The sound of ominous, yet elegant piano music filled a private room of the Café Royal. The Café, with painted goddesses, cupids, and tarnished gildings, was one of London’s first French-style restaurants. Golden caryatids and garlands decorated the room magnificently. The lighting was dim and tobacco smoke filled the building. The song was being played by a pale-skinned beauty with long, white hair woven together to make a waterfall braid, her eyes as silver as the moon. Her cheeks had the slightest of blush and her body was covered with the most illustrious Grecian silk. Her fingers glided on the keys of the piano playing the song of the Night, The Devil’s Waltz.

A regal figure leaned over and kissed the woman’s cheek, “Beautiful Illona.” His hair too was white like the purest of snow and a red bow kept most of it together.

Illona looked up at her dear and loving husband, the King of the Underworld, and urged him to start the meeting, “They’re waiting.”

A few loose strands laid on the sides of his face, as he made his way to a large Rosewood and white marble table. If one stared into the eyes of this man, they would be trapped inside the chasm of his soul, an endless trip of darkness. He sat at the front of the rectangular table in a crimson dining chair and stared at the four man, eagerly waiting for his company.

The man to his left held similar facial traits to him. Only a fool would not be able to tell the relation between the two. The physical difference between the apparent brothers was the man to the left had shorter hair and eyes that burned red. They also presented themselves quite differently… one fancied Baroque attire, while the other preferred a simple silk puff tie, a Sinclair Edwardian club collar shirt, and black Callahan dress trousers.

Taking off his tricorne hat, the shorter-haired man, known by the name of Louis Ventrue, impatiently leaned in his seat. As he smiled with glee, his eyes begged for the silent presence to speak.

Beside Louis, a sinister seeming gentleman sat quietly, as if contemplating his surroundings. His hand was latched onto an elegantly designed glass goblet, his wrist gently swaying and swishing its sanguine contents around. He wore a fine, deep blue doublet emblazoned with black thorns creeping down its sides. His long, dark hair rested below his shoulders, and his face was etched with apathy.

Tap, tap, tap. A steady finger beat against the white marble, icy blue eyes leering at the shadowy man diagonal to him.

“Fuck you, Grangrel…” the fashionable blonde whispered beneath his breath.

Hearing this, Amaury Grangrel turned his visage upon Francois Malkavian, smirking ever so slightly. Francois narrowed his eyes on his hated enemy, gritting his porcelain teeth. Despite all his rage, he was the most suavely dressed man here. He wore an angel white pea coat, decorated with golden buttons with ear rings to match. His hair was swept back, flawlessly arranged, and there was not a blemish to be found on his form.

Sensing the animosity in the air, the simply adorned man next to Francois tensed up, clutching his hands tightly against his waist. He had seen their quarrels before and wanted no part in their petty games. He was clothed in a mauve robe, a flaxen chain stretching from one side of his chest to the next. Unlike the others, his hair was unkempt and oddly colored: a dark purple with part of his bangs stricken with silver. There was a dignified wisdom in his yellow eyes, even as he watched the feuding Elders. Of great renown, this was Marc Ravnos.

Finally breaking the silence, the Master of the Night tapped his glass goblet with his sharp, lengthy pointer nail, catching the attention of his council. At once, their heads turned in unison to listen to their Lord.

“Good evening, gentlemen. I have invited you all to dinner tonight to discuss a very urgent matter. As you know, I have established a thriving community for our people here. However, I have no desire to stay in London forever, and I plan to take my leave back to my homeland soon. Of course, I will need someone to take over operations here…”

“Oh! Brother, you’re so kind! I couldn’t be more honored!” the whimsical Louis jubilantly proclaimed, perking up in his chair.

“Louis, let me finish…” the Dark Lord answered with a most forbidding glare.

“Fine, but c’mon. We all know it’s me.”

Grimacing at his brother’s spontaneous and eccentric nature, the sovereign continued, “As I was saying, I’m in need of a successor. It’s not easy to simply just point and choose one of you. In your own rights, you have all proven to me that you are formidable allies, men that I can rely on in times of need. Now you shall show me your ability to lead, to capture the respect and honor of our people. Show me an incredible feat, something that will seal your name in legend.”

Silence swallowed the table. The music drew to a close. No man dared to take their eyes off their master. Illona gracefully made her way to the table and sat across from her husband. After placing her table cloth on her lap, she rang a dinner bell. The door swung open and a rush entered the room. Waiters and waitresses brought in the rarest and bloodiest of steaks, for each member at the table.

As the door closed, the last waiter respectfully nodded, “Bon Appétit.”

Marc took this opportunity to inquire more into the subject matter, “What are the terms and conditions, my Lord? How long do we have to prove ourselves?”

“And what kind of feats are you looking for exactly?” Francois added. The charmer of the group watched his master cut into his meat. Curious of what the response would be, Francois took a slow sip of his drink.

“I won’t specify anything because I want you to use your creativity for this task. Just know that I want to see all of you at this table again.”

Louis’ voice chimed in, “Smart thinking, brother! I’ll rally my crew and be out at sea by midnight. That damned Kraken won’t escape me this time, Vlad!”

At his brother’s notion, Vlad Tepes, King of the Underworld, gave Louis another long, hard stare. The others at the table looked visibly pained by the words that came out of his mouth.

_{[Post by GM and Co-GM]}

As if a storm blew into the manor, the loud rap of metal against metal blasted throughout the hallways. The form of Louis Ventrue held two waste container lids, beating them together like cymbals.

“Wake up, you mongrels! It’s time for glory! It’s time to show me what you chumps can do! Slay the Kraken! Build a monument in testament to your honor! Do what you do best and do it with the strength and courage within your very souls! YOU HAVE 10 MINUTES TO GET THE HELL OUT AND ACCOMPLISH A FEAT WORTHY OF A GOD BY THE END OF THE NIGHT! Happy Wednesday!” he roared out along his way, ensuring that everyone got his message.

The strange man roved through the halls, watching his “children” scamper every which way with a gleeful smile adorned on his face. It was very obvious he enjoyed his job.

