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Famine Fever Read 16095 times

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Famine Fever
« on: February 02, 2014, 04:20:30 pm »
It had been a warm winter. Very little frost on the great windows of newly risen sky gracing houses, for business and affluent people. On the city floor, the cracks had barely been offered any snow to eat, the cardboard homes of those without an address blessedly intact for a long time. It was as good as things could be, and they were still gloriously decadent, with glasses that were coated in chrome lacquer, while they were rancid also, in dirty, yellow-lit hospitals and rust ridden stair houses.

Lately, this year, in the soul song of this puddle of people there had been an unusual amount of life-high arias with abrupt conclusions. Mercury surfaces recanted crimson happenings, and the images, often folded and bulbous here - where architects battled to be new and obscene while they hid behind past ideas of polished metal - had been macabre for most of this supposed winter. The dumpsters were growing fat on gray meat, arms and feet - and the river was swelling with a new, unsavory kind of food for its marine populous. All under the unseeing eye of the prey people.

It was as though the waning of summer had come with a kind of wind that wasn't so kind at all, though warm like living veins are warm, and hungry, too. A gust that had coiled in the alleys and stayed between the dry bricks of the unloved, but habited blocks until the damp of autumn. A spirit maybe, lingering to make sure that which was sung was not so classically pleasant as it was primal, mixed up in the city's sophistication and myriad of pretty, well-planned lifestyles. A conductor then, with a new vision for the composition of this cutthroat but earnest farce.

Ellian was part of this infiltrating honesty. He was lent to the city from older stories. The desert plains and whatever adjacent jungles. Something sapien and erected that had been made out of evolution alongside a hidden tribe of giant cats. His tall bones were light, standing on the the store building that was in turn fifteen men deep into the night. The pillar of his neck was starved in design, fine, growing from bladed shoulders and supporting a softly curved, sharply tipped jaw. Dark lips large and closed, dark hair, wild and oily, with golden reflections in it, little traces of hay. Gold eyes, croissant gold, and bushed black brows to contradict everything feminine, and draw in mind everything feline.

This store, his platform, was closed, dead for the night, but the building next to it was leaking, bursting, bleeding neon life. The club was much taller than Ellian's perch. Only the lowest floors were pregnant with the thump-thump-drum and mating adrenaline. The rest of the house of feast was accommodating to other kinds of festivities. Banquet house, one of many in Solaris City. The Eaters had come to Solaris, and Ellian - who'd cannibalized his Pride had sniffed new blood all the way from foreign, breath-hot places - was one. Centuries of basic sin had made his soul lush with rot. His essences were rich from lapping at the sun. His liver was unspoiled. When he stepped down from an iron latter and placed the thin rubber soles of his boots on the pavement, he was as much of a treat to the hungry in the Sanguine Eden establishment as their bodies would be to him.

The invitation had folded edges, a piece of hardened cloth attached to it with a silver snap button. The scent on the fabric was iron and spice, what else? The thick paper said his name and the word Flesh in large italic. The guard, as tall as Ellian but many time thicker nodded at the proof of entrance. The eyes of the lion, always struggling to exist between a rage of hunting strong things and a calm of watching the world age lit with something polite as he passed the usher. Artificial smoke and incorrect sunlight.

He found himself at a booth soon, by a large pitcher of water and no glass.

Ara

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #1 on: February 02, 2014, 08:44:08 pm »
Marcy got out of the car, platform heels first and gloved hand second. It waved in the air and waited, knowing that the hand of her driver would take it and she would use his strength to drag herself out into the cold of the night and the beat of the world. She used his strength for many things and so long as she did not let go of his hand, he did not let go of hers. He was a tall thing with muscle and a scowl to shame the most angst ridden teens. His hair was light but short and his face square like a block. He was stoic and brutal and most importantly, loyal. She uncurled her fingers from the side of his palm and he took one step back to hand the valet the keys.

Marcy needed his physical strength because she had little of her own and a life driven on the delicacies of death that would not allow her to be soft and survive without him. Her slacks were tailored and rolled up just short enough to show off a bit of calve and pale ankle before those black heels swallowed her feet and kept her high like stilts to hide her lack of height.

Maroon hair was drawn up and back, sleek and straight down the length of her spine, snapping at the world when she walked toward the front doors of the club. Fenton would follow. He never left her out of sight because as wicked as she might be, even wicked things could die easily. One of her hands was in the pocket of her open jacket. The silk of her tanktop hung against her near flat chest. She stopped at the front door and the brute there but managed to do it as though it were because she chose to and not because he stood in her way, looking around the street at the other faces. Her eyes were opalescent rings circling black pits, gleaming in the dark.

Fenton handed the doorman her invitation. It was in perfect form with 'Liver' written in large italics. The man stared at it a moment too long and she began to walk with the expectation that he would move. Fenton moved him and the door pressed open. The music reached for her, grabbing at her thin body and pulling her in. She roamed and at some point rolled back those narrow shoulders to drop her jacket into her hold. Pale arms against dark clothing. When she found herself standing at a table with one man and a pitcher of water it was not by happenstance. He had a certain smell about him that made her want to slice open his guts and dig her fingers inside.

It made her smile and painted lips looked almost sweet when she dropped her jacket over the back of the booth. They had met before. She wasn't new to Solaris and neither was he. "No cups, love?" Marcy asked, voice raised just enough to have him hear her over the crowd and the music. She loved his eyes. A shame they weren't her delicacy of choice.

Krystal Itzume

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #2 on: February 02, 2014, 09:22:01 pm »
Nina did not deny what she was, she had never struggled with the monster that was her form. It was appealing to humans and those who desired the flesh, and moreso now.

Nina happened upon the building at the same time as another unfortunate guest. She had his leather jacket draped over her shoulders now, and his tag, ‘Soul’, pinned to that. Her skin seemed to be glowing from the meal, as she looked now at the withered body at her feet in the bathroom stall.

She giggled,
“Fool,” her favorite type of essence was from soul-eaters. The corruption of their soul just made their essence glow so brightly, calling out to her to pick it while it was ripe. Not that he had known, oh no, he had hoped to eat her instead, thinking she was weak.

One kiss was all it took to draw his essence out. Strength was unnecessary for her, but she did so like the leather coat and the image of strength it seemed to provide. It went well with the biker boots, jeans, and black halter top. Black was the color of the night, and that was just fine with her.

She exited the stall and left the body to deteriorate. She all but skipped back out into the thumping music, and made her way out of the club. Nina had to make an entrance, and the best way to arrive was glowing with energy, a reminder to all of just who she was.

Out the door and back into the building. She took the route that had been described to her by poor Soul and soon found herself in a quieter area, a more elegant one. She looked down at her attire again. The boots and jeans were dirty at the bottom. The halter top was far from fancy.
‘Perfect.’ She found the strands of orange hair on her left side, and pushed them back behind an ear. Most of her hair was black and straight, fell to her shoulders, but she liked the highlights.

They matched her orange eyes, bright as the sun, which met with the guard.

He huffed, but let her in, unaware the name tag wasn’t hers as she stepped in.

Others would know. There were always familiar faces at these things.

In fact, her favorite human was there! She moved to his side. Strong he was, but she liked him. Such a mental strength, too, to deal with the bloody habits of Marcy,
“Fenton!” She took his arm in her hand, bringing it close to her as she looked up into his face. “How are you, my dear?” Bothering the stoic was fun, and she was here for fun, and food.

And if she could distract him just long enough from his charge, that weak little girl would be a treat.
« Last Edit: February 02, 2014, 09:44:33 pm by Krystal Itzume »

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #3 on: February 03, 2014, 12:43:13 am »
Metallic. The smell was enticing, and he supposed it was meant to be. The paper, delicate in his hand, skin pale as moonlight, almost translucent, veins pumping with blood that was never his own. Blood was printed on the invitation, the font fine, a script printed elegantly. It displayed a secret he supposed wasn't much of one anymore.

Russell had always been a creature that preferred a life without disruptions. He was careful, calculating, as one of his kind needed to be. Blood wasn't so hard to come by if one had the means, but it didn't mean he could be lax. Humanity was a constant danger, as they always had been, history constantly proved it as such.

This invitation was a disruption, one, unfortunately, that couldn't be ignored.

His suit wasn't of expensive tastes, kept within a price range of the middle class businessman that he portrayed in his facade with humanity. The dark grey of it complimented the grey hue of his blue eyes. His hair, blonde and fair, was elegantly styled, displaying a face that was created to tempt humanity into the dark; cheek bones high, jaw line clean and refined, with a crooked smile that hinted at a charming wickedness. He was built tall and lean, elegant in gesture, with the sleekness of a feline.

At the door, the guard cast him one look before allowing Russell to enter. Russell smiled, a small nod out of politeness, a human habit he'd built up.

Inside, the smell rang of almost nothing human, but he knew that would be so. It was one of the reasons he had come after all. Some things were far more frightening and worthwhile than humans.

It was almost intimidating to be amongst such beings. Vampires were solitary creatures, simply because it was for the best. Rarely, they worked in pairs, but Russell never had the pleasure of having such a thing. Contact with his own kind was rare enough within itself, but to be amongst even more foreign creatures, well, it was almost as terrifying as it was intriguing. He would have to make sure to savor it, especially since he had risked so much.

