panic like a herd trying to get out of the enclosure. Noah's kind human heart and his feral animal centre wasn't always seeing eye to eye. It would be madness to feed in the open, the Prince would have his head and it was not who Noah really was. All those feelings bottled up inside scared him. He was still so very young, given that he had all eternity to spare, and he wondered if he in time would let the Beast decide. Of course, he knew that there were a whole clan that could handle the Gangrel nature, but he failed to see how. Maybe the desire grew with time, as well as the strength to keep it under control. As far as he knew, his clan played the masquerade game with their cards close to their chests - discovering most of their nature on their own. Noah thought of all the winters he had seen, how much he had learned about the world when seen through feral eyes. Despite his limited Kindred path, time slipped through his fingers it seemed, causing him to feel rushed. What if he would never find peace, what if all his honor, all his tranquility, was left on the battlefield? And just like the blood had sank through the earth, so had his life and all that was left was a ghost. A shell of a man that had nothing but memories.

When he met Valerian's eyes across the room, he felt grounded. Everything slowed down, the people and the music. The pressure over his senses washed away and a sensation of calm replaced it. He wasn't so sure of anything in that moment; he suspected that if anyone could throw him off track it was that man. Though Valerian appeared to be much younger, with a lighter take on his immediate surroundings, to Noah he seemed like someone who knew where he was going. He wanted to figure him out, but first of all he needed to know that the previous night hadn't made that impossible. In the next second, Valerian smiled in his direction, to acknowledge Noah's presence. It filled the Gangrel with joy, but to then watch the Toreador make his way through all the people to come to him made him nervous. It was all according to what he wanted, but he was not prepared for it to actually happen. He then noticed the beautiful blond woman behind Valerian, latched onto him as if they were an item. She was extremly pretty, looking like a doll in a human disguise. Something about her had Noah wonder, and it was not her perfect hair, her pink lips or anything he could take in with his eyes. It was something his other senses picked up on, but he couldn't decode it. All of that left his mind, when Valerian came close enough to touch. The dark haired, slender Toreador with an immaculate surface as though he had the face of an angel spread harmony with his aura, giving Noah a feeling of being warm and safe.

"Noah", Valerian said, apparently pleased to have him there. "It's quite the pleasure to see you once again honoring The Haven with your presence."

It was the greeting Noah had hoped for, but not dared to count on. He gave him a smile and a slight nod, to somehow make his appreciation known. The last time they had met, he had been prepared to tear him apart with his claws and fangs. It was a horrible scene that had taken place, one that would haunt Noah for a long time, maybe forever. To stand there and be met with mirth was like having a spring rain fall in the middle of a desert. He felt accepted in the light again, even though he had barely had a chance to taste it in the first place.

"This is Melody", Valerian continued. "Melody, meet Noah, a new acquaintance of mine."

Unlike what most probably would have been - shunned - Noah's name had just been uttered twice by a man who had the power to exclude him. From what, Noah wasn't sure. Maybe it was the light, the warmth he felt in his company. To simply be denied the chance to see him and talk to him. This was their third meeting, the second one having been a crash and burn, it was imperative that Noah thought before he spoke. Imperative, but not an easy task for someone who wasn't as social and talkative as the next one. He usually spoke from his heart, whatever his mind came up with. Most of the time it served him well, but he did sometimes miss the codes of conduct.
Noah turned to Melody with a kind smile, reaching out for her hand in order to shake it in acknowledgement. Anyone Valerian included in his grace was most certainly a person to reckon with, especially when it was someone he appeared to know well. She did seem just as sweet as she looked and even her scent, that Noah managed to pick apart from the rest, told him that she was a gentle soul.

"Hi", he said, choosing a word that immediately felt like such a simple one, untouched by the elegance Valerian spoke with. "I... It's nice to meet you."

It was hard for the Gangrel to abide by the common rules of courtesy. Not that he was ignorant or uncivilized, but he didn't socialize much and therefore it didn't come as natural as for everyone else. He felt out of place most of the time, like he would be revealed in any given second as the animal he was. Granted that most of his clan appeared a bit rough around the edges, rugged and wild, but if you weren't Kindred it was a long stretch to deem them animals. After all, humans seemed perfectly content with the vampiric idea being nothing more than that. Some even thought that Noah and his likes had a predatory beauty, like they were men and women that would stop at nothing to protect what was dear to them.
And even if the Kindred knew, Noah wasn't comfortable with the fact that Valerian had seen him cross over to the dark side, growling like a vicious animal about to make a kill. In that moment, Noah's intentions was precisely that brutal and dangerous. The appearance aside, it was the Gangrel mind that posed a risk.
He had even forced Valerian to trade his Toreador beauty for that of a Toreador warrior. If you thought that the Toreador were harmless, you would be wrong. They could be just as ruthless as a Brujah, if cornered, and Noah had attacked someone dear to this one. The main thing was that Noah didn't really know Valerian. He saw him as a kind man, nice to those around him, but that didn't necessarily mean things were resolved between them. He had to know.

"Are we... okay?" Noah said to the Toreador, with hesitation. "I am truly sorry..."

The words had been spoken, lingering in the air between them. He did not know who the woman was, but he couldn't just stand there and act as if nothing had happened. He hadn't revealed anything except the fact that he had something to apologise for. Though not even every Kindred needed to know everything that took place within their society either, just because they were in on the masquerade. It was really up to Valerian to keep it from Melody or let her in on what had happened, she did after all have a pulse. Noah didn't play games, even if he understood about keeping things between those it concerned and no one else. Right there and then, he cared about only one thing; absolution.











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((( ooc: Atropa & Ghanima - I hope this works for you. Otherwise let me know.

gdayars - Welcome to the RP!

Everyone - Just wanted to clarify that "Shapeshifters" is another word for the Gangrel clan. I am so deep into the Gangrel nature, I just realized it might not be self explanatory. Especially if you're new to this. )))

It was tempting. So very, very tempting. Injury and the aftermath of a violent battle had left Adrien's inner core in a mild state of pandemonium, and sounding louder than almost everything else in him, was the roaring of the Beast, the epitome of the evil he'd been fighting for over a century, and that was now part of him as well. It was urging him to feed, to heal himself and win back his full strength. To just sink his fangs into the throat of the tiny frame in his arms, and drink to his heart's content. To sacrifice the one he'd been wanting to save, just to sate his own selfish hunger.

She was still bleeding; even though she was now neatly wrapped in her coat, he could practically hear the drops of blood forming at the edges of her wounds, and then trickle slowly over her youthful skin, and the rich, luscious smell of it was still rising to taunt his senses and draw out his Kindred canines to their full length, protruding slightly under his upper lip, ready for him to strike at any moment, as soon as his iron will gave in.

But, it didn't. Nor would it. For decades, nothing had been stronger in Adrien than his will. Mind over matter, always. Even now. Especially now, since he knew so very well what was at stake. If ever he gave in, he knew he'd be lost in this curse forced upon him, and they would have their ultimate revenge for everything he had cost them over the years. It was why they were trying so hard to aggravate him through various methods and insidious tricks, and it was why with every fibre of his being, he was fighting it. He wouldn't give in. Not now, not ever.

Yet, as determined as he was to resist the excruciating temptation that the unconscious girl in his arms currently posed, he still needed for her to wake up soon, to come out of her faint spell. He needed to distance himself from her, if only a little - putting her down again was not an option, because they had to keep moving - so that he could try and think straight, undisturbed by his predatory urges to take what she just didn't have in her anymore to give, after the Lasombra's ravagings of her fragile body. He needed for her to walk on her own, so that he could wrap his own coat around himself and hide the torn and bloody shirt underneath, and so that he wouldn't have to carry her into a temporary safehouse, where they could tend to their respective injuries. Just imagine: A bloodied man in his twenties carrying an unconscious girl in her teens into a hotel or a motel... Now wouldn't that draw quite a bit of unwanted attention.
And unwanted attention, they had enough of already. Adrien's stalker was still hot on their heels, and so wherever they went, Adrien was sure they wouldn't be left alone for long. Unless he could manage to shake his pursuer, but with the girl in his arms, or even by his side, it would be darned near impossible. At least until they'd somehow managed to make themselves look presentable, and thus could easily slip off and disappear in a crowd somewhere. And that brought them right back to the need of finding a place to at least freshen up.

Therefore, as he was paying close attention to the body in his arms, even though he was keeping his gaze aimed elsewhere in order to make sure they weren't suddenly taken by surprise somehow, he didn't fail to notice the very moment when it began to stir. A mere twitching of her facial features at first, a small crease in between her eyebrows as the impressions of the world around her started flooding her awareness. Then her pale blue doe eyes slowly drifted open, blinking a few times to clear her vision, before settling on his face.
So far, so good. But, what came next actually took Adrien by quite a bit of surprise. Given what she'd just been through, he'd expected fear to come crashing over her, and for her to scream and try to free herself. It would have been the normal reaction for any young girl who found herself waking up in the arms of a complete stranger, even if she hadn't just suffered through torture and an attempted murder. His grip of her had even tightened somewhat in preparation of keeping her from twisting herself out of his arms and quite possibly end up tearing open her injuries even more in the process.
But all that happened, was that a slender arm came to rest on his shoulder as she carefully adjusted herself in his firm grip, followed by the soft sound of her voice, perfectly calm, harmonious almost.

"Where are we going?"

Taking his eyes off of the surroundings for the first time since he'd picked her up again back by the dumpster several blocks ago, Adrien's dark, green-tinged gaze locked with hers ever so briefly, scrutinizing her face as though he wanted to make sure she was indeed lucid, despite her lack of a "sane" reaction. As "sane" as a reaction could be after what she'd been through.
Though he didn't answer at first, nor did he stop. He simply turned his head to glance over his shoulder for a few moments, and only once he seemed satisfied with what he saw - or didn't see - did he direct his grave gaze back at her.

"We need to patch you up", he said firmly. "Can you walk?"

When you're a pretty little blonde thing in L.A., every degenerate creep inside the city is just aching to swallow you whole. You cry, you fall, you dust yourself off, and you pick up a thing or two along the way. And if there's anything Lola's learned, it's an attitude, an insistence on self-sufficiency. So when the Stranger asks if she can walk, she doesn't think twice before she winces out a "Yeah."

