8 Hour Party People

[Myra Coville]

Myra wasn't exactly in dress code tonight.

Her dark hair was up in messy buns, face done up in a cherubic visage with sleek black clinging to her delicate frame, save a purple shrug that added the atypical feel to the ensemble one might expect from a kook. What one might not expect of this kook was the unexpected display of intimacy.

She was on the main dancefloor, heels guiding her through the throng of writhing bodies. The lithe woman stopped with a smile and the word 'hey' which, due to the music's volume, looked to be merely lip synched. The kine she spoke to stopped dancing with a flash of recognition (and an alcohol-induced aesthetic appreciation) and similarly mimicked greeting. As her smile turned from demure to predatory, the kine's hand slid over the fragile curve of her waist, drawing her closer as she rose an arm to his shoulder. The two moved in primal harmony, mirroring the simulated sensuality crawling through the stench of sweat and alcohol on the dance floor. For obvious reasons, fatigue didn't touch the waif, but the kine began to wear out after a few minutes, holding close to the cold blooded creature whose flesh warmed from proximity and absorption rather than exertion. The curl of his fingers against her flesh as he danced hinted at further motives, which Myra seemed eventually willing to yield to him. Her chin rose with that same predatory smile, lips pressed together to conceal the fangs extended behind them.

He leaned down, lips parted in desperation for either air or the waif before him. She rose to her toes, a moot point in heels, and caught his lips in a heated kiss, arms laced around his shoulders to ensure they still moved in time with the music. As it deepened, fangs pierced the man's tongue. He instinctively began to jerk back, but the Kiss swept over him as Myra began to pull the blood from his mouth, initiating a secondary wound in his lower lip. The salted scent of blood was easily masked in the odor of sweat around them, and with dreadfully indecent moans, the man all but collapsed in her arms, at which point the assertion of her grasp ensured his continued movement. She pulled a safe amount of blood from the kine before licking the wounds shut, tongue trailing over his lips and hers to catch stray droplets. His face was flushed. Easily explained. Her pinkish plum lipstick was more distinctly red, but it looked like red lipstick had smeared. And who kept track of lipstick colors?

With one last grin to the dizzied kine, she guided him to a seat off the floor and quickly vanished into the crowd, ducking into the bathroom to 'fix her lipstick' and emerging as a pale cherub once more, for now keeping to the walls of the club in consideration. Time to go home, perhaps? Or was there more to be done in the club tonight?

[Liliya]

As often occurred since her return to this borough Liliya found herself at the Nectarine. It seemed one of the few places that could brighten what was becoming her nearly constant malaise. She wore an ebony dress that matched perfectly the silken midnight curtain of her hair, bound around her middle by an exquisitely tailored corset in a white that rivaled her delicately pale almost pearlescent skin. The outfit for this evening was a variation on a rather constant theme, she did have work to do at her establishment this evening after all. "Can't look anything less than ones best when you're the boss." she mused quietly to herself as music that ever haunted her struck up once more.

Just when she had contemplated leaving and moving on to those very business matters, she spotted something interesting. It was the new malkavian woman moving across the dance floor in a way almost more appropriate to her own club than this one. Largely it intrigued because, save for her own clan, the rest of the court here in Sunnydale seemed to have no more capability for passion than an actual corpse. It had been rather disappointing and at least one of the many things causing her low mood.

A devilish smile crossed her ruby painted lips as her liquid steel, almost silver eyes surreptitiously watched the display through long thick lashes across the crowded dance floor. When Myra made her wonderfully smooth exit to the ladies room, Liliya made her way over to intercept her on exit, gliding across the floor as her well rounded hips swayed provocatively to thrumming bass that drowned out the melody that currently plagued her, if only for a moment.

She was sure to give the young woman some space as she exited the ladies room so as not to fright her and instead put herself in her visual path. Once she was sure Myra had spotted her she moved toward her and slipped a perfect porcelain arms into Myra's so she could lean in close to speak with her over the music without it being to awkward.

