Eris London

Sheut Nation
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138 One of Our All Stars

About Eris London

  • Rank
    Nicely Seasoned

CHARACTER PROFILE

  • GENDER
    Female
  • PLAY-BY
    Olga Kurylenko
  • AGE
    Appears 30's
  • SEXUAL ORIENTATION
    Bisexual
  • RACE
    Sheut (Khered)
  • JOB
    EAA Viceroy, Former DEA Special Agent-Aviations Div; Pilot
  • 'SHIP:
    Single
  • LOCATION
    New York, New York
  • FACTION
    Sheut Nation
  • APPEARANCE
    Eris is tiny, curvaceous and powerful. Possessing the physical prowess to do dangerous work before the Resonance, her appearance now is quite deceptive to the casual observer. Standing barely 5’5”, she has a medium long length mane of slightly curly, thick chestnut hair. Eyes are large and dark, face cherub-like and seemingly innocent. When the darkly lined lashes narrow, it’s best to back the hell away or risk something much worse.

    She prefers elegant suits and sharp formal wear, everything she puts on whether it utilitarian or dressy is high end and polished. She can often be seen sucking on a mint of some kind and never touches anything in public.
  • PERSONALITY
    Arrogant.

    Her entire personality can be summed up in one word. Eris didn’t always have a penchant for arrogance, the cutting personality trait developed over time and a long series of unfortunately linked events. Before the Resonance and subsequent infection, she already held abhorrence for the social aspects of life. Relentlessly tortured as a youth by peers that couldn’t fathom the depth of her genius level intellect, it pushed her away from society in a negative light- perceiving interactions with others more of a nuisance in the way of her goals. A business-like demeanor reigned in her communications with others as she grew older, making her prime for difficult and heartless work. Shortly before the Event, devastating news toppled her from her solitary Ivory Towers. Terminally ill, the end of the world and infection was regarded as a blessing since it gave her a second chance at life and the physical prowess to match her mental capabilities.

    Now, she is dangerously cunning, quiet, straight talking and ruthless. She keeps a drawn up list of transgressions and revenge appropriate for those that have wronged her, and plans to deal with each of them on the time she has been given by the Resonance. She has no friends, only people she deems as useful or irrelevant and has an unshakable need for justice- though she is not above heartless nastiness out of spite.

    Eris is best kept on your side of the table- which unfortunately is very hard to do.
  • PERSONAL BELONGINGS
    Eris lives in a large warehouse on a former small airstrip near the harbor she has commandeered from the Resonance. Formerly a DEA location and her point of assignment, it contains a small personal jet, a helicopter, and a non-working single engine plane. She has an exclusive list of clientele she ferries for when she is in the mood, the bankroll allowing her to live the lifestyle she has become accustomed to and keep the engines running.

    Surrounded by razor wire, the large complex is a place of business, hiding a rather lavish loft above her aircraft prized possessions.

    NPC's- access to mechanics, etc. to care for her property.

STAFF APPROVED ABILITIES/SKILLS/HISTORY

  • APPROVED ABILITIES
    Sun sensitivity, frequency of feeding, speed, strength, senses, and regeneration - all the typical strengths and weaknesses of the N-infected.

    Shapeshifting- Eris has the lingering ability from post-Resonance magus mutation to take on other human forms that she is familiar with; the Event originally producing a burgeoning shape altering magus, but the assault producing a N-infected, cancer-free Sheut stripped of nearly all the previous affinity. Most effectively, she is able to shift into the form of her late fiance'; the only person she let through her arrogant shell. The more familiar she is with their form, the better the transformation. Often during her brief encounters in public she will take on another face to assist in self protection, able to hold it in place for up to six hours. It isn't without consequences, doubling the frequency in which she needs to feed and almost completely draining her N-infected physical prowess. If unrequited, the frenzy is terrible and weakness lingering. She retains no magus ability to increase the range or scope of the shifting, it is what it is... and has no hope of ever becoming more.
  • APPROVED SKILLS
    Gifted Pilot

    Basic combat, firearm and interrogation/questioning

    Extensive knowledge of drugs and drug related activities

    Multiple degrees from various universities (chemistry and aerodynamics), high IQ, genius level
  • APPROVED HISTORY
    A native of Albany, Eris was considered a child virtuoso. Blessed with a genius level intellect that reared its head very early in life, the brace-faced tiny girl was tortured in school by her peers- human interaction aspects of her education particularly excruciating. Instead of enduring the constant torment of a hopeless social life, she buried herself in pursuance of her education and becoming a pilot. She earned her basic pilot’s license at 14 and continued to refine her abilities while chewing through grade school requirements and into college credits, completely indifferent to any aspects of normal social interaction. Finishing her Bachelor’s degree by 20, she had also already been employed by the DEA as a generic special agent in pursuance of piloting as a career. Two more degrees and numerous years under her belt doing the dirty work, she landed her job in the sky.

    Shortly before the Resonance, Eris was diagnosed with terminal cancer- which she hid from her employer. Devastated, the crack in her shining future allowed someone in; the self-assured, business-like woman feeling the hammer of mortality for the first time. Recusing himself from her care when there was nothing more he could do, her oncologist became closer than anyone ever had before as she spiraled further into sickness. Missing and presumed dead after the Resonance, Eris struggled with powers from a burgeoning magus status and did whatever she could to find him... making herself a target for the new predators, and becoming one herself.

    She now has embraced her role as the predator, finding it an ironic twist of fate that someone who had been marked for death now has forever to confront all those that wronged her- and make them regret their brutality.

Profile Fields

  • Primary
    Bodhan Marin
  • All My Characters
    See Primary Character
  • Typist's Role Play History
    Since the beginning of time
  • Role Play Sample
    Soft breath moved between her lips, drawn in and out methodically before darkness was allowed to penetrate her lids. She’d been crouched for a long time in the shadows, waiting till the sun fell to scale the building, scenting the bastard... The ledge was a perfect one, just along the side of the building to shift her into nothing, hiding her until the morning; content at the moment to just watch, learn, roll plans over in her brain, make decisions.

    It would be so easy.

    Eyes reflected the meager light, swollen dark opal glowing with iridescent gleams, watching the particularly dashing elf wander across the room to select something from his bookshelf and then seat himself near the fire to read as fingers drew absently along the bough of his cello. It literally burned against her skin, lips pressing to a thin line as she watched the calm relaxation with a vivid hatred. Fingers that lingered over her knees twitched unconsciously, going through the motions as they remembered the last time she skinned an elf. The screaming, whimpering blond hadn’t been particularly dead yet at the time; a passion she’d developed when she mostly fancied the promises they would make her if she left them alive. Her own lips always asked where there were more elves, sometimes obliged, sometimes not. The last had been particularly loose lipped.. which had led her... here.

    Dark eyelashes lingered together, the deep smirk lighting up the glitter of her eyes. It had been too long. Tthe world had driven too many into hiding, her own prowess having to hunt more. Further away to places of the world she loathed going. This elf of particular interest, willing to cross the entire world to find him; and kill him. Her tribe eagerly awaited the silver braid that she would bring back on her belt.

    Fox fur swirled, tickling the edges of her cheeks from the hood drawn over her features. Now she knew where, she needed the how and when. The more she watched the angrier she became, flirting with self control, playing with her ability to bide her time, to wait. She knew the city, rather well and hated it distinctly. A memorable failure still bristled under her skin, the life she still could see in the goliath buildings something she could use and perhaps even tend again.

    In the meantime, she had decisions to make.

    Slipping from her perch, she slid a dainty pair of gray leather gloves on, wisping down the fire escape to the alley below, stepping over a slumped figure that reeked of alcohol. Taking a moment to smooth her appearance, she began her trek, short legs making fast work of the distance to her office, leather binder in one hand, sliding on her glasses. The glint of silver from the delicate chain that held them around her neck caught the light, stark against the dove gray turtle neck at her tiny throat. Footsteps behind her were heard even before they were audible. The vibration.. the scent of alcohol..