But she needs some more leverage first, so she turns to him and wraps her other arm around his shoulders to support her weight. She finds herself facing him directly. Close. Holding his gaze and suddenly feeling reluctant to give up his embrace. And all too soon, their eyes break away from each others as he gently lowers her feet to the ground.

Despite the Stranger's efforts, Lola grimaces in pain. As her body stretches out, she feels the vicious lips of her wound stick together for a moment before they unzip and coax fresh blood from her. She gasps, reflexively bringing one hand over her side as she gets her feet on the ground. And just then she realizes how light-headed she still feels and leans against the Stranger's body for support.

What had happened? She recalls a gunshot, a puff of pink smoke, and ashes. And, oh god. Her arms twinge as her muscles remember what it feels like to cut through a neck with a small knife. She swallows hard, and there's still the taste of chyme faint in her mouth.

"I just wanna get home." She says dismally; her voice is noticeably breathier from exertion. Her eyes are pointed down at her feet, and they are still flaunting those platform stilettos. Quietly, she takes them off and jams then into her purse so that when her feet touch the ground again, they kiss the dirty concrete.

In many ways, Valerian saw Melody, his beloved ghoul, not just as a lover and a fellow artist, but also as somewhat of an extentions of himself; a complement of sorts. She was his ear to the ground where human trends and daily events of interest to a Toreador were concerned, she had on occasion represented him in daylight meetings with mortals which he, for obvious reasons, could not attend, and everyone who knew him also knew her as a trusted link for forwarding messages to him. More often than not, she was found by his side whenever he roamed the club, or had seated himself at his usual table with the good view of it's patrons, and whenever he for some reason was not present to act his part as host, and she was, he trusted her to act on his behalf, should there be a need for it, or should she simply feel inclined to do so. It was one thing he had made clear to Claudia, his partner in business, and out; that regardless of her opinion on the matter - which wasn't likely to be a favorable one, considering she didn't particularly care for his ghoul - Melody was his trusted proxy, and thus was to be treated as such. She had been with him for years before Claudia had entered into his life, and while it may not be a cause for pleasantries and friendship between the two, it did still demand a certain amount of respect, and so while Valerian himself often submitted to Claudia's whims and sometimes rather foul temper, he would not tolerate it if she targeted Melody with anything exceeding the frames of simple bad chemistry. It was much like what he'd said about Aeode; he didn't ask Claudia to like her, or to be nice to her, but he would not let her hurt her. If she did, it would be one sure way of inciting Valerian's rage. He would accept alot of abuse aimed at him personally, sometimes even downright enjoy it, but he would not stand for it being aimed at Melody.
He was protective of his ghoul; his lover and his proxy, and was more than happy to share the more pleasant and lighthearted side of his duties with her. And he would not apologize for it.

Thus, when Melody took it upon herself to welcome Noah, whose apprehension and agitation Valerian was sure she couldn't help but to notice, all her Domitor did was offer her a warm, smiling glance and slide his arm around her waist again, as a silent way of expressing his support and his approval of her attempt to put their guest more at ease, as well as letting her know that despite him being the one who had guided the two of them over here, to greet someone that to her was a complete stranger, they were still together, as opposed to her just simply tagging along with him.

"Likewise", she'd said, in soft-spoken response to Noah's rather awkward greeting and after shaking his hand, graciously acting as though his discomfort had gone unnoticed, much like Valerian himself did, before she'd gone on to motion invitingly towards their part dusky, part brightly neon lit surroundings; "Please, make yourself at home."

Though much as Valerian had suspected, it would turn out that Noah was indeed not there for the club experience, nor to socialize, but rather in order to at least try and sort out part of what was clearly weighing on his conscience, so heavily that it almost appeared to be physically weighing down his shoulders. For even though he was still standing tall and proud, there was still something timid about him that shone so bright to Valerian that it was almost blinding. He hadn't come because he felt like talking; he'd come because he needed to.

"Are we... okay?" he asked tentatively, perhaps due to the uncertainty of the answer to come, or perhaps due to Valerian's own evasiveness to put things bluntly when last they had met, as to not say something that would offer outsiders - in this case possibly Melody, as far as Noah knew - a glimpse of something that was not meant for them. "I am truly sorry..."

How very opposite he seemed now, from the ferocious hunter Valerian had found himself fighting last night, in that dark alley, when coming between the Gangrel and his prey. He seemed so gentle, and confused, still uncertain about whether he had done something wrong - in fact, it seemed the only thing he was certain of, was that he had done something wrong, yet didn't know what it was - despite Valerian's assurance that no Camarilla nor Kindred laws had been broken.

Then again, that was all that Valerian had been at liberty offer him at the time; no explanation, just the briefest assurance that there had been no violation against the rules that kept their existence a fairly safe and organized one. And, seen objectively, that did not necessarily mean that everything else was alright. After all, among the Kindred, bad blood between individuals had so many causes, and only a few of them had to do with their laws.

"Please", Valerian thus said initially, shaking his head in protest at Noah's apology. "Don't apologize. You were not at fault."

He really should give Noah a proper explanation, he yearned for it even, if for no other reason then because he deserved one. He had done nothing wrong, yet he was obviously the one left feeling the most confused and guilty about what had happened. He had not deserved that. And Valerian wanted nothing more than to promptly lift that burden from his shoulders, to give him the peace of mind that should be his, in this whole mess, because he really had so very little to do with it all.
But, now was not the time. Valerian had vowed to make things up to Melody, and he just could not go back on such a promise - even if it was given only to himself, in silence - and forsake her yet again in favor of duties and other associations. Nor did he want to. He had been genuinely looking forward to spending some time with her, and even though they had already spent hours upon hours together, he was not yet anywhere near ready to part with her for very long.

"I really would like the chance to explain", he said, seeking eye contact with Noah, as if to emphasize the sincerity of his request. "If you will allow me to do so sometime? Tomorrow perhaps, if you're not too busy? For alas, tonight I don't have a moment to spare."

Though while he had been perfectly serious for the most part of that statement, at those last couple of words, the airy sound of humor seeped into his voice, and he turned his head to gaze down at Melody.

"I have some making up to do", he grinned, and gave her an affectionate squeeze that consequently pulled her even closer to him.

They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks; that once someone is set in their ways and liking it, they're not likely to change, for anyone. And, while in many ways it may be quite the exaggeration, this evening, Adrien couldn't help but to reflect on the level of actual truth in that particular statement, as for the last couple of blocks, he had felt much like said old dog. Yes, for a long, long time, new tricks had been part of his everyday life, ingenuity had been one of his strongest and most cherished weapons in his battle against the Kindred. Fresh methods of going about his self-proclaimed mission had lined his path, and he had never, ever had trouble adapting to new ways of thinking and going about things. Yet, there was one basic condition that had always remained the same, one that was now so deeply rooted in him that when now he found himself faced with circumstances that turned that condition upsidedown, he wasn't quite sure how to handle it: He'd always been alone, he'd never had anyone else but himself to look out for, as far as actual physical company went. The humans he'd been keeping an eye on in the past, had not been aware of his presence, and thus had neither reacted to it, nor interacted with it. His enemies had been unaware of their connection to him, and thus he'd never had to do actual battle in order to protect them, like he'd done battle to save this young woman just a short while ago. He'd always just had himself, number one, to look out for, and never had to take anyone else into consideration when making his plans of attack and escape.

And now here he was, with a young girl on his hands, and not a single clue how to best deal with her and whatever needs she may have, except having her wounds tended to. He didn't know who she was or what her connection was with the Sabbat, he didn't know her condition or her capacity. Heck, he didn't even know her name. And he most certainly didn't know how to talk to her, or show her the consideration she needed from him, that much soon became clear to him, as apparently his question regarding her ability to stand and walk for herself, prompted her to attempt just that, when clearly she was far from ready for it.

"Yeah", was her instant reply, despite the slight frown accompanying it, and she shifted in his arms to prepare her feet's decent to the ground, tossing her other arm as well around his neck in the process.

And that - when her face suddenly ended up mere inches from his and their eyes locked for a moment frozen in time - was when Adrien grew painfully aware of yet another thing he didn't quite know how to handle; close proximity, of the non-aggressive kind. The way she gazed at him, and the way she leaned against him when her strength failed her... The way she seemed so utterly trusting of him, turning to him for support... Such closeness, was downright alien to him, though he had gotten a small taste of it from Lena a few times during their various encounters. But none of it had been anything even close to the complete trust this young one showed in him, for what to Adrien was no apparent reason.
It unnerved him greatly, to have someone so close, because he had no protection against it. No solid brick wall, no defense. Without mercy it got under his skin, drew out his agitation, and along with the hunger already roaring within him, left him unable to react in any way other than out of pure instinct;
He withdrew.
Just as she leaned against him for support, to take off her stiletto heels, mumbling something about wanting to go home, he grabbed her elbow firmly to keep her from falling over, but withdrew the rest of his body, almost as though every inch that she had leaned against was a sore bruise, and he was removing himself from the afflictive contact.

Only then, once they were seperated by several inches more, even a foot or two, did he find the peace of mind to ponder their situation and their options, while at the same time, his eyes wandered her appearance; not in appreciation of her curves, still distinctly visible despite the coat, but in appraisal and contemplation. He was having quite a hard time determining her age, for while the face - which had been pretty much the only thing in her actual appearance that he'd focused on before then, beside her injuries - looked young, despite the far too heavy makeup, the body, and the outfit it donned underneath the coat, suggested that he should probably add a couple of years to his initial guess. Quite frankly, he probably preferred if that was the case, because considering what the outfit suggested to him, regarding her line of work or possibly a "hobby" of hers, he'd much rather have it be the conscious decision of an adult, rather than the naive one of a girl who yet did not possess the maturity of mind to make such a decision properly.

