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Post by Sinara Dominor on Nov 23, 2010 23:58:03 GMT -5
Sinara had seen the last of the departing guests out of the building, and had gratefully returned to her rooms. It had been an overly long day, with far too many distractions and interruptions and every other manner of annoyance. She had showered quickly, and changed into a pair of soft pink cotton pajama pants, the white silk ribbon drawstring a perfect match to the white silk tank. The shutters lowered on the large windows in the living area, blocking out the city lights just as the phone in the entry hall rang.
Julia, the front desk receptionist, was obviously beside herself, stuttering and yelling intermittently about the 'new arrival' and some unsavory sounding business involving a woman. Good Lord, she thought, he's gone out and brought home some Midtown floozy on his first night in the city. Well, he was proving to be a bit more like her brother's type of associate after all. She smiled and rolled her eyes as she listened to Julia rant on, tidying up as she went, the cordless held between her ear and shoulder. She decided then that the lobby was no place for the child. She was going to speak to Ivan about getting his cousin a position in one of the gyms while he paid her way through college. This just wouldn't do. She was going to end up drained- or at best, in therapy before long. She was about to hush Julia and and head back on her way to her office to curl up and read when she felt a presence.. his presence, that odd duality, just outside in the hall.
Her first thought was that he had brought the likely intoxicated tramp to her door for whatever reason, but it was quickly replaced by an urgency and alarm that left her legs weak. She pulled open the door and there he stood, bloodied and more pale than moonlight, toting a dead woman that he promptly dropped to the floor just inside her threshold. She hung up quickly, the phone tossed carelessly away as she lunged forward to break his fall as he went to his knees. She had hoped that the blood covering him and beginning to saturate her night clothes was the woman's, but knew for a certainty now that it was not. He was barely conscious as she pulled him insider her rooms to shut the door, then all but drag him to the large sofa of the living area, away from the still form of the woman.
"Blood.. now" He barely breathed the words, which sent her flying to the kitchen for blood wine- anything. She did not drink alcohol, and was not in the habit of feeding from any source other than her norm, which was entirely unavailable at present- not that she would have asked it of Ivan in any case. The thought to summon Julia flitted across her mind but was dismissed just as quickly. He looked to be losing consciousness, thus must have bled at an alarming rate before he arrived. "Stupid man.." she scolded, her voice shaking with anxiety.. "Why did you leave alone?! I could have sent a dozen men with you!" She looked down at him then, now truly alarmed at his state. Without a second thought, she reached for the letter opener on the coffee table in front of them, pulled her hair back, and made a small, deep gash in the vein of her neck. She hissed at the small, self inflicted pain, and with a deep breath, prepared to share more with this stranger than she had with most anyone.
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Post by Lucas "Ravyn" Alexion on Nov 25, 2010 22:17:38 GMT -5
“Each human life is naught but a shooting star in the night sky that is eternity my child. For but a moment it is seen, beautiful and vibrant, only to be swallowed by darkness and never to be seen again. We are the true stars Lucas, we are the inhabitants of eternity”, whispered Alec as he stood beside Ravyn, the pair gazing at the night sky as they ventured forth from Athens. Ravyn shook his head at the name of his mortal life that Alec insisted upon using.
“It is that beauty we must cherish though my Teacher, for what is life without beauty?”, asked Ravyn as he drew his gaze away, looking towards the man who had embraced him, guiding him in the mannerisms of the Dark Gift.
Alec looked upon him now with great sorrow and yet he smiled weakly. “Thus will be your downfall my child. You are too human still.”
Ravyn’s eyes opened once more, escaping from the dark memories of oblivion to find himself now within the depths of Sinara’s chambers, resting within some form of chair or sofa. His mind ached almost as terribly as his arm, his blood loss making him unable to truly comprehend. The voice of Alec still echoed within his ears as Sinara frantically said something to him, her hand moving to her throat, the scarlet droplets of blood soon appearing. The rustic scent rushed into Ravyn’s nostrils, making his body tense despite his exhaustion at the sweet aroma. She knelt closer and he slowly began to realize she expected him to feed from her.
His mind, as clouded as it was, managed to race then. The exchange of blood for immortals was a sacred practice reserved for either sire and spawn, life partners, or the dearest of friends. The result of such a bond was unpredictable but most often resulted in the sharing of memories as well as an almost twin-like bond that lasted for all of the pairs lifespan. For her to offer this to him was a great honor.