"Good evening dear heart, her voice purred seductively. What brings you to the Nectarine this evening?" She gestures upstairs to the VIP area. "Care to chat a while?" her honeyed voice inquires. "I won't keep you if you're busy of course."

[Myra Coville]

To describe Myra as surprised upon the sighting of the woman was a profound understatement. Her already wide eyes would turn wider yet, showing a doelike surprise that was almost suspiciously alien to the woman's features. After a brief deer-in-headlights moment, Liliya moved and Myra's eyes filled with a flurry of thoughts so rushed and numerous only a kook could keep them straight. She demonstrated all indications of a blush save hue, and gave the smallest of smiles as the paragon of elegance laced arms with her. She inclined her head in a gentle nod, the persona demonstrated mere minutes ago now long gone. Perhaps that wasn't so shocking, however... feeding changed people.

"Certainly. I'm yours for the evening, Ms. Liliya." At the gesture to VIP, she glanced down to... well, VIV with a silent and quizzical expression, but gave a small smile once more as she allowed the woman to lead the way, more than happy to fall in step.

[Ghost]

Ghost was in a peculiar mood tonight. When he had touched that peculiar magic lipstick (magic lipstick... fucking really? Someone with the fell powers of the occult at their disposal, and they enchant their fucking makeup kit?! Douchebag.) it had stirred up something strange in him. Mortal eros, believed long dead. And maybe it was, until that moment. He had felt a strange mortal lust for that new Malkavian, Myra, the whole rest of the night.

When the sensation finally wore off and he was able to viscerally, not just academically, convince himself those feelings had been false, at first he had wanted to rip Myra's head off. He reminded himself of what the Tremere had said, that it was all a function of the object, and not of known kindred magics. That part worried him, though not as much as he was sure it scared the crap out of the Tremere. That was their bag of tricks, so Ghost had no doubt they were hot on that particular trail if they were smart.

But despite all his rationalizations, despite the fact that he no longer felt that peculiar longing for Myra (thank god), the feeling of feeling, of the stirring of something not motivated by rage or fear or greed or bloodlust, but pure and human, gnawed at him. Now, as he walked amongst the pretty people, disguised as one of the prettiest of them all, he began to understand why the Toreador clung to all of it, and not just for sustenance. He would never admit it to them, certainly not to that cuntrag Cyndi, but in his heart of hearts he was starting to get it.

Ghost usually fed off of vermin and other animals found in the wilderness of the urban sprawl, but now he craved something more human. More... real. The Mask he wore made it easy for him to claim little nips of blood from people dressed in leather and lace and nothing, feeding gently, almost... humanely.

In the far distance ofthe dance floor he spotted Liliya, one of the few kindred he was willing to call a friend, despite her clan loyalties. She was making a languid trail to another person... Myra. They whispered amongst themselves a moment, then began to move vaguely in the direction of the VIP room (or VIV room, as it was jokingly called). Ghost found himself curious and began to trail after them. For the briefest of moments he forgot who he was, imagined himself once again handsome, just out on the town, looking to join two lovely young women for something private and intimate.

Then he passed by his reflection.

His powers were such that people, even most other kindred, only saw what he wanted them to see of himself, reflection included. But he could never fool himself. No matter how beautiful he made himself look, he could never see anything but his true face in the mirror, scarred and gray and horrid. His fantasy exploded like so much confetti. For a blindingly-furious moment, he hated himself, he hated his clan, he hated Nathaniel and Liliya and Blakemore and Myra and Jun and the whole fucking kindred race. He saw only red.

Then he was himself again. He smothered the memories of human aching. He was a predator, a monster. Time to get back to work. He moved in towards his fellow hunters.