However, that was all irrelevant for the time being, and thus what he ended up focusing on, was what she had said about wanting to go home. Knowing the kind of lowlives she'd just been exposed to, it was probably one of the most counterproductive things they could do, as he doubted the Sabbat would give up that "easily"; when it came to taking a hint, they always had been rather dim, pushing and pushing until they either achieved their goal, or suffered a complete - and deadly - case of dehydration.
At the same time, it would probably take Blondie a while to get back to his pals and organize another hunting party, and so if Adrien and the girl were ever to go there, this would probably be their biggest chance at doing so fairly safely.
He still didn't like it, but at the moment, it might be their best option, considering their, mildly put, dishevelled appearances. They needed to clean up, before joining a larger crowd, in search of a higher level of safety, as well as another place to seek refuge, while Adrien dealt with the mess Blondie and his sidekick had caused, as far as the Masquerade went; he needed to find out what the girl had learned, and what she had seen, and take care of it, because he didn't much feel like saving her head from the chopping block of the Sabbat, only to have the Camarilla *ssholes put it on theirs instead.

"Alright", he thus said, with the conclusiveness of someone who had reached a decision after some brief, inner deliberation. "Where do you live? If it's close enough we'll go, but we won't stay."

It hadn't been more than thirty minutes ago tonight that Lola had pegged herself as dead. She'd resigned herself to the fact that the most she could hope for was that the end would come quickly or that she'd pass out for the worst of it. And when the cops found her in the morning, if she was lucky, they'd manage to take her corpse away in a body bag and not a bucket.

Improbably, impossibly, this Stranger had swooped in and snatched her up from fate's twisted machinations. He'd saved her, and Lola hadn't expected to be saved by anyone--much less by a dark, handsome man with an exotic accent. Nothing made sense tonight. Her mind was reeling and numb from it all, her body was still in shut-down mode after the intense adrenaline rush from the traumatic attack, and all she really knows now is that when she's around this Stranger, she feels safe.

And for now, that's enough. Questions can wait.

Right now, she needs him, needs to be close to him. All she wants is to hold on to him like a cat stuck in a tree, so when he recoils away from her touch, she turns her head towards him in surprise as his body slips away from hers. A flicker of dejection crosses her face before her pride quickly erases it and she diverts her eyes to her feet.

Don't be such a putz.

Her toes poke through the diamond-shaped openings of her fishnets, magnifying her discomfort. As the Stranger responds, she reaches down with her free hand and unhooks the clips on her garter, pulling off each stocking and tucking them into her purse.

"Alright. Where do you live? If it's close enough, we'll go, but we won't stay."

Home. Mom. They never had the greatest relationship, but right now she can't think of anyone else she wants to see more.

"I... I usually take the subway back. It's a twenty minute ride," Lola scans the buildings around her, trying to get her bearings to figure out where the nearest station is. As she turns her body, she feels the thin belts of her garter dangling at her thighs. At one end of the ally, she spots the neon tube lighting of a dingy watering hole. Should be a station about a five minute walk away, she figures.

Wait, what did he mean, they weren't staying at her place? Lola cautiously eyes the Stranger again, thinks about the way he's been scanning the area around them. She realizes she doesn't know what happened back there, whether or not the Smiler was coming for her. Since she was still alive, she had assumed he was dust, but she didn't really know. He could be alive. He could be alive and looking for her now.

Chills spread through her spine.

"He's gone, isn't he?" she asks uncertainly.

Pray. For the children!
You lost along the way
Still remember, the names, and faces...
Cold. And abandoned
They cry, their fate put in your hands

When it's over, they come to haunt you...

Wasted... Confusion...
Deadly... Illusion...
Nightmare... Intrusion!

Melissa couldn't remember where she'd heard the song before, but its lyrics bounced merrily around inside her head as she crept stealthily up the wall of her parent's home up to the small, round attic window. Carefully, she rubbed away some of the grime holding the window frame shut and pried it open, slithering inside silently as a shadow. The scent of stale air and old wood permeated the air and she tasted the dust motes on her tongue, souvenirs of the years of neglected life forgotten in the room's piles of decaying cardboard boxes. Some of them bore water damage, recalling a time when the roof started leaking. That had been a good night for Melissa, the night of that thunderstorm. She'd had the rare treat of not having to sleep in her own room. Instead, she'd bunked down on the couch, flipping through the channels on the TV with the volume turned low so her maggots couldn't catch her and yell at her for it.

Oh, but they were going to yell now, yes. Quake and scream and cry too before this fly was done with them. Just like they made her so many times before. Life and death would come full circle, and all inside their heads, just as she herself had died every time they tore her down and belittled her, mocked her and shoved her, slapped her and disparaged her. Now... now she was someone different... something different. A maggot here, she had started to grow. Now a fly. Soon a spider, like the one that bit her. She was learning and starting tonight they would feel the effects of her new strength and resolve.

One small splinter of thought inside her brain recognized her course of action as wickedly hateful, but all the other flies buzzing away inside her head comforted her with the thought that she need not keep such things for herself- indeed, if she were to pursue this kind of strategy against her angel's enemies, for instance, or in the defense of someone else that had received undeserved torment... why then her actions could practically be perceived as noble. Yes, tonight would simply be good practice in looking out for her friends.

"I will make my nightmare yours," she whispered to no one in particular as she moved to open a small trunk. Her lips curled in a satisfied smile as she saw it was full of her old toys, relics of her earliest childhood, the only traces of joy her life had ever held. It had not been so bad early in her life. Their hatred had only blossomed as her womanhood began to do so. Pest, they'd called her, a waste of space. Well, she would remind them of what they used to have, and what they had now lost. She loving scooped the toys into the bag at her side, cradling them each tenderly for a moment before standing up and searching for the covered hole in the attic that served as its entrance into the house.

"No," she whispered when she spotted it. "That would be too obvious. That might make the maggots think to look in the attic and that would not do, no. This fly must use the floorboards."

She crept to a corner of the attic that was placed directly over the hallway that led to their second-story bedroom. After placing her ear to the floor and listening to make sure no one was coming, she placed her pale fingers on the floor and worked as quietly as possible to loosen enough of the boards for her to slip through. When she was done, she slipped the looped end of the noose over her neck and slid through the small opening, covering as much of it as possible with the loose boards while leaving the loose end of the rope threaded through it.

She lost track of time for a while as she hung there, bored. Not dead, because of a Kindred's lack of need for oxygen, but growing tired of waiting to spring her trap. Then, quiet, shuffling footsteps could be heard moving up the stairs and a woman's voice could be heard speaking.

"I don't know, James. Why they have to bother us with this, I have no idea. We haven't seen her in years now. It isn't like we'd want that piece of crap ca-OH GOD!!!"

Melissa's unblinking eyes spied her mother's horrified face as she saw the corpse of her daughter hanging from the ceiling like a broken doll. A grotesque smile was etched on her face with bright red lipstick, but tear tracks were drawn in dark makeup on her ivory cheeks. Just as Melissa predicted, her mother was unable to stand looking at her, beyond the initial stare of shock, and rushed past her dangling offspring to hide in her room with her cell phone, frantically trying to dial 911, so perturbed that she had to redial it twice because her hands were shaking so badly.

"And so the game begins," murmured the fly, swiftly climbing back into the attic through her self-made opening. She withdrew the rope and replaced the floorboards with silent speed and hastened to exit the house the way she had come. After all, this was only night one.

Once she was a safe distance from the wailing sirens, she slowed her walk, holding her sides as she shook with insane laughter.

((ooc: If anyone would be interested in RPing with Alfmundr or Fitz, feel free to drop me a line. I think they're getting bored. :gonemad: ))

(ooc: moving on as it has nearly been a week with no response.)

The Malkavian woman didn't respond, or even seem to notice, so Selene assumed she must be lost in her own thoughts, and walked on into the night. She decided to go to a nightclub/Elysium called The Haven. It sounded like a good place to meet other Kindred. As she entered the club, she saw a darkly beautiful painting hanging over the bar. One that evoked powerful emotions. There was something dark about the painting, something about it that suggested shadows. Her first thought was that the painting was done by a Toreador, as only a Toreador could put that much emotion into a painting. She had heard that a Toreador was co-owner of the club and briefly wondered if it was he that had created the painting. She approached the bar, waiting for an opportunity to approach another kindred for information about a good place to feed. The place seemed loaded in kindred.

(ooc: approachable. is it okay if she just assumes at some point that she has met with the prince, or does she actually need to approach the prince? also edited out the part about feeding at the elysium)

#34 [Night #14]

Social situations, depending on how elaborate they were, might make Noah uncomfortable. Yet he wasn't a deer caught in the headlights. You'd think he'd bumb into everyone that came close enough in The Haven. Instead, he saw them coming. Occasionally he couldn't avoid it, but most of the time he did. He just shifted his body slightly to let them pass. But when there were so many people around him, that he couldn't do anything but feel trapped, he tried to move with the crowd in order to find a way out. In his mind he found a sense of calm, looking past the situation he was in to keep himself from feeling panicked. He didn't like being surrounded, he felt stressed with too many sources of impressions. It took an extra amount of psychological strength to hold it all back, focusing on himself instead of everything else. He was fairly good at it, remembering what his Sire had taught him - that he should never diminish in personal energy and sense of self and calm despite what happened around him. He was still him and he should never allow anyone to take that away. Though he was a Gangrel and they weren't known for attenting social gatherings very often or with ease. It was all easier said than done.

Noah defied everything he knew by going into The Haven. This wasn't his territory and if anything happened it would be hard to get out. Not impossible, just hard. He evaluated everything, and since everything changed by the second, he had to reassess that evaluation just as often. Standing there, aside from the crowd, he knew exactly in which direction to go if he had to get out fast. Though he knew that he would probably never have to use that escape, but he couldn't help but keep an eye on his surroundings. It was in his nature, his instinct. He wasn't the strongest one around, given other Kindred, and he wouldn't go into a fray if he could avoid it. Anyone would notice that he was out of his element, or at least he felt like he was an open book. It could also make someone wanna test him, in the spur of the moment, to show him his place.