---

Ravnos began to make the descent from his perch on a tall wooden ladder. He had just finished hanging an eye catching scroll from the centermost support beam in the middle of the main hall. The scroll was held aloft by clear fishing line, so it appeared to float in thin air. Giving his work a second glance, he nodded in acceptance. Another look went to the large, bulky ladder. For a moment, he deliberated on putting it back where he had found it, but after the work he had put into hanging the parchment, he was in no mood to be doing such menial things. One of the others would surely do it. Dallying not a moment later, the dignified man marched off to his study.

The scroll reads in the most graceful handwriting:

---

A thunderous slam reverberated throughout the entire church as Francois whipped his door into place, fury radiating from his veins. The first thing he saw was a lone chair in the corner of his room, peacefully pushed under a table. At once, his feet thudded over to the chair, his firm hands took hold of it, and he tossed the thing at the wall, a shower of splinters raining down onto the floor.

“FUCK YOU, GRANGREL. I’LL KILL YOU IF IT’S THE LAST THING I EVER DO!” the bestial howl echoed through the room and down the halls.

A meek and rightfully terrified servant entered after hearing the commotion.

“S-Sir, are you alright...?” she asked him. She was as close to the door as she could be, just in case she needed to make a quick escape.

The handsome blond turned and faced her, his expression still filled with malice. Instinct told him to kill her, to vent all of his anger and frustrations on her. Alas, he was not that kind of man. He was not like that bastard Grangrel. Sighing and running a hand through his hair, he swallowed his rage and nodded.

“Yes. I’m quite alright. It’s just been an off night for me.”

“Can I bring you anything to liven up your night, master?”

The Elder stopped and thought for a moment. Tonight was definitely a drinking night. Perhaps he would get so intoxicated that he would just stop feeling entirely.

“Ah… Now that I think of it. Yes, yes you can. Bring me several bottles of Bourgoigne noir and something of your choosing. Would you care to spend tonight with me?” he cooed, dropping his wrath for the time being. The lady seemed to blush for a moment and prepared to fetch her lord what he asked.

“Oh, and tell the fledglings to go out tonight. Tell them to do something important. Impress me, or something along those lines. I’ll tell them more when I feel better.” he added before she stepped out the door.

The servant woman nodded and hurried out the door, spreading her master’s word as she was told to do.

---

A deft hand ever so slowly opened a door to a darkened room, not a single sound made as the unseen man crept inside. Though not much could be seen within, there was a clear silhouette of a bed. As the man drew closer, he saw the form of a sleeping woman, her head nestled against her pillow. She was gorgeous, a dream come true. Curly, blonde hair bordered her face, a tiny, sharp nose sat center, and her rosy red lips dared to be caressed. His hand lowered down to her leg, skirting up slowly and sensually up her body. The woman’s breathing escalated, lost in euphoric dreams now. As he ventured past her chest and up to her neck, she whispered “…Francois…”.

Suddenly, the masculine hand clenched around her jawline and she was taken from her wonderful dream. Her emerald eyes flew open, forced to stare into the grey eyes of her tormentor: Amaury Grangrel. Chills went up her spine, the daggers of his visage enough to bring back horrors of the past. An unnerving silence dawned upon them, and fear inched its way into her heart.

“I-I-I…” the woman stammered out before Amaury put a single finger up to his lips, silently telling her to shut up.

He begins to move her head to the left, exposing the flesh of her neck, as if examining her like a fresh cut of meat.

“I saw Francois today… He was a sniveling wreck as always.” he spoke with the tone of a ghost. Her head is shifted to the right, and his face got close to her flesh, inhaling her scent. “I saw the others and my Liege as well. It was how you would expect. Yet… it was also different.” Finally, his grip loosened and his hand dropped to his side, a look of disgust on his face as he looked down at the poor woman.

“Persephone, I was born to lead. No one can take that right away from me. My Liege has given me an opportunity to seize control over this city, and I will not let that go to waste. He is leaving this place, vacating his throne in London. You will tell my whelps to prepare themselves for war. We must accomplish something… Magnificent that will shame the other Houses, that will impress Vlad. There are no rules in this game, and I’ll crush anything that gets in my way. Even your precious Francois.” Amaury uttered, a hint of insanity radiating from his voice.

Before the beautiful Persephone could respond, the shady Elder dismissed himself. Alone once more, her eyelids clenched together, fighting back tears. She never wanted this life, but she was trapped. Things wouldn’t ever get better would they?

As her husband commanded, she moved over to a strange horn-shaped contraption that seemed to lead into the walls. From what she was told by Amaury years ago, this was an “intercommunications system”, designed so that everyone within the underground castle would be able to hear the speaker when she spoke into the horn. In every room, except hers, there was a exotic golden tube protruding from the walls, which would project her voice. She was the lady often heard, yet almost never seen.

“Good evening, everyone. Our lord has a message: You are to plan and execute a magnificent achievement. A competition between the Houses has begun, and the winning House…” she tottered off for a moment, realizing what the ramifications would be if House Grangrel were to gain control of the city.

“The winning House will rule London.” She finally stated clearly and concisely.