    She did look quite the target; tiny, bookwormy, barely a hundred pounds soaking wet and dressed impeccably in black slacks and boots, the silver chain at her waist over her thigh length sweater turtleneck swanky. Grey fox fur swirled as she turned, head cocked slightly at the shadow under a rusted awning. Fingers were nowhere near her hip, black eyes blinked quietly, pale pink lips calm without a smile. She shook her head slowly, the light catching the peak of her ears, finally sliding her coat back slightly to reveal a holster of some kind at her hip, the alcohol laden shadow moving back within them before she turned and finished her way.

    The steps were light, trotting up the stairs to the office and surveying the bustle, eyes lifting upward to the glass railing to scent something before spotting a seat near a conspicuously placed office door. Sitting quietly, she crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap demurely as she watched the workers, eternally patient.
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  1. Nighttime is Playtime

    "You remind me of someone..." As soon as she said it he seemed to smile, her lashes lowering slightly to suspicion. She was always suspicious. People took comments like that and could twist them to elicit reactions that would spill more than she wanted to tell. "You remind me of someone as well." Brow cocked gently. Too intimate. Their conversation was flirting the line of being too familiar. She hated people for a reason. With incredibly rare exception, they always disappointed her. Changing gears kept the conversation moving forward, but deflected the subject from spiraling deeper into her personal territory. Get him to talk about himself. "I used to. I recently started hitting the bag again. It serves to...calm me a bit. You interested in a sparring partner?" Brow quirked again, amused at the fists. Task accomplished, sort of. “I haven’t hit a bag since basic training,” she quipped, slight smile on her lips as she slid quietly down from the perch. She needed to get him back to the club; he was hosting a party after all. She’d be content to kidnap him for as long as he wanted, but it was probably not a good idea for him to play hooky from his own event for much longer. Her mission for the evening had been somewhat accomplished at this point. “Being able to flip a car prevents that necessity anymore.” There was bite behind it, a challenge maybe. “Why, you interested in getting your butt kicked?” The constant movement of air in their sky high perch had pulled locks from the pristine ponytail again. The wisps were annoying her. She pulled it out to smooth it back once more, the brief finger comb as it let loose a short glimpse at something that proved she wasn’t perfect no matter how much she would deny it, and broke the severity of her perfectly manicured public mask for a brief moment. She had once been hands on. Once. There had been a time when the wisps didn't bother her. “Which is what the outcome would be.” It was matter of fact, arms crossed quietly as he was watched through slightly narrowed eyes.
  2. Nighttime is Playtime

    He was so quiet. She hated when people were quiet. Not… quiet because she was about to eat their face, but quiet to a point she couldn’t read their mood. Or she could, and they were standing obstinate in their position. Bulls that refused to get out of each others paths. There were few out there that could do that. Nobody recently really. His nod narrowed her eyes a bit, soft sigh almost undetectable. Hands had come to rest on the railing on either side of her hips, watching her feet gently swing back and forth. It was an odd habit, not entirely because her feet didn't touch the ground. It was a fond one. An old habit… sitting off the side of a chopper in the morning gliding over foliage so thick the world seemed like a sea of deep green. Barely hooked to the plated floor by a waist harness, jump booted feet swinging lazily as she ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, drinking coffee from a mug, cursing her sidearm’s shoulder harness clinging to her torso and preventing the air from moving through a khaki button up that was already sticking to her skin from the thick air. Colombia, before the Event. Reid at the helm, silent in his disdain for her always sitting in the door like a gunner, but never mentioning it because she could take care of herself. Not many DEA agents could roll his ass to the mat in three moves, so he let her do what she wanted. Silent understanding.... she didn’t fear the consequences of her choices. The moment felt familiar and threatening at the same time. Then the hand, and her eyes sliding to watch it for a moment. Feet slowly stopped their swing, and she took it, the soft squeeze and affirmation of a brief shake. “This doesn’t mean you work for me, this means I work for you.” The revelation was well timed, and profound; she’d been waiting for some kind of commitment. “It’s my job to protect your organization, because it needs to exist in order for the world to come back to life. Your needs become my priority, and threats to your businesses are threats to me.” Her hand returned back to her purview, looking at her palm before it came to rest again next to her hip. There was a small scar there on the heel of her hand. From a coffee mug that had shattered as she took a drink. Glazed ceramic was like a razor when it broke into shards, and the shot someone had taken from beneath the canopy of the jungle was an amazing one. Meant for her skull, it’d only manage to shatter her favorite coffee cup and crack the windshield of the chopper. Side of her lip turned up. Yellow. Had a smiley face on it that said -have a nice fucking day-. She loved that mug. “You remind me of someone,” the words were quiet, not offering any more for a long moment. It was more than an observation, but clearly wasn't a bad reminiscence. They needed to leave soon, or not. She was used to doing whatever the hell she wanted, him? Well he was hosting a party at the moment after all… "My old boss from the DEA." Expression was quiet, amused, then unreadable. “Rumor has it you’re a boxer,” she slid off the railing, changing the subject, pulling out the ponytail to smooth the wayward strands back in and pull it up again in preparation for returning him to his responsibilities. She would answer more questions if he had them, but the subject would unfold as he went along. There was so much to tell, and not enough time in one night to explain it all.
  3. Nighttime is Playtime

    Blink fluttered at the laugh, almost… surprised. Nobody laughed at her. Everyone was always polite, always made wide circles, always positioning for an angle… wanting something. She blinked at him again; face truly devoid of an expression for a moment. "Of course not! If I had it all figured out, I wouldn't be taking helicopter rides to your secret rooftops to have secret conversations with you in order to learn what is going on." Nobody laughed at her… well, nobody in a really long time. No one had been brave enough to call her hand when she was running over them. His sudden position next to her brought a sharp seethe through teeth, lips pursed forward in an almost obstinate defiance as he looked up at her from his hands. Grace was breathtaking, motion noiseless, the snarl at him as she hopped down and stood opposite from him chilling. She had to put distance between them. Reaction as she glared at his transgression of coming close without permission was at extremes… suspicious, defensive, and something else that was hard to put a finger on. A long buried thorn again slithered in under her skin when the obstinate, audacious Were had laughed at her. Eyes were narrow, then confused. Her thought process was far beyond anything he could even guess. She was thinking about that. He’d just reminded her of it. It was her turn to be stoic, the small frame could look viciously formidable as it reflected back the expression he was giving her. She was still except for the small tickling locks of hair that were caught in the updraft. Fingers had closed into soft fists, the defensive stance relaxed enough to look casual but screamed underneath as if she was waiting to either attack… or be attacked. She could feel it, that rage compressed into a man. “Don’t look at me like that.” She didn’t know where it came from, the kneejerk reaction almost breathless. That. Not like that, but elicit that… prickle of long dead emotion. Mind rolled over answers to his questions. Constable meant she didn’t hate him. Constable meant she trusted him. It meant she thought he was strong enough that she didn’t have to worry about him, that he would let her know when things were a problem and she would take care of them… and vice versa. There was challenge there, woven amongst an easy humor, a quick wit and a depth of seriousness that could be drowning... mixed with the danger of a warrior beneath, the presence in front of her felt so damn familiar. She scoffed at herself lightly, the exasperated smirk incredulous at her own reaction as she glanced around at the world around them; buying her some time to sort it out. She was trying to unravel memories from this conversation that tugged at her. Memories that made her feel small, like she was still fighting in her humanity. Ignoring. Defending. The truth about what a viper she’d become. His laugh had forced a straight line to connect suddenly between her lowest point years before the Resonance, and that moment. She’d defaulted full circle back to the way she was before the Event. Bitter, arrogant, and spiteful. It was almost as if the year before it happened had never existed at all. What was going on? He’d come with her to learn what was going on and she suddenly didn’t want to tell him. What the hell had she been doing the last few months? Was it ever really about the damn liquor store? Nope. Slow breath was drawn in, hands relaxing, gaze cast over her shoulder a long moment before she closed the distance again and slid back up where she was before. Turning carefully toward him, she tucked her foot under her thigh, leaning elbows on her knees to intertwine her fingers. Eyes cast downward into the seeming chasm just past the railing, then squinted up at him a moment. “Asking you to be in a position in the Nation means I’m tired of being by myself. I need to spend time with someone that gets it. This… rage and refinement all compressed into one. Somebody that I choose, not those that I have to deal with by association. I’m being told I have to build alliances and relationships in my territory. I didn’t ask to be Viceroy. I was told, and because I have unwavering respect for the man that put me here I didn’t argue. Being forced… to build relationships with groups when I can’t even stand to be around people is torture.” Voice was quiet, not a shred of anything else but truth in it. It was a gamble, the calm before the storm if he even so much as snickered at the drop in defenses. Cautious. The teeth ready to bare in an instant. “You’re not torture. You get it. That’s why I asked you.” There were other reasons, but… baby steps.
  4. Nighttime is Playtime