The air around the three of them felt stuffy, filled with body heat and a touch of smoke. Noah was grateful he couldn't breath, but his nose picked up all the smells that was available around them and tried to seperate them. He believed to have found Valerian's. It wasn't obvious, but it was undeniably Kindred. The lack of the usual body scent, but still a being of flesh and blood. Melody was easier and he had already noticed her as they came over. The Toreador had a mild, soft scent that reminded Noah of wild flowers in a meadow.
Living for so long, Noah had learned alot about humans, about the modern time that they lived in. Of course, the vampires were not only once one of them, but no matter how long they lived they couldn't help but pick up contemporary things such as clothing styles. Some clans did it more than others, like the Toreador. Noah's clan was not the first one to be trendy, they often also dressed a little like the Roma. Though Noah held on to his ancestors, trying to fit in but still feel like a Native American that once had lived free. His brown leather pants was a part of that world, while his black shirt was meant let him pass anyone by without them noticing him especially. Though his proud heritage set him aside from everyone else, his long black hair and golden skin. He was strong, naturally build for a wild life in the sun.
Now he stood in a lively club with a beautiful woman all dolled up and a Toreador man dressed like many people joining the club scene, but his style was more tasteful. In Noah's eyes, he stood out from the crowd, but the Gangrel wouldn't know how to word the reason why. The clothes were just the exterior, and really not why Noah had been captured. It was more due to Valerian's eyes, voice and friendly face. The Toreador stood out from his very own clan; Noah had never met a member of the Rose that could reel others in like that.

Melody had told him to make himself at home. Though it had to be more of a polite greeting than a serious suggestion, it made him feel welcome. There in the heart of The Haven, there was no place for him to feel remotly at ease. They all knew this, but no one spoke of it. It was as if his reluctant to be there didn't show at all. Polite greetings aside, Noah had made his intentions for being there known. He had said it out loud, anticipating Valerian's response. Would there be forgiveness, or would the nice man harbor any signs of anger? It might have taken only a second between their words, but the Gangrel had all the time in the world to feel nervous and doom all possibilties to redeem himself.

"Please", Valerian said while shaking his head. "Don't apologize. You were not at fault."

There it was, atonement. The guilt that had gripped Noah didn't let go entirely, but loosened a little. Logically, he couldn't have known that Aeode had anything to do with the Kindred society, but he had still taken a wrong step in getting to know Valerian. The Toreador was too important to gamble with, to cast aside for a mere drink of vitae. Noah didn't know him, but guessed that Valerian had a strong place within their kind in L.A., as well as being the next clue in his quest.

"I really would like the chance to explain", Valerian continued, his eyes conveying how serious he was. "If you will allow me to do so sometime? Tomorrow perhaps, if you're not too busy? For alas, tonight I don't have a moment to spare. I have some making up to do."

The latter part of his words made him grin, while he pulled Melody closer to him in his already firm grip of her, to stress that he needed to prioritize her for some reason unknown to Noah. It didn't matter to the Gangrel, he was focused on the fact that he would be able to get an explanation. Not that he believed that he deserved one or that it was any of his business, but it meant he would get the chance to spend time with Valerian that wouldn't run out because the night was ending, or be accidental because Noah attacked the wrong human. And it wouldn't be like now, an interruption when Valerian had other things that needed his attention. It would be intended, time set aside for Noah alone. It was more than he could ask for. Hopefully, he would understand what role Valerian played in the mystery he tried to unravel.

"Thank you", he said gratefully with a gentle smile, so soft as though he could hardly believe his ears. "Tomorrow."

He felt like a child the day before christmas, ready to run off and go to sleep so the next night would dusk upon him. Though that was a sensation he kept for himself, well hidden behind his Gangrel eyes. Just like the animal he was, he had one goal and thus nothing else existed unless it happened to cross his path. Right now, redemption was at hand.








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((( ooc: Ghanima & Atropa - Hope this works for you. Ghanima; the thing with his hands was all good. Hadn't thought about it myself. )))

(((ooc: gdayars - Well, she can't just assume that she's met the Prince, because she really ought to have noticed if she did or if she didn't, and yes, she does have to approach him. But, you do have the freedom to say that she has indeed done so at some point, shortly after arriving in L.A.. It does not have to be RPed.

WannabeSith - Thanks for the heads up. I think the main reason why no one has approached Fitz and/or Alfmundr, is because you haven't put them out there, and so since you haven't been all that active (not critisizing, just stating facts) people might have gotten the impression that you're intentionally not RPing them right now. )))


The pure irony of the situation unfolding this evening was not lost on Adrien. For it was indeed ironic, ridiculous almost, how someone who had just jumped head first into a brawl with what for all he had known would have been not just one but two Sabbat bastards - had the darkhaired one decided to leave the girl in favor of helping out his partner in crime - ended up feeling greatly unsettled by a mere human girl, and an injured and for the most part helpless one at that. He hadn't even thought twice about going up against opponents about whom he knew next to nothing; Kindred, who were more than likely far older than him, and well versed in their Disciplines, whereas Adrien was still adjusting to his Kindred nature, and practically refused to use Disciplines, clinging stubbornly to the idea that for as long as he denied everything he could about being Kindred, that nature of the beast would be kept at bay, and the enemy would not get to catch even a glimpse of what they so yearned to see in him. A lone man, far younger than most of his enemies, and lacking their greater number, power and strength, he was wielding his death-defying rebellion in the faces of all those who wanted to break him down, the masses that wanted him either dead or defeated. Without fear or even hesitation. He'd gone up against creatures that for all intents and purposes had seemed far superior to him, without even flinching, and he had taken them down.

And what, would it turn out, did it take to unnerve such a seemingly imperturbable man?

Plain, simple human touch. A confused, defenseless young woman needing his help and his support, mentally and physically, and turning to him for it, without a moment's hesitation. A harmless human kid merely touching him, seeking comfort in his presence, like a lost little puppy dog.

Not power, not malice, not a past of the most heinous crimes.
But vulnerability, and trust.
Ah, how utterly ironic.

"I...", she started slowly, after taking a few seconds to remove her fishnet stockings - as if she wasn't already wearing far too little - and causing Adrien to look away in the process, since even though he may not be quite certain how to respond to her closeness, he was still far too much of a gentleman to want to risk even appearing to be ogling her, especially at a time such as this. "I usually take the subway back. It's a twenty minute ride."

Having said that, she started looking around as if trying to figure out where exactly they were, while opposite of her, Adrien merely gave a slight, wordless snarl. The subway did not appeal to him in the least. It was far too risky. Trapped in a cart underground with no real means of escape, and with people around to observe them? To possibly notice the state she was in, and start asking questions? Or even alert the police?
Not a chance.
Nor could they continue on foot. She simply didn't have the strength to walk for more than a couple of hundred yards, at the most. And he doubted very much that her home could be reached through nothing but deserted alleys anyway, so he could hardly carry her there. Besides, even if he could, it would still simply take too long, and leave them far too exposed.
No, the way he saw it, hailing a cab was the only sensible option, because it meant that far less people were likely to spot them, if any at all. A cab driver wouldn't be able to catch just how bad a state she was in, just by looking in the rearview mirror or over his shoulder, nor was he (or she) likely so spot the bloody tear on the sleeve of Adrien's coat. Furthermore, with someone else around, the temptation that the young woman's entire little being was still waving right under his predator nose, would lessen greatly, because Adrien knew he'd have no choice but to restrain himself, and not give in and feed, whereas in a subway car that just might be empty... Granted, the risk of him failing to maintain control was minimal, but it did exist, and that, to him, was enough.

"He's gone, isn't he?"

The young woman's voice, sounding even more hesitant now than it had before, instantly brought his gaze back to her, from having yet again roamed the surroundings while he weighed their various options in his mind, and another frown stole across his features, as for once he actually allowed his thoughts and feelings to show, partly because there was no need for his usual deadpan pokerface, and partly because he figured some rigid, non-reactive Terminator type would only unsettle her, perhaps even frighten her. And at this point, he'd rather not do that if he could help it. What he had to tell her in response to her question, would be bad enough;

"No", he started brusquely, but as his gaze locked with hers, he softened slightly in the face of her obvious distress; "No, he's not. There would have been witnesses, and I cannot afford that. That is why I cannot let you return home and stay there; chances are he'll be coming there next."

That said, his hands rose to the long lapels of his leather coat, and slid it from his shoulders, and as he continued speaking, he handed it over for her to hold, while he himself simply went on to rip the sleeves off of his shirt.

"However", he said, as his fingers tightened around the fabric of the first shoulder, and tore the fabric apart at the seam with a quick, forceful jerk, "we do have a head start, and if we want to make use of it, we best get going."

The first sleeve sliding off of his arm, he then moved on to rip off the other as well, all the while explaining;

"But no subway. It's too risky. We'll take a taxi instead."

By now, both crimson silk sleeves dangled sadly from his hand, like the petals of a wilting rose, while his muscular arms, pale and reminiscent of those of some Renaissance marble sculpture, were left naked and exposed to the cool evening breeze dancing through the alley and rustling the dark strands hanging into his eyes.
But not for long. Handing the young woman the two pieces of fabric, he took back the leather coat and slid it back on and, after giving the bloody tear across his chest - under which his skin and flesh had now healed - a brief inspection, then buttoned up just enough to cover it.

Once that was done, he turned his full attention to her. Stepping closer, he carefully pried open her coat, took the sleeves from her hands, and then pressed them gently against what remained of the partially healed stab wound, while his eyes ventured up to study hers, to determine how much it stung, as well as to silently apologize for being the one causing it.

"Keep that pressed against it", he instructed, hoping it would be enough to keep the blood from dripping from her as they moved, as well as not spill onto the seats once they were in the cab.

Then, he gripped the edges of her coat again, and pulled it tightly around her before zipping it up, almost like a father who wants to make sure his child will be keeping warm in the winter cold, though in this case also in order to cover up her lacerated body, as well as the skimpy outfit it donned.

"What's your name?"

Despite the events over the past couple of nights having turned him far more brooding than he usually was, in essence Connor was still a buoyant young man, sprightly and vibrant in most things, and with a smile never seeming too far away from those invitingly kissable lips of his. It was his core, infused in his very being, and thus in spite of all that had recently threatened to break it, it still remained fairly intact. It had been given a jolt, a violent shaking about, but now once the waves around him were starting to die down, his true nature was starting to resurface.

However, it would be impossible to rightly talk about this recovery of sorts, without mentioning how it was not happening just due to his basic personality alone, but that it was also the result of an outside influence that drew it out sooner than it might have managed, if left to do it all on it's own accord; Moira's influence. She knew her ghoul well, she knew how his mind worked and knew how to bend it if needed, and therefore, it wasn't long before her intended distraction had successfully served it's purpose, and guided his thoughts away from the downward spiral they had started on when the subject of Valerian had first come up. And, while Connor himself wasn't exactly blind to what was happening, and despite his initial jealous hesitation, in his rose-tinted view of their relationship it all had him eventually taking it for nothing more than that remarkable way of theirs, to smoothly follow along in eachother's moods. Though someone a little more objective would soon realize that it was more a matter of Connor following Moira's mood, than it was her following his. But as to Connor it didn't really matter much who followed who, just that they did, he ended up not taking too much notice of it either.