_{[Post by Co-GM, with input from GM]}

A boisterous woman slinked around the corner, into the dimly lit room. She was wearing a simple nightdress, black with red and gold embroidery outlining all of her assets. Within the room there was a large bed, and sweet smelling incense filled the room with a strong scent of jasmine. A man sat on the bed, ugly and sweating and filled with lust. This woman, this... creature swayed towards him slowly, ever so slightly hiking up her skirt with each step. The man began to sweat even more, and she could feel his heart beating loudly, filling her mind with that drumming pulse of life. She liked her men this way. And did they ever like her. Eventually, she was standing over the man, and her skirt was nearly revealing some of her more private areas. She flung out her hair bun, letting wavy light blonde locks fall over her body. And then the speaker came on, ruining it all. It scared the man, making his heart rate go even more wild than before, and Elizabeth couldn't help herself. She pulled out the knife from her stockings and slashed the man's throat swiftly, only allowing him to make a small cry as she latched onto the wound with her beautiful lips, slowly draining her meal. When he was gone, the creature walked out of the room, and down the hall towards a bathing room. A servant passed her, and stared at the ground. The body would be gone by the time she returned. She entered the bathing room, stripping herself of any remaining layers and sinking into a waiting tub of hot water. Her servants knew whenever she needed to be fed, she was to have a bath ready afterwards. She washed off the filth of the man, and behind her a servant entered, picking up her sullied nightgown and taking it out of the room quickly, once again with downcast eyes. Elizabeth didn't bother covering up. She was confident in her body. She finished up in her bath, and dried herself with imported cotton. She walked nude down the hall, to her true bedroom. It was larger than her prey room, and she was greeted by two of her whores, whose names she did not know. All of her servants were sold on the side. Why not make money by having people serve you? The girls dressed her, tightening her corset until it was firmly squeezing her abdomen into a suitable shape. She put her hair up into her signature bun. Now she was Elizabeth Parks, the image of elegant. She waltzed out of the room without regarding her servants once, humming a light tune. She ascended stairs, heading for the surface, where her establishment lay. If Amaury wanted to speak to her, he would come pay her a visit, she knew. The woman who had spoken from the wall had said something about London, but Elizabeth wasn't sure of the details in her bloodlust state. She came out of her dark passage, and into the candlelight. Moans filled the air, and she listened to the chorus for a moment before swooping down the hallway and into the inn. The lobby was mostly empty, save for a few strangers that did not greet her. She swept past this and out of the front door. Her inn was across the street from the Phoenix and Quill, and it took her no time at all to dance across the street in the moonlight, gliding into the tavern with a smile on her face. The tobacco smoke hit her hard, and she reached into her dress sleeve, withdrawing a finely crafted pipe with beautiful intricate designs engraved into its surface. She motioned for a random man to fill it with tobacco, and for another man to light it. She was well known around these parts. She held the pipe with graceful beauty, stepping over to the corner of the room, where she sank into a booth, making conversation with some random stranger who she could use the next time she got hungry.

Lying on his bed, shirt open revealing soft pale skin, Laurent was eyeing some documents that had been passed to him the night before. His eyes showed signs of tiredness and he rubbed them with the back of his hand as he accommodated himself on the cushions under his head. Maybe he should take a nap before getting ready for the night...

“Good evening, everyone. Our lord has a message."

With a groan, the boy sat straight on his bed and put the papers on his night table. It seemed that their bossy master had a request this early in the night. Well, he would have to wait. Laurent wasn't a dog that would just run to his side for any capricious demand. And he was busy too.

He ran a hand through his hair and waited for the next instructions as he slowly got up from the bed and unbuttoned his long shirt, the only thing covering his body, letting it fall slowly on the floor.

"You are to plan and execute a magnificent achievement. A competition between the Houses has begun..." The voice echoed through the ornate, golden tube on the wall.

"Hmm... What clothes should I wear..?" The boy wondered paying no attention. He looked at the mirror as he pressed a black silk shirt to his naked chest, then a white one.

“The winning House will rule London.”

"Oh?" The final statement picked his interest. That was his chance to shine. A magnificent achievement, eh? He walked towards the big window in his bedroom and opened the curtains, staring at the city lights far away and his lips curved into a smile. The new ruler will be his Elder, and him, the young commander that the city will revere. Ah, if his father could see him now, wouldn't he be proud? But those were all dreams for now, he though. He still needed to bring victory to his house if he wanted the power that ruling over London would bring him. There was no time to loose.

---

Tap tap tap
Leather boots echoed through the marble hallway as the young man approached the room they usually used for meetings. He was never the first to arrive, and never the last. But today he hoped to be noticed among the other high ranks.

With his black leather studded coat covering his delicate body, he showed himself tall and imposing as any warlord, and directed his cold stare to the other vampires. "I demand to be informed of the situation." He said calm but strict.

Two dark eyes watched with amusement from the rafters of the church. The steely grey gaze flicked with flecks of blue and unblinking. He had been awaiting his master's return, and one of the aspirant's return also, but that was secondary after seeing what he had just witnessed. Francois Malkavian himself, his emotions getting the better of him as usual. The church door had flown open with such fury and a crash loud enough to wake the dead, that Viktor had almost fallen from his perch.

“FUCK YOU, GRANGREL. I’LL KILL YOU IF IT’S THE LAST THING I EVER DO!” The voice echoed down the church, covering the sound of shattering wood and the clatter as the remains of the broken chair slumped to the cold stone ground. The smirk on the Prelate's face did not falter at his Elder's anger.

Remaining still and silent, the waiting vampire watched the exchange between the serving girl and the elder, before swinging his legs over the rafter and dropping to the ground almost silently, his sleek black walking cane under his right arm. When he lands, he dusts off his dinner jacket, smoothing out the creases, and takes the cane by the black carved wolf's head at the top, letting it rest on the ground, his hand tight around the snarling wolf, letting out a small clink as it connected with the large stone flagstones.

"Personally, my lord, I would recommend the cabernet sauvignon... There's a few bottles from 1807 in the back, a fantastic year, I must say..." Viktor speaks slowly and calmly, as is his fashion, carrying the demeanour of his twenty-year-old face in its smug English accent quite well, though he was neither English nor twenty. "The swine..." He says, taking two steps towards his elder, then leading against one of the stone pillars, watching him carefully. "... what has he done now?" Of course, he speaks of Grangel.

Of course, the Prelate was far more interested in the other information that the Elder had from the meeting with Tepes and the rest of the Elders, but he knew Malkavian well enough by now to know that he would get no valuable or useful information out of the man without letting him first vent off his anger.

Lorenzo soon woke up groaning as he heard the door slam open. His uncle was yelling about wanting to kill another elder, that was uncle for him he was always ready to throw the gauntlet. Lorenzo soon changed putting on his cloak to cover his brand as he got up and went towards the church entrance. Lorenzo soon heard one of the servants cone over to him to explain what was going on. It seems that his uncle wanted his men to do something impressive but Lorenzo really didn't know what he could do as an enforcer anyways. well If he wants I can go see about getting the grunts to work on getting more blood. nothing like willing victims to feed on in church after all Lorenzo said smiling as he walked out the door to do just that going past his uncle and closing the church doors behind him.