“I. . .The bond Sinara . .”, he managed, his voice now desperately weak and barely a whisper. That effort alone nearly sent him falling back into unconsciousness but he struggled through, not aware that his eyes were slowly swirling, their common emerald appearance shifting to their true soft lavender, his black hair becoming its natural sandy-blonde.
A power he had discovered ages ago was to slightly alter his appearance. He could not do much more than change the length and color of his hair, the color of his eyes, and with some difficulty, the darkness of his skin. Still, it had been priceless for making him so hard to remember through the ages, assisting in his ability to seem like nothing more but a ghosts tale to both mortal and immortal alike.
His mind then rang with a sharp pain as Lykas arrived, his brothers essence wrapping around Ravyn’s like a warm blanket as he whispered soft comforts. Ravyn drifted then, unable to hold onto reality as Lykas soothed his aching soul, giving him a shield to the pain.
“You’re too human still!“, hissed Lykas frantically as he tried to awake his brother inside the body they shared, slowly feeling their bond slip away as death crept near. Then he did something he had not done in the entire three thousand years the pair had been bonded.
Ravyn’s eyes opened then, wide and terrified as they scanned the room, finding Sinara quickly. His hands reached up, grabbing her arms and forcing her to turn towards him as he shivered terribly. He then spoke, not with his usual voice, the deep rumblings of an ageless vampire, but the mortal baritone of Lykas.
“Listen to me, I do not have much time. There is more to my brother than I could ever explain to you but I can tell you that the essence you have felt since your first meeting has not been false. For three thousand years my brother and I have shared his soul, not his mind like he believes. We are one in the same in many ways and if you save him right now Sinara Dominor, you bond not only with him but with us both in some ways”, ranted Lykas, his voice much stronger than his brothers before. “This is not something to be taken lightly for we are a monster even among our kind but now is the time to decide. I am holding him to this world by sheer will and he is slipping. If you still wish to save him, I must drink from you now.”
His eyes locked with hers as he finished, his chest rising rapidly in desperate breaths he still believed their body needed. The tremors from blood-loss were growing stronger and he could feel their body begin to stiffen, the long-dead flesh being allowed to finally rest. The conflict of the decision shone so obviously in Sinara’s eyes as he felt Lucas, his twin in mortality, slip further into death.
“Decide!”, he said then, his voice trembling from fear, having experienced death once before and horrified at the prospect of returning.
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Post by Sinara Dominor on Nov 29, 2010 19:36:18 GMT -5
Rarely was Sinara, dark childe of Azazeal, Grandchilde of Valterra Dominor, caught completely in an unmanageable situation. She had been groomed and trained and raised to be always self sufficient, appearing as calm and in control as any ancient from the time she stepped foot into this world. Now, in her own livingroom, she would have given just about anything to have someone swoop in and save her from making a misjudgment that could likely cost her dearly.
It was less than six hours ago that this man was a complete stranger, and shortly after that, she had judged him fit for bedlam. True, his open admission of his affliction and his overall demeanor had softened her opinion considerably, but to make any kind of a decision such as this- especially for someone with the traditional beliefs she held... She shook her head almost on instinct- No, of course she would not bond herself to this stranger. As she was about to stand again, surprisingly strong hands gripped her arms, shaking her in apparent desperation. Even without his hold on her limbs, she would not have been able to move. His voice alone would have held her in place- but when she looked down to see his glamour fade, she felt .. actually felt the other being he had claimed present in his mind. At first she had no idea what he meant with his claims of brotherhood and the sharing of souls, but as with any other time of danger, her mind's focus became razor sharp. This was not the man she had met, and spoken to, and allowed access to her home. This was the crude, base creature she had felt residing within him. It was his brother.
As weak as they were, she could have easily gotten away. Her mental abilities alone would have subdued any threat he.. they, could have posed. As she considered the option of simply refusing and letting him die, a thought struck her with the force of a blow to the chest: They, both of them, both desperate to survive and dying, had given her the choice. Ravyn, knowing not only he, but his brother, would lose eternity if he did not feed immediately. And this man, who she had thought was naught but a depraved loon, who now looked at her with frantic need to save himself and his brother, had respected his brother's wish for her informed consent. Many things could be taught- true consideration for another being was not one of them. It was an inbred quality that both of these men possessed even in the face of death.