Consequently, when they left Moira's suite, walking close together like couples do, and Moira asked him about his day, Connor, perhaps even for the most part unwittingly, kept focused on the brighter events, such as getting to see his father and endearingly fussy mother, and catching up, if ever so briefly, with a few of his many friends. He did mention his initial exhaustion and distraction, as there was no way of pretending they hadn't existed, but all in all, the summary of his day stayed true to the recent lift in spirits between himself and Moira. There was no mention about the actual remarks he'd recieved from pretty much everyone - friends, family and even his voice coach - about how absent-minded he'd seemed, and soon enough, the conversation had moved on to other things.

Given that it was supposed to be a night out for the two of them, and that as such it might involve Connor wanting to have a drink or two for once, the two of them ended up choosing to leave his car at the hotel, and instead take a cab to The Haven. They arrived to find a que of twenty-odd people, most of whom were dressed to match the club's undeniably gothic atmosphere, which, even though he at that point had not yet seen the insides of, Connor had already gotten a whiff of, partly through Moira's description and now partly through the muffled metal music seeping through the walls as well.
A little darker than he was used to indeed.

Still, Connor was an open-minded young man, and always valued the chance to try something new, and so even though he recieved the occasional odd look from those around him, he merely offered a faint, rather amused smile in return, unbothered by this, to him, most unusual kind of attention, and, once they got inside, looked around himself with curiousity and interest, rather than disapproval of something that would seem to clash with his own luminous preferences.


(((ooc: Ghani - I know it doesn't give you all that much to reply to, but it was mostly meant as something to get them into position at The Haven. You are of course free to reply to it if you feel like it, but otherwise, I'll just have Valerian spot them and come over in my next Valerian post, if that's ok? Let me know.)))

Growing up, Lena had had the pleasure of having perhaps the most quirky head teacher in school history, one of the lady’s golden moments encompassed by the words “make the best use of your looks, girls; they’re always the first to go” said to a room full of rather bemused seventeen year old girls.
God, she was such fun.
But also not entirely correct. Clearly, apart from the botox and pentapeptides, the suckers had eternal youth until time dementia set into their brain, and even then, though they were disconcertingly insane, they still looked good.

In any case, Dame Elizabeth hadn’t been preaching anything new to a select few of her students – one of them being Lena, because she was always beautifully presented – but rather accentuating an idea hidden in that statement; looks fade. Sometimes really quickly as someone crumbles to dust, but other times more… slowly. Still, looks are just a platform to achieving things and the only thing that’ll ever truly stick, is what you do with your mind, what you make of your life. It was everything that you were.
It sort of sucks that someone can come along and take that away in an instant just by feeding you’re their blood, but hey, one recovers.

Thus, one of the first things Lena had needed, once she got the point of finding her feet through the chaos, was to create and cultivate something – both on a business level and a personal level. The most obvious was to infringe into the entrepreneurial world – the one she most wanted was to carry on with the career that she’d set her heart on, worked so hard for, but you can’t always get what you want – mainly because she had such vast experience in it, having been basically brought up in such a reality; Daddy was the head of a pharmaceutical corporation and he made sure his only daughter was exceptionally well-versed in all the tricks.
On another level, it was actually the most sensible thing to do; she needed so much stuff that was… traceable and owning your own corporation cut down on that, a lot.

Men, especially in the business world… actually, men generally, do not take well to answering to a woman. Post-modern feminism was a nice concept and all for the chauvinists to take refuge in, but really, it was still a thorn in their side, and thus, Lena knew she wasn’t ever going to have it easy. Men… they liked dominance, to a point where it pretty much defined them, and thus, women had learned to assume covert control. Most of the time. Thus, that was the exact strategy that Lena had implemented in gaining control of the company – she didn’t barge in, buy the majority of shares and put everyone on their guard, she did the exact opposite.
First, she persuaded people to sell her just enough of the shares to gain her a place on the board, to allow her a footing. Then, she wielded her influence to get people to favour her; after all, they didn’t see much more than a pretty little girl with more clothes in the closet than brain matter so all was well. Then was the subtle, anonymous redistribution of the shares to people whose financial status she predicted to be somewhat rocky in the near future, all the while she was gathering enough funds to ensure that she’d be able to afford what she wanted to get her hands on, and once she was ready, she pulled the strings, ensuring that the people she’d engineered the shifting of the shares to had no choice but to sell it to her, thus giving her the majority of the shares and therefore, control of the company.
It wasn’t a hostile takeover, she had better finesse than that.
Oh, and she hadn’t killed anyone alive to achieve it. Bonus points.

The usage of looks in that entire operation had been simply to distract while she went about doing what she wanted to do… and perhaps to add a little bit of persuasion. She didn’t sleep with anyone, she didn’t get vulgarly flirtatious and she hadn’t cheapened herself in anyway to achieve exactly what she wanted. Social morals, not so much – self-asserted principles, hell yes.
That had become somewhat encompassed into the personality of Elle Archer. Now Lena flirted, regardless of whether the target was male, female or an inanimate object, she just automatically flirted using every shred of femininity. Elle, on the other hand, was feminine and very much so, but she didn’t bear any of Lena’s flirtatious nature.
Admittedly, it was rather difficult to have to constantly restrain oneself, but… she managed.
And in any case, taken into account the personality of the man she was in a business meeting with, that was really the best way to go.

"Miss Archer,” Archon addressed her with a curt nod. "I am perfectly well, thank you. And you?"

Motioning her to take her seat while he did the same, as the escort did his part while she turned to him first, politely dismissing with a “Thank you” for his services, before turning her attentions to Archon in reply to his question as he prepared himself for the presentation.
“Very well, thank you,” she replied with another cordial smile, taking her eyes off him for a moment to produce the laptop that she used for this purpose and then proceeding to attack the projector USB to the correct port in the compartment of the table, having done this enough times before to know how the routine went, and this particular room sensibly adhered to the norms. Having done that, she reverted her gaze to meet Archon’s dark eyes, continuation; “I’ve been looking forward to this meeting.” And then smoothly making the transition from greetings to actual business instead of wasting time awkwardly; “Speaking of which, I’ll begin.”

“I took the liberty of asking our mutual acquaintance, Mr Harrison for some details regarding your fuel specifications," she revealed, knowing that Archon would know that such details would have been discussed anyway, but still laying the cards out on the table and very covertly alluding that she too knew that he’d have checked out her details as well. Then, passing a neatly presented document in a bound file, containing the summarised version of everything she was about to say, for him to take away and read while he was hanging upside down from the ceiling, she clarified a little more; “Simply to allow me to tailor the presentation to your interests. I hope you don't mind?”

And then she started, playing out the powerpoint presentation and explaining at the appropriate slide what details Archon needed to know, and what he might want to know, all the time keeping it fresh and original, knowing that a man of his entrepreneurial stature – and well, age – would have been subjected to quite literally hundreds of these, outlining the chemical compositions of the different types of fuel, the environmental and sociological considerations that had been implemented in obtaining said fuel as well as the Good Samaritan act that the companies such as hers had to play out in front of the media to make the general population go “Awww!”.
It was flawless.

Finishing, she locked gazes once more with Archon, giving one final explanation that he – owning international flight aeroplanes and therefore subject to international laws by default – would most likely have to have.

“Despite America’s lack of participation in the Kyoto treaty, we have ensured that our fuel adheres to the outlines,” Lena assured in a soft, calm tone of voice, before elaborating on any future plans for the company by simply alluding to it; “So, international distribution and refuelling on foreign soil wouldn't carry any consequential hindrance.”

“Do you have any questions you’d like to ask, Lord DeWinter?”

(((OOC: SO sorry for the delay, Psyche and sorry for kind of blagging my way through it, I didn’t have time to do proper research, but I hope it works. If anything doesn’t make sense/I’ve just lost the plot, do let me know

Gdayars – sincere apologies, like I said in the PM, I’ve been really, really snowed under with work.)))

"No, no he's not."

It feels like her heart's been stabbed and strung up on a meat hook as soon as those words leave his mouth. It wasn't over. Not dead. The Smiler was not dead. His face softens on hers and words keep leaving his mouth, but from the way her mind is reeling now she can barely process them. However, the last thing he says sticks out with the horrible clarity of a knife in her gut.

"Chances are he'll be coming there next."

Lola freezes and her eyes go wide. Oh no, f*** no. Mom. The Stranger takes off his jacket and takes away the support he had once given to her body, and all she can do is stand there numbly as he hands her his jacket. After a few seconds, her face breaks from fear into panic.

"S***! My mom's there!" She fumbles with one hand digging into her purse and frantically searching for her cellphone. She has to call her, warn her, make sure she's alright.

"...we do have a head start..."

She hears the Stranger's voice in bits and pieces, hears the sound of ripping fabric, sees flashes of skin and movement from the corner of her eye, but she's got her tunnel vision set into her purse. When she finally spots it at the bottom of her bag, she desperately snatches it up.

"But no subway. It's too risky. We'll take a taxi instead."

Lola nods absently as her fingers fly over her keypad and type in her mom's number from memory. She hits the green send button and places the phone against her ear. She listens to the hollow ringing at the other end of her cellphone, and he hands her his soft, silk sleeves and takes back his bloodied leather coat. It's only then that she registers how he's torn up his shirt and undressed his arms in front of her.

He has muscles like an underwear model--like the perfect specimen of what men's arms should look like. She's seen it a thousand times before in her anatomy books for art, the way his chiseled muscles curve and layer over each other--deltoid into biceps brachii, then flexors and extensors. Somehow, it gets her every time. As her eyes wander over his arms, she notices how light he truly is in the long stretches of his pale skin over muscle. There's something unsettling about it, all too similar to a pair of cold arms that held her close like steely cables in a dream before stealing away her pure heart.

It's probably nothing.