Upon selection, the vampire decided to intermingle with the one still near one of the sole human beings present. The fellow was a brutish looking one, not of Russell's taste in the slightest. The woman, however, was much better. Her smell was foreign, but the glow of her skin was enticing, a liveliness he would love to know.

"Pardon my intrusion on your conversation." He smiled a smile of white teeth, fangs absent for the time being. "I merely wanted to remark that your hair is quite lovely."

A glance at the man near him, and Russell caught him looking elsewhere, towards a slender thing sitting at a booth.

He wondered briefly of what that could mean.
« Last Edit: February 03, 2014, 12:57:01 am by Lightning »

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #4 on: February 03, 2014, 09:17:06 pm »
He could hear the beat of the music through the floor that separated his office from the club.   The dark walnut beneath his boots vibrated with the drum and guitar, sending a pleasant, slightly erotic shiver up his legs and down his spine.  The desk was clear of papers, the financial issues entered and tidied.  All in order, save for the series of tarot cards fanned out before him.  He continue to twirl one in his hand as he studied the spread.  The Hanged Man spun slowly between his thumb and forefinger: right side up, then upside down.  The poor thing would be dizzy if he were real, but Gabriel didn’t care much for real things.  The trappings of normalisy were hobby rather than necessity.

The tarot card found its way to the pocket of his slacks as he stood.  Having sat for so long, Gabrielle stretched and let his mind rest into the beat of the music, rather than the figures of the spreadsheet.  He let his fingers rub his temples, trying to dispel the faint ache that came with hunger.  Some sold their souls for money, but it had been his own he was counting this afternoon.  Hardly enough to buy his way into heaven, but taxes were due.

Thoughts of heaven caused him to glance in the mirror that hung on the wall.  In the soft lamp light he might be mistaken for an angel, stereotypical blond hair and blue eyes, pristine white clothing.  He held life and death in his hands, but demon would more accurately describe the contents of the beautiful shell. 

Not that looks matter. It is always what’s inside that counts.

He left his office on that pleasant note and took the stairs two at a time to the club located below.  He entered via his personal gate and waved to the familiar staff.  A pretty woman in a short black mini-dress by the name of Lisa brought him a glass of scotch which he took with a smile and a nod.  Gabriel took a sip, his eyes scanning the crowd, before he decided his first stop would be the D.J. booth.  The music that pulsed through the club wasn’t nearly as pleasant as it had been moments ago. The latest selection was more metallic and the woman singing grated on his nerves.  He had no idea why Katy Perry was so popular.

The D.J. pulled off his headphones as Gabriel approached.  He waited until the other was level on the platform before asking, “You got a request, Boss?”

“Something slower,” Gabrielle suggested.  His look at the crowd only confirmed that people were standing too far apart.  Jumping around and sweaty left a lot to be desired.

The D.J. smirked as he reviewed the possible music selections.  “You got your eye on someone?”

Gabrielle’s smile was genuine.  All teeth.  “Maybe.”

One of the bouncers approached, likely spotting Gabrielle’s bright clothing on the stage.  He whispered in his ear, “We found a body in the bathroom.”

Gabrielle's smile dimmed.  He didn’t like inconsiderate guests.  His next question might be considered odd, but he was curious.  “Was there much blood?”

“Blood?”  The bouncer shook his head.  “No blood.”  Unknowingly he ruled out a few potential murderers by not describing a mutilated course and a messy stall.  “He looked sort of…flat.  Wrinkled almost.”

Gabrielle came to his own conclusions.  The next step was simple.  “Handle it.”  The only direction offered.

The lighting in the club shifted.  A song about peace, love and understanding floated through the speakers.  Sixties soul music.  He couldn’t fault the choice.  With a thumbs up signal he left the stage, and started to take stock of the guests.

Time to get this party started.
« Last Edit: March 07, 2014, 05:46:27 am by Beau »

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #5 on: February 03, 2014, 09:39:56 pm »
The visitor had eyes like the insides of clams. It was a pretty effect hosting the pitch black pearl in the middle. Ellian huffed comfortably and threw his head to the side, as cats do when pray has seen them and not fled. His arm, a slender thing in hanging black fabric, stretched over the table as he hunched for the pleasant, taut rendering of his sinew and muscle. He fell back with a soft sigh. The lazy lingered in his upturned chin and his quarter lidded eyes, also obscured by lashes from this angel. She could wait for an answer while the music had their bodies vibrate at the same frequency for a while.

The mountain of a man was a welcome addition. Ellian's neck straightened and tipped his head slightly to the side, so he could yawn away from them. It was reflexive, instinct, so that the buffalo would be able to see his thick canines. All the teeth in his mouth were large but the crowns at the sides were almost fat. Cutting tools with stopping power. The question came around again in the interaction between them, without being repeated audibly. Ellain dipped two fingers from each hand into the pitcher, upsetting the water more than the baseline could. The twin strokes that whetted his cheekbones also drew his mane back to hang off his ears, subtly pointed into small peaks of standing, ivory hair, the same hue as his skin. "Even this vessel is too small. Because of these humans I don't drink from puddles. Out in the plains you don't sit to drink." he said and used his knuckles to move the glass vial closer to her. It was also an invitation to sit. "I don't love you." he added as he used the ball of his wrist to wipe off a drop that had reached his chin from his little wash. No hostility in his voice, perhaps a little surprise. "But I like your hair. It promises something."

Another woman came, with a gaze that served up the late sun above sands he remembered, when the cool of night stood in wait in the shadow of the dissipating day. That color was clearly echoed in her hair, a darkness filtering morning, instead. A contrast he could appreciate with his own eyes, that need only a little to make more. She had all the appropriate scents of a person, but the sample menu she offered was too saturated with something else. There was always a little personality, a little something wrong with every individual, that his nose could place but never define. This Orange themed visitor at his make-shift waterhole exuded it. Hah. An abundance of soul. He knew what that meant.

And then the bleached yellow orbs were aimed at something colder in color. Pretty color of hair, the new arrival stated. Ellian would have said the same. The lion had a pension for lighter shades on tresses. "So many animals here, by the water." he said, meeting a somber blue that never graced the skies of his old home. There was a lack of substance in the death around this one. Ellian had dealt with bats before. A tongue, human by most accounts, slid with its uppermost side against his left fang, the flat muscle shaving the glistening enamel as he looked at the water again, not offended, but wondering why no one had made use of it yet.

He put both his hands far out on the table, cages of fingers supporting the palms. His shoulders raised and his spine lowered, making a hollow in the generous fabric of his shirt over his shoulder blades. A jerk of his long muscles and a swing of his endless legs and he'd cartwheeled himself from his seat to stand on the other side of the table. It was an impossible feat, as fingers can't provide enough traction to pull that much weight, until the deep marks on the polished wood were taken into account. He pushed his hair and cheek into the opalescent girl, hoping to have her stagger, where she stood, or topple her, if she sat.

When he whipped his head back he looked at the gathering before resting his hands in the pockets of his close, elastic jeans, a contrast to the large, thin shirt. "I'm hungry." Fire. "Are any of you hungry too?" Detachment.
« Last Edit: February 03, 2014, 09:45:18 pm by Verse »

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #6 on: February 04, 2014, 08:21:14 am »
Marcy smiled at the feline. Wonderfully odd and perfectly inhuman but wrapped in very human skin. She wondered if it would break as easily as the flesh of humans. He turned their club setting into a safari. Her body tensed when he hopped the table but it wasn't aimed at her particularly, so her heels kept their ground and her chin stayed high, eyes looking elsewhere with disinterest. It was hard to maintain when he rubbed his head into her neck and shoulder roughly. Her eyes closed for a moment, lashes heavy, and his scent invaded her. She shivered at the contact, at the force. A little more effort and he might have made her stagger, but then he was gone, looking elsewhere and asking about hunger.

Marcy was always hungry. Eating only made it worse, reminding her how much she loved it, and yet she could never stop. "Would it matter to you if we were, love?" She used the familiarity again, because she had enjoyed his response to it the first time so much. "We could trade." Marcy grinned wide then. "Your liver for a chunk of my leg?" She laughed then as though it were a great joke and turned away from him to look back at Fenton, though never entirely putting the lion out of eyesight. It wasn't easy to keep your threats in your line of sight when everyone in the room had motive to kill you. And the motive was the same, even if the means were different. Hunger.

Her smile changed somehow without falling away. It seemed on their make shift safari that the hyena was latching onto her elephant. Fenton didn't seem to notice, his arm draped in woman but his gaze attentive to the scene with the lion and his lady. On the other side of Nina, Marcy noticed the pale man. She had not really noticed him at all until she looked at him. Stealthy and a face she was not sure she had ever seen. "Why, Fenton, you're the Belle of the ball." She remarked with a note of mock jealousy. She loved the way his features remained unmoved but she saw the blink of amusement in his dark eyes. He was almost always like this. Appearing unfeeling. He had the sort of childhood that made humans into monsters, not unlike the one that had made her a monster, and yet here he was- the picture of control. He had been a very different beast when she found him, or rather, when he found her.