Would she have done the same if it were she and Mayne in this position, she wondered? Absolutely not. The answer was not a surprise to her, nor was the speed in which it presented itself. She would not have cared for one second if there was consent to save herself and her twin. She would have done the deed, and dealt with the consequences later.
"Decide!", the man was demanding. What she knew of blood bonding was what she had learned from her Grandmother mostly, as she had only experienced it a time or two herself. She and her Sire shared a bond that would never be equaled, for without Azazeal, there would be no Sinara. The bond she now held with her Grandmother was frightening in it's intensity, but it was significant, and intentional, and doubly strong for the shared lineage of the blood. Koko had fed from her just briefly once when she was hurt, but the two had such an existing bond that they hardly noticed a change- if there was one at all.
This bond, however, was the first she would make outside of her Dominor bloodline. Her grandmother had told her that the length and strength of bonds was unpredictable and varied with each situation. The bonding may involve a deep seeded need for closeness in proximity- which she was all too aware of, the transfer of some powers temporarily, the linking of minds while the bond lasted- it was all unclear. What was clear, though, was that it was left to her to choose.
The thought of a lasting connection with this.. being, was far preferable at the moment than watching two immortal souls die. She knelt beside where the man half reclined, his visible tremors urging her to reach a hand behind his now nearly blonde head. She looked down briefly at her chest which was covered in his blood, and saw a trail of her own vitae mixing with that of the strangers. 'Decide' he had demanded... and decide she had. Supporting his shoulders with her free arm, she leaned forward, brushing the crimson red stained skin of her neck against his lips in answer.
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Post by Lucas "Ravyn" Alexion on Dec 3, 2010 1:29:21 GMT -5
His eyes opened, instantly returning to their prior status as the light flooded into his pupils. His hands reached out, confused and dazed, only to grab hold of thin air. His eyes shot open then, looking around wildly as he noticed none of his body felt the firm touch of anything solid. Nothingness. That was all that could describe what surrounded him, a vast white world of nothing. He turned and flailed his limbs only to stay stationary, twirling in place.
“Welcome to my hell”, came an all-too-familiar voice, making Ravyn’s eyes dart up to find Lykas, several feet away, standing with his hands crossed and his eyes stern.
“Where in Hades’ name am I Lykas? What trickery is this?”, he asked, his voice vicious as he suddenly grew angry. “Where is Sinara? Wh-”, he began again, only to have memories rush back into his brain. He remembered the pain, the overwhelming darkness, the allure of fresh blood. . .
“I call this Limbo. It is the area between the world you live within and the spiritual realm I wander. It is when I am here that I become invisible to you, in this world I find solace”, said Lykas now, walking, somehow, closer. “This is where the dying find themselves my brother.”
Ravyn stared at his brother now as he never had in life. His mouth was agape and his eyes wide in horror at the cold, methodical demeanor of his steps, the venom of his words. This was where his brother had remained for the good portion of three thousand years? Here, in this vast void? He closed his eyes tightly, desperately hoping this was a dreadful dream, begging his body to awake.
“It isn’t”, commented Lykas on the hope. “This is the prison I have been condemned to by the Fates, the chain that holds me to you, not a dreams. I wanted you to experience this place, to see what my existence is before it happened.”
“Before what happened?”, asked Ravyn, his voice unsteady, his stomach clenched.
“Before I save your ass once again”, laughed Lykas before an immense pain shot through Ravyn, his screams echoing into Limbo, his body curled into a ball, trying to shield himself from the liquid fire burning through him. His mind failed him then, overburdened and unable to continue through the torture. His eyes opened and saw nothing. No Lykas, no hope. They closed once more as, once again, he fell into oblivion. . .
As Ravyn’s eyes closed Sinara leaned forward then, the lukewarm blood of her veins teasing the soft lips of his lips. It was not Ravyn who responded though. Lykas felt himself enthralled by the scent, overcome with the urge to rip the woman limb from limp and bathe in her entrails and yet, at the same time, caress her soft flesh as he partook in this most sacred of bounty. The lips opened, closing around the wound as he began to drain her slowly, the liquid running down his throat like a blissful inferno. His limbs found life once more, a hand reaching up to the crook of her neck as he was engulfed by the thirst. He felt his teeth, two fangs he never knew in life, begin to pierce the flesh of her throat in his quest for fulfillment and drew back, his mind fuzzy. Crazed eyes sought hers as blood dripped from his lips, his eyes brows raised in both shock and horror.