[Cesare Valente]

Cesare hated the Nectarine. The music, the people, the... noise. It was all so frivilous, yet this where the deals get made so appearances needed to be made. He had just stepped from Cyndi's private office after making a courier run at the behest of his sire Cleo... and to pay off the latest round of damages caused by Vigilus. It would normally be below his clan station, but trust was running scarce amongst Kindred with a Lupine war brewing. He straightened his tie and cocked an ear to the lastest atrocity blaring from the speakers. The loud wailings of lyrics and the vibrations from over rammed bass settings tended to give him headaches after too much exposure. The sweat and stink of kine grinding and groping at each other was simply a base release of animalistic urges. Certainly Kindred dealt with them every now and them, but for Cesare, magic was his one true mistress. In the raw fleeting moments of a spell being cast was when his mind and Beast were at peace, blood burning through his veins in a ectasy euphoria, only to fall back into the eternal war of man vs. the monster. To be able to touch the undercurrents of power and harness them to his will was someone that no other Clan could ever understand. It was better than the taste of blood upon a kiss and better than a victorous moment stolen from a outwitted opponent.

Though he longed for his comfortable laboratory, he noticed a few other Kindred within the crowds that gave him pause before leaving. Lillya stood out easily enough as Toreadors usually do. Curious enough however with Myra Coville in tow. A newcomer to be sure, but this one might have a bit more potential than the others. Klaxius, Drucilla, and the others had wasted potential. Thrown away in acts of Diablarie and a clumsy act of Kindred sabotage. It was just so, pointless. What could possibly accomplished by disrupting the Nosferatu affairs. At least it's not Tremere fucking up like Melissa, Cameron, and Jun have. Good warlocks were difficult to find these days. Hopefully Karl and Jack will find their places here in Sunnydale... for he was eager to be able to persue his own avenue of research again. Too much to do, and never enough time for himself. He glanced at his watch. he had some time before he would be needed back at the Chantry. Perhaps a bit of networking might be in order. He started heading over in Lillya and Myra's direction when he noticed that he wasn't the only Kindred interested in them.

[Liliya]

Only the slightest upturn of her smiled belied her amusement at the pretty young fledglings reactions. She thought it only made her look more beautiful, it was so ... human. She brushed the young woman's cheek briefly, right where a blush would once have shown through, as their arms linked together. Something about the whole silent part of the interaction that had just transpired pulled at Liliya a bit. She realized she envied her a little for that. Her own reactions felt so hollow, so practiced, so perfunctory. Perhaps that was what had made her behavior so alluring to watch. She seemed ever to be in the moment. Not just reacting rashly and impulsively as her beloved though ill guided broodmate Aleksander had done but, still so present in each moment with such genuine reaction. She'd seen her posts on their secure network and again had seen that same ... feeling even on the cold deadness of that forum. She still thought she, even we as a group, could change things, impact the future in some meaningful way. So unjaded, the exact opposite of the icy statue who'd just laced arms with her and offered her a chat.

Fortunately, from her vantage point, Myra would miss it as Liliya turned her head away for a moment and a very brief but definite look of pained sorrow crosses her smooth features. She closes her eyes a moment, burying the feeling and continuing to walk with Myra through the throng of kine. However when she gets to the stairs, she goes up, and continues to the top level, not even noticing the two vampires who were moving to join them until (if they follow since she's not headed to the VIV area below) she reaches the top floor where there are much fewer people.

She stops at the VIP skybox and gives a nod to the bouncer who recognizes her as one of those who more frequently reserves this area and removes the velvet rope for Myra and herself, she loves coming to this space, just as private and secure, she discussed such thoroughly with Cindi, but still sort of a part of everything, as one can look over the thronging masses in the soundproofed box. She turns about before entering through the door to face the other gentlemen following her now to get a good look. "Oh Cesare, darling!" Her voice is like the caress of velvet. "You're more than welcome to join us, assuming Myra has no objections?" She looks to her companion for conformation, though she has assumed from Myra's previous interactions there will be no issue, the look says 'I'll tell them to beat it if you want.'