The first night she met Fenton, she had been wrist deep in the guts of an executive. Fenton had watched, his name had been something else then. Marcy had let him watch, planning to kill him as well if he tried to interfere, but he hadn't. When she was full and her limbs heavy, he had walked over to her, crouched down, and picked her up. He took her to a motel, washed her and put her in bed. She still remembers watching him the whole time. He followed her when she left and days went on like that, becoming months. Fenton never said anything until the day she left her shower to find him waiting in her bedroom, sitting at the foot of her bed and holding a scalpel. That lean bit of gleaming metal had looked so small and fragile in those thick calloused hands. He never spoke until the day he asked her to eat him.

"Don't fret, darling," She offered and that sentiment alone filled her eyes with mirth. "Looks as though Nina just ate, at least, I hope that's the explanation for that jacket." She turned her gaze toward the dance floor. The music had changed during her thoughts and so had the rhythm of the bodies there. It was a fragile thing, Eaters dancing with Eaters, crammed into the same space. Most of their instincts railed against it, but in most cases, their pride as a predator brought them here and made them love it, imagining that they were the worst thing in the room. Marcy pretended to do the same. Secretly, she came to this party because she shivered to think what these beasts could do to her.

Krystal Itzume

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #7 on: February 04, 2014, 08:24:56 pm »
Nina was turned from her observations of Marcy and her friend by a new face. She held on to the arm still as she examined the new one. Pale and suited, contrary to her leather and booted. Even so, the gentleman claimed to like her hair. That was enough to make her smile widen. One in the mask he was wearing shouldn’t like such things.

He, too, was inhuman like the rest of them. The blood that worked through his veins seemed to complicate his very being even further, for it was difficult to get a read on just what he was with so many lives inside him. Even so, that made him all the more interesting.
“Thank you,” she answered him, “Do not worry about conversation, Fenton here never speaks.” At least not to her memory. She always tried, but it never worked, “I like him anyway.”

Then Marcy noticed, and Nina turned her head so she could see the woman at the booth, her partner playing with her. She’d missed his words about hunger, but she saw the dark amusement in Fenton’s gaze at Marcy’s words. At the comment on the jacket, she tilted her head up,
“This jacket is wonderful.” Mock offense tainted her tone. She didn’t know if it was the jacket itself, or the word of ‘Soul’ upon it. Marcy knew just what sort of creature she was, and she would know the lie that rested over her shirt. “I had to have it when I saw it.”

Her roundabout way of answering Marcy. Yes, of course it was stolen—and it was stolen from one of the monsters. It was a shame she didn’t have fangs, for that would have been the perfect moment to smile with them, to let Marcy know that her dear Fenton was not safe that night, nor was she. Essence wasn’t so easy to divide as flesh or blood. If Nina ever took from Marcy, that would be the end of it. She’d almost be sad. Their encounters were fun.

Rather than ask Marcy for confirmation, though, she turned her attention back to her guest.
“You like the jacket, don’t you?” He could be the one to confirm or deny the awesome nature of the leather jacket. She’d drop it on the table if he decided it was unlikeable. She didn’t really need it now, anyway, since she’d been able to get into this little area. “Fenton, do you?” She decided to include him, too, as she was still holding his arm. She tilted her head up to get a look. He might at least nod or shake his head. Something.

The use of his name caused her to remember,
"Oh, I do not know who you are," and she offered her free hand to the pale guest, "I am Nina."
« Last Edit: February 04, 2014, 08:26:22 pm by Krystal Itzume »

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #8 on: February 05, 2014, 10:50:46 am »
It seemed these foreign creatures were familiar with themselves to some extent. He doubted there was any sort of friendship involved though, the air about them didn't indicate such friendliness. Their words also indicated some kind of carefulness, a thing Russell well understood. Maybe Fenton's silence was the best decision. It surely wasn't a stupid one, although Russell couldn't say the same of the man's previous decision in coming here, to a room full of starving beasts.

"Very well." Russell had responded to the woman dressed in leather, a jacket the thin woman (that Fenton continued to watch) had just commented upon. He didn't quite comprehend her fondness for the stoic Fenton, but he wasn't going to question it, as he was far more curious about the origins of the jacket now, noting the word "Soul" pinned on. If what the other said was true, then this woman was possibly not a devourer of souls but something else entirely.

It was then that he realized the owner of the jacket he was staring at was looking at him now, questioning whether he liked the leather outerwear or not. Of course, the words came easily to him. Compliments were his speciality as was being agreeable. It was a practice he had perfected after spending years amongst humans, learning that the more one was inclined towards you, the more easily trust was acquired. And once trust was acquired, things became far too simple.

"I do. It suits you well." He smiled again, the action almost reflex.

Out of the corner of his eye, Russell noticed the lion with the slender dame. He was a curious one, the vampire immediately determined, the smell of him something the vampire knew and yet didn't. Human flesh and something else, something darker.

"Oh, I do not know who you are," A hand was offered to him, slender fingered, from a leathered sleeve. Grey-blue eyes flickered to the woman who had just introduced herself as Nina, and Russell was smiling again, all charm.

"Russell. It's a pleasure to meet you, Nina." The vampire was quick to realize this was his chance to garner the names of the rest of them, possibly bringing some familiarity to a group he knew almost nothing about.

"As Nina has just kindly indicated, I'm afraid I do not know the rest of your names as well." He spoke in general, eyes glancing at the woman sitting at the booth before resting on the other and his unnerving yellow eyes. "Ah, and I am Russell, my apologies for not introducing myself sooner."

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #9 on: February 05, 2014, 10:25:40 pm »

Bravely Gabrielle moved through the throng of dancers on the parquet floor.  A strobe light flickered at one section of the song giving the movement a jerky rather than romantic feel.  He heard a scream, a thump and a dragging sound, but didn’t look to see where it came from.  This was business as usual.

He didn’t feel guilty, although occasionally there was a twinge. Youth bothered him.  Innocence.  But, sometimes they too were ‘on the list’.  Everyone here could be taken.  Gabrielle didn’t do…random. 

In fact, even now he had a plan and a target.  He’d crossed paths with Russell a few times before.  After all they were both creatures of the night, in a way.  Gabrielle liked heat, but he didn’t enjoy sunshine much.  He was awake when his business was alive. As time drew on he’d surrendered more to the dark and was almost as solitary as Russell’s kin.

Leaning against the bar now he could see the vampire had chosen a rather odd group to mix with, although from the distance between the bodies and the introductory gestures he could observe he didn’t believe them well acquainted.  That pleased him.  He didn’t like to break up a party.

Gabrielle’s eyes skidded over the orange-haired woman and then stopped.  She was posing with the jacket, her contented smile a bit too much like the proud hunter.  The glow of her skin hinted at activities best left unsaid.  He frowned, and then made a decision.

He snapped his fingers and the bartender came over to where Gabrielle stood.  “Send a bottle of red wine over to table 4.” The group wasn’t sitting, but he’d offer them a sporting chance at enjoying themselves.  “And this note to the woman in the leather jacket.”  Gabrielle took a cocktail napkin.  He’d written what he wanted to say on the small scrap of white paper before the bartender trotted away to deliver it, the bottle and four glasses.

Gabrielle was close enough to see their reactions, but not hear any comments. He remained with his back leaning against the bar.  Ever watchful.  Enjoying his scotch.
« Last Edit: February 05, 2014, 10:33:36 pm by Beau »

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #10 on: February 06, 2014, 06:38:59 pm »
She was burning across his face. All her scents were clinging to him because of his small familiarity before, one that hadn't moved her much. Her fleshy shadow, the Belle as she'd said, had not reacted. It meant he knew the difference between threat and play. Ellian hadn't even known himself. She'd not ignored his brush against her, so he hadn't wanted more of her attention. She wasn't afraid either, and that in turn had not triggered his response to pursue. In that moment, their interaction was concluded. Then she spoke again, awakening the flurry of fragrances on his cheek so hum with her voice.

His lashes flared at her offer, focused on her face as she delivered the terms. Taking her in, red hair and boots, he considered it, hand leaving pocket to flit under his shirt to where the liver had been on the other lions of his pride. They didn't see when he dug into himself, claws retreated. "Ribs are in the way." he stated, peering at her leg. "It's a clever hunger you have, because you get more." Like eating the apple to get the seed. Her leg did look enticing. He didn't mind bone. It would be a simple matter of cutting it off with enough chomps. In fact, the size that she was, he could probably pluck it right from her hip with some will in his jaws. "And it matters to me if you're hungry. It doesn't change anything, but it matters." He was convinced in that moment, dropping his hand out from underneath his clothing.

Then he looked to Fenton. "You're a lot of meat." Since everyone else seemed to be paying this gargantuan homage with niceties. The fact that the square face didn't much acknowledge Ellian, made him more interesting. Yellow eyes were diverted. The reality where the lion leaped to start tearing at the much man did not take place. He held Russell's hand shortly, still harboring Nina's heat, before letting go and sliding his forearm through the ring of fingers Russell provided. It was a cheap way of getting pets, but the murky sky stranger had offered, as far as Ellian could tell.