“What manner of beasts are the two of you to walk this world?”, he whispered, feeling the flesh he momentarily wore grip the chains of life stronger, pulling itself back together. Ravyn’s mind pounded at the entrance, his conscious instinctively retaking control. Lykas looked down at the wound, noticing two half-puncture wounds and shivered visibly in disgust just as he fell over then, limp in the chair he had been placed. The soul of Lykas retreated then, rushing into the confines of Limbo, leaving the body to its owner with a pause only long enough to ensure Ravyn slipped back into place.
Ravyn gasped loudly as the pain relinquished and he found himself attempting to rise only to have his body feel a wave of weakness, tumbling back into the chair. It was then he noticed the aroma, the thick liquid on his lips, the burning sensation in his throat. It was then he noticed Sinara, the bloody mess on her throat accompanied by two minor punctures, it was then he noticed he could almost feel her very presence, like she was a part of his own flesh. His body felt offended as he looked at her and he found himself wondering why for a moment before reality sank in and he realized it was her, not him, who felt the offense. His mind was flooded with the feeling of Lykas’s feed, the vicious hunger she had perceived.
Lykas had taken command of his body! He had fed from Sinara to save them both! The images from Sinara hit him like a brick wall. He could feel her slight embarrassment over the feeding, her respect for Lykas’ behavior and, finally, her anxiety to be prepared to be rid of him if something went wrong.
“Thank you”, he whispered weakly, his throat terribly hoarse and making it sound like a half-cough. His eyes threatened to close then as he was overcome by exhaustion. He would not perish, he knew that, but he was in no way in any form of proper shape. His mind opened, avoiding the effort to speak and connecting with Sinara.
“I am sorry for my brothers actions and yet, I thank you both for what you have done for me. . .a stranger”, he said through the telepathic contact. He let his gratitude wash over in the link, as well as his happiness that his brother had not been more violent. “My brother had been a notable beast with women in life . . .and that was his first feed. It was surely a great display of restraint to have stopped him . .”
With those words he drifted to a soft sleep, the contact still open, his body unable to function. His mind wandered in his sleep, his memories of his experience in Limbo and then his memory of that nigth Lykas returned, all in vivid detail, all open to the link.
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Post by Joanna [DBJ] on Dec 3, 2010 22:11:09 GMT -5
Joanna was tried, hungry and irate. She hated flying, she hated technology and she hated this modern fashion. Dressed in tight black jeans, cowboy boots and a black cotton vest, she’d been scowled at, whispered about and not even noticed. Either way she’d be more comfortable in her one of her skirts or her leather trousers then these denim things. The last year in the Dead City had felt like heaven, she’d been able to wear whatever she liked without it having to depend on whether it was fashionable or ‘appropriate’. “Fuck it.” She spat under her breath waving her way through the crowd at the airport. So many humans! There heartbeats were giving her a headache, the constant thumbing sounded like an army in her head. Axel warned her once that this would happen and given her ear muffs every Christmas as a reminder. Oh how, oh how, she wanted one of those stupid looking head things now. Taking a deep breath to centre herself she focused on the rhythmic sounds of her boot heals hitting the floor. Their ‘clicking’ and ‘clacking’ was a marvellous distraction. So focused was she on the sound of her heels, she hadn’t noticed one the uncouth woman around her. Within moments the woman lost her balance, slipped and fell into Joanna’s side almost wrenching open her hand bag. Joanna was far from amused; she hushed a snarl and glared at the woman causing her to fall into someone else. Joanna’s frown deepened as her eyes rolled. ‘Humans.’ Joanna thought leaving the chaos in her wake continuing to the glass doors that would lead her away from the defining sounds of the terminal. Sometime she couldn’t believe she had been like them once, they were so clumsy.
Mumbling under her breath she pulled the bag to the front of her body and examined it roughly for scratches or tears. Finding none, she reached into her black depths of the large bag, withdrew a compact and deep red lipstick. Reapplying a coat of the burgundy cream on her smooth lips, she dropped the two items back in her bag feeling more relaxed. Letting out a breath she had not realised she was holding Joanna left the noise of the terminal for the crowded walk way out side. Night sounds met her ears and the hushed voices of the people around her. It had been 60 years or there about since she’d been to the States and here she was in JFK Airport of all places. The last time she’d been here she’d exclaimed she would never come through this airport again, this time she was sure of it.