    She wasn’t used to having to talk. The people she surrounded herself with knew her moods, her facial expressions, the intricacies of body language, and anticipated needs without question. That’s why she hated people, they didn’t read their surroundings well; or other subtleties. The Sheut didn’t like explaining herself, or getting people caught up into the loop. The Were was hovering dangerously close at the outer rim of her tolerance; enough of a kindred spirit to be let in… but not enough to curb the press of a top lip over canines at the snap of his growl. It was her turn for rage to press undetected against her skin, effortlessly, refined, she had mastered its control to use as a weapon a long time ago- and look calm doing it. She too, was a monster. As elegantly as she could be wrapped up in her favorite vintage designer wear, she could just as quickly soak it with blood. She was completely at peace with her penchant for violence. There was nothing she shied away from. Hackles remained up, even as the sudden anger from her guest slid away- his huff definitely caused a narrow of her eyes. Perhaps she gave him too much credit. This was why she rarely extended her hand or made contact. She was too often disappointed. “You wish to leverage Bakkhos’ initiatives in keeping peace and order around the city? Squash the bugs that you encounter since we’re ‘doing it anyway’ is that it?” Head tilted slightly to the side at him, like a cat trying to decide whether or not to tolerate someone with indifference or snap out claws. He was rolling completely in the wrong direction. “As far as Satyr goes, that is all Matteo. I can recommend your suggestion about keeping Sheut Ka out of the arena. I have as much authority of the happenings in Satyr as Matteo has in Thyrsus…which is almost none…but I can see what he says. For the moment, I’ll leave out your almost-veiled threat.” She knew it was all Matteo, and fuck his buck passing. The brutes influenced each other; any claim to the contrary was pure bullshit. This was no suggestion, she would rip the fucking vampires to pieces- or the Executioner would do it for her. “You need to tell me more about your organization and what its goals are. Vast and inevitable threats? Like what, exactly? Don’t try to tempt me with ambitiously reaching for power and all that. I may hold a powerful position in a powerful organization, but my thirst for power is not insatiable. If you are trying to dangle a carrot, that is the wrong one.” Really. “I suspect ‘constable’ has a specific meaning in your organization. Please tell me what that means. I have more questions, but I think you can address what I’ve asked first.” The Sheut was quiet for a long time, the edge of a tacet grin on her features, both hands moving to either side of her hips on the railing. Her expression had slipped into its unreadable place even though her eyes held amusement. Not mocking, or scoffing… but internally irritated. It was one of her talents to look so unintimidating when her muscles were itching to launch at someone. It was a constant fight. Before, when she didn’t have the power she possessed now, she threw herself into situations and came out with bloody noses and bullet holes. Now that she did, she was finding more and more reasons to hold back. Screw this Viceroy crap. If she wasn’t inherently loyal to Ausar, she’d be invisible with her fine wine and designer shoes in an ivory tower somewhere that only could be approached by her Koala. “You think you have it all figured out.” Sigh was quiet, eyes finding far away twinkling lights for a moment. She was annoyed, angry… and tired. Tired of bullshit, and it seemed lately like that was all that was driving her. Everyone had a damn agenda it seemed, except her. She was powerful, had money... of course the world thought she had an agenda. Eyes slid slightly to the side as he got closer. He was a brave little toaster, coming into her bubble uninvited. Her fingers tapped on the railing in rhythmic succession a few times, for a moment seeming as if she was going to jump down to find a more comfortable distance. Glance was cast over her shoulder at him finally, the fact her pupils were always dilated making her gaze almost innocent looking. It made her that much more dangerous. If the world thought you quiet, they underestimated you. She was sure he saw through that. “Do you?” Her intentions… wants… oddly seemed so readable because she was hard to read. She passed facts off as requests, and constants off as consideration. People rarely looked past the surface to realize they weren’t threats or ultimatums. They were exactly what she was going to do; he just hadn’t figured it out yet. She was going to remove the vampires from Satyr; whether from their decision or her hand. If necessary she’d walk into the locker room and tear them to pieces, preferably just before the fight to make sure she’d fuck up as much of the owner’s mood and money as she could muster out of pure spite. But, she also was going to shoulder the storm if Glamis caught wind of their fights- which was a terrible burden to bear when the Sheut was raining down on you. Bakkhos wasn’t useful… it was vital to sustaining the regrowth of a civilized corner of the world. They didn't have to do anything, they just needed to survive. He thought they would be working for her, be a machine to her wants. She in turn, was vital to their survival. She was quiet in her thoughts as she glared at him, the depth of her gaze and her absolute stillness unnerving. Contrary to popular belief, vampires did breath… and were alive. They were just good at not looking it. Slow breath finally made her shoulders move... she was fighting the urge at the moment to tear him apart. He'd done nothing other than butt heads, and she was not fond of being questioned. She blinked finally and looked out beyond her metal beast, surveying the twinkling night. She would contemplate on whether or not to answer his questions for a moment more. “Constable means that I don’t hate you, and I hate everybody.” she took another breath and reached up to pull the wisps that had worked their way from the polished ponytail behind her ear. “You don't get much beyond the city, do you? Midwest. West Coast. Britain?”
  5. Nighttime is Playtime