Lorenzo wasn't very high ranked but he could work their grunts into getting what everyone needed or at least what everyone else needed since Lorenzo himself actually had to eat food since he was only a half vampire.

(8PM)

Vikas slowly gets out of bed and looks at the woman he nearly drained to death. She was not beautiful, but rather pretty. Her features rather plain, with brown eyes, freckles, and mousy brown hair. Her skin was fair and the small amount of light entering the room seemed to make her more attractive. To top it off, he is pretty sure she is a prostitute....not that he asked very many questions before whisking her away to this room in this place. He had laid down money for the clothes he ruined before rubbing his face standing, dressing, and leaving. His attire being of a white linen shirt, a deep blue coat with copper colored buttons and tassels, black leather pants, and his black boots. As he walks the streets he decides tonight he would take the night off, just explore instead of hunting down his kind and killing them with the daggers he has equipped currently. His boots make little to no noise as he walks, bored out of his mind.
Normally, his day is full of normal civil things where he pretends to fit in with people. Then he sleeps for a small amount of time before it reaches 8pm, where he wakes back up and beings his hunting and thieving. Tonight though, he had gotten distracted and now had to walk back to his hideaway to get his weapons, cloak, and armor. He sighs, this is the third time this week that he has been unable to control himself...to stop himself from drinking blood. He shakes his head to snap himself out of it. He is a helsing, monster or not he would keep hunting. He had to.

Elizabeth thanked the man for the last few drinks, and whispered in his ear about how he should visit her across the street sometime. She then swooped up from the table, moving out of the man's reach as he tried to cup her bottom. She moved to the back of the tavern, back into the Nest itself. She yelled upon entering.
"Where is that bitch boy!?" She asked with a joyous grin, and all the tiny fearful eyes flicked to her.
"Larry? Lloyd? LAURENT!" She called, trying to remember his name. She had to please Amaury in order to succeed, but she was tired and had servants and adjundants for a reason. If the boy didn't show up soon, he would get quite the beating. She stood waiting with a smile, smoking her pipe and making circles with the smoke. She tapped her nails on the side of the pipe, making a small humming a melodic tune.

Laurent heard his name being shouted through the hallway. The annoying woman he was assigned to assist was once again unoccupied, while he was putting all his efforts on finding a way of helping his Master. Someone had a lot of difficulties in acknowledging the true talent, he thought, but since the Master enjoyed his nights at the brothel more than at the study, a prostitute becoming a Guardian was to be expected. These things used to happen at the Court too. Men can't resist a pair boobs. He shook his head in disapproval, but he turned around to answer her call. Not too quick and not too late, as he always did.

Walking out of the room with pride, he held his head high, his steps secure and determined like the Lord he was supposed to be, in his previous life at least. "What is it, Madam?" He asked politely, bowing so slightly that it was almost imperceptible. "I was about to discuss an important matter with the lower ranks."

The thick aroma of lavender oil filled the dimly lit dining hall. On all sides of the room, there stood grandiose book shelves full of the rarest books known to man. A tall yet quite petite woman sat politely, her exquisitely done hay colored hair glinting in the candle light. She was clad in a regal sapphire dress befitting of a royal princess. Pearl ear rings hung from her ears and she wore a modest amount of cosmetics that made her azure eyes absolutely pop.

"My lady, you look ravishing tonight." the illustriously dressed Marc Ravnos complimented. He rested on the seat before her, his golden eyes twinkling as he absorbed this woman's beauty. Just by his expression, you could tell he was absolutely enamored with this vixen.

"Oh, Marc... you're too kind." the lady's soft voice responded as she brought her delicate hands to her mouth in embarrassment.

"Your friends must be very jealous of you, Lyla. Not only are you intelligent, but I don't think I have ever shared the company of a more radiant woman. It's a... turn on, to put it lightly."

What came next shocked even the petite lady. Ravnos pulled apart his clothing, then hauled himself onto the table, crawling towards her in the nude. Out of all of his clothes, he was chiseled like a god of strength, his biceps bulging with every movement he took. Lyla's mouth went agape, and a rosy red spread on her cheeks. She couldn't believe this was happening, but she was ready...

"Vould you like take clothes off?" the harsh, grating voice of Greg bellowed loudly into her delicate ear.

---

Lyla flew up from the confines of her bed, panting lightly. There was no more grand dining hall to fill her eyes anymore, no more Ravnos to delight her fancies, just the tiny broom closet she called home. She had been having such a great dream, but it was ruined by that stupid mongrel of Magdalena's. In a fit of frustration, she reached up to one of the shelves that ringed her bed, grabbed a tennis ball, and chucked it at the opposing wall. As if she weren't cursed enough, the ball ricochet back and hit her square in the nose. For a moment, the young dhampir felt like she was going to cry as the splitting pain ran up into her brain.

Annoyed at herself now, Lyla scooted herself onto the stone floor and took a total of two steps before she stood in front of her small dresser. As she opened its drawers, there were only 3 dresses to be found and a handful of undergarments but absolutely no socks. One of those dresses was too small for her, so the poor girl's selection was quite limited. Sighing, she threw on the black and white maid's dress she had scavenged from a dead servant not so long ago. In her position, she couldn't be too choosy about what clothes she was able to get.

Underneath the dresser sat a pair of black church shoes, emblazoned with the Christian cross. Lyla had found these puppies outside a cathedral a couple of years ago. She often wondered why the original owner had left them outside, although they were awfully uncomfortable. Perhaps the owner just didn't want to deal with them? Lyla would never know, but she would wear them until they turned into leather scraps.

As ready to take on the world as she ever was, the dhampir turned once and slid the broom closet door open. Her room was hidden behind a couple of tall bookshelves, so not many people knew where she slept. She crept silently through the halls until she came into the main chamber of Ravnos' estate. Strangely, a crowd was gathered around the center of the room, murmuring words she couldn't quite hear. Rather than join the crowd, Lyla hid behind a pillar, waiting until the mob dispersed.