Having no luggage to retrieve she stepped out into the cool night breeze, her mood lightened. Her dark eyes soften and her fringe danced wild across her forehead. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. On the grape vine that travelled around the Dead City, she’d heard Sinara was here attending to business. At the time is seemed like a good excuse to leave the City and enter the real world of a time. The Spring Valley humans, who knew of their existence was annoying at times. Sure she liked the thrill of the challenge but, every now and again she just wanted to feed, without the ‘watching for weapons’ part. Valden Hill was nice but scarcely large enough for her appetite. On top of all that, she might be able to actually converse with her old friend. It had felt like years since her time in Arcana Nex. How quickly time passed in the City of the Dead.
Spotting an empty taxi, Joanna had reacted a little too quickly to past off as human, luckily no one noticed or chose their better judgment not to think it over to much. Flashing one last look over her shoulder, her dark waves floating in mid air for barely a second. Satisfied she could leave the airport, she gracefully ducked into the waiting cab. “Where to love?” The man’s thick New York accent greeted her. Her eyes drank in his washed out coloured skin and pale eyes. He looked sick, almost dead. Hell, he looked as dead she was suppose to be. Resisting the urge to remark on his ill appearance Joanna flared her nostrils and barked “Manhattan, please.” in her own strange accent. Travelling the global twice over have never helped anyone pick where she was from. Sure her British accent was thinker then the rest, but it blended into so nicely with the others accents she had procured. These days only a well trained ear could pick true accent.
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Post by Ophelia V. Bluemoon-Night on May 27, 2011 0:44:32 GMT -5
"Oi, lady, move outta the way!"
"Ooooh! I am sorry! So very sorry!"
"Yeah, yeah, just MOVE your ass, I've got places ta be!" The loud noises of buildings, cars and streetlights and the flashing lights were almost enough to blind and disorient the oracle as Ophelia Night found herself lost in the heart of downtown New York City. Crimson curls, usually pulled up in neat perfection, lay tousled and untamed upon her shoulders. She had already been honked at several times by various truckers and gothic subcultured men for her choice of attire, which just so happened to be knee-high buckled combat boots, black leggings, a rich burgundy skirt with a black mesh overlay, and a fitted black short-sleeved skirt. Such was the fashion of inner-city New York night life. Ophelia's arrival in the city was a horrid one. The Dark Tower, her place of work, had been receiving ominous reports from the Manhattan area. Though she was not the one having the visions herself, she trusted in the words of vampyr much older than herself and much more skilled in the Diviner's arts. Despite her lack of formal training, however, Ophelia had been appointed as the Dead City oracle, and thus it was her job and duty to investigate the reports. Normally, Dead City did not care of the affairs of mundanes nor of mundane cities...but it seemed that this particular situation involved Dead City residents, perhaps even ones that Ophelia knew. After enduring a boat ride to the states (for the old bats in the Dark Tower were too cheap for a private jet and Ophelia was all but broke), the oracle ended up getting lost at the pier twice. She was almost mugged three times, hit on more times than she could count, and by the time she found her way into the city, had not only ended up looking a rightful mess, but had her bow and violin case stolen. For a creature of the night, she sure was pathetic. However, mental power beyond imagination made up for Ophelia's lack of physical prowess. As she finally found a bench to perch herself on, sapphire eyes closed in quiet meditation. She could feel the humans about her, the darkness of the skies and the starry night not putting this mundane city to sleep. Her mind swept over the city, taking in all its culture and glory before pin-pointing one special woman. Valentine Schadenfreude Virtutum Night. Ophelia's only blood relation, apprentice and daughter. A soft smile turned the corners of Ophelia's lips as her mind found the woman, who was supposed to have gotten on the same boat as her, but complications with scheduling had put them a few hours apart in travel. Touching the girl's mind, gently, Ophelia's voice whispered, wrapping about the girl's presence in warmth and love. Valentine...seek me out. I am afraid if I take another step, I'll be lost or in serious trouble. Cities are not exactly my element. What those old crones were thinking, I haven't the slightest clue...but I am sure you and I will find out as we search this place. I feel the presence of some very, very powerful Kindred in the area...we will have to begin our search tomorrow night. Tonight, we seek shelter and feed.