    She wasn’t sure if he seemed to think she was joking, or in a joking mood… or something else. Narrowed lashes sincerely hoped it was not this obsession of thinking her stature made her “cute”. She was not a cute elf-like creature. Stupid fucking small frame… made people under estimate her, but kept them thinking they could still treat her that way after they knew she could kick their asses. Her “payload” delivered with pure business, she wasn’t expecting much. Either he would tell her to go fuck herself and to take him home, or he would listen. If he was prudent, and smart, he would listen. Though she would have no qualms making a few calls to her moose brother to selectively take out her problems… she would much rather do it herself. Slapped on the wrist recently for lashing upstart heseks to the east fence of her compound in the mornings to let them burn in order to loosen their tongue, it didn’t deter her from still taking care of business if she had to. It just bothered her that she had to make that decision, his expression leading her to believe he was seriously pondering what she’d said. After a few moments of his silence, her eyes narrowed… the dangerous zone to those that knew her. She didn’t want to be forced into this corner, for reasons she couldn’t put her finger on yet. That was what pissed her off more. Why did she give two shits whether or not she may have to selectively gut Bakkhos. She didn’t. She shouldn’t, but for some reason she did. It was a healthy organization, which meant she didn’t have to build it. Approaching them one at a time was necessary, it gave her the ability to see what they knew, gauge their interest, and decide if they needed to live or die. "Go on." His grin pissed her off. Was it normal for Weres to be reckless? She wasn’t quite sure yet which to call it. Reckless or fearless. Head cocked slightly to one side, fingers tapping on the railing as she drew a long breath, demeanor as quiet as his. Maybe a bit of both with this one… “Bakkhos is useful to me. It’s powerful, it’s respected It keeps itself in check, and for the most part any upstarts that threaten its power are squashed. If you take care of our trespasser issue, I won’t have to, and you’ll re-cement your holdings and status in the city. I've no doubt you do this all the time.” Dark eyes closed a moment, as she scented the air that had rifled up the side of the building. The warmth of her dinner was starting to wear off. “Bakkhos keeps me from having to worry about New York. The threats that surround us are vast, and inevitable, and you allow me to keep my attention on them so they don’t bleed here. They are serious, and they could end the life we've been able to put back together.” Trolls in Ohio. Tech rumors in Detroit. A budding pirate threat up the east coast with the outworlder issue. Ferries full of outworlders boarded and sunk. Black market on the southern fronts. A pissed off, powerful elf fae whatever crossing through her territory and doing business in it that was rabid about the outworlder deaths. “My question is how far do you want your family’s reach to go? What would you be willing to do to keep it safe, and in power for as long as you wish it to be?” She needed constables. She knew she’d needed constables for a long time. Adrian was constantly bitching at her about it. The rest expected it, and the petite Sheut didn’t like being told she couldn’t do it all on her own. She didn’t trust people, and she didn’t want their help. Matteo was a brute, Lucky was a moron. Gaspari, was just living the dream. Carmine... Strollo.... made her head hurt. But Tom, Tom was a gentleman. All gentlemen had extremes; it was the power to control the extremes that gave them the right to call themselves gentlemen. He was powerful, and he was dedicated to a powerful organization. Constables within Bakkhos were a perfect choice, and a mutual benefit. Plus, he was growing on her. When she pushed, he pushed back. “To keep my hands from having to bring down a hammer, you have to pull the vampires from Satyr. Make it a scandal that people were pretending to be vampires, I don’t care. Any press is good press. Vampires, the gauche vernacular, do not exist. Cannot exist in public knowledge. You do that and I can keep you off the Nation radar for the immediate moment.” Again, the unreadable face. “You don’t, and I will have to do it myself.” She was serious, and she didn’t elaborate on how it was to be done, she didn’t need to. Her instinct was to get rid of the first round of fighters. Nobody would touch the place after that kind of tragedy, it would be a temporary set-back for Bakkhos, and a big pain in the ass for her because it would cause a ripple effect… but secrecy of Sheut Ka had to take precedent. “I don’t want to.” There it was. “I don't want you to be someone they tell me I have to damage, or kill.” She truly didn’t want to, he was part of the wild, like her. Refined and infinitely dangerous. In the end of the world she wanted the strong to survive. Some saw the powerful as a threat, she saw them as allies. The Sheut was infinitely loyal to Ausar, there were others though that had power over her that would never be in her good graces. Detested. Would kill if she could. Adrian, was one. Brow pursed down under the rich chestnut swipe of hair across her forehead, a barely there lift to the corner of her lip, it was almost… affection. “I'd rather have you as my first constable. They won’t be pleased you’re a Were but I don’t care what they think anyway…” The purse of her lips and glance cast out to the city betrayed she really didn’t give a rat's ass what they thought. “You’d still be whatever it is you do in Bakkhos, you would have knowledge of our moves and you can keep your people informed. You would also let me know what I need to keep an eye on. I understand if Gaspari needs to be in the loop. I would expect it.” There was more he needed to know about the organization and she needed his approval first, but that was the gist. “But I don't want to deal with Gaspari. I want to deal with you. Only you.” Yah, she’d said that out loud. If people asked, she hated everyone. There were a few she tolerated. A little. Fingers tapped again, eyes cast back to him. "Because you're interesting," she added, the small sentence with the hint of a smile catching a glint of fang for the first time. It was one of the reasons she didn't like to smile. Canines were like goosebumps, reacting to extremes- he was in an extreme at the moment, and she didn't want to admit it was something she couldn't control.
  6. Nighttime is Playtime

    She could almost feel the quirk in his eyebrow. Humans seemed to lack the attentiveness to notice subtleties without them being thrown in their faces, she’d learned even as a human to read even the smallest glance. Her life and the lives of those on her team had depended on it. Expressions changed the way a person breathed, held their body, it was why she was so unreadable most of the time. There were few left with the focus to notice. He was being cautious, and at the same time comfortable with her. He had good instincts. If she felt someone was worthy enough of her protection, she would viciously defend them. However, as much as she was loathe to admit it, she did really answer to a higher authority. Question was, would she turn the cheek to take the hit if it ever came to that. Did he “fit” into the criteria of her ”family”? They were all unique, a collection of irreplaceable souls if there ever were. Expression neutralized as he looked at her. “Only those closest to me and whom I trust.” She reached up and pulled her headset off, hanging it sharply on the hook. Eyes had already found the helipad she was looking for and had lowered slightly for approach. Even in the most secure of places, the coms off, and the ground a thousand feet below… she still didn’t trust anything but her own voice in the free air. If her removal of the headset hadn’t been an obvious signal to stop talking, the touchdown on the roof of a skyscraper probably was. It was hers. She owned the top ten floors- all of which were empty. It was a depot for high paying clients to be picked up or dropped off to save drive time- or others she didn’t want in her compound. Graceful fingertips hit a code on her control and the helipad changed to a low lit blue glow, completely locking off the deck unless she hit the code again. “Out,” she quipped without the headset. As the rotors ended their rhythmic hum and lulled to sleep for the moment, she hopped from the cockpit, sleek ponytail flipping like a whip in the updraft. Footsteps were completely silent, lack of heels revealing how petite she was while still managing to look formidable. Again the partial retreat as she moved away from her beast to the edge of the deck, hands on her hips, breathing in the updraft and darkness of the towering building over the city, waiting for him to get out. One could see everything from their vantage point, and it was the only true place to have a conversation that nobody could overhear. Hands went to the railing, tapping quietly before pushing up and turning to him with lowered lashes. Lips stayed closed for a moment, wanting so much to lash forth everything he was flirting with. Hands went back to her hips, profile soft as she looked out over the miles that faded into black darkness. The entire world was a muffled silence, only the decaying hum from the engine and the sound of air moving across ears. She didn’t even know where to start, hands slid from her hips to her sides, the expression on her features again in that place that was unreadable… “Thomas Gallo, I am the Viceroy of the East American Alliance of the Sheut Nation. I am responsible for any and all territorial actions under its purview, including determining whether or not you and Bakkhos, Bakkhos territorial skirmishes and the Satyr Stadium’s dealings are a threat the to the greater stability of our world interests.” It sounded so, fucking… god she sounded like the damn executioner. There was no more subtlety around it; the getting close to them via closed door meetings, tolerating Mythos being part of the family, making amends for damage done to their property. It wasn’t all just business, it was responsibility, but the carpet was definitely now rolled out to reveal she had an ulterior motive. Everyone did. The reasoning hovering above it rang out incredibly clear; she was buffering them for now from greater problems at potentially great cost to herself. Bakkhos was orderly, they were quiet, they took care of their own problems and others with great efficiency. They were useful. But. The skirmishes and ambushes on her compound were a problem. Satyr was a problem. Resurgence of old mob wars were a problem. They were a threat to the Nation, and she had to silence them. Face softened slightly, the dip in her brow betraying it had been gotten out of the way. Hands slid quietly into her pockets, and again the cast glance to her shoulder to cool her eyes on the darkness beyond. The Capo had definitely gotten under her skin. Kindred souls perhaps. The deep breath allowed the unique power of his presence to really penetrate her skin for the first time, smashing against her own psyche in an obstinate stalemate for a moment before her entire demeanor softened and she let it wash through her like the updrafts themselves. Where most may have found it threatening or terrifying, she found it oddly comforting; made to feel safe perhaps because something out there existed that could attempt successfully to protect her or her family. She had no more need to hold her cards close to her chest at this point, and she was done with the cryptic conversations. It was a strange place to be, a toe dipping into the waters beyond her compound and her tiny circle... but that's how empires were made, right? She just couldn't shoot someone in the face anymore when they were a threat like her job in the DEA. Plus, she liked him. Oddly enough the big brute was charming. Hands pulled from her pockets, reaching behind her to pull herself up to sit on the railing. Legs crossed demurely as she balanced precariously above the city like it was the most natural thing in the world. Nothing but free fall behind her, she managed to make the unthinkable look as graceful as sitting at the bar in his club. “Now that that’s out of the way I can tell you what I really want to say, if you want to hear it.”
  7. Nighttime is Playtime