She realizes she's been staring once he puts his coat back on. A little embarassed, she glances downward and away as she keeps listening to her phone ringing.

Then his hand finds the zipper on her coat and starts pulling it open. Her heartbeat quickens when she feels the vibrations of every metal rung along the zipper shiver across the thick cotton fabric of her jacket and caress against her skin. Her breathing becomes heavier as well, so that her breasts are rising softly when he exposes them. She intakes sharply as she feels a burst of chill night air against her cleavage and goosebumps pricking over her round curves.

She makes no move to stop him.

She's acutely aware of her own exposure on front of this Stranger, and he seems to ignore it. All he does is press his torn sleeves against her wound to help staunch the bleeding. His eyes find hers without stopping to linger between her breasts, and she returns his gaze. It's only the the insistent sound of the phone in her ear and pain she still feels on her belly that stop her from getting lost in his deep eyes of earth and verdant green.

"Keep that pressed against it."

She swallows silently and nods. Her hand presses on top of his, and the fabric of her jacket separates them from touching. When he withdraws his hand from inside her coat, he leaves the sensual caress of silk against her vicious wound. He pulls her zipper back up without a second glance at her body, and she wonders why something feels hollow inside her.

"What's your name?" He asks.

"Lola." She says grimly. "What about you?"

There is a click in her ear as her mother's voicemail answers the phone. Frowning, she shuts the phone without leaving a message. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breathe, trying to calm down her fear. Her mom wasn't always the best when it came to answering her phone. She could be in the shower, or watching tv, or absorbed in a book, or....

S***. They have to get moving.

Lola shuts her eyes, trying to remember the layout of this part of town and pulling up images of building facades in her mind. When she opens them, she says:

"There's a skin bar a little over a block from here. There's usually a cabbie out front to pick up the drunks." Then, thinking that he doesn't exactly seem like the type to know where all the jiggle joints are located, she adds. "I can lead."



((OOC: Atropa, hope that works. Also, her jacket is like a long hoodie so it zips and doesn't wrap so well. pic ))

(((ooc: robokitty - Ah, alrighty. I just figured that back when he scooped her up in the alley, he wouldn't take the time to actually zip up the coat, but just wrap it around her as best he could, and that once she came to, it'd be pure instinct for her to keep it tight around herself, what with the shock, evening chill and skimpy outfit etc. But this time, he would've closed it properly, so I'll edit to say that he zips it up. Once I've gotten to sleep. 7.30 AM and just got home from work. )))

A few years ago, back when Valerian had first established The Haven, it's purpose had been, partly, to offer his kind a place to gather and to socialize under the guise of humanity, as people rather than Kindred set apart by differences in bloodline, politics, history, opinions, and everything else that tended to be a source of disagreement amongst their kind. He had run a few clubs before, though only one financially - which due to it's unfortunate bankruptcy was the reason why this time around, he'd been wise enough to acquire a business partner - but none of them had ever had a Kindred alignment. The Haven was his first attempt at that, and though the name itself might be quite the cliché, it had been chosen because it was one that rung loud and clear to everyone with proper knowledge of what exactly it meant, while leaving those without it none the wiser. His aim was to offer a place where everyone could feel welcome, a place where they could kick back and relax, leave the Kindred world of feuds and petty rivalry at the door, and just enjoy themselves. For the most part, he had succeeded, but there were still those who brought with them their worries and/or their worrisome behaviour, while others conducted business, and others yet came for information; all of it connecting them to an everyday world that Valerian had meant for them to leave at the door.
Still, as it was only a wish, and not actually up to him to dictate people's reasons for coming, there was little he could, or would, do about it. At least for as long as they didn't overstep the Elysium rules.

Then, there was of course the category of Kindred that didn't make use of The Haven the way Valerian had meant for his peers to do, nor even at all, simply because it was in their very nature to keep away from crowds, even those consisting of Kindred. Or perhaps especially those consisting of Kindred, Valerian wasn't quite sure. The Gangrel. Despite his century as a child of Caine, Valerian hadn't yet met too many of them - which really was only natural, considering he tended to seek the kind of situations they tended to shun - and so he had never gotten a chance to try and figure out their nature, never gotten the opportunity to truly tap into their drive and general attitude. Yet even so, it was still obvious to him that it had taken quite an effort on Noah's part to venture into the club to find him, which in turn could only mean that his need to sort things out was strong. And even if Valerian hadn't already gathered as much, the softness with which Noah spoke, and the light seeping into his dark umber eyes, was evidence enough to the intuitive young Toreador. Though at the same time, he couldn't help but to get the feeling that there was more to Noah's interest in a one-on-one encounter than just his desire to understand what had happened last night. There was something else as well, something Valerian had picked up on the very first time they'd met, but hadn't been able to put his finger on what exactly it was. Nor was he able to do so now, for while his keen sense of emotional perception picked up on it, the Gangrel still remained too reserved for him to want to explore it, since it was obvious that if he did, he would be doing so without permission. Valerian might be able to sense what people were experiencing, but he wasn't an intruder. What others wanted to keep to themselves, he wouldn't tap into, even if he could.

Thus, even though his curiousity had been thouroughly piqued, he didn't object nor question when the response Noah offered to his invitation to join him the following night, turned out to be taciturn, at best;

"Thank you", the Gangrel accepted softly, before adding a confirming; "Tomorrow."

Instead, Valerian merely offered a gentle smile in return, along with a faint nod to seal the agreement.

"I'm looking forward to it", he said, in that usual warm tone of his that would make even the most trite of comments sound perfectly genuine, for the simple reason that in his case, they usually were. "Until then."

With that, he gave another, slightly more visible nod in polite parting, and then he and Melody started making their way over to the table that always remained reserved for him, and Claudia as well, whenever she decided to grace the club with her presence. Though this evening, she was nowhere to be seen, and given the way things had gone last night, Valerian wasn't sure she would be. Consequently, the table in one of the corners, overlooking most of the club, was still empty, and much like a gentleman of the old days - although admittedly what would've probably been considered an appallingly playful one - when he and Melody reached it, his hand slipped from her waist to seize her delicate fingers between his instead, as he allowed her to step up and slip onto the lush seats first before following himself, only to once there put his arm around her shoulders and pull her closer to him once more.

Then followed nearly half an hour of the two of them just talking about this and that, only interrupted ever so briefly a few times when friends and acquaintances came over to say hello, one topic morphing smoothly into another as they covered everything from art and music to Melody's curiousity regarding what the encounter with Noah had been all about. However, Valerian still didn't wish to go into detail regarding that, since it was greatly connected to the situation with Aeode, and he really did want Melody to get dragged into it all. And, maybe it was fate or maybe it was just a stroke of good luck, but it was right then, just as his gaze was roaming the club while he took a few quick moments to ponder what he should tell her to sate her curiousity without telling her too much, that the universe saw fit to grant him a dozen gifts of opportunities, all wrapped into one. Sweeping the the club, starting by the other tables spreading out infront of him and continuing across the dance floor and on towards the bar on the opposite site, his gaze suddenly latched onto a blur of most familiar, deep fiery locks over by the entrance. Moira. Valerian didn't need a double-take to know it was her, he recognized her instantly, even though her head was currently turned away from him, facing instead a blonde youth next to her. A blonde youth whose appearance had Valerian lighting up even more a few moments later, when he realized who it was.

Oh, this was perfect!

"Mel", he said quickly, eyes still locked on Moira and her company, but then turning to look at Melody, unable to keep an excited smile off of his lips. "There's something I have to do, someone I need to talk to. Please don't go anywhere. I'll be back in a minute, I promise."

Hopefully, it would be with a surprise for her, though he made sure to leave that part out. After all, he couldn't be sure the young man would actually agree to meet fans on what was supposedly meant to be a night of leisure, away from his duties as a celebrity.

And, just to make sure she wouldn't think he was just making excuses in order to get himself off the hook - she had no doubt already registered the way he'd been somewhat evasive the previous night, when last she'd made simlar inquiries - he leaned over to plant a swift kiss on her lips and brush his knuckles gently along her cheek in a caress, before scooting out of the booth and starting to make his way through the crowd, turning his head once to shoot her a reassuring smile, before the crowd on the dance floor swallowed him up.

"This is getting ridiculous," Alfmundr muttered softly, sliding out of his tailored jacket and handing it to the person manning the coat check. An expression of disgust played upon his handsome face, but it wasn't aimed at anyone around him this time- no, it was aimed at himself. For once more he found himself striding into a nightclub of all places simply because he didn't feel like being alone that evening. Next thing he knew, people would start accusing him of being civilized. Of course, he could solve that problem by ghouling a human for their company, but since he was such a stalwart defender of his own independence, the idea never sat very well with him.

Sighing, he slid quietly into the main room, hoping to make an unobtrusive entrance and failing dismally at it. It was like that everywhere he went, unless he'd put on full camouflage like he did on many of his jobs. Instead, heads turned to follow the progress of the man that had just walked in looking like a handsome Norse god. An irritable one at that.

Just as he started getting severely bothered by the crowd and was considering leaving, he noticed something that did the unthinkable- it made him smile. His young Gangrel friend Noah was there. It made the old man feel a little better to know that he wasn't the only one that looked ill at ease in this place. He would have gone over to say hello, likely giving a heart attack to any other Kindred with him -such was the typical reaction to meeting a predator as old as Alfmundr-if it weren't for the fact that he could see the Native American warrior surrounded by Alfmundr's own clanmates. True, most people wouldn't call two Kindred and two ghouls by the smell of them surrounded, but given the viking's detestation of his own clan, just one Toreador was too much.

Straightening up, he walked over to the bar with a self-assurance that felt at odds with his discomfort in such a place. It never really mattered what he felt like. Whatever the emotions, whatever the scenario, he was the warrior Alfmundr and d*mned proud because of it. He slid onto a barstool with supremely careless grace and leaned indolently against the bar and ordered a glass of wine that he could pretend to sip.

It was then that he noticed a Kindred just a few feet away that had proven worthy of his attention. Very lovely, her pale eyes, skin, and hair made him think of the women he'd known in his childhood village, the ones tended the homes while the raiders were busy working to expand their territory. The memories were so long ago that they had practically faded into oblivion, only to be brought back by this woman's striking appearance. What's more, though she looked the part, she did not give off the foppish air that most of his kin did. Indeed... for all her beauty, she had a decidedly conservative feel about her. A refreshing change indeed.