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Post by Azrael Draconis on May 27, 2011 21:14:11 GMT -5
The rains had been an unwelcome addition to the expected usual. The vehicles driven by angry drivers, pedestrians that would pass practically anyone by, even if they were bleeding out upon the city street. Everyone within the city of Manhattan were forever the same. Always bustling and hustling about their lives, too deeply entrenched in whatever their personal agendas called for. Azrael Draconis loved it. It made him blend with the population, even moreso upon these streets than back within the City of the Dead where he had just ventured from.
The news that he had overheard, whilst perusing the gravemarket, was unsettling to say the least. The mention of a friend, Ivy, as well as how she had been in dire straights as of late. Tales and talks of rumors flying within those who had the appropriate connections. Apparently there had been quite the commotion reported being witnessed, heard about, or plain just bullshit to say the least. He returned to Manhattan for one reason and one only. Sinara Dominor.
It had been what seemed to be ages, since last they spoke, and though the mere thought of her often brought a warm smile, this night however, the image of her within his thoughts tugged at his heart within. He felt that she may be in some grave danger, and in all of his experience in listening to his instincts, and heeding his gut, he had learned well, the value of listening to such.
As he made his way thru the streets, turning the corner of 5th and Sax Avenue, his thoughts and worries for the woman quickly snapped from his thoughts. He had seen up ahead, a woman who he knew well. The bright crimson locks that were often dressed upon her frame in a delicate and beautiful fashion, now remained out of place, ruffled, and wet upon her shoulders. He had no way of knowing why Ophelia Night would be within Manhattan at the same time as he, but at the moment, he couldn't cloud his mind, by attempting to reach out and read her own.
He trailed Ophelia long enough to know that she appeared downtrodden, and saddened, and judging from the overall out of place look about her, he could perceive that she had already encountered the scum and criminal populace that the 'city that never sleeps' had to offer.
Azrael's instincts took over as he noticed easily, that she was being followed by two men, that needless to say, were obviously appearing to be up to no good. The way they snickered and licked their lips, laughing and joking amongst each other told him well that regardless of what traumatic crime they intended upon her this night, the Fallen had no interest in allowing the humans to follow thru with such.
The vampire slipped within the crowd with ease upon each step, and when he came across the alley at the left of him, he broke from the flock. Tapping within, the supernatural speed that all of his kind had possessed, he almost cracked a devious smile at the mere ease of how quickly he was able to bring his position from behind to forefront. He stood near the exit of the parallel alleyway that he had entered, upon the same block. Becoming the predator awaiting the prey, as Ophelia remained ahead to his left, and the two thugs remained behind his position, gaining ground upon the walk, with each of their steps.
Placing his back against the wall of the building, Azrael took mental count of each step they took. Bringing them closer to their end with each, he mentally patted himself upon the back for donning the stealthy weapons he chose to add to his attire this night. Duel wrist gauntlets allowing a 8 inch blade to slip forth, and quickly retract from the underside of his hands, made the kill sweet, personal, and up close. Silent and deadly, the way that he enjoyed it.
His chin almost rested against his chest as he stumbled from the alley. The two thugs caught completely offguard couldn't stop in time, and as they made the attempt to instead push the vampire from their path, the duel looks upon their faces read the same. Shock and horror, mixed with pain, and the effort to scream, but at the same time they found that they had no voice to do such with. Both victims had barely a moment to look down to take view of the blade that had sunk fatally within their chests, before the blades retracted in an instant, leaving Azrael's fists clenching their smelly clothing, and tossing them in a heap together near the dumpster.
As he kneeled before each of the dying men, the blood slowly trickling from their wounds, he whispered the final words that either of them would ever hear. "Not tonight...And never again."
Azrael left them there to die, needing no resupply of vitae this night, as he had hunted the Dead City hours earlier. As he exited the alley way, he looked to his left. Witnessing and resting assured that she would for the moment be safe, he watched as far up the street, through the downpour, he seen the crimson locks of Ophelia drifting in and out of the crowd.
The vampire then turned his gaze across the street. Reading the street sign, he continued his path with haste. He had not before been to the hotel that he knew his dear friend had often held her formal affairs in, but he knew the location. It was there that he would start his search for Sinara.
