[b]Kavinsky[/b]

Perhaps there was a merciful deity looking down upon the undead man's plight. No sooner had the plea for alcohol left his lips, an honest-to-god toga party came barreling down the street, swilling wine and having a grand old time. A small, mischievous smile worked its way onto the dead cruiser's face as he stood up, pushing his sunglasses back up onto his face. In no time at all he was in the heart of festivities, guzzling wine from a nearly comically-oversized goblet. He belched loudly, laughed, and then dove further into the party, very obviously attracted to the greater concentrations of women and things that at least mostly resembled women.

He wasn't really sure what the party was about, nor even really what was going on at this point, but Kavinsky sure as hell wasn't the type of guy to pass up a good party. Nor was he the type to not contribute to a party in some way or another. He felt that the party was missing something, and only now that he was beginning to feel the onset of inebriation did he realize what it was. Tunes, man! With a lightning bolt and a crack of thunder, Kavinsky summoned his ghost car next to him. The cherry-red Ferrari gleamed proudly in the sunlight, the almost ethereal beauty of the car dazzling the party-goers around him. Kavinsky climbed into the passenger seat, started the engine, and then retrieved a cassette from the glove and slapped it into the tape deck. Turning up the speaker volume as far as it would go, Kavinsky gestured for more booze to be brought his way as he nodded his head to the [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wPOdxTnZc1I]thumping beat[/url] now playing from his car.

[b]Sorin[/b]

The city was celebrating, apparently over their victory over the first trial set before them. Judging from their idle chatter, Sorin could tell that this was far from the first challenge that the "residents" of this planar conflux had witnessed. Were victories so scarce that a reaction of this scale was appropriate? Furthermore, how had they known the outcome of the challenge? He hadn't seen a soul other than the other challengers, their quarry and some manner of cat-thing throughout the challenge. So many questions that begged for answers; this place only became more confusing the more he "learned" about it.

Sorin was eager to get out of the crowd, and before long he had managed to weave his way to the outskirts of it. Such a large number of people he found tiresome, the heat of day was oppressive, and Sorin was already in a foul mood. All of this was wearing down his willpower, and drawing him closer to the primal, visceral urges of his kind. The thought of feeding disgusted him, but at the same time, he could not deny its pleasures. The idea of such a depraved, debased act simultaneously gave him the same sick thrill that it had given him for more than six thousand years, and had him curse his weakness that kept him so closely tied to mortality.

Still, the young, blonde woman at the edge of the crowd was setting off predatory urges in Sorin's mind. She was fresh, healthy, clearly inebriated, and likely easily swayed. A fresh fruit ripe for the picking. Silently damning himself for being so pitiful, he approached the white-robed girl as she drank heartily from a bottle of some manner of alcohol, her companions' attention elsewhere.

"Pardon me, my dear," He said, a siren's song in his voice and an entrancing fire in his eyes, "I'm afraid I can't quite find my way home. Would you be so kind as to escort me?"

Her already glazed eyes took on a duller look as she smiled at Sorin, taking his arm with her own, "Of course, it'd be my pleasure."

Sorin smiled like a wolf as he set his hand, cold and deathly, over her warm and lively one, slowly leading her off away from the crowd and any prying eyes.