    So, the Resonance turned you into a mage...only to immediately be turned into a Sheut Ka? Is that what a vampire is truly called? I suppose there is quite a bit about that portion of our new, wonderful world that I don't know about yet. Lips pursed, then became thoughtful. “No,” she didn’t elaborate for a moment, eyes moving again to the same gauge as before. “I am a mage and a Sheut. I was not infected by the trash that was preying on the dying, I was chosen by the Sheut that watched me kill him. I was given a gift because even in the end of my life I refused to die on anyone else's terms but mine.” There was something there, bitterness, combined with vulnerability maybe, she was hard to read… an odd recollection of a very poignant time of her life. She’d refused to die, even at the end of the world, even when the trash had broken her brittle bones in attempts to strike fear, course adrenaline into the blood he would take from her. She’d refused. “By my oncologist,” it was quiet, then the slight reminiscent smile came. “The doctor that had been watching me fight for my life for a year, was the one that turned me after I killed the thing that tried to murder me. The mage perks just stuck around.” The man was more than she could ever explain to the Capo. Old. Ancient. Someone special in the world of the Sheut that she’d fought to save when the world went to utter shit. It was her refusal to let him die that had landed her in Ausar’s good graces, and the position she held now… and the fact her obstinacy was tolerated by those that could soon as smite her than look at her. The fact you could be “infected” and a mage was unheard of. Some, very few, could cling to something before they were infected. For whatever reason, she had been cursed with both. Because she was so close to death? She never knew why both had stuck. “Sheut are not new world... but that’s also what we are up here to talk about.” …but it also was a give and take. Divulging personal matters not many understood or were brave enough to hear opened doors and built alliances. Plus, something about him just got under her skin. She couldn’t put her finger on it yet. The night of the Resonance, I changed. When the world had gone to hell, so did I. The Event introduced me to the Beast and informed me that I had a new, permanent partner in all of my dealings. The dark eyes moved back to him a moment to watch as he shared his truths. He definitely didn’t like his truths. He reminded her so much of someone she used to know. Ghosts. Long breath was drawn and her eyes went back on the path ahead. “You didn’t go to hell, you defined your new normal. We accepted who we were because we knew no other existence. If you would have been born a Were, then became a man… you’d be just as conflicted as you are now.” It was delivered with such certainty with the world. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel the same polarity, she just wasn’t… trying to be anything else than the devil that she was. She couldn’t ever go back, so there was no use fighting it. One aspect of my condition that I don't reveal to many...I'll share with you. I was one of the first. I was never bitten. I don't know if there is some sort of scientific...or perhaps mystic differentiation between the bitten and the...awakened I'll call them. I have noticed, however, that other weres seem to have a much different experience from my own. That was an interesting revelation. Very, very interesting. Every qualm she’d had about enlightening him in the ways of the world was now gone. He was unique, more than a magus, or another infected Sheut. He was part of the Nevus, or touched by it. There was no doubt. Face was unreadable. He was in her territory. She’d be praised for this. Then the calm soured a bit. She reached up and turned the connection off with the ground. They couldn't call out, and nobody could call in...not that anybody had been eavesdropping, it was safety only... but now they were isolated. They could only hear each other. It was like the thought of her dragon being accosted by her own. Where he fascinated her to no end, he would not be fascinating to the others. He’d be a weapon. Or property. Or an experiment, a zoo exhibit. Eyes narrowed slightly, then relaxed. “I didn’t hear that.” It was matter-of-fact, and undeniably a nudge to never mention it again. It also spoke volumes that what and who she belonged to was more far reaching than he could ever imagine. She didn’t mention her dragon to the collective, because she liked Johann. Her personal trio were immune to the collective because she refused to let them touch her people. The petite Sheut could definitely have a soft spot for those that were unique. Outcasts perhaps. Tom. She wasn’t sure what he was to her yet, or why she cared, but his confession definitely bubbled a protectiveness that was reserved for almost nobody. Toby, because he was a stray. Would have been killed, she refused to let them kill him. Ahanu and Mouse, had saved her life. Johann, because he had an old soul, and was still so sincere… and a fucking dragon. Tom was touched by the Nevus. The same long breath was pulled in and exhaled slowly. This changed so much. It was huge, and she had decisions to make regarding it. Eyes watched him a moment before traveling across her gauges to monitor like a good pilot. The night had taken a really, really significant turn. If she had been anywhere but in the air, in her calm… “Who else knows about that?” The question was quiet, almost concerned... and there it was. The weird little flicker in her chest that reminded her she'd just taken a step that she couldn't turn back from.
  8. Nighttime is Playtime

    Rapid-fire, since I'm sure you don't really want to talk about this bit, so let's get it out of the way. When did you change? What sort of folklore things are true and what is nonsense? Smirk was half on her features at the wink, settling back into her calm a moment. Unusually silent. Of all things… business, money, monopolies, power, chess moves, he asked about that? It wasn’t sore, but it wasn’t exactly something she spoke of often either. Divulging personal things always gave someone fodder for something… always. “We’re infected, like you. Same idea, different flavor,” voice was soft through the com, a quality to the headsets that made it hard to make a play at hiding the tone of one’s voice. What you heard, was what was there. “Sun is bad. We have to eat daily. I’m stronger than you, maybe faster, but don’t heal as quickly. Everything else is… fairytales. We’re alive. We breathe. Can eat normal food though we don’t need it. Some of us have residual magus power.” She didn’t elaborate, but it was left to the positive that she was one of the “some”. She pulled them up a bit further, tilting the beast slightly to start the lap around the city. It was something she never would have thought about anywhere else, the type of memory that could be paralyzing, or enraging. He had asked, and she had promised. If anything came out of this, it would definitely be a seed planted to discover if she could completely trust him. On one hand, she hoped he would fail and she would have a reason to go after him. On the other, it was almost cathartic to have someone next to her that she felt really “got it”. The rage that only disappeared in certain places, with certain circumstances. “I was infected during the first Event,” she was quiet a moment. Odd how one could remember a voice, but faces slid into memory so easily. “Stationed in South America. I had terminal cancer, but something was changing in my blood. I could feel it move, feel every nerve and muscle. My oncologist… said it was nothing. A Sheut Ka was preying on the dying in the hospital, taking advantage of the growing chaos, and I refused to let him take me out. I would die on my terms. When I die, it will always be on my terms. But, in the fight... Whatever magus I would have become, was gone then… and now I’m this.” The dark lashes had lowered slightly, watching the twinkle of the river before opening again to look up at a switch. Alone, she wasn’t abrasive or arrogant, she was simply- calm. Reflective. Sure, it wasn’t part of the deal… but… “what about you?”
  9. Nighttime is Playtime

    Her psyche was finally somewhat calming to an acceptable level. The world outside her razor wire made her want to kill everyone, and everything… and sometimes she did, the level to which she had to depend on the world to sustain her and Toby’s lives was an unfair circle of hell. Some days it ground her patience into dust like a mortar and pestle, some days it was an outlet for brutality she’d not been able to use her entire life to release the raging pressure of revenge. There were times she wondered why she even entertained to continue to exist when she’d been fearless into death. Maybe there was a shred of humanity deep in her core somewhere, some kind of twinkle that wasn’t irritated, or arrogant, or standoffish. The feel under her fingers of thousands of pounds of metal and power helped to focus those thoughts. The scent of blood she couldn’t drink reminded her she wasn’t immortal. …conditioned demeanor compartmentalized and pushed to the side for a little while at least. She didn’t have to defend herself here, in her world. “Never wear silver jewelry again. It stinks.” In her clicks and flips of switches, she’d almost forgotten he was there if not for the scent of his blood. Smile was genuine, amused, “but it’s my favorite necklace.” Voice hummed before the graceful hands pushed the limits of over-torquing the guts of the beast as it fired and came alive, unsure if he’d even heard her. One minute and thirty seconds or less and she would be in the sky. “Pendant at least,” she didn’t elaborate, the tiny opal pendant on the long slithering chain was always close to her skin somehow… unless it was on a silver chain and she was feet from a Were. Opals were perfect, powerful. All the colors and internal fire. They were also deceptively fragile, the perfect dissonance that described her entire existence. Someday she would crack, all that fire would come pouring out, and it wouldn't be able to be healed- or stopped. She seemed to breathe in relief as the skids lost touch with the world that everyone else was chained to. Almost immediately the pad beneath them dimmed and they were left in almost complete darkness save for the glow of her controls and the city. What looked liked tangled strings of white Christmas lights sprawling away from them in every direction quickly came into view the higher they lifted. It was breathtaking, and felt free. “I learned to fly when I was fourteen. Spent every moment from then on in the sky away from the world. People are horrible creatures. Dominant, willing to eat their own in order to feel superior. Vicious to each other when they’re not being completely selfish.” Silence fell for a moment, starting the small tour that would take them completely around the city. Her control of the machine was almost graceful, gentle even. But, there was limited time for his questions… and her willingness to answer them. She couldn't stay in the sky forever. “It was the only way I could escape, it's still the only way I can escape.” Dark eyes cast to the side slightly to watch him before returning to the sky in front of her , the seemingly permanent but noble scowl was gone. A soft calm had replaced it, much more fitting to the petite frame… almost natural. "Releases the pressure, the need for violence that constantly grinds on my bones."
  10. Nighttime is Playtime