As he pulled a hood over his soaked head, and splashed across the street with each step forward, he smirked to himself. He had not seen nor heard from Valterra Dominor in years, but even now, he somehow convinced himself that were Sinara here within the City of lights, Val as well would be here. Imagine the laugh she would have at taking in the sight of him now. His expensive attire speaking well of how he favored silk, and luxurious formal wear, but at the same time, it now wore the heavy rains upon the long coat with an Armani name tag. He could almost hear her joking now of how he appeared much like a drowned city rat.
His smile faded as he reached the location of the expansive hotel. As he stopped, he focused his senses. All of his abilities kicking in their utmost capacity, much like a heightened sense of Auspex. Mentally searching and longing for any sign that Sinara was still within the building.....
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Post by Valentine Night on May 28, 2011 22:53:59 GMT -5
The ride to Manhattan had been an easy one at that. Aside from parting with her Mother, who seemed all but displeased by the idea, Valentine found it pleasurable to be out of her Mother’s watchful eye even for a breath. This was not to say she did not Adore her sweet Mother, but before being bound by blood, Valentine was a much freer creature. Also much more deadly--that was neither this nor that, however, as Valentine found herself docking precisely after that sun had fallen. Earlier than her Mother she was not sure of, but the lights bedazzled her jade orbs and the thought was gone. A perpetual glittering scrape of land that she was to explore even for a moment.
Stepping from the dock, she dutifully ignored the exploited men of the city and their comments concerning her appearance, as she hated most men. Though, admittedly the race she was reborn into had alleviated the pains she held against the entire race of males as they were all but kind and well meaning (or so the gentledead she had met as of late). Clearing her mind, she stood heels together. The attire she chose was that of the times, suitable as such, Valentine never really lost a beat when it came to a changing society. Flouncy, cream colored top that hung on her lithe frame and exposed flashes of her shoulder beneath her hair, dark jeans tucked into leather boots that hugged to her knees (which were decidedly not of the times, though styles did come and go, did they not?), and her chocolate tresses tumbling over shoulders and back in soft curls she had taken care to this morning. Valentine hoped to please her mother with her appearance.
Mother! Furrowing her brow as she was prone to doing, she turned promptly on her heels and moved in what seemed like a natural direction. Her powers aided her silently even in training, guiding her to where she needed to be even with the smallest effort on her part. As if by cue, her Mother’s voice trickled through her mind, soothing and very desperate. Valentine stifled a chuckle as she moved through the warm bodies, slithering past each and they never knew she was there.
It was in this crowd, however, that the shadows of a familiar face graced her peripheral. Was it who she thought? No. Of course not? What business would Azrael have in the City that it coincided with Valentine and her Mother’s arrival? Shooing the thought , she heaved out a determined sigh and reached out to her mother silently, feeling for her. In the distance, she found the fiery headed woman, both in appearance and mind, with little challenge. Hoping her Mother too flustered to notice her coming, she appeared to the woman’s left, standing at ease in the busy street, eyes bemused.
“Lost your brush this morning, Mother? Or did Mother Shade send you off with a gift to remember her by?” Cooing, she flicked her jade orbs to her mother, a wry smile pulling at her glossed lips.
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Post by Ophelia V. Bluemoon-Night on May 31, 2011 22:53:52 GMT -5
As it had begun to rain, Ophelia barely resisted the urge to curse the gods and Fates alike. Wasn't this just a wonderful addition to her already-declining evening? Arms folding across her chest, she gave up. Who cared about this job? It was already a flop on her personal mood alone.
"Lost your brush this morning, Mother? Or did Mother Shade send you off with a gift to remember her by?"
Ambrosia to her ears was Valentine's voice, sapphire eyes searching for the girl before finally settling upon her, brightening happily. "Valentine, my beautiful darling!" All the sounds of Manhattan could not block out the call of her beloved daughter and only blood apprentice. Were the oracle not soaking wet from the rain, she would have immediately leapt up to join her child's side and hugged her. Alas, the weather prevented such a delightful greeting. Instead, Ophelia showed her happiness with that dazzling smile of hers, Valentine's own smile. The very smile her child adored. "I wish I had bothered to foresee the weather...please make your mother happy and tell me that you have an umbrella?"