When her time finally came and there was no one but her in the room, she made her way up to the scroll. Her eyes immediately caught the handwriting of Lord Ravnos and buried themselves in reading his words. Her body stood there, rigid and intense as she took in every sentiment that her mentor had recorded.

A tour was being given in the House of Ravnos, for it was only just last week a ceremony was held for the advancement of two Aspirants. They were red-haired, freckle faced, males. The cutest of twins. They had converted into Novices and could now share a "behind the bookcase" room.

Aspirants of Ravnos' usually slept in the basement where there were cots and bare essentials like a journal to put their thoughts in. There was no room for barracks outside the building (the nest resided in an extremely busy area). Plus, Elder Ravnos preferred to be hidden in plain sight, which is why he chose his nest to be near the Clock Tower. The Grand Maester was "close friends" to Madame Fortworth, who owned St. Catherine's Apothecary for Pharmacy, so it was only natural to build his establishment upstairs, where an old library was kept.

"Alright, this way is the West Wing, and here is the door that leads to the attic. That's off-limits. Whatever you do, don't go up there. You're going to be scarred for the rest of your life and I don't want to be responsible for your tears. There's a reason why our Maester's study is in the East Wing... far, far away from here. Unfortunately, you'll be sleeping behind the horror books right here..." the tall, dark-haired Enforcer apologized, giving an expression of pity.

Not understanding why the Enforcer was giving them that look, the twins watched him pull the novel, The Invisible Man, and the bookcase shifted to the right, revealing a small, simple bedroom. Both the Novices didn't take the time to observe their bedroom, though they were quite amazed at the layout of the House. The room had a bunk bed, two desks with chairs, a wardrobe to share, two bookshelves, and a request slip (to ask for necessities).

The smaller sized twin boy, filled with curiosity, brought the conversation back to the attic. Turning around to see the Enforcer, he narrowed his eyes, "What's in the attic?"

Silence filled the corridor. Hesitant to answer, the Enforcer remembered when he was in their shoes... and how he regretted the moment he asked. His eyes shifted to the left and then to the right, there was no one in sight. Was it safe to tell?

Not feeling a presence behind them, the twins waited patiently for the Enforcer to reply. Did the attic hold secrets? Was it debauchery? Was it MURDER? Questions flowed in the young minds of the House.

Before the Enforcer could answer, a honeyed voice whispered, "Me."

Both Novices realized there was a female head between them smelling their hair. They jumped in unison and grabbed hold of the Enforcer, one letting out a light 'yelp'. This woman stood at 5'6", had piercing, jade colored eyes, and extravagantly, lengthy maroon hair. Her body was a nice, hourglass shape, full in all the right places. She wore a long black and lavender dress and diamond accessories to compliment her fair skin. Her presence was mysterious and kind of foreboding.

Prowling closer to the fresh meat, the lady observed her new prey, "I left buuks on yourrr bed". She had a strong accent which was a cross between German and another language the twins couldn't pin out. Passing them, leaving her alluring scent behind, she took her long, painted black nails and clawed the attic door, causing a nasty screech to enter their ears, "These is mein place".

Kneeling over, revealing lovely cleavage, she brought her nails to the cheeks of the tiny twin that asked the question and gently ran it down his cheek. She stared at him darkly.

With clear English, she flatly said, "Go up there, I'll kill you." That was probably one of the few phrases she had mastered to say without her accent.

The vampriress sauntered off.

Opening his mouth to explain, the Enforcer was interrupted again by another figure, which too came out of the twins' room. The figure was a older, quite thinner male vampire, with grotesque skin, greasy hair, and sharp fangs. His eyes were completely diluted, as he gravelly cautioned with his Flemish accent, "That is Magdalena. She high in house, you lov (low) . Ik ben Greg (I am Greg). Ve do science upstairs. Sometimes ve loud."

He paused and gave a freakishly wide grin, "Ik go nov. Tot later" (I go now. Until later). Dismissing himself, the servant named Greg trod onward, following his true master. His appearance kind of resembled that of an imp-like creature from children stories.

The twins were sweating now as they stared at the Enforcer who didn't know what to say.

---

Magdalena, or Lena for short, one of the Guardians of the House of Ravnos, slowly approached the main lobby. She was known for her silent walking. Books were simply everywhere. Young vampires could never possibly get bored because they were surrounded by so much material.

From a distance, she could see her precious toy, the lovely Lyla, reading a scroll left from their Maester ever so closely. Oh how delightful. This morning was turning out to be quite wonderful.

Letting her hands wrap around the girl like a lover would do, she teased, "Little girl is skinny today."

~
[Shout collab with @Viciousmarrow]

Lyla let out a squeaky yelp, fear gripping her with the intensity of a crashing boulder. She immediately squirmed her way out of the grip, but her body barreled straight into another. Panic subsided when her mind registered the voice of Magdalena, her constant tormentor, and the grotesque hands of the abominable Greg.

"P-please let me be..." she muttered, her head tilting downwards to stare at the floor.

"Little girl needs new wardrobe." The older woman commented on how Lyla seemed to wear the same clothes everyday.

Lyla didn't bother to get out of Greg's grip knowing very well his strength surpassed hers. Praying for someone to save her, she watched as Lena read the scroll.

"Ve go?" Greg caught his Mistress no longer reading the letter.

Turning around, she nodded, "Yes. Guud fresh airrr outside. We take little girl." The dominant woman took it upon herself to drag the dhampir with her. A good stroll would help them all gain inspiration.

Leaving the building, they walked around the streets of London.

Soon Lorenzo left the church and he went to find his 4 Kyres under his command. As an enforcer he is meant to be a teacher to his troops he was meant to make sure that they found their specialties so they could rank up again later. Despite being a half blood after a series of events he was able to show them that they could trust him and soon they respected him. Each one listened to Lorenzo when he gave orders and believed in what he was doing for them.