"I am Ellian, Pack Dismember." He looked around for a reaction. Belf, the Tiger he'd met in another club, had told him that joke, and everyone around had laughed. The lion was hoping to profit of the borrowed clever. He sat down then, no matter the result at the self inflicted and revealing quip, to rest himself on the floor, near Marcy's boots, whether she be seated or standing. He curled one arm around her leg, deciding this would be the one out of the two he would claim, should he decide to do the trade.

A waitress came over, clothes thin. He thought it was odd that she could look proper and naked at the same time. Her neck was bare, of course, hair up, and her arms too. He wondered if the uniform had been made to speak to as many of the category eaters as it could. If so, it was clever. Thankless job, though, he imagined. He looked up at her, followed her as she set the bottle down. "She brings more water to the waterhole." he mumbled to himself and squeezed Marcy's thigh firmer as he peer up at her. He looked almost surprised with his bushed brows raised. "You have your glasses now."

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #11 on: February 06, 2014, 09:38:01 pm »
Fenton spared a moment to look at her jacket and that was all. No response. No give away to his thoughts on the matter one way or another. She still hung on an arm attached to those shoulders that stole most of the attention when looking at the man. When most people saw Fenton, they saw the height, the shoulders and that block of a jaw. Marcy had been surprised the first time she saw him without his shirt and vest and slacks. His waist was narrow, as narrow as a giant could be, and he had the thighs she imagined sculptors of old with homoerotic tendencies would have died to create. Of course, just about every inch of him was layered in old scars. His favorites were the thin slice marks of a scalpel on his abdomen. Her favorites were the puckered remains of bullet wounds on his chest and that iron burn on the back of his right thigh.

Marcy bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling when the lion considered her offer. She had made it half in jest, but the more she thought about his teeth in her leg, the more she considered it. Who would get to eat first? What would keep the one that started from taking everything and giving nothing?

They met what she suspected to be a vampire and she did grin when the lion introduced himself with such humor. She would not have guessed him for it. “Marcy Devenmor.” She offered her name with a friendly smile and then inclined her head toward Fenton. “Mine.” She explained, as though this would help the stranger make sense of Nina’s seeming infatuation with the human mountain.

Marcy inhaled in surprise when that warm body pressed against her leg, arm wrapping around. Fenton’s eyes widened a fraction, Nina might even have felt a few of those tightly wound muscles jump in his arm. But he didn’t move to intervene.

Her hand landed in that ruffled mane to steady herself but it stayed for other reasons, gloved fingers against scalp, threaded through hair. She couldn’t help but think about that offer she’d made when his face was so close to her limb. She’d heard stories about Flesh Eater teeth. She almost pushed a woman away when she came too close, too close to breaking a moment Marcy wasn’t sure that she was done with, but then she saw the red and instantly her temper faded.

Ellian commented on cups. Marcy grinned and took one of the glasses in hand and held it in such a way that the waitress realized she was supposed to fill it rather than just leave the bottle. Marcy didn’t like to fill her own cups. It was such an issue that at home she would often drink everything from the bottle or carton. She glanced away from her filling glass and down her cheeks at the lion. “I do, don’t I?” She noted as though it were inevitable and only everyone else doubted it.

She could sit, she considered it since she was standing so close to the table. It would only take the bending of knees. “Who is it from?” She asked the waitress casually, standing close and looking at the wine in her glass. The woman smiled prettily and pointed almost timidly toward across her body to her left shoulder. It was discrete and that alone made it so much more interesting. Marcy turned her head and lifted her chin to see the man with blond hair in white at the bar. He did seem to be looking their direction and was oddly familiar. She must have seen him somewhere, but she couldn’t place him. If she caught his eye she would smile and lift her glass in his direction before she sat. She loved gifts.

She took a drink, red in the creases of darker painted lips before a lighter tongue swept them away. There was a moment in which she wanted to love it, wanted it to quench that thirst, but it ended in that bitterness that tapered the corners of her mouth. One hand still in the lion’s hair, she put her glass down to the table and leaned forward enough to have her mouth close to his temple. “I’m always hungry.” She admitted in a dark whisper, to answer his question from before. She smiled, never one to be too serious for too long, planning to sit upright again and at least appear conversational to the others. What a wonderful group they were becoming and no one had even died yet.

Krystal Itzume

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #12 on: February 06, 2014, 11:00:54 pm »
“Russell,” she repeated the name, tasting it. He was a charming one, and she knew the game well. He used the opportunity to garner names from the others, and Nina looked to the one with the golden gaze, so akin to her own. He called himself Ellian with a joke. Nina did giggle, noticed his infatuation with Marcy. ‘Mine.’ She wanted to repeat Marcy’s own words. To Nina, they were both hers, Fenton and Marcy, and she intended to keep them. She liked Marcy too much to share. Fenton she might consider, if only because he was ignoring her so well.

Hardly even a look at her jacket, the jerk. She was disappointed.


‘Only for now.’
Nina thought when Fenton was referred to. She cast Marcy a devious look, quite certain her intentions were well known to the other woman. She hid little. 

Then came the waitress, the wine, and Nina’s lips quirked in a half-smile at the oddity. The jest. It became clear as the waitress pointed to the man in white.
‘My Angel of Light.’ She liked him, too. He was her favorite, the one that always eluded her, the one who did not send her an invitation. Sometimes she wondered if that was why she'd developed this taste for those of Soul. She was always denied the one she wanted most of all.

He sent her a note, though. When the waitress had pointed, and the man waved, she offered the trinket to the woman in leather. She pecked it from the hand and would allow the woman to run along without interruption if she so chose.
“A letter, Fenton,” she told the giant as she began to open it up. It would be for his eyes, too, if he wanted to see, but she shared it with none of the others.

It brought such a gleam to her eyes, too. She patted Fenton’s arm as she untangled herself from him,
“He doesn’t mean you, dear.” He might, too, but Nina doubted it. She stepped away from the animals, turning to face them once apart, “I’m afraid I must leave you all to your wine. Do enjoy,” her hot gaze passed over them all, “Marcy, love," Marcy's favorite word, or so Nina believed, "don’t forget to say goodbye.”

With that, the woman in the leather coat walked to where the man in white sat. They were a beautiful contrast, dark and light. She took a seat without asking next to his leaning form, put one arm on the bar,
“You’re just jealous,” she told him without greeting. Her legs crossed at the knee, “You didn’t invite me.” A bit of a pout. Perhaps he was learning how dangerous that could be, to him. She certainly kept to his type, more often than not. “But you invited that poor excuse of a soul.”
« Last Edit: February 06, 2014, 11:09:40 pm by Krystal Itzume »

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #13 on: February 07, 2014, 09:07:33 am »
Dismember. Russell smirked, pretending the wordplay was some kind of amusement. Their hands had parted from their greeting, Russell noticing the heat of it. Warmer than any human's he had ever felt. He was starting to care a little less for this Ellian fellow. The word dismember leaving a bad taste in his mouth. Russell never cared to do such a brutal, grotesque thing to his prey. There was beauty in a clean kill, beauty to a lifeless human body, hopelessly white and cold. It seemed a waste to splatter such in red, to tear away at such a picturesque death. It was also an utter waste of blood, something the vampire would never comprehend.

Mine. The word was inclined to the statue of a man, his expression unreadable, even to Russell who had taken it upon himself to be well acquainted with human kind. The vampire wondered if it was a threat, from this slip of a woman, Marcy Devenmor, she had said. Although, it wouldn't have mattered. Russell had no interest in her boring companion. His type, the blood would be bitter without a doubt.

The one who had called himself Ellian was exhibiting strange behavior, attaching himself to the Miss Devenmor without much hesitation. He seemed comfortable about her leg and the polished floor. Russell raised one fine brow, exchanging a look with that "dear" Fenton. It seemed neither would do anything about the man's behavior, especially as the lion continued on, addressing the cups that had been brought to them, along with a letter for his new acquaintance, Nina, from a man across the floor.

Now, that was a face he recognized. Russell took in the man from a distance, noting his features, the way he carried himself. They'd done business in the human realm of things once upon a time, both quick to catch the lack of humanity in the other. Their acquaintance with the other was brief, but it was enough, enough to recognize a face and a name.

Gaberielle. The soul eater.

Russell glanced away, giving his adieu to Nina with the rest before remembering the wine brought to them by Gaberielle. "I suppose I shall take a seat, if you don't mind." Another smile, eyes glancing from Marcy to Ellian still on the floor. "Would you care to join us at the table?" A pale hand wrapped around a glass of wine, his smile crooked.

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #14 on: February 07, 2014, 08:55:28 pm »
You have poor taste in men.

The taunt garnered the desired result, and he watched as Nina excused herself from the pack and sashayed over. 

“Nice pelt,” he said before setting his glass down on the bar and half turning towards her.  His long fingers reached over to the jacket with the lightest of contacts, and removed the soul label.  He crinkled the card into a ball and let it fall to the floor.

Was he jealous?  Perhaps.  Nina was attractive in a dangerous sort of way. The smile was wry as he admitted, “You’re not on the list.”  His look pointed with the ‘yet’ unsaid.  “And you have this nasty habit of leaving a mess in my bathroom.”  He tisked his tongue against the roof of his mouth to take the edge off the scolding words. 