"Good evening," he said dryly. Eloquence, thy name is Alfmundr.

A man of reason, of cold, hard rationality, Adrien de la Cour had to ask himself just what the heck he was doing. Now caught in an existence where he was constantly being kept a close eye on, and had just been dangeled infront of the majority of the L.A. Kindred and thus was wisely expecting to be attacked at any given moment, how clever was it, really, to bring down upon himself an increased Sabbat interest in seeing him dead, and to cripple himself somewhat by out of the blue deciding to play catcher in the rye to a human girl whom for all intents and purposes should mean nothing to him, whom would only slow him down and leave him both vulnerable and clumsy, since as long has he had her to look out for, he couldn't move as swiftly and as easily among the shadows as he usually did? He couldn't pull his usual disappearing act, because she was hurt and moving too slowly, and even if she hadn't been and he had managed to hide them, her heartbeat still would have given them away in an instant. This evening, he had knowingly thrown himself out of the frying pan and into the fire, and for what reason? To save a mortal girl that he didn't even know anything about, a girl that for all he knew could even have been part of a setup - knowingly or otherwise - to give him enough rope to hang himself with, thus saving the Kindred the wait of finally getting to see him dead. It was a bit of a long shot, granted, but it was still a possibility, and as such would be taken into account.

Yet, Adrien's intuition, which had always helped guide him in the past, had him leaning towards thinking she was indeed an innocent. Although that in no way meant that she wouldn't get him into trouble, but it did help him explain to himself just why it was that he had decided to help her out. Furthermore, had he simply left her or taken her to a hospital, with his stalker watching, he really would have shot himself in the foot, as according to the laws of the Masquerade, she'd have to be dealt with, and his decision not to do so would have labelled him far more of a liability towards the Camarilla than he was currently ready for.

All things considered, what it all boiled down to seemed to be his conscience, as well as his (most reluctant) loyalty to the Camarilla. Well, sort of. Considering the Sabbat's obvious interest in the girl, a good little Cammy would've probably hurried back to alert the Prince of what had happened, and awaited his ruling on the matter. Adrien, on the other hand, preferred to handle the matter himself, at least for now. He didn't much feel like playing lapdog, neither to the pompous git Alexander, nor to anyone else. Besides, his stalker would surely make the report in his place as soon as he got the chance, and thus this would seem a splendid opportunity for Adrien to show exactly where he stood, to show his defiance and his rebellion, with a little simple civil disobedience; doing something that wasn't what was demanded of him, but still something they ultimately couldn't severely punish him for.
It was sure to get a rise out of them. Especially since all they could do, without stepping out of the boundaries for suitable punishment, was to give him a slap on the wrist. And while it may be enough to make other Camarilla Kindred quiver in their boots, from Adrien, it would merely get a smirk. Any sign he could give at not playing their game, yet not breaking their rules, would be a slap in the face to them, and a small victory to him.

However, all in due time. First, he had to take care of the current situation, and make sure that they would have no reason to kill the girl. Or even an excuse, just to spite him. Therefore, right now, they needed to get a move on before Blondie or any of his buddies caught up, and get to the girl's place before finding them a safe one. He still didn't like the idea of the detour, but they both did need to clean up, and with the panic she was currently in, talking about her mother and fumbling with the phone, he knew that if he insisted that they couldn't go there, she would just cause him more trouble by either trying to get away from him in order to go home anyway, or she would remain paniced and scared out of her wits, and keep slowing them both down anyway. For this to work, they needed to be on the same page, and she needed to be functioning mentally. The best way of accomplishing that, was to keep her lucid, yet unfocused enough not to panic. And so, Adrien had just kept talking, even though he registered that she didn't listen to most of what he said, in order to offer something, even if just the sound of his voice, to keep her firmly in reality. Asking her name was a way of taking the method even further, as it forced her to focus, just not on the immediate threat to her existence, and, as would seem to be the case, her mother's as well. They would move so much faster, and attract alot less attention, if she was acting fairly "normal", rather than some sobbing hysteric.
And much to his satisfaction, it turned out that she was susceptible - possibly already brought back to reason by the pain of him pressing his hand against her wound, or even the close proximity itself, as even though he pretended otherwise, he had seen the look in her eyes when gazing at him, and the tension in her body - because it wasn't long after the question had been asked, that she answered it;

"Lola", she said curtly, and then added; "What about you?"

As was to be expected. Though for a moment, Adrien contemplated giving her a false name, because his real one was hardly likely to spare her any trouble, should she be caught and questioned by someone who against all odds didn't already know of her affiliation with the former hunter. But, as that was hardly likely to happen, considering both his stalker and Blondie, it would probably just have them assume that for some reason, Adrien was trying to hide something, and thus end up being anything but gentle and kind to her anyway. So, his real one it would be then;

"Adrien", he replied, with another glance around the area, but returned his gaze to her when he heard the click of her phone shutting.

No answer. That didn't bode well. For even though Blondie himself would have stood very little chance to reach Lola's home, considering how far she'd said it was, that didn't mean he didn't have a few Sabbat friends already there. For all Adrien knew, they could have even gone there first, before attacking Lola.

"There's a skin bar a little over a block from here", Lola said, having taken a few moments to collect herself, as well as catch her bearings. There's usually a cabbie out front to pick up the drunks."

A brief hesitation, as one of Adrien's aristocratic eyebrows ventured slightly upward at her apparent knowledge about such a place as well as recurring situations nearby it, and then she added;

"I can lead."

At that offer, Adrien merely studied her in grave silence at first, as though assessing her strength and thus her chances of carrying out said offer. She still looked wobbly and literally exhausted, but as they were now closing in on a more crowded area, him carrying her any further would only attract attention, whereas letting her walk on her own and let others assume she was just an intoxicated young woman in the company of some male acquaintance, would make them blend in. Especially in a neighbourhood such as this. There wasn't much to be done about the faint smears of blood still around her lips, nor the bloody rift along his own jawline, but with a little luck, if anyone noticed her, they'd just take it to be smeared lipstick, and his cut was easily hidden by the dark tresses constantly falling into his eyes. Furthermore, with only the obscure light of a flickering street lamp, and the alcohol usually flowing through the veins of people on a Saturday night, the odds of someone taking notice of such details, were small enough for Adrien to deem it safe enough to go for it.

"Alright", he thus said, and waited until she had taken the first step, indicating in what direction they would be going, before following.

Once he did, however, his hand came up to firmly cup her elbow in order to offer whatever support she may still need, though he himself made sure to keep his distance. It was bad enough that her vulnerability and way of seeking comfort with him unnerved him, but add to that the fact that the hunger in him was still pecking away at his predatory core, and it was just better for them both if he didn't get too close. At least until there were other people around, as then he'd have to assume the role of partner, and support most of her body with most of his, lest people would begin to wonder.

In the meantime, however, he hadn't failed to notice the slightly hurt look she'd shot him the first time he'd clearly withdrawn from her, and for some reason, it got to him, to see that abandoned look on her face, and so as an explanation, he added, knowing she'd be aware of what he was referring to;

"It's for your own safety."



(((ooc: robokitty - Gah, sorry if it's crappy, messy and doesn't make sense. I had such a hard time putting it all into words. Also, should you find it's not enough to reply to, I could try and add some more.

Ghani - I know I've said it before, but Melody is too adorable! No wonder Valerian loves her.)))

As far as clubs went, Connor had seen his fair share of them, starting with the wide variety offered to a native L.A. club-hopper during his late teens and early twenties, and eventually advancing to the even wider range available to a globetrotting pop star with a desire to explore the various scenes of the places he went on tour. Everything from seedy, smokey joints with peeling wallpaper, which during the start of his career was what the band had to settle for, to the classy, high profile venues with clear-cut decor and neon cords forming patterns in the flooring, that they had been promoted to play these days. He'd seen them both, and every level in between. Yet, most of them had had one thing in common; they had been fairly mainstream. At least as mainstream as mainstream clubs of different cultures could be. Sure, there had been the occasional themed ones and, since boys will be boys, strip ones, but as a whole, they had all been profiled to appeal to the general population of average Joes and average Janes. Never before had he set foot in a club as specifically goth oriented as this one. Which, truth be told, only made it all the more intriguing to him, especially considering Moira's own gothic tendencies, and how he now was offered the chance to explore them a bit more. He hadn't done that before. He'd only enjoyed seeing the result, never delved into what lay behind it. And, with a darker side of his own personality having started to emerge in him since meeting her, it all felt strangely appealing to him; the everpresent innuendo of the beauty held by darkness, that clung to the very walls of this place.

Though, how very easy it would have been for him, to just decide that he hated it. Indeed, a part of him really wanted to hate it. However childish it may be, it's simply human nature, to condemn things that belong to or have sprung from someone you don't like, and dismiss them as bad, tacky, lacking imagination, or whatever else unflattering judgement a critical mind may be able to conjure, just to protect itself from the idea that this someone might actually have something on you, or at the very least some redeeming qualities. It's not easy to dislike something you admire or can sympathize with. Yet despite that petty human streak in him, Connor made a conscious effort not to humor it, and instead tried to maintain objective, refusing to let his impression of the club be tainted by the insecurities he harbored regarding it's owner, and whatever was his affiliation with Connor's beloved Moira.

His eye swept from one side of the club to the other, quickly picking up on the general atmosphere and layout, then returned to start over, slowly this time, while paying more attention to the details. He studied the color scheme and the lighting, the people on the dance floor and seated by the tables as well as by the bar, and let his gaze linger momentarily on the painting hanging above it. Remembering she'd mentioned such a painting when telling him how she had met this Valerian, he turned his head to face her in order to ask her if that was the one she'd been talking about, only to find that something else had already gotten her attention. She was looking at something to her other side, and curious to discover what it was, Connor's gaze followed hers.