From left to right he had 3 men and one woman under his tutelage. The first one was a hothead named Eric mourn he was a tall muscular type and as one would expect he was an intimidation type of specialist he was able to use his temper and large size to his advantage to bully others. He was the first one to go against having Lorenzo lead them as their enforcer and as a result he tried to be top dog and bully Lorenzo into resigning from his post but with Lorenzo's unique brand of forgiveness carefree and in your face sarcastic attitude he was able to help him get better with intimidation as well as showing him appropriate times when his temper would be useful to him instead of scaring his prey away.

Then their was Markus O'Connor he was a skinny young kid with a talent for diplomacy he was a weakling who had no real talent for fighting however he was able to best use his voice and influence people into his way of thinking. Lorenzo was able to teach him how to use his talents better because Lorenzo showed him that his gift for diplomacy was more useful then he believed. At first Markus thought he was never going to improve but Lorenzo was able to teach him all he needed encouraging him. Afterwards he started to look up to Lorenzo despite being an abomination to all other vampires

Then their was the only woman in his little group she was named Maria pure she was a 5'6 inches tall busty woman with guile and charm to boot. she was different to deal with. She tried to be creative by getting Lorenzo in trouble using her charm. Lorenzo had to resist her charms it was obvious her greatest strength was charm which was useful in its own way. Soon she got frustrated and asked Lorenzo straight up why she couldn't trick him. Lorenzo simply smiled at her and showed her how a professional charms someone and he got her to even blush and struggle to find any words to say. Once he proved his point Lorenzo explained how well her technique was but she didn't have any experience in figuring out her target and adapting to each individual target. They soon got along and she understood and respected Lorenzo.

Finally their was the last male in the group named Dugan silver he was a lanky male but unlike Markus he had a talent in his speed when it came to combat. Unfortunately his talent was in bartering not that It was a bad thing but his specialty was meant for two people that are trying to get something from the other not a great quality to have when hunting for dinner so Lorenzo took him under his wing and tried to find a way to make sure he stayed alive. He soon found of that because of his talent for bartering he also had the talent to charm others and that's where Lorenzo was able to teach him the basics so he could get his food into a secluded spot and have his meal.

Lorenzo soon found them and had them all stand at attention "Alright guys we are going to be doing some exercises today. You need to get your own blood today and I want you all to do it with as little help from me as possible. I wont hold your hand forever and if you cant hunt for your own meals then you wont get any meals. If you all do well then ill have everyone join me on a mission to do something special for our elder which will surely get his notice if we do it right. Do you all understand me?! Lorenzo called to them and they all smiled calling back YES SIR! they all said and I grinned nodding to them as I motioned for them to follow me out of the church area and onto the streets...

Igraine was awoken by the hated voice of Persephone coming through the announcer in her room. In contrast to the content of the message, Persephone's voice sounded timid and weak, making Igraine wonder why Father let Persephone make such an important announcement in the first place. But one word came to Igraine's mind, concidentally, the same word her father used to describe the situation to Persephone with: "War". This was war, and not even hearing Persephone was enough to spoil Igraine's excitement.

Hopping out of bed, she picked her favorite outfit, the frilly black and crimson dress. It was considered extravagant, gaudy, and childish, 'trying too hard to be cute', but Igraine had earned her eccentricity with drug money and service to the House. To finish it off, She put on long black lace stockings and crimson high-heeled ankle boots and burst out of her room, running down the hallways to the foyer. Leaning on the railing, she shouted for all to hear, "Our House will make an offering to Lord Tepes with six pints of the bluest blood to be found in all England! The blood of the Queen herself!" While it might seem stupid to blurt out her idea in the open, what Igraine was counting on was forcing as many people to bear witness to the fact that she had come up with the idea first. Granted, the idea itself wasn't particularly clever, and Igraine hadn't in the slightest considered the difficulty and the nuance such an operation would entail, but Igraine thought little of details.

Having succeeded in her mission, she smirked and looked around the grand hall, spotting Elizabeth and Laurent approaching each other for a conversation. Elizabeth she had to respect for her rank, but Laurent could as easily be Igraine's rival and competitor as much as a co-conspirator and ally; either way, neither held sway over the other. Grabbing the edge of the railing, Igraine somersaulted down to the hall, bypassing the stairs and landed deftly like a cat. "Lady Parks," Igraine greeted respectfully, "Monsieur de Liberté," she greeted with a not-so-hidden smugness, caring little that she was interrupting their conversation, "What think you of my idea? Of course it will take a dedicated team to pull it off, and I wouldn't mind sharing the credit and working in concert with present company. After all this is for the glory of the House, and my Father, not for personal gain."

To the little girl's extravagant entrance Laurent payed little attention. He just raised an eyebrow with slight curiosity as to why she was requiring their cooperation. He thought the Grangrel preferred to act alone or command the lower ranks. Plus he didn't like the way she addressed him. But he did like her idea. An slaughter of the powerful was very fitting for their house. And gaining an ally in a place as competitive as this wasn't a bad idea. Maybe together they would be strong enough to do something worth of impressing their superiors.

Very brutal, Lady Grangrel. Your father will surely like it." He mocked a bit the fact that she thought that being Amaury's daughter would mean something. That man fucked so many women that a bastard child wasn't anything out of the ordinary. But he didn't want to start a war with Igraine, so he avoided voicing his thoughts out loud. "I'd gladly give you my support." He offered her his hand in a gentle manner, forcing a bit of a smile in his angel-like face, though his eyes remained cold and expectant.

He gave a quick look to Elizabeth, secretly hoping she wouldn't accept too. Just the idea of having her bossing him around through the whole mission made him sick.

"And how do you plan on getting past the royal guard?" Elizabeth piped in suddenly, her smile now holding a cold disapproval. "Will you blurt out your intentions to kill Her as you enter Her halls?" She asked sarcastically. "If you don't reveal vampirism in this endeavour then I will personally kneel before you, whelp." She finished, suddenly slapping Igraine across the face with her pipe, sending hot tobacco burning across her cheek.
"Just because Amaury fucked a little girl to make you doesn't make you special." She whispered in her ear, moving past her to the other one.
"Now, Lawrence," she started, not caring if she got the name wrong. "You shall head to the streets and scout for information on what the other houses are doing." She commanded plainly.
"Whelp, come with me." She told Igraine as she descended into the tunnels below the tavern.