He could ask how she’d been, but small talk wasn’t his strong suit.  And it hardly seemed appropriate in the circumstances.  So instead he commented on the knowledge they had in common, “Poor Jeffery.”  Like himself, the fellow soul eater was just doing his job in the oddest sort of purgatory imaginable.  Gabrielle offered a backhanded compliment while studying Nina’s glowing skin with a lazy perusal of her profile, “Although I have to admit he never looked better.”

It appeared the rest of the group was planning to enjoy the bottle he’d sent.  Gabrielle dragged his eyes away from Nina to see them pour and sit.  Russell wasn’t going anywhere, so he could dally a bit.   The girl looked familiar.  She’d lifted her glass at him apparently unconcerned.  As for the agile gentleman he’d have to get closer to see if his suspicions on identity were correct.

The music shifted again to play Alice Cooper’s Poison.  The irony caused Gabrielle’s smile to widen, although he continued to look off into the distance trying to ignore the playful pout on the pretty face next to him. “They’re playing your song.”  Although perhaps the first lyric lines were his, since he could kill with a look.  The eyes were the mirror to the soul after all, and he’d been known to be lazy and execute without any buildup or physical contact.  It wasn’t as satisfying, but there were some, perhaps Russell among them, where the tactic would be useful and protective.  Nina, on the other hand was known to kiss her pray.  His muscles tensed and his voice was dry as he considered the thought. “I can only hope it was enjoyable for the two of you.”

Now he did sound jealous.  He straightened up from the bar, leaving the empty glass behind.  “Are you going to dance with me?”  He could imagine doing a Rumba to this music, adding class to clash.  He held out a hand, seemingly to help her off the barstool as he presented her a second option. “Or introduce me to your friends?  You pick.”
« Last Edit: February 07, 2014, 08:57:12 pm by Beau »

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #15 on: February 07, 2014, 11:24:25 pm »
There was a small smile to commemorate everyone's amusement at his joke, though the bat had followed it with what looked like uncertainty. Naturally, there was some animosity between them. Out in the plains, the sister Pride, the one of Form Lions and not his kind of Heart Lion, had some trouble with those flying, leathered things. They crawled in the sand at night so that their wingstrokes wouldn't wake, and then they climbed the giant cats, Ellian's totems, to find rich veins. Ingenuity, which was admirable. Some said those bats could live forever if they fed on the blood of the immortal lion. Ellian had to think it could be true, as his own taste of that pride had let him live on past the years of his tribe, a tribe that had lived alongside and worshiped the feline deities. Until they didn't. Until sacrifice became a two way instance.

He was pulled from the forests that lined the sand. Something pleasant stirring on his scalp. His already lengthy neck elongated to raise his head into Marcy's palm, his fingers dearer to her inner thigh. It was intoxicating to be touched like this when it had been weeks since he'd had a soft hunt. In this day and age, the mating was violent among humans in this city, he had to promise and deliver the same if he wanted company. The places he stalked didn't provide him with tender prey. They all stunk of liquids that weren't natural. Like the wine that had come. Someone had called that kind of drink sweet once. That person was dead before his time for that lie. Ellian wasn't vengeful, but he could be reactive.

Marcy gave him right, in that she had indeed gotten her glass vials. The woman that had brought the fermented juice poured it. He would have huffed if he wasn't quietly purring from his stomach and back, where the vibrating tingle was, courtesy of her hand in his hair. He would have argued that water was better, but thought it more to his gain to simply stay where he was against her, basking in the caress. The woman in the goat-leather shroud excused herself and his half lidded vision clipped once in her direction to offer her a farewell. Everything was a blur. His retinas were clouded by enjoyment. He barely read the 'Soul' anymore. He would have been interested in that jacket in a culinary way if it hadn't been treated with so many coats of the unnatural and sterile.

The little ivory fleck in the distance that the leather wearing woman approached smelt of energy, like she but more personal, and like Russell, as well. What is of essence and blood? The answer, of course, could have been read off her outwear. "Haa." he breathed. "Clever circumstances." Drunk on his own favored poison, he stayed in the quavering moment until a new pleasure, rawer, more imposing, crashed against his temple. Her voice, with heat of human lungs, pumping through truthful vocal chords. The wine, vaporized, settled onto the mask of her he'd drawn on his face already, before, when he rubbed up against her. His jaw dropped. When the suns floating in his sclerae were eclipsed by his white lids, he finally heard the words themselves.

His fingers curled into her leg, digits living deeper in the flesh of her inner thigh. Perhaps she could feel he was ready, in the stupor she provided, to take the deal and go first. "My stomach is close to my liver, Marcy. What if you live inside me, you can visit it whenever you want." His eyes opened and the straws of his menacing brows spread at the far sides, adding sharpness to the expression as did his slightly peeling lips over teeth parted by distance, but bound by strings of saliva. He was looking at Fenton then, from the floor. Cats aren't really clever, they just find themselves in opportunities.

And then Russell saved her life. When Ellian looked at the bat it was not with a hungry face, it was one of spread lashes and surprise. "I suppose." he replied and grabbed hold of Marcy's knee, twisting himself to face her as he supported himself on the other cap of bone as well, chest and stomach sliding over the inside of the legs he'd almost separated. "Love." he mumbled, contemplating that pet name and its meaning. It was truer now than when she'd first said it.

His attention shifted quickly to Russell then, fickle like, well, a feline. "I like tables. The doubt in your voice is unfounded and racist." he explained as he toppled himself back on the sturdy surface, his stick-body in hanging cloth that exposed collarbone as he leaned against the edge. He picked up his pitcher, the sad clear thing, now that everyone seemed to be moving on to the wine, despite his generosity. Ellian extended the big vial by holding its base instead of its handle. It was slightly raised, too, so that Russell would meet it with his own drink. "Have you been in the jungle? There are things in the old parts that you might find kinship with."

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #16 on: February 07, 2014, 11:58:05 pm »
Fenton had seen the note. Short and without a name. Marcy unraveled herself, taking the bait some stranger had tossed out and Fenton inclined his head slightly to acknowledge her departure. She was familiar but it didn’t make her any less of what she was- a killer. This was a house full of killers. He watched the cat on her, could practically see him considering the offer she’d made and in the same note, Fenton found himself wondering how much of her leg he would let the lion take before he put an end to the game.

Marcy had fanned the fingers of her hand holding her glass in Nina’s direction when the woman took her leave. She would be back. She always came back eventually. Marcy had often wondered what it would be like to kiss her. She had seen others take that kiss and fall. Though, honestly, the notion of the lion ripping out chunks of her leg was currently much more enticing.

The vampire asked to join them, though seemed less interested now that his intended company was gone. Marcy smiled softly all the same and tipped her head in a sort of welcome to the table.

Ellian offered her a home in his stomach. “Close to your liver... but not close enough for my liking.” She had replied, running gloved fingertips over his scalp. He had thick hair. Lovely really. She had almost laughed when the vampire suggested the cat have better manners and take a seat. Bold and, from what little experience Marcy had taken with any sort of feline, pointless. But his head moved away from her touch and the smile that had nearly split her face faded, replaced by the momentary parting of her lips when he stood while managing not to move away from her legs.

He murmured love and she pretended not to notice, looking at the newcomer. She giggled when the cat made his interest in tables clear. Her legs crossed at the knee now that they were free, one heel bouncing. She held her glass a while longer as a prop before finally setting it aside further down the length of table. She had taken her sip and it had reminded her what it wasn’t.

Her elbow found the surface of the table and her jaw leaned into her upturned palm, dark pained nails at the end of pale fingers touched her cheek. “Where would the nearest jungle be, love?” She queried before smiling at the blood drinker across the table. “And I get the feeling Russel isn’t much for the wilderness. What on earth would he eat in all that green? Snakes and jaguars, I suppose.” She asked and answered herself, still looking considerate of the notion of this foreign setting.

Krystal Itzume

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #17 on: February 08, 2014, 12:42:49 am »
Words of departure. Nina would be back, of course. She would always come back. Her taste in men might be poor, but her taste in women was superb. She’d not her Gabrielle say otherwise. Marcy would be a treat, something Nina didn’t indulge in much. Of course, she wasn’t much of one for Blood or Flesh, either. They didn’t touch on essence half as well. Blood was close. Flesh was as far as one could get from being her interest, but golden-eyes did have an intriguing behavior, at least.

Oh, but Gabrielle did need to ramble about that pointless list of his, didn’t he?


“I’m sorry about the mess,”
not really. Not at all.

Overconfident as always. Nina liked to play with her things. Her eyes moved towards Marcy in realization. So, she was on that list at long last. How fascinating.
‘Are you on the list?’ He was never on the list. ‘Was your friend?’ The one who’s title now fell to the floor, discarded and balled up. He had a tag. That meant he was free game, didn’t it? Such was the logic she decided to use for the time being. He really ought to invite her more. She could help him with his ridiculous list, and clearing it up. She’d be more than happy to. The glow and the warmth of her skin was appealing to her own self.

“Jeffrey,” she hadn’t gotten his name, so now she had to say it and look over his glow as it rested on her flesh. She smiled prettily, slipped the coat off to show more of the glowing skin. She was proud of it, had intended to show it off. It made quite the statement to any who knew their kind. She ran a hand through the orange-black hair, “Isn’t he just?” And the music shifted, earning a laugh from her at his words.Our, she clarified. She was not unaware of how Souls took their food. It was a dangerous game to look at his eyes, as it had been to look at Jeffrey’s, but she’d had the advantage.