Her darling, sweet Valentine. Most beloved of her children. What made Ophelia love her so was that she knew Valentine loved her just as much in turn, and in a lot of ways, Valentine was like her. In others, she was just the opposite. That sense of balance, in Ophelia's mind, had created the perfect creature for her to call her own, her very blood and very soul. The fact that Valentine had sought after her approval on something minor like fashion brought a small grin to Ophelia's face. It pleased her, though not the attire itself. It pleased her that her daughter, most beloved daughter, loved her enough to wish her happiness in even the smallest of things.
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Post by Lucas "Ravyn" Alexion on Mar 4, 2012 13:44:41 GMT -5
"Disgusting", hissed Draven, tossing the scrying bowl across the room, the clay shattering as it collided. The room lit up then, motion sensors catching up to the inhuman speed. Scarlet liquid gleamed on the floor and across the wall, Illea's blood now useless for anything besides decoration.
The Kindred turned, moving out of the small chamber and into the long hallways of the Citadel. Another pawn gone, which would not normally be a problem as they show up more often than cancer but Illea had actually been useful. Not often were the Mehket present in the Organization. Draven's hand snaked into his pocket, withdrawing the slender phone.
"Call Bishop", he snarled, the phone picking up the command and beginning to ring just as he brought it to his ear, his footsteps echoing as his heels met the marble floor. Several tones echoed as he awaited, his patience already on edge.
"The eye opens", came the raspy voice as the line was answered.
"The mind sees", replied Draven. "We have a problem."
Bishop chuckled on the other end of the line, the old mans volume barely over a whisper. "As we do every other day. What troubles you Draven?"
"Illea is dead. The Bellator has a new guest." Silence was his response. Draven cursed mentally, it was never good when Bishop had nothing to say.
"Do we know who?", came the question finally. His tone now dominant.
"No, just that he is old. Really old."
"I will call you soon." The line was cut then, Bishop having hung up. Draven now cursed aloud.
The hallway he traveled turned then, his hand wrapping around the first knob on the left, pushing it inwards. The room welcomed him with the scent of aceraceae, making him scowl. Fucking oracles.
Those within shuffled at the intrusion, many snarling before they realized who was present. The white-clad oracles sat in various positions, both male and female having their long hair pulled back and adorned with the customary gold trimmings. All of them stared at the man now with bright red orbs, on edge obviously.
"Anyone care to fill me in?", he hissed. "Or is your job not to see into the future so I do not make a fucking fool out of myself?"
Palageous stood then, the Egyptian male holding an air of dignity the others lacked. Royal mortality never seemed to full disappear. Then man bowed slightly before rising. "Apologies you eminence but I am unaware of what you mean exactly."
"I mean who the fuck just killed Illea. I could see it scrying, do not dare tell me you and your hallucinatory friends missed it", snapped Draven, his fists clenching.
Palageous took a step back, his face lacking fear but his body tensing. Draven half wished the man would show weakness, give him an excuse to execute him on the spot. "We just witnessed it. Our visions are not concrete, as you know. We are not always able to see what will happen, only different chances. All of us, my lord, saw Illea succeeding in her entrance of the Bellator. This elder was not expected."
"And how is that possible?"
"My best guess is that he is freshly awoken. Had he been planned to arrive for long we would have caught a glimpse", replied the mystic.
"I want to know who he is and what he is doing here. I want to have known yesterday. Is that understood Palageous?"
"Yes, your eminence", replied the man with another bow, turning to light more of the plant afire even as Draven turned to leave.
Two years worth of planning tossed into the garbage over these fools inability to do their job. Draven entered the hallway, the stolen blood of his veins heating. Impenitence. It seemed to flood his presence lately. Again he found his phone, this time dialing over commanding. Another ringing tone, another soft click as it was answered.
"What is your will my lord?", replied the deep tone without hesitation.
"You're going to Manhattan. Have the faithful prepared and there before tomorrows moon."
"You will is my guide."
Draven ended the call, snarling viciously. Whoever the hell this man was, he was not going to live long enough to mess with anymore of their plans. His eyes scanned the hallway, noticing several vampires near the end of the hall conversing idly. He turned, walking towards them ominously.
The first to see him stiffened, bowing deeply. The other two followed in kind but it was too late. Draven's hand gripped the nape of the first vampires neck, lifting him off the floor as he growled threateningly.
"Get back to work", he commanded, hurling the man against the wall, the tiles crumbling onto the floor. "And clean up your mess", he snarled, pushing past them.
It was not a night to fuck with him.
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