Vikas continues walking. He suddenly has a very bad feeling about being without his equipment....not good. He picks up speed a bit knowing that if he is outnumbered too much he would have to talk his way out. Depending on the vampire that could end badly for him. He shakes his head...he is a helsing he would use his skills so that he isn't captured and used for some stupid prize.
As he walks he passes by a very tired looking woman and pick pockets her without her noticing, his should bump startling her. "Oh apologies madam, I was not paying attention" his voice is velvety soft causing the woman to blush and continue to wherever she is going.
With a soft sigh he opens the small coin purse he had snagged off of her. He looks mildly disappointed. "Cheap bitch" he grumbles under his breath. He should've gone for the pearls that were around her neck, but oh well. He pockets the small coin purse and keeps walking. "Why the hell did I go somewhere so far away" muttering to himself. He really needs to stop going to places that cause him to walk so far at night with just his daggers...he could run into vampires. He smiles slightly at that thought, a vampire who hunts his own kind...ironic.

It has started just a few days ago, that is, the itchiness. The discomfort of it had been largely ignored till is faded, as for actual treatment, some of the students’ papers were capturing his attentions. The man known at Willamar Shiver just couldn’t tear himself away. With Cross Academy’s curriculum...all the students, over time, came to be very well versed, articulated in the subject matters brought up in class, and he could proudly say that this reflected in their penned essays. Maybe in a shorter time than anticipated, his role of instructor would become entirely redundant to this class. In reading, grading these one by one in the past week, it had been needlessly careless…but he had simply forgotten.

The headaches started setting in earlier this morning.

Loosening the dark long-tie from his neck in the dimness of the pub, his white cotton dress shirt tinted warmly by the lamp light, and tapping his long fingers along the surface of the worn table...his brandy had been set before him and politely away from the short stack of papers spread out. Smiling at the waiter-girl, Will mouthed a thank you before she had to flee off to help another table, and absently he rubbed his arm, peering down at the amber liquid settled in the glass. Truth be told, a good spot of booze always made him feel a bit better. Such a thing was not even a proper, temporary fix, however...more of a creature comfort, really. Will did not know what sort of creature he could be called; all that he knew was that he was inextricably mortal.

By gods, it had been too long.

Eagerly picking the glass off the table, and bringing it to his nose, he didn’t actually know much about the scent of a good alcohol…but this seemed promising.

"If you want to talk to my girls, that'll cost you."

Locke bit back his tongue, not wanting to anger the woman. Why should he pay merely to ask questions? A part of Locke wanted to pull out his Kukri from under his coat to renegotiate, but Colonel Owens forbade him from causing too much trouble. Was this why the police told him they didn't talk to the girls of the so called Whorehouse? The whole concept was strange and alien to him. Locke did not wish to pay their "rates" if he could avoid it. "Could I at least talk to you?"

"Sure. I can do all the services my girls provide.. If you pay up. There'll be an extra fee, seeing how you're.. colored."

Locke sighed as he handed over a substantial amount of coin. The woman pocketed the money and led him through the whorehouse, which smelled terrible. Not quite burning flesh bad, but it was pungent enough to make him gag. Not only that, but there were muffled screams coming from behind several locked doors. And people supposedly paid for this? Locke knew the British had a different culture, but this was just outlandish. He would get his information and leave as soon as possible. The woman led Locke to what looked like a hotel room. The bed was... oddly stained, so he sat on a chair as the woman sat on the bed.

"The local police said one of your workers was murdered a week ago? Drained of blood?" The woman, who was about to undress, stopped as soon as Locke questioned her. She probably knew the victim personally. The woman gave him a look he had seen several times on the battlefield

"So you were actually here to talk. Why are you asking around about that?"

"I'm.... a private investigator. Someone hired me to investigate her death. Do you know who was her client?" Saying he was a vampire hunter was probably going to cause her to look at him as a freak. Possibly ill. And it was partly true after all, Colonel Owens gave him permission to investigate any death that may have been perpetrated by a vampire, so he was a sort of PI.

"Abigail always tried to convince me she had royal blood. I suppose if someone sent a private investigator, there's some truth to that, god bless her soul. And no, I don't. All sorts of men come through those doors, only the girls know who've they've been with. There's even been another one like her this morning. Barely alive. Knowing the local police, they would do as much for her as they did Abi. We even saw the man as he left.

"Please, tell me what who he was. Time is of the essence. I will do justice for your colleagues, Ms.?"

Natalee. We didn't exactly see his face. All I know is that he was wearing a blue coat, black pants, and black boots. Please, just tell me you will try and find justice for my girls. I know we are just whores, scum to society, but we're people too.

"It is my job after all, Ms.Natalee. I'll be right on it." Locke began to open the door to leave, but turned around to ask a question. "Ah... Is there any chance I might get my money back? Since you know I just wanted to ask a few questions?"

"No refunds. Didn't you read the sign at the front?"

Natalee then slammed the door in his face, and had not Locke stepped out of the way, he would have probably had a broken nose. It took every ounce of self-control in Locke not to break down the door and simply get his money back by force, But he now had more pressing issues at hand than lost coin. There was a potential vampire was out in the streets. And he was going to kill it.

- Inside the London pub: @Major Ursa -

While Willamar enjoys a nice glass of Brandy, a mighty man (fluffy beard, large and sinewy hands, iron muscles) is sitting at the center of the pub alone, drinking a refreshing beer after a hard days of work. Frustration seems to be building up in the brawny man as he observes a tiny red-haired waitress get sexually harassed by a drunk, top-hat politician. First the rich man slaps her butt, then he ask her if she'd like to give him a little something after her shift. He flaunts his money in front of her as if she were some kind of prostitute. Obviously, this prick felt entitled to have her. She expresses to the man that she is married but her saying no just makes him want her more.

The wealthy man forcibly pulls her to him and plants a painful, hard kiss on her lips while groping her plump ass. Most people acted like they could not see this, the big man, however, refused to be a bystander. He stands up slamming his fist into his table demanding the drunkard to stop. Not phased by the simpleton, the politician lets out an annoying snort and continues to touch her...