They, too, liked to play. They liked the intimacy. Not every look killed. Not every kiss was the last. She was just more inclined to make the first, the last.

Oh, and he was jealous! How to rectify that? The coat slid onto the stool as she took his hand,
“You know very well I have no friends.” Her tone suggested she didn’t approve of the joke. Perhaps they could be called friends, in the same way she and Marcy were friends. They were only letting each other live. They were on borrowed time, as Gabrielle liked to hint at.

“Let’s dance—you can tell me if you’re on the list this time,”
a devilish flash of a smile, and she pulled him towards the dance floor, though once there she would let him lead the dance and play at avoiding his eyes.‘Or at least, why you deigned it appropriate to come into your own cage.’ Perhaps he was on the hunt tonight, something personal. Perhaps it had been Jeffrey. ‘Oops.’

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #18 on: February 09, 2014, 09:56:28 am »
The vampire almost laughed at the lion's words. Whether the man was truly insulted or not, Russell couldn't tell, but he supposed it didn't matter. The woman, Marcy, laughed, amused by the reply. They were an intriguing pair, the danger about the lion obvious. Marcy, however, seemed more subtle, possibly it was the seeming fragility of her build or the delicate features on her face that added up to a creature that seemed almost harmless. However, Russell knew better than to assume that to be completely true. Her well-built partner could also cause some trouble, the vampire supposed, especially with his keen interest in the woman he protected. He never had his eyes off her for long.

Pale blue eyes flicked upwards, catching those of Ellian, his hand extended, holding that large vial. Russell was quick to notice to cue, pale fingers wrapped around the glass of wine he had yet to taste. The glasses were met with a satisfying clink before Russell made to answer the question provided to him.

"It's as Marcy says, I'm afraid I'm more of a city dweller. The only jungles I've seen are made of concrete." He paused, taking a sip of the wine, the flavor subtle, almost bitter. "Hm. Although I suppose jaguars wouldn't be all too terrible. Snakes, however, I don't think I could live off such creatures. Too cold for my tastes."

The music had changed, and Russell noted it with the raise of a fine brow. Heavy guitar, the drums loud, quieting with the vocals before breaking into a loud chorus. He wasn't certain how one could dance to such things, but it didn't seem to stop Nina and Gabrielle, who now occupied the dance floor.

Glancing away from the couple, the vampire took another drink of wine, savoring the taste. It was nothing reminiscent of blood, but it had its appeal nonetheless. Setting his glass on the table, Russell smiled, "The two of you seem rather friendly, if you don't mind me saying so. How long have you been acquainted?"

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #19 on: February 09, 2014, 05:26:52 pm »
They had a song.  It sounded serious.  The humor of it kept the smile on Gabrielle’s face even as he responded to her comment about friends. “It must be lonely.”

Gabrielle had friends – or at least he could say he had people that he took into his confidence and knew enough about him not to be afraid.  There had been women of course.  The soul is about the entire life experience.  Although he’d admit that his type tended more towards Marcy, someone who brought out his protective instincts because they seemed fragile.

Nina was the exact opposite.  He hadn’t expected to see her, so his guard was down.  The temptation caused him to walk a dangerous line and enjoy the thrill of it for the moment.

Don’t touch.

Nina accepted his hand, and Gabrielle was surprised by how cool it was in his own.  Together they stepped away from the bar, decision made to head to the dance floor.  He liked that she seemed eager, and his steps were quick as he followed, the crowd parting in their wake.  He let his fingers tighten their grip to enhance the linkage, and imagined the tug on his arm her dragging him, because she wanted to.  Pin pricks of sensation ran over his skin.

“It’s my list,” he said in answer to the question.  “My name is always at the top.”

He wasn’t about to release the contact as they reached the center of the room.  His free hand moved to her waist, to turn her towards him with their hips a hair’s distance apart.  His feet knew what to do even though his brain was more absorbed with the menace he held than the beat of the music.   Since she didn’t look directly at him while they danced he felt a sense of power as well in the evasion.  One wouldn’t think this a love song but he could certainly imagine what it would be like to ‘hear her screaming his name’.

She seemed willing to follow his lead, at least for now.  And the classic Latin rhythm actually fit the down beat.  A soft push on his palm and he could twirl her away from him, only to bend his wrist and pull her back.  People on the dance floor made a bit more room, a few pausing in their own gyration to look at the display.  The lighting shifted to highlight the pair, one of Gabrielle’s staff always intrigued when Gabrielle decided to dance because it held a certain skill that deserved illumination.

The song wouldn’t last forever, but Gabrielle let the lyrics float through his mind and translate into the intensity of his gaze.   He hated that he did want her, despite everything.  For half a second he didn't care if she knew it.

“Too much,” emerged past his lips in a whisper in time to the refrain.

Sanity would return.  It would have too.  Or the tarot spread on his desk would come true.
« Last Edit: February 09, 2014, 05:31:36 pm by Beau »

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #20 on: February 09, 2014, 07:58:29 pm »
The lion adored that she'd want to be closer to his liver than his stomach. While this extended the intimacy, inflated it, it also left them back at the beginning of their negotiations, his offer declined in the best way, but declined nonetheless. At the time he still had the rapture trickling off her fingers into his head, courting his brain and fueling the vibrating stream of bubbles between his spine and his stomach, so there was no space in which he could feel offended.

There were vibrations in the glass also, when this cold Russell touched it with his own. Ellian retrieved the pitcher half way before the words from both his current engagements occupied his mind too much for him to drink yet. She asked a good question, sad, and Russell added with interest in his answer. When he looked at the water for a reply himself, he thought of a lake near by. "There can't be so many parts concrete to a jungle, Russell." Russell had agreed already, in a way. What the sapien cat was really saying was that there couldn't be so many roads and bricks in something he'd consider 'home'.

"The closest jungle." he said before tipping the large container to offer himself its liquid. His tongue slid deep, fast, and curled to toss flat rays into his mouth in rapid succession. It was a white-water ordeal, though blessedly free from splash. He'd kept her eyes while he drank. Eventually he swallowed the last in his mouth and put the pitcher down, smearing the rest of the moist around his lips over his face with circular caresses. "It would be outside of the city limits, as I understand. That way." he pointed over Russell's head, toward the wall. "It is harsher in weather than where I'm from, but the native animals are much more reasonable." He started climbing onto the table now. "They won't be swayed by you calling them love either, though."

The bottle of wine was pushed toward the edge so that Ellian could lay on his side, one boot up, that leg bent, while the other spire of a limb hung down. He had his head on his arm as he blatantly looked at the blood drinker with red content in his glass. If the suns in the lion's eyes had been real, lore dictated that the vampire should be dust. "She sees me sometimes. I see her other times. First time was around a year from now, when this city became eating grounds." he threw some attention her way, the leg already up on the table lifting it's foot to try and flick the drink out of her hand. "It was a quarter moon. She'd had something to eat."

Ellian soon returned to Russell's face. "How do you reconcile friendly over time, Russell?" The blue eyes had some charm, Ellian decided, even if it was too subtle for his tastes, and instead found it much more interesting to reach out with the arm that wasn't supporting his own head to try and topple the vampires drink also. Soon the lion would be on his back, looking up at the ceiling, both legs off the edge while his hands searched for either the bottle or the water in order to force them off his claimed space. He was being belligerent, unruly.

At this point in his personality, if the nature of his being was to gain some momentum, he'd discover that he was alway ravenous. There more anxious energy he put into his behavior, the more potent his instincts would be. Ellian was never far from the hunt, but it might be visible now in his exposed collarbones, or in the tension of his muscles. "Do you ever lap the blood, Bat?" he asked, blaring sandstar eyes at the ceiling, glowering with his awakening animal. "Or is it always suckling?"

Some echo of intent called at him from the dancing grounds and Ellian sat suddenly, half anchored in this interaction, and the rest of him drawn away, toward the old, stirring craft, trying to contain itself.

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #21 on: February 09, 2014, 08:41:13 pm »
Marcy smiled at Russel when he called her and the feline friendly. She liked to think they were. The same way she liked to think run her fingertips over flames, accept drinks from strangers, walk dark alleys alone and attend parties with all the things that made grown men shiver. When she was a teen, someone had called her a masochist. She had explained that it wasn't about pleasure so much as it was about accepting the truths of the world. And the truth that mattered most, the only one that was real, was that monsters came in all forms. They were the vampires with their fangs, the soul suckers on high and the essence eaters pouting their lips. They were the lions, the tigers, the bears just as they were the people you suspected least of all.

It didn't take great power to be a monster. Any human could compete with the beautiful things in this room and they did, every day. There was nothing these nightmares did that they had not done to one another already. Her therapist hadn't understood that Marcy had simply accepted the monstrous side of them all. It was the only real truth. Her parents had been delightful people. Loved by everyone they met and pillars of the community.  They raised money for a variety of charities with beautiful banquets and heaps of enthusiasm. Too bad their enthusiasms extended to more than functions and business.