    Lashes lowered slightly at his reaction to her joke. He was so careful to be a gentleman even though he knew full well she could just brush off moodiness as a Were thing. The businessman seemed to have spent a lot of time finding the edge of control that kept the world safe, and him somewhat sane in his predicament. "It makes little difference to me. Surprise me." Her chuckle was genuine, but quiet. “That’s a risky statement with me,” she said softly as she followed, sincerely relieved that whatever his odd mojo was it kept the room from bumping into her. The Viceroy hated people. They were evil, ungrateful, selfish, greedy little things and she could never in a million years do what he did. Individuals, she could learn to like. Individuals, could be intelligent. Society as a whole, needed its proverbial teeth kicked in. She slid quietly into the sleek vehicle, legs crossed rather demurely and hands folded on her thigh. No interest was paid to the seatbelt. She could flip the damn thing, there was nothing that car could do that would kill her except… explode maybe? Fingers went to slide the ponytail over her shoulder as he got in, leaning against it would tug at it. Such an odd need to be perfect in public. "I know approximately where your airstrip is, but you'll have to navigate more specifically as we get closer." She gave directions, but otherwise rode in silence. She had a tension headache from the crowd in the club. She wasn't sure how he managed. Past where the neighborhoods started to feel abandoned, the buildings began to disappear, opening up to flat ground for almost a mile and an incredible view of the reawakening city along the river. A dimly lit area next to the water was surrounded by chain link topped with razor wire and inside it a vast, empty tarmac. On the side closest to the water was the hangar. Clean, impeccably cared for. The whole compound itself was not well lit, a single street light over the main entrance gate, the tarmac incredibly dark, and a lone exterior light on the building. If not for evidence of being cared for, it looked empty… the shadows and shapes unable to be seen in the darkness anyone’s guess as to what they were unless lit by daylight. Her orders to her people were always simple, don’t attract attention. It was an unassuming place, but a strategic one at that- with treasures inside the spacious hangar that most hadn’t been able to salvage, let alone know how to fly. Phone was retrieved as they neared the gate, a code entered, the gate sliding to one side and back into place after they’d gone through. The gate was heavily secure, but it wasn't the only thing keeping the place secure. There were no less that two pairs of eyes on them at any given time, and at least one through the sight of a rifle. “Straight into the hangar,” she said quietly. “You can park in there.” It was her turn to be welcoming into her world. He parted seas of people and moved what seemed like mountains, she ran a world that worked like clockwork without a glance and ruled the sky. The large door opened slightly in the center to reveal a low light inside, then smoothly began to pull apart. The glint of a Cessna could be seen in the shadow, with another plane under repair in the far corner. Toby was already making his way down a set of stairs from her loft inside the hangar, small vintage Coach duffle in one hand. “Welcome to my castle,” lips pursed in a quirked smirk as Toby opened the door for her and handed her the duffle. She in turn slipped the silver chain from around her neck and handed it to him. The petite vampire hadn’t forgotten, just didn’t have anywhere to put it until now. This was not the intended outcome for the evening. “You can leave the keys in it, the car will be safe, follow me.” It was her turn to lead the way, back up the stairs in the hangar, past the main loft to the catwalk and up to a door. She could move in heels with an ethereal grace, pushing the door open to inhale a fresh updraft that tossed her sleek ponytail to the side. Code was punched at the door and the running lights on the deck lit up, illuminating the black sleek beast of a helicopter in front of them. She stopped at the cockpit, setting the bag down on the seat and removing her shoes one at a time, replacing them with matching Coach Mary Janes and putting the bag with her heels behind the seat. Oddly enough, without the heels she looked just as fashionable, but it was now painfully obvious how petite she was and still managed to look formidable. She opened the side door for him. “After you,” smile was oddly relaxed. Her entire demeanor had changed. “Put the headset on and buckle up. Any last requests?”
  11. Nighttime is Playtime

    Lips pursed in a thoughtful expression, much like an indifferent feline; contemplating the world and how to murder everything in it while staying sleek and polished. In reality she was drawing attention away from the canines that had descended. It was an art form, practiced and rehearsed to perfection. The growl from him jumped a snap from hers that never made sound. What an awful, awful dangerous pair they were. His smile when she asked if he wanted to leave the party perked up a corner of her lip. “I would like that. I think you and I have much to discuss. Besides, the pheromones, sweat, vomit, and other party smells are going to be noxious soon.” Her smirk preceded a soft, knowing nod of her head, the same thrumming on her skin like a calm heavy rain starting up again as he neared. “It was already noxious when I got out of the car. Clubs and parties are a bit distracting to me,” fingers slid into her pocket to remove the phone. “Good thing I ate before I arrived.” Canines quietly snapped together once nonchalantly, the comment and click of her teeth delivered as a very dry yet obvious joke. She did have a sense of humor, especially when the weight was off and she didn’t have to hide. But it was menacingly accurate. This many people in a small space looking to get laid made blood hot, the smell indescribable. Like a room full of every flavored chocolate in existence to a hungry stomach. “Care to ride with me to our destination?” “Best plan I've heard all day,” she answered, pressing a button on speed dial. Toby picked it up on the first ring, he must have been expecting another call for pick-up. “Sweep the deck and turn the Cessna, going up.” Toby’s response was questioning, it was unusual for her to ask for both to be prepped unless there was a job scheduled. He was not an experienced pilot and Ahanu was obviously not returning with her at the moment. “Guest’s choice, possible new client,” she finished, snapping it shut and sliding it back into her pocket. It was also to give the Were a "proper tour" of her little fortress that seemed to be of interest to rivals at the moment, and a chance to see which of her prized possessions was more comfortable for him. She had things nobody else did. She had access, quick access, to places in the world that now were off limits to almost everyone still alive. She was also the only pilot known to actually have the balls to fly in and out of those places. "Helicopter or private jet... whatever suits your fancy." The Koala was lower, less pressure, easier to take off and land from the helo-pad… but her Cessna was smooth, graceful. She fancied a little hair tossing from her Koala at the moment, but it was up to him. For her, any flying would do… it allowed her to breathe, away from the city stink and even the constant presence of other people. She could open the doors, let in the night air. Of course, completely up to him. Her demeanor had changed almost on a dime. People, she hated. Flying... flying was a world she ruled like no other, and it was decisively one of the only things that gave her joy. “Lead the way,” she nodded.
  12. Nighttime is Playtime