And there he was. The dark stranger from the previous evening, the long-haired hippie type, this Valerian. Though this time he was looking considerably more goth than he had then, in a black, untucked shirt and a pair of brocade pants, matching the general vibe of the club. Up close, he seemed younger than Connor had imagined based on the distant form he'd seen last night, as well as the drawing Moira had made, which Connor had first thought depictured this man. Now however, he was not so sure, because even though the appearance itself fit that of the man in the drawing, that man had seemed brimming with command and maturity, whereas this one had an air of complete openness and youth about him. Or was that perhaps just a mask, for appearances' sake when around a sea of unsuspecting humans, and what Moira had drawn was the man behind it? Having experienced how she could seem to sway from one age to another, Connor didn't think it impossible that other Kindred could be like that as well. Though even when seeming her youngest, there still tended to be hint of undeniable wisdom underneath the immediate surface, that Connor just didn't sense in Valerian.
But then again, Connor was only human, and had just yesterday been made aware of how very little he knew about the Kindred, and so at this point was nowhere near feeling as though he had enough knowledge to make assumptions. He'd done it two nights ago, and just look how that had turned out.
It was not a mistake he was about to make again.

And with all that in mind, with the memories of that horrible episode washing over him yet again, he couldn't help but to feel slightly unnerved by the idea of finding himself in the presence of another, to him, unknown Kindred. Even though Moira was there, even though she had called Valerian a friend, and even though she had started trying to ensure that no harm would come to Connor again, at the hands of other Kindred, he couldn't help but feel agitation trickle up and down his spine, gaining even more potency through the fact that Valerian might not be a threat just to Connor's health, but to his relationship to the one person he felt he could not live without as well.

No, at the moment, he didn't particularly care for Valerian's company. At all. Though he of course said nothing, not wanting to risk making Moira annoyed with him by voicing the uncertainty that still refused to leave him alone, despite her constant reassurance. It was bad enough that it kept pestering him, he didn't need for it to pester her as well.

"Valerian, ever one step ahead of me", she greeted her fellow Toreador with amusement curving her ruby lips. "It is good to see you again."

In return, she recieved a soft yet beaming smile, as Valerian was clearly excited to have the unexpected pleasure of meeting her two night in a row now. The previous one, though it had involved a rather liberating and intense encounter - much like the time before that, when they had met in Moira's suite, only still so very, very different - had to him been far too brief, and he had left her then eagerly anticipating the next time they would meet. And so, he was nothing short of delighted to see her now, choosing to visit the place where she had to know she was bound to come across him. It spoke of a desire in her to see him as well, and it warmed his unbeating heart to know.

However, it took him only a moment to pick up on the wariness of the young man next to her - he would have easily spotted it even if he hadn't already seen the jealousy in those striking blue eyes from across the room the previous night - and as he himself had seen his share of it in Melody, he soon recognized it as that of a ghoul. For while he did tend to unintentionally spark jealousy between partners with his endless flirting and ability to enthrall individuals of both genders, there was something particular about the way ghouls tended to react, with the apprahension caused by a raging storm of thoughts at the display of affection between their Domitor and another, that lead him to believe that young Connor Hale was more than just a close acquaintance of Moira.

Thus, in an attempt not to cause Moira any inconvenience and the young man any additional anxiety, he refrained from reaching for her hand to bestow upon it a kiss, like he usually did when greeting women, both Kindred and human, and instead merely let her continue with the introductions;

"I would like you to meet Connor, my partner", she said. "Connor, this is Valerian."

For a brief moment, Connor hesitated, still somewhat on edge despite Valerian's disarming smile, as well as Moira's subtly reassuring tightening of his arm. But, it was only that, a single moment, because when the next one rolled around, he registered what she had actually called him. Her partner. After having revealed to him yesterday how she had not told anyone about the two of them, she now introduced him with a title that fully covered not just her importance to him, but his to her as well. His to her especially. And in the face of what he had percieved to be a possible rival, too.

It was an acknowledgement so strong, so comforting to Connor's brewing uncertainty, that only seconds later it sucked most of the tension right out of his shoulders, and even coaxed his lips into a smile as well.

"Hi", he said, while reaching to shake Valerian's already outstretched hand.

"It's a pleasure", Valerian responded, before unknowingly adding just another hint of calm to the young ghoul's mind, by being equally upfront about his and Moira's affiliation; "I saw your show last night at Club Envy. Very good. You guys are very talented. Though I'll admit, I hadn't heard much about you before, since it's not my usual kind of music, but Moira tells me you're a big hit overseas, and that you just got back from there?"

"Thanks", said Connor with another faint smile at the compliment, and the indirect reassurance. "And yeah, we've been lucky, they seem to have taken a liking to us over there."

"Well, based on the performance last night, I have no trouble seeing why", Valerian said.

Shooting Moira a slightly apologetic smile for somewhat neglecting her, it was then his turn to hesitate ever so briefly, while quickly contemplating the best way of going about asking what was on his mind.

"Listen...", he started slowly. "I apologize in advance if this is too forward and discourteous, but I have a friend whom I just discovered is a fan of your band. She was also at the show last night but sadly didn't get to see it, so I was wondering... Seeing as how you're here, and she's sitting over by the tables..."

His voice trailed off, leaving the obvious inquiry hanging in the air, while his gaze wandered from Connor to Moira to make sure he hadn't unintentionally managed to offend either of them. Connor, on the other hand, while the decision might seem like it should ulimately be his, turned his gaze to Moira as well with a faint smile on his lips in appreciation of actually being acknowledged as a celebrity even among this crowd, clearly not minding the idea of meeting a fan, but not wanting to ruin anything, should she be preferring not to go down that road this evening.

((OOC: I've been looking at this thread for a while and thinking of joining it, so I poked Atropa a few times with a stick, and then I joined thus and so, and here I am. 'ello! *Wave* Hope it doesn't suck.))

Just lonesome Flares,
Everyone,
brightening the Night
with our songs and stories and dreams,
before
We,
too,
Fade.
-Flare, on why she picked that for a name

1. What clan you belong to: Malkavian

2. Name: Flare

3. Age: ???
(Elder)

4. Disciplines:

Dementation
1 - Hysteria
2 - Mass Hallucination
3 - Vision of Death
4 - Berserk
5 - Bedlam

Obfuscate
4 - Advanced Invisibility: The caster can perform all movement, both crouched and standing, and perform stealth skills as long as the caster does not touch anyone. Any other actions, such as interacting with the enviroment, overt combat or bumping into someone will break Obfuscate. Lasts 24 seconds.

Auspex
2 - Reveals the auras of all living and undead within a modest distance. Lasts 24 seconds.

5. Short bio: Her first clear memory - or maybe it isn't, some of them have sunlight in them - is of being strapped into a chair, oddly numb and floaty for all she was a vampire. Two ghouls, still alive and hearts all a'flutter but with the stench of death on them, had her head all open, which she should have been more concerned with. Maybe it was that they were playing in her head, cutting and removing pieces of her self and watching them regenerate.

She would have loved to know how it was she escaped, or even if she did, but that is where the memory stops.

As a faceless Neonate and Ancilla, she had not gained any kind of interest, notoriety; there is almost no proof she is over a single century of age. Of course, that's when It started happening. Maybe. Maybe she's always been like this, from her very first day as a Neonate.

That didn't make much sense though, did it?

She doesn't tend to stay too long in one place, it makes her antsy. She has not yet even announced her presence in L.A. to the Prince, a whole three nights after her arrival.

She's getting around to it, really.

6. Picture:

((Coming. Apparently. *Eyes error message.*))

7. Description:

She stands short and waifish, barely older - physically, at least - than a tender fourteen. No Prince would have approved her Sire to Embrace her, yet someone clearly did it anyway. Her eyes are gray, her short hair is fiery red, and her nails are bitten-down nearly to nonexistance.

She has a silver hoop in her left ear, and a purple stud in her right, and of late, she's taken to wearing a macrame necklace and a thick, green, headband - to keep her brain from falling out.

Selene heard someone say "good evening" and looked up only to see an extremely old Kindred standing there. An incredibly handsome, blonde one at that. She smiled and answered back graciously. "Good evening, would you care to join me? I am new in town, and have yet to become acquainted with anyone here, so would welcome the company. My name is Selene Clarke, by the way." She waved her hand in such a way as to let him know he was welcome to join her at the seat next to her. She was having difficulty figuring out his clan, something that was very strange for her, as she normally had such a knack at it. She kept thinking to herself he could very easily have been Brujah or Toreador either one, and that that was a very strange, incongruous combination. It gave him an air of mystery, especially considering his obvious age, and there was nothing Selene loved better than getting to the bottom of a mystery, something she spent much of her time doing as she traveled from city to city all over the world.

Adrien.

Not a Chris, a Steve, a Nate, a Bobby, a Billy, or a Johnny. For a moment, her heart is grateful that she hasn't met another man with the same name as him. It means he gets to start as a blank slate.

As soon as she mentions the skin bar, his eyebrow goes up, and he doesn't have to say anything. She knows that look, the same look she gets from all those glassy-eyed Mormon missionaries in their starched suits.. The look people give you when they're holding back what they really want to say, and so all that hangs in the air is their silent disapproval.

Yeah, that look. She gets it a lot. For some reason, it bothers her when he gives it to her.

Adrien agrees to let her lead the way and takes her by the elbow. He keeps his distance, like the simple act of touching her is painful to him. Once again, her insides empty out with that hurt and hollow feeling, and she hates that it gets to her so bad.

"I don't have rabies, you know." She jokes softly, minimizing her dejection by making light of it. She forces a smile, and the corners of her lips are tainted with bitterness.

"It's for your own safety."

For her own safety. Lola becomes gravely silent at those words. For her own safety. What the hell did that mean, unless--? Was Adrien a... a vampire as well? S***, she doesn't even know if they're real in the first place. How do you ask someone a question like that in the first place and not make it sound completely f***ing nutty?

Lola tests her weight with her elbow against him and starts walking, carefully at first, towards the strip joint. She's still a little woozy in the head and her gut wound keeps nagging at her under layers of silk, but as she takes her first few steps she feels her blood start working through her body again. Her head clears up a bit.

It's a little too much right now--the feeling that she's an old sock he's holding at arm's length. So after a few steps when she's more confident of her wits, she pulls her arm away. She'd rather keep her pride and walk on her own than inflict herself on Adrien. She can still feel the impression of his fingertips from where he held her. The sensation lingers for a few seconds before it dies away from her skin.

"So..." she starts distantly, and perhaps ironically if she isn't completely insane. "How old are you?"