They had been beautiful liars and she hated it terribly. They were only honest when they were cruel. It hadn't taken long for her to come to love their cruelty.

Her smile grew when Ellian explained how they had met. He moved his leg to knock her drink from her hand and she almost moved it, almost stopped him, but instead she lit it go. The base touched down on the table, only a few centimeters below, landing perfectly and with little trauma only to be nudged over the edge by his intrusive limb. She watched it fall, a small shiver rolling up her spine at the sound of shattering glass lost beneath the music and voices of the room.

He finished speaking and she turned her head to look at the lion now reclining on the table. "You remember." She swooned pointedly and then laughed. "He was quite a fierce thing to behold on the street, you can imagine." She explained to Russel. This was the most the lion had ever really spoken to her and the longest they had stayed in each others company, but she wouldn't tell the vampire that.

Ellian asked how being friendly could be reconciled over time and she made a mock sound of hurt, one hand batting at the lion's arm. "Friendly is a delightful thing." She muttered, hiding her smile and turning her head to look around. She noticed Nina dancing with the man in white. They looked intimate and for a moment she was certain someone would be falling dead to the floor any moment.

Marcy jumped a little when the lion sat up abruptly, reminding her of her own company.

Krystal Itzume

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #22 on: February 09, 2014, 09:09:50 pm »
Were Nina anything but what she was, perhaps she would have been lonely. Long ago, she’d come to terms with this. Friends and lovers shied away when they learned a kiss could end them. It was disturbing, how something humans associated so strongly with love, could kill them. Never mind the Romeo and Juliet connections, the Judas ties, in reality it bothered people and those who she’d ever let find out had quickly reconsidered their intimacy with Nina. Naturally, she’d had to remove them all.

Only other monsters could tolerate what she was, and even then, barely. Kisses still meant intimacy, love—and so few were willing to risk their lives for that.
‘Such sad people.’ Though she was barely willing to risk hers for a look at the beautiful blue orbs of her partner, who moved her across the floor with the expected grace of an angel, and the primacy of an animal. Rumba. ‘No one here would think it.’ That was why so many were looking, of course. It was like a Dancing With The Stars moment. The lights came on them, and space cleared to allow them free movement.

Nina smiled, laughed a little, even. She tossed her head back when she was twirled away for the effect, snapped it upright as he pulled her back. There was that primacy, that intensity in his pull. Her gaze moved to his lips as they moved, and she read them.
‘Too much.’ A confession or a sing-along. Perhaps both. His lips did look soft. Would that thought prove deceptive if she pushed him against the wall, would they show a roughness or would they be just as gentle as he tried to look?

Could she close her eyes in time? Oh, but she wouldn’t want to!

Her eyes trailed up to the blue, for eye contact that was always inadvisable, but it was a risk worth taking as the song was nearing its end. The soul was certainly reflected there, burning, part of the reason she so loved his sort, and him most of all. He was so alive! There wasn't a thing in this world more alive than him, not a thing full of desire quite like him, and it was all focused on her. It was such a wonderful sensation to know that it was she who brought about such a fire in him.

No, she wouldn’t want to shut her eyes, even if humans seemed to think that closing the eyes was the appropriate reaction to a kiss.

A smirk danced on her lips before her eyes flitted away,
‘Missed your chance.’ At least for now.

With the song coming to its end, she took a bit of control, stepping close enough to press herself against him, and moving one of her hands around the back of his neck to bring herself up to his height, just so her breath could whisper against his cheek,
“Maybe one friend.” But they both knew better. His cheek was pleasantly warm, much more so than she imagined Russell would ever be. Certainly more so than Fenton, ever cold and ever stoic Fenton. Oh, if only Fenton would dance! One of these days, she would at least get Marcy on the floor, just to watch Fenton squirm.

Her thoughts, however, did not dwell on 'other' not-friends.
“Would you scream?” There was as much a dare as a challenge in her words.

‘Too much, or not enough?’


The music was already shifting to another song.


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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #23 on: February 11, 2014, 09:12:35 am »
"I'll have to pay it a visit some time. The city has been a bit much as of late." A lie. The city suited him just fine. It was why he resided there now, amongst the concrete, the glass, buildings that seemed to touch the sky. There, he could see a light that didn't burn, and the world seemed to run for an eternity. The other jungles, well, they simply lost their charm in comparison.

The story of their meeting was vague, and yet the vagueness of it was what made it so intriguing. He had supposed it would have been something far more fantastic, considering the manner of this man, creature, Ellian. Even now, the man's form was laxed, sprawled about without a concern. Like a cat, Russell mused, watching the man's gestures, his foot on the table.

"How do you reconcile friendly over time, Russell?"

"I don't." The vampire responded. Friends were an unnecessary risk. Friends noticed things, things out of the ordinary, things that could ruin everything. Acquaintances, those could be worked with, but friends, he had no need for such things. The shattering of glass interrupted his thoughts, and he glanced upwards, a bit surprised by the suddenness of the sound.

Immediately his eyes narrowed, noticing Ellian's hand, reaching out, into a space Russell felt was comfortably his. Quick, the vampire realized the lion meant to touch his glass, and Russell pulled it away with a casual gesture, seeming to ignore the action all together. He couldn't quite understand what this man was up to, but Russell could hardly say he cared for it.

"I savor it, Cat." The vampire responded to the lion's question, meeting the look in those gold eyes. His muscles were already stiffening, weary, careful of this unpredictable creature before him. When the lion sat up, almost too abruptly, Russell had to restrain himself from reacting, facial muscles twitching in response. However, Ellian seemed distracted, eyes seemingly somewhere else.

He didn't understand animals.

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #24 on: February 11, 2014, 03:17:35 pm »
Every game had rules.  Gabrielle knew as much when Nina looked his way.   The gaze returned was for her alone and so it would remain.  He doubted she noticed the sadness mixed with the lust.  The longing for the unattainable.  The deliberate restraint.

Nina pushed him almost to the breaking point as she pressed against him and put her cheek to his.  Coincidentally the music stopped.  Fortunate, because Gabrielle’s feet did as well.  He was frozen like a fly soaked in a spider’s venom, save for the small shiver that ran down his spine.

They were not friends.  They would never be friends. 

I don’t want to be friends.

He didn’t pick up the dance for the next song.  His eyes closed and he didn’t notice the spot light fade as he turned his lips to her ear.  He offered a small bite on her earlobe as he said, “Maybe.” 

Eyes opened and the spell was broken.  He stepped back and said, “But now, I need to get back to work.”

And so he would turn and walk to the table where Russell sat.  The party looked cozy although the wine looked liberally spilled.

To Russell he’d extend a hand.  “It’s been a while Russell.  I trust you’ve been well.”

With a bright smile he turned to Marcy and reintroduced himself.  “You may not remember me.  I saved you from drowning a few years ago.”  He hoped she didn’t fall into pools often, so that the memory would return to her.  “I’m Gabrielle, your guardian angel.”

And then to the cannibal who looked far too much like the cat that swallowed the canary.  He let careful blue eyes appraise the lazy form from foot to forehead.   Gabrielle took the tarot card from his pocket and placed it on the table saying, “And you must be Ellian.  The one who will try to kill me tonight.”
« Last Edit: February 11, 2014, 06:10:41 pm by Beau »

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #25 on: February 11, 2014, 09:38:47 pm »
Of course he remembered. In a closed space, he could see the growth of dust from one day to another. He would not forget something like her, and he took care to note as she'd become a semi regular thing in this city life he'd come to lead. He'd jerked his arm back when she chastised him for what she thought he'd meant with his question about Russell's meaning when it came to friendliness. In many ways Ellian was formidable and prideful, but in others he was left to his instincts. Instincts aren't always insightful, but short and base. The pale face might even have looked startled for a while. He'd settle back quickly into his lazy lay.

Russell was blunt, not really explaining what Ellian wanted to know. He spent the last of the pleasant from Marcy's touch to forget that, partially because pursuing it would disrupt the good relationship his body had nurtured with the table. Russell had kept his glass from destruction. The next response in order was as blunt, but not as disappointing. He could relate to the business of enjoying things, though he tended to choose play over taste. He'd been known to be a decadent gourmet in a hurry, if he got to play. "It seems like you would." he'd mumbled mostly to himself, before that interruption, fueling the anxious malice rising with his activity.

He enjoyed the way Marcy had reacted, the twitch of her shoulders, and looked at her for a second with new interest before directing his attention to where it first had been piqued. The alabaster shard broke free from its current entanglement and whisked itself over to them. He seemed to know people. Ellian's chin turned this way and that as he examined the newcomer. Eventually those lit eyes were beckoned and answered. A card. It was given his entire gaze, face rushing forward and to circle it.

"If you insist." Ellian answered at last and drew with his fingers over the surface of the depicted figure. The piece of paper seemed unmarred until the lion used the same hand to swipe sideways. It would seem the first three fingers had cut the picture, and the second touch scattered them. A sliver landed to soak slowly in the Marcy's puddle of red, that was indiscernible from black in this environment, to soak slowly. "You know everyone. And you're all white and clean." he commented before sitting up. "You smell like lives."