    Picking up body language had allowed her to survive this long. Even from her brace-faced teenager days, she knew when to cut bait and leave before she got beat up for refusing to do somebody's homework, or lean into discomfort because it was that important to find the line. In the DEA a world ago, it meant the difference between life and death, a deal going south, when to pull the trigger and when to take the finger off and keep it on point. He seemed to not like being told he was out of the loop. It wasn't unexpected in his surrounding responsibilities and place in his family, but he understandably definitely seemed to not enjoy being reminded. Her demeanor fell into complete calm when his eyes closed again. It was like a vibration, a hum that buffered against her bones from an unheard subsonic sound. Again the itch at her canines, lashes lowered. He was so interesting when so few people were. A creature with a facade, and secrets underneath. Humans had struggles, secrets... but not like this. It was like looking into a mirror, and it was fascinating. As amiable as her thoughts were toward him, toward the encounters, something snapped them back. She'd caught herself actually enjoying his company, her self-yank back to reality like a choke chain. Eris London didn't spend time with anyone. Tolerance led to trust, trust led to friendship, and friendship led to... weakness. His smile was met with the cool indifference of Eris London, Viceroy, the look that others read as arrogant and often the precursor to a vicious attack, or a declaration of "war". "I take it your days of sunbathing on the beach are over?" Thoughts wrestled with themselves, settling on "done"; visibly in an elegant way, dark eyes watching the deep sky beyond the windows for a long moment. Scolding herself silently. She should never have come. Tolerance, trust, friendship... all weaknesses. She didn't want to look at him. Too charming, too sharp. Did he think he was being coy? She was pissed because he had beat her to the punch? No, another layer of restraint tightened the shackle on her own ankle and yanked the choke chain on herself harder. She didn't care about him. Let him stick his damn nose into a world he was clearly not afraid of, he'd get bitten. No. A long inhale was drawn and pushed out just as calmly. Her wall had finally been hit, a freight train of a Were slamming into an unshakable and immovable mountain that was now pushing back. Not just a wall, but a wall that could press back against every force known to earth. Every pair of eyes from the club that had been watching in curious fascination as the two sat alone on the patio seemed to pepper her skin with needling irritation. It was like they were mocking her. She was in a zoo. A tiger seen with another tiger, circling each other in vicious curiosity. Every observer feeling the electricity, waiting for something to happen. Gossiping. Their whispers touching her ears, every cable that kept her restrained snapped taught as eyes slid from face to face in the crowd beyond the patio. Hormones, phoermones, bravado, aggressiveness, passiveness, sweat. She could clear half the club before they knew what had happened and how much blood was spilling. "Bravo." Eyes were still on the thick crowd in the club proper, the single word articulated keenly in such a way that the glint of agitated canines were truly real, a single word response only. Phone slid from her pocket, thumb hitting one number to speed dial as it held to her ear. She still hadn't looked at him, the hum on her skin reminding her constantly that he was still there. She knew his limits, she just didn't trust him when she was pushing hers. He couldn't be demanded to leave because it was not her compound. She hadn't spoken to him other than a terse recognition of his correct assumption. It meant she'd have to make a decision whether or not to continue. The fact was, she needed to. She didn't want to. She want to talk about rum, and bourbon. Planes. The modern decor. The prop plane that was so close to getting back into the air now that Evie could machine the parts. "Time to leave," voice was low to Toby over the phone. "Pick me up, Ahanu is staying with the car. You know what, nevermind, I'll find my way home." Phone snapped shut and she slid it into her pocket. She was pissed because she had to bring him into a fold she would have to protect him within. If the Sheut didn't want him in it anymore, or he stepped wrong, either her moose of a brother or herself would have to solve the problem. She would never let Gabriel do it. She liked him. He got her. He understood her without having to explain it to him. He had the audacity to say no to her without fear. He was unique, but there would be a time she might be asked by authority beyond her to shut him up, or teach him a lesson... and the thought of it coiled anger she rarely felt. "I have to go," she slid down from the stool. "I'll call you when I catch my mice. Thank you for your hospitality." She needed air, and she needed it now. A caged creature that had no problem being impulsive whenever she chose, unable to do so, was dangerous; and the fact she was unwilling to put him in a position to cover for her violence only pissed her off more. She couldn't look back, she didn't want to look back- the icy false exterior would be completely betrayed just by looking at him, eyes scanning the patio for another way to leave. She would have to go through the crowd, or find a way off the patio to walk the streets back home. "Quickest way to the street, please," words were quiet, turning back halfway across the room to slide her hands casually in her pockets. The distance helped, but not much, the long inhale to calm almost finding the words to form an explanation. He'd been nothing but kind. He deserved an explanation. Lower lip was rolled through razor canines, choosing her next words carefully. Not a chance in hell he would, but she would anyway when she got back. She had to. Re-center herself. The sky was her calm. She could talk there, focused. Time to fix this, he'd seen a crack in her armor. "Nevermind," lips pursed tightly, dead seriousness on her features as she closed her eyes, shook her head and erased everything from the last ten seconds. This could be done, this could be done to Bakkhos benefit, and hers. New business forged. Disaster averted. "You want to see your pride and joy party from another angle? You can ask anything, but not while in here. I'll have you home before curfew, promise... with all the answers you need, and a new business proposition. Come up with me in the Koala..."
  13. Nighttime is Playtime

    "That is where you are wrong. I can, have, and likely will again...spill blood in defense of Roderick." She smiled, she really did, even in the face of his anger. It was rare, and genuine, almost reveling in the rage that was in the aura around him. There was clearly more to Ahanu’s story she was not interested in divulging at the immediate moment. “Of that I have no doubt.” "Roderick is a good kid. I bet Ahanu and he will have a great time. As I'm sure you have surmised, I don't particularly...enjoy...surprises." “Neither do I,” answer was precise. “But they happen. That’s always the struggle with creatures like us isn’t it? Deciding how much of ourselves we can allow to leak out versus how much strength we have to hold it in. Yours waxes and wanes with the moon. Mine, is always a shackle on my ankle.” It wasn’t an attempt to poke the bear, per se… she was testing his limits. Watching expressions, body language, gauging what she could get away with, what she couldn’t, and where she would have to step in if there was ever a moment of confrontation or lack of control. There was a reason he was not in the loop yet. Gaspari, Carducci. They were altered. Had control at every moment. Lucky? Lucky was just a dick she didn’t give two shits about. But Gallo, Gallo was a wild card. Her experience with Weres usually ended up with her either killing them first, or killing them second. Control seemed to be his thing, but he had definitive edges, and Roderick seemed to be a part of that… not yet sure quite how. Eyes narrowed slightly, watching the mangling of the ring with calm interest, feeling the itch of her canines which decided that very moment to say hello. Damn it. Her senses were on alert, anger, hunger, any extreme emotion could trigger them but she had just found the level of boil he needed to exude to punch them out of her. She was going to have to watch her words carefully. He was observant, but she could hide them. She was a master at putting a façade over what she was thinking. Elbows leaned on the counter, hands intertwining as she propped her chin on her knuckles to watch him wrangle with himself. Ears itched at the entry of the bouncer, and his retreat. When Gallo’s eyes opened, her large irises were almost fully engulfed in pupil. She could see things that others could not, waves and light so much brighter than a normal human being. "I would like to join you when you find them again. Let us discuss with them the error of their ways together." There was a smile in her features, but not on her lips. "Then we can see what they have to present to the others in my family." There could be many things to say. One certainty was that Gallo would want to know everything, and that everything could be more than just trying to shake down territory. It could have to do with the Sheut. It was like trying to explain the birds and the bees. The others, already knew somehow before Glamis decided to plop her ass into the East Coast position. It was Gallo’s turn, she’d just never had to explain it to someone before, and knew enough about him now not to put him on the spot with his peers around to explain it to him. Should she have him pinkie swear to not slug his buddies first for not telling him? She sat back from the counter, hands quietly folded on the top of her thigh. “I know you understand the importance of need-to-know, and discretion.” She took a slow breath, like a cat trying to get a feel for the air. It was thick. Her words were quiet. It was Gallo. She was picking up his rage, echoing back his anger, body preparing to defend itself perhaps; instinct from past experiences with Weres. This could be a good thing, anger hitting a wall. Or, it could be a bad thing, the butting of heads escalating until one of them snapped. “There could be information revealed when they’re questioned that you have not been privy to yet. It’s important you understand it cannot be repeated. They are either trying to start trouble with your people by claiming territory, or they are pressing to interfere with mine. I’m hoping to keep yours from taking the fall if mine think it’s your fault.” Eyes narrowed slightly, the thought had never yet occurred to her. They weren’t strong arming, they were trying to get in. Sniffing around. For what exactly? Something she had. Her plane? Her logs? Her flight information. They could trace her information back to Glamis if they knew where to look. Man, Ausar was going to kick her ass… but good to realize it now so the impending theoretical weakness could be taken care of. She blinked slowly, watching him before deciding whether or not to continue. There was no way to predict his reaction. Digust? Fascination? Indifference? “Gaspari, Carducci,” she paused a moment, “Mythos. They are aware. They know who I am, they know what I am. I know you know Mythos and Toby are the same as I am. That push back you feel now, that's me. That itch, the scent that keeps forever changing but somehow stays unique. I need to know if you want to be brought into this loop.” She poured herself another drink. She was going to need it. Words were low, teeth on edge, pulling her calm in from every direction. "No more surprises Thomas."
  14. Nighttime is Playtime