While her companion decides, she examines the other man who while very sexy doesn't seem familiar, wait: there it is, something in the eyes, not their shape or their color but their pattern of movement, the timing of the blinking very familiar to eyes she's stared at so very intensely for long periods of time before, long conversations lasting for hours until close to morning, so much help given over the years she's often at a loss to understand why others don't see him as such, then again their interactions have always been different just as the way they met was. Then she begins to notice other little things, a way he shifts his weight while he stands there waiting for her, a way that he carries himself despite the amazing good looks; she'd know him anywhere. They've known each other for too long, had far to many dealings to be fooled, particularly when he's not really trying, she knows how he hates this place but, that only piques her interest at his presence further. She doesn't wish to give him away or anything however, she never knows what game he might be playing at. So despite all of this the only thing seen in her face after studying the young man a minute or two is a raised brow of inquiry, "and ... who are you? What do you want?" Her voice suddenly frosty and yet somehow still inviting like an icy siren serenely inviting one to their death.

There is another brief look exchanged with Myra with a slight head tilt in that direction 'stay or go, up to you.' Liliya carefully studies the three around her watching for all the subtle social interplay that often occurs when their kind meet up unexpectedly.

[Ghost]

Ghost was watching his fellow kindred link arms, heading upstairs rather than down. And Cesare was here. Charming. Ghost didn't really have anything against the warlock. The man was polite, professional, took his work seriously, and he knew how the game was played. Now if he would only quit cock-blocking Jun every time Ghost needed him to do something Tremere-y and poof up some magical results for their coterie's investigations.

But that was being naive. Ghost had know from the beginning that there would be a price sooner or later from the mystics. As long as Ghost never had to drink their Kool-Aid (or their blood), he would just have to suck it up.

He was near at hand when Liliya began speaking to Cesare, inviting him into the soundproofed skybox. Skybox, what a word. Ghost flashed back to a memory only a week old and still fresh in his mind. Joey Bagodonuts had casually referenced the Nectarine's skybox as "Cindi's Flying Vagina; once you're inside, no one can hear you scream." The resultant barrage of raucous laughter that ensued in the Warren lasted the better part of ten minutes. That cinched it from that point on. Every Nos in sunnydale would forever on then refer to the skybox as such.

Little whispers, breathing in his ear.

Ghost casually turned and locked eyes with Liliya as she was studying his projected false good looks. Her questions lingered a moment before he replied. "Did you know," he began casually, "that there are 847 people in this club tonight?" The moment he was out of the view of the public he let his Mask drop forall to see his true visage. Only for three steps, though, as he entered the room. On the fourth the Mask was firmly back in place and on the fifth step he was clearly seen through the windows of the room looking down at the floor below, so anyone looking up would see the same gorgeous lie as before.

"847 people, 13 rats, 2 sparrows, 7 flies that slipped in the back when the chef took out the trash and let the door open, and one very confused and panicky gecko, who just wants to leave and get back to her nest for the night and not be eaten or squashed. And yet I can't cound the number of predators. I can't count that high." His expression shifted to one halfway between bemused and depressed.

[Cesare Valente]

Cesare smiled broadly at Liliya's invitation and gave a formal bow of acknowledgement before the two females. Some consider him strange for this custom, but his sire and grandsire were both powerful females. Therefore showing a lack of respect to any of the female Kindred would reflect poorly on his betters and it was just good manners regardless. He straightened himself as Ghost had, in his way, announced himself. He wasn't surprised to see him for he seemed to be everywhere these days. He gave a polite nod to the Nosferatu and maintained an easy cool demeanor towards him. Ghost has a tendancy to be in the eye of the storm no matter what the topic of query and therefore it seemed a rather informal rivalry has begun to grow between them when involved in certain investigations. Regardless of personal feelings however, respect must be shown to those who have earned their places within the City. At least Ghost worked towards gathering information and solving problems... most Kindred seem content to sit on their hands and expect to exist without ever earning the right to exist. "Good Evening, Ghost." He turned back to Liliya, after Ghost's rather unusual greeting.

"I would be happy to accept your invitation my dear, as long of course I am not intruding on you and Ms. Coville's privacy. I just happened to see you both downstairs and thought I would at least pass on a friendly greeting. It's not often I allow myself the pleasure of interacting with lovely ladies such as yourselves."