The lion fell back, off the edge of the table, to land on the cushions where Russell and Marcy had placed themselves. He was in the middle, between the two. Some of the volatile energy in him was gone. He could sit comfortably for a while. "Do you give good chase, Gabrielle? Or do you like to stand and fight?" He'd not use either of those approaches, if he could help it. On a good day, his pride would do his work for him, but it had been many years since days were ever that good. Ellian preferred laying in hiding for good pray. He was feeling peckish.

He laid his head on Marcy's shoulder and haphazardly started to part and close his lips over her exposed shoulder. The massage from his large mouth was void of teeth, but the act was equal part affection, and unchecked and therefor unknown outlet for his small hunger. His eyes were still on the white sir that had come late to their gathering. Now that it had been thrown out there, Ellian could very well see himself engaging in a meaningful pursuit of this meat. A small line of clear saliva would find itself glistening on Marcy's skin. To anyone who knew his kind, it would be known that he was becoming friendly and dangerous at the same time.

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #26 on: February 12, 2014, 11:21:49 am »
Marcy watched the man in white approach their table. He walked with purpose and comfort, as though he owned the floor beneath his feet. He suddenly became much more familiar when she thought that. The Soul Eater that ran this place. She smiled back when he looked her way. She had never been one to leave a smile lonely. He introduced himself and her grin widened to hold teeth.

She had said then that it was foolish to have a party near a pool. It was tempting to break the calm on the surface, of course, she had not expected to be the one that ended up in the water though she had been goading the fist of an Essence Eater all night. It had been a beautiful surprise when she landed in that dark water. To this day, she wasn't entirely sure if she hadn't been able to swim or if she simply hadn't tried. Thin body sunk to the bottom and there she stayed, held in the dark. She imagined that it whispered to her, the darkness in that water that cradled her so gently. 'Someday.' It promised. 'But not today.'

She remembered him well now, though he was much dryer tonight then the last time she saw him. "I do enjoy leaving an impression." She said, though what sort of an impression had never been terribly important to her. "A pleasure to meet you again."

Her opal pale eyes watched him place a card on the table and her smile tapered into something tactful and curious when he spoke to Ellian. Interesting. She didn't miss the ease with which the feline shredded the card. It gave her skin shivers and her leg throbbed, the one he'd been hugging only a while before, the one she was considering maiming tonight for his liver.

When Ellian began to reply she wished that she had kept her glass so that she could pretend to sip it and maybe hide some of her amusement behind its lip. The feline inquired about the soul eaters ability to run and she had to bite the inside of her lip to tame the rise of a giggle. This night was already worth the chill outside. "What makes you certain Elli will be the one to try to kill you tonight?" She asked, her breath hitching in her throat the moment the lion put his mouth to her skin. She didn't look and it took great effort, but she continued to stare up at the soul eater.

"You are in a room of beasts and were just dancing with Nina..." She smiled, though the gesture was a little distracted by that mouth. She wondered how easily those teeth could tear, after seeing his fingers make easy shreds of that card. "She might be a little full at the moment, but she never stays that way for long." Marcy thought aloud. She could feel Fenton's eyes on her, on that mouth playing with her shoulder. She didn't look at him either, mostly just because she knew if she did he might interpret it as a request to have the lion moved.


Krystal Itzume

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #27 on: February 12, 2014, 04:03:54 pm »
A jolt went down Nina’s spine. A sharp inhale. The nip to her ear was unexpected, and delightful in the way it shocked her, in the word. It was a challenge. ‘I’ll make you.’

Alas, he had to ruin it. No more dancing. He stepped away and spoke of work, and she folded her arms across her chest in an attempt to look put-out.
“Work,” she spoke the word as if it were some foul, evil thing. In that moment, it was the cruelest thing in the world. ‘I’d take you somewhere more fun than a bathroom stall.’ Though whether it’d be classy, she couldn’t say. Satin and silk had as much appeal as leather and steel.

She did not immediately pursue him, but walked to where she’d left her jacket, all the while letting the thoughts work their way through her mind. Her skin burned for another reason, now. Yes, this was why she hated Gabrielle, too. Now he wouldn’t leave her thoughts alone. She slipped the jacket on once more and made her way to the table as a card was put down.
“You and your cards,” she spoke as a skeptic, eye roll perfected, smile returned. She hadn’t heard what he said about the feline’s plot.

Once again, she grabbed Fenton’s arm. She wouldn’t sit. Instead, she leaned back against the mountain of a man, and if he would let her, she’d manipulate his arm around her waist. She tilted her head back so she could look at him,
“You should learn to dance,” she noted, as if it were somehow important. It wasn’t. He was being very well behaved, considering what was going on with his mistress. The poor little lamb was trapped amidst so many, and now had her skin kissed by that one who loved it most. The fact she did nothing amused the one of Essence. Did she want to die?

The cat conversed with the angel about a chase, or a fight. Befuddled, Nina merely listened, wondered what sort of thing the card had revealed. Marcy made that clear while her eyes went over the mess in this process of listening.
“I have let you live quite a while, love,” she reminded Marcy. Even on nights when she was not full. Of course, that was what made her unpredictable. She would feast when she liked, sometimes after years, sometimes after minutes, of knowing a person.

Then, she shook her head, the features of the mess settling in. Liver and Flesh were so messy.
“Though, do remind me never to invite either you or El over for a drink. You cannot hold your alcohol at all,” a tsk, her gaze including them both. “At least Russell can. Maybe I’ll have him over some time.” Drinks. Yes, that wouldn’t end well for her, would it? “Do you like the wine?” She asked Ellian that. She didn’t intend to have a cup of it, nor of the water.
« Last Edit: February 12, 2014, 04:05:57 pm by Krystal Itzume »

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #28 on: February 14, 2014, 07:08:30 am »
Gabrielle, ever so friendly. He'd been friendly then too, Russell recalled, thinking of his first meeting with the man in white. It was difficult to determine then if it was a facade as it was now. Russell shook the man's hand, other still attached to his glass of wine lest Ellian decided to knock it over once more. There was enough of a mess as it was and with so many beings around the booth, it would add a touch more of chaos that was hardly necessary.

The lion had taken to sitting between him and Marcy, a deliberate move, probably to separate him from the slender, pretty girl that Ellian had so obviously targeted. Russell didn't enjoy feeling the other man's shoulder brush against his, a closeness he would have preferred with the liver eater. At least with her, it seemed cleanliness of some importance. The feline, on the other hand, who knew where that shoulder or any part of him had been.

Nina had come with Gabrielle, attaching herself to Marcy's human companion without hesitation. It seemed she wouldn't give up on the pursuit of him easily, despite the distraction Gabe had provided. She remarked on the mess Ellian had made, a mess no one had really bothered to clean up. He supposed maybe that habit was beyond most of them, but he had been tempted to at least dispose of the shards of glass. It'd been habit to keep things clean, orderly, and not to waste a single drop of the color red.

"I'm pleased you'd think of me so well, Nina." Russell answered, the wine in his glass swirling about, a contrast to the still pool below them.

Beside him, it seemed Ellian had taken it upon himself to display some sort of affection for Marcy, Fenton's eyes on the pair of them, unblinking. It seemed at any moment the human might have done something about this display, but the large man remained still, the obedient dog on a leash.

Russell finished his wine, holding the empty glass in hand, the dry flavor of it still fresh on his lips. Beyond their booth, the world seemed to carry on, individuals dancing, breathing, living. Maybe it was time to engage in this chase or fight that the lion spoke of.

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Re: Famine Fever
« Reply #29 on: February 14, 2014, 10:26:44 pm »
It had been some time since a man, or a woman for that matter, had commented on what he smelled like.  The odd compliment caused Gabrielle’s mouth to twist in a crooked smile.  For a moment his eyes flashed bright.

Ellian had no respect for the card, destroying it with a certain flair.  If the move was expected to intimate it fell short.  Gabrielle only shrugged at the question about his fighting style.  The flesh eater was not a student of tarot, or he might have seen the clue in the painted picture.  Yet, of all the people here the man suckling Marcy's shoulder was the least of his concerns.

Marcy wanted to know how Gabrielle knew about the future.  His answer would only hint at the game he had planned for them, “If I told you all my secrets then the evening wouldn’t be any fun.  As for Nina,” he glanced her way, noting how she draped herself over Fenton, “I am forever beneath her notice.”  The smile held no malice.  The mock bow in her direction potentially a challenge.  “Although…” a pause and a lazy look, the similar toe to head inspection he’d offered the lion, “with the proper incentive, I might be convinced to wear leather…”

With considerable effort he drew his eyes back to the table and the cluster of ghouls there.  “At the moment though I have a proposition for the group.  A hunt if you wish,” a tip of his head to Ellian, “but a more tasty treat than myself on the menu.  I’m prepared to offer a bounty to the one who captures the target first – as well as allowing the spoils of war.”

It wouldn’t be hard to describe the building and the floor above.  The offices were a bit of a maze, but only one floor was under construction. He had the information on the party in question written down on a paper in his pocket - a physical manifestation of his 'list'.   Everything would be fair - or at least as fair as he chose to make it.

Gabrielle glanced from one face to the other, while his toe tapped to the beat of the music. “Anyone interested in a game?”
« Last Edit: March 07, 2014, 05:47:49 am by Beau »