    Static. Thick and velvety. It was the best description she could even attempt to muster for what was peppering her skin. She could smell it in the air, like copper, a smooth exterior that would crackle with friction and static when brushed the wrong direction. Large, calm eyes were waiting for his at her question. Knocked out of a strong string of thoughts apparently. It was there again. The ruffled bristle. He had some sort of ability beyond just a Were presence. Not magic, but inherent. More so than other Weres. Unnecessary demands. Was that because he didn't want to or because he didn't think they could meet his demands? She shook her head once politely at the topper offer, finally taking another drink as she watched him. "Everyone takes orders from someone, some exclusively, some at their own leisure. You weigh the consequences on not, and decide if you're willing to accept them." It was the first hint there was a higher authority than her associated with 'whatever' he suspected she may be, also opening the door to investigate how much he knew of Sheut. So far, she suspected not much if anything. "I don't take orders, for the record." Drink was long, placing the glass on the counter thoughtfully. Her comment spoke volumes of accepting consequences for not following orders. She did what she was told because she wanted to, not because she was afraid of what would happen if she didn't. A hint of some kind of conscious loyalty maybe; fragile, yet unbreakable at the same time. "Ahanu though, is different to me than I suspect Roderick is to you." Elbow leaned on the counter as she took another drink, chin resting lightly on her knuckles. She really didn't know how to relax, as Gallo seemed to have a penchant for even when irritated. The Sheut was always business. Even when business wasn't business. "She's family. Toby, Evie.. family. Anyone threatens them, I kill them. There is no gray area. They understand they are free to do as they wish. For now anyway, they choose to work for me. Even if they left, I would still protect them." Expression was calm as she looked up at him. Toby was by rights a forfeited life in the Sheut world. Nobody dared touch him, not so much as fear of her, but absolute certainty they would die by her hand. "No punishments, no reprimands. They know where we stand. The guys that sweep my hangar however, firing them is enough. Labor is labor. Loyalty is something far more rare." Fingers tugged at the slithering silver chain on her neck, reaching to lift it over her head and coil it on the counter, the gold ring it held now finally visible. "Don't be too hard on Roderick though. Ahanu is a catch." Last drink was taken, the glass softly clinking on the counter as she seemed to poke the bear. Silver, plus the problematic sigil ring added to the lingering but lessening irritation of Roderick's ruse brought up all simultaneously. She was quiet a moment, finger tapping the ring once. "You have a problem." Small fingertips unclasped the chain and slid the ring off, sliding it over to him with the sigil visible. Separating the ring from the silver if he wished to take it afforded him some courtesy. "I took this off a man claiming to be Bakkhos, casing my fence again with a buddy of his. They're pressuring places up and down the river, old mob style money for protection." The chain was sliding through her fingers as she fiddled with it absently, finally putting it back on. "When they don't return and friends pay me another visit, we have a few options. You can be there to meet them and have a chat my way, or I can drag one to you that is still able to talk and you can do it your way; you would just need to let me know where to drop him off. Discretely, of course. Somehow I don't think this club is a good hand off spot." ...and by "you" she obviously meant Bakkhos, but... admittedly hoped it would be him to come and meet her inevitable guests tomorrow night. Granted Bakkhos probably hadn't divulged her kind to him for a reason, but she didn't work for Bakkhos... and the fact he most likely didn't know was getting in her way. If he came, he was was definitely getting the 'birds and bees' talk.
  15. Nighttime is Playtime

    Keen attention caught the smirk. Little sassy pants was he then now, quietly watching the Alpha in the room focus on his companion, then her own Ahanu. Neck should have bristled, it didn’t. Ahanu was capable of taking care of herself if needed… she’d seen her suck the air out of someone’s lungs before, it had been amusing for the mere seconds it had taken the guy to fold and indicate he was going to finally talk. The ripple through the air though, like heat from a room wiggling into a frigid landscape was blatant. Only there for a moment, leaving a scent like fire lingering in the air. It was making more sense; the parting of the crowd for him, the unconscious slight stance change of Ahanu to a protective position next to the Sheut. Humans were strange, they smelled things… felt things pattering on their skin, could taste it on their palate, subtle tweaks of behavior, but could never seem to put two and two together unless they were highly tuned. They perceived it as a “feeling”, and their fight or flight response made it simple for them to understand. Fear. Her senses could untangle it, deconstruct it, follow its source, and it was buzzing right up her arm from the handshake. Brow quirked at the stare that seemed to also quirk Roderick. The hand that let go of hers left a pulsing echo of energy in her palm that she slid casually back into her pocket. “Go and enjoy yourself. We have a long day tomorrow.” Ahanu inclined a glance slightly to Eris and the Sheut returned the gesture. Then they were gone, the dark eyes watching after them with an almost melancholy “baby’s all grown up” expression… or just simply amused. It was hard to tell, her reactions to things were not typical. “Care to join me on the patio for a…quieter experience?” Her pause was intended. Quieter experience would have been by herself… few others intent on each other would have been by herself. Someone expecting she talk, wasn’t… Again the slight nod, “don’t mean to take you away from your guests, I’m just not the crowd type.” Quieter must have meant no people at all, because all the subtlety of the earlier Capo she’d met was gone. His strides were heavy, his presence was heavy. Odd choice of time frame for the opening of a club, or deliberate. As noticed before, people were aware of presence through ways they didn’t quite understand, they recognized big. She watched them leave, not really caring one way or the other, eyes shifting upward to the sky. You could see stars, so much more than before the world ended. The traffic, the blaze of light from the bustle of the city would choke it out almost a hundred percent of the time. They were at least visible now, along with the crazy rip in the sky. In central and south America, they were beautiful. In a plane over the ocean, breathtaking. Cheek turned toward the cold slightly, the swirl of heated patios fighting with cold air so much more noticeable to her. Kept her alert. She nodded in response to his unspoken question. Not an incredible fan of vodka though, but that particular one she enjoyed. It was sharp on her taste buds, especially after a feeding… seemed to light up the surplus of iron and burn through the new warmth in her blood. It would be rude to refuse, and would keep her on her toes, so it was a good idea all around at the moment. But, probably bring attention to something that might already be itching at him. She smelled different, and not just the ‘rolled in the hay’ with someone kind of way. It was on her skin, and internal; warming her core, powering her “engine” with more heat than normal. “Does everybody do what you tell them to?” voice was quiet, eyes casting over the patio to decide where exactly she was going to sit. She didn’t want to sit anywhere. A refined store not choked with people, sweat and hormones was one thing. A club was completely another. Agitated earlier in the evening, feeding encouraged control, but she hated crowds… and that hate supercharged the aversion to touching things, and brought the itch to smash someone in the face or tie a wayward Sheut to an east facing fence post at dawn to the forefront. Mythos sprang to mind. “What happens when they don’t?” she slid into a chair at the bar in front of where he’d perched, smirk was light, and she let it go. Eyes cast upward again for a moment, one leg crossing gently over the other… she wasn’t fond of bar chairs, however swanky they may be. They made her feel short, but she handled them with the grace of someone model tall.