He paused to give Myra an opportunity to accept or reject his presence. An excellent first assessment to see how this young Malkavian woman felt about the Tremere. He felt the need to mingle outside of his usual circles every now and then. Partially because the only reliable aspect of his current circle was a seven foot rock with the IQ of furniture. This must change if he was to continue to raise Clan Tremere's standards.

[Myra Coville]

Myra's delay was understandable. She seemed to be caught off guard by the sudden development of an entourage. Her pallid features were touched once more with the indication of a blush in every form of her demeanor, though again the blood came not to her cheeks, and would not without concentration. But there were more important uses for vitae than blushing. Unsurprisingly, the Malkavian seemed the loner sort. She looked tremendously out of place in the party attire she now wore. Ill at ease in her own skin. It was clear that the ensemble was some sort of mask, and it seemed to have been stripped of her with the recognition of her peers. Her chin was slightly downturned with the demure sensitivity of a woman stripped bare before the eyes of the world. But throughout all of it, the kook maintained a soft smile in the form of a delicate upward lilt of her cherubic lips. Indeed, any hesitation towards extending the number of the party seemed to stem from internal hesitation more than distaste towards Warlocks or Sewer Rats. Gradually, her head inclined further in a nod of welcome, hazel eyes lifting to Liliya with a somewhat wider smile than before. "No objections whatsoever. It's nice to have company other than a pen and paper from time to time."

Hazel eyes would turn a bit tentatively towards Ghost and Cesare alike, as if uncertain what they'd seen of her evening affairs. Watching someone feed was much like walking in on someone getting changed. As such, she held an unspoken discomfort of one who had shown more than intended. Delicate hands would meet and entwine before her, slender fingers laced in the faintest of hand wringing. A click of heels brought her past the velvet curtain, hazel eyes turning to sweep over the contents of this exclusive area and glance out over the club below. In that moment of observation, the Malkavian fell into her own Toreador-like trance. A softness set upon the waif's elegant visage as she watched them move. Falling into the sway and trance of the patterns of intermingling and interaction. She had said before that the madness of Malkavians stemmed not from any actual insanity, but from the capacity to see on the level beyond that of other kindred. A hyper-awareness of a world beyond this, which to explain to any other, would seem like madness. She seemed here upon the threshold of that higher existence, swaying ever so slightly forward as if to swoon before just as quickly snapping out of her trance to turn to the entourage once more.

"Ghost. Mr. Valente. It is lovely to see you both this evening." Her head inclined in a nod to each, hand lifting to adjust her wire-frame glasses.

[Cesare Valente]

He walked into the VIP area following behind Myra, giving himself a few moments to glance around to ensure they were indeed the only four in the room, aside from the bouncer at the door. Even though Cyndi's security was better than most, no small part to Mrs. Appleton and Parkov efforts, the supernatural tends to gravitate more towards Sunnydale than any other borough. Mercifully the room was soundproofed against the wailing club music providing relief against a growing headache. Seeing no hidden dangers of the non-mundane kind, he allowed himself a calming sigh of relief before turning back to Myra as she spoke. He took a solid glance at her while speaking, as if she could be scientifically analyzed like a chemistry molecule.

"Please, call me Cesare. Or if formalities must be adheared too, Professor would be more appropriate. I trust you are finding Sunnydale amiable to your desires?"

She wore her humanity clearly as Liliya did but not in the same manner. Pale but certainly well fed by the appearance of her cheeks. Her manner of dress was... not unusual for a Malkakian. However there was something more intimately different about her presence, something chaotic. Another cypher to unravel it seems. He tore his gaze from her with some difficulty as he enjoys a good puzzle. He chided himself inwardly to guard his passions. Passion rules reason as the saying goes and can be deadly to the Tremere that ignores its meaning.

He found a nice cozy leather chair to settle down in. Cyndi certainly didn't skimp on the amenities when it comes to the Nectarine. He crossed his legs and relaxed for the time being, and gave a sidelong glance over to Lilya and Ghost to see what reactions might have been invoked if any. He gave himself a moment to center himself as it were while awaiting her response.