Before you knew it, a beer glass went straight for his head. CRASH. Nearly knocking the scum unconscious. Now terrified, the waitress runs into the kitchen. Some random idiot yells: BAR FIGHT. And the pub becomes a chaotic hell. While you sit with your nice, lovely brandy, a man with glasses is flown in the air and hits your table. As he lays on the now broken table, he spits out blood and a tooth. From the distance, you could see a gang of drunk men coming your way....

- Meanwhile, outside the London pub: @Jangel13 -

Lorenzo and his gang are prowling the streets ready to hunt some stupid humans. Across the street from a pub, you can see five people stumble out hurriedly: two heterosexual couples and a male, fifth wheel. After they joke about the fight going on inside, the two girls get into a disagreement about whether or not the female waitress "had it coming". Their voices get louder and louder by the second, filling the entire street with their high pitched voices. The fifth wheel was the more sober one out of the group. He immediately cuts in to shut them up. There was no need to add a cat brawl to the night. He then offers a shortcut to get to his house, since he didn't live too far from here.

One couple tells the others to go on ahead. Not waiting for a response from their group, they quickly scurry to an alleyway nearby... and commence in canoodling one another. The other couple, the woman quite pissed and disgusted at everyone else and her lover too drunk to comprehend her emotions, tell the fifth wheel to lead the way.

Sighing, the fifth wheel takes the first right on Garret Street. Before the turn, he meets eyes with you, Lorenzo, but thinks nothing of it. Wiping the sleep off his eyes, he marches forward. His friends were assholes who only cared about themselves and here he was taking care of the fools. Well, minus the horny idiots.

---

-Nose Candy-

"Lord Louis Ventrue himself!" A strange boy bowed to the Elder. A whiff of his scent made Ventrue's nose turn. Not because he smelt awful, but because he was... different. This boy wasn't anyone he recognized nor did he seem like a vampire. The answer hit Louis like a board across the face: this was an Aspirant. A coy smile spread on the white haired man's face, for this was a rare occasion indeed.

"Are you sure you'd like us to fight such a thing, sir? A Kraken is generally known as the monster that suctions your face in, after all."

"Hm... I see your point. A Kraken and its many thrashing tentacles are hardly a challenge for my House. I saw it once, yet it fled at the mere sight of me! Vlad couldn't possibly be happy with the death of such a craven creature. So I suppose we will settle with obliterating the Leviathan instead..." Louis told this newcomer. For a second, the Elder looked away, as if lost in thought. Suddenly, he threw down the trash can lids and pulled a flintlock pistol from his coat with lightning reflexes, the muzzle pressed up against this boy's head. A single finger cocked the firing mechanism.

"You know, the last Aspirant to approach me without permission was 600 years ago. The only words he got out were 'Hello, sir' but then I ripped out his spine. I'm sure you've heard the stories." Ventrue's usual whimsical tone switched to a deadly serious, his red eyes glaring at the boy.

"...But even knowing all this, you STILL decided to talk me? That takes big, massive balls. And I respect that to a whole new level." Louis uttered, his familiar grin cracking back onto his face. "I respect it so much that I'm making you an official member of the House of Ventrue. We need more ballsy types like you, ones who don't run away from a monumental challenge. I'll have someone prepare the ceremony in say... 3 days, give or take."

Augustus wasn't going to die after all. In fact, great news came from this chit chat with the Elder. The flintlock pistol was lowered and Ventrue gave the human before him a clap on the shoulder. As he did so though, a brick of packaged white powder* fell from his jacket, silently landing on the floor. The vampire lord's eyes fell upon it and a quizzical look appeared on his face. Pocketing the pistol, he bent over. "Ah, yes. This. I uh... 'borrowed' this package from Grangrel today. He had it on his person and he wasn't paying any attention to me. Anyway, I'm not exactly sure what it is." Ventrue picked the brick up and unfurled the packaging. He poured a good sum of the powdery substance into his palm, some of it leaking onto the floor. His head leaned into his palm, and he took a good whiff of it, as if he were seeing if it had any smell to it. A good bit of it got sucked into his nostrils, and Louis stumbled back as though he was kicked by a mule. At the same time, he began to feel just a bit light headed.

"Damn! I didn't expect that!" he cried, his eyelids blinking rapidly while he tried to blow the white substance out of his nostrils. He dusted off his hand on his pants leg and folded the rest of the package before turning his attention back to Augustus.

"Since you seem to be free, I want you to see if you find someone who knows what this is and then report back to me. It shouldn't be too hard with all the criminals in this city. I want to know what shady things Grangrel is bringing into London. Just be careful. You're still a human for 3 more days. Speaking of that..." Ventrue produced the flintlock pistol he had been holding moments ago and handed it to Augustus along with the mysterious package. With a wave of his hand, the Elder sent his underling off to his bidding. As Louis walked away, he was filled with an amazing feeling, and all of a sudden, he couldn't stop staring at his hands.
_*Cocaine

---

-Secular Motions-

"Personally, my lord, I would recommend the cabernet sauvignon... There's a few bottles from 1807 in the back, a fantastic year, I must say..."

Francois eyes dart to the lone figure standing there, instantaneously recognizing his Prelate's regal form. The man was dressed almost as fashionably as himself, but not quite. A small nod of greeting is given, but Francois doesn't respond to Viktor's suggestion, rather apathetic to what wine is brought to him as long as the alcohol does its job properly.

"The swine... What has he done now?"

At the words, the Elder scoffed and turned away, tightening his fists until his knuckles turn white. "He did nothing, Viktor. Absolutely nothing. But I can't stand so much as to look at the bastard..." he seethes. After a moment, Francois breathes heavily and lets his emotions go for the time being. "I don't wish to think about it right now though. Tonight, I'll drink till I can't hold myself up and bed wenches till I'm sore."

The gentleman's icy blue eyes fell upon a table to his right and he is suddenly reminded of an urgent issue. His feet carried him to the wooden surface where a single letter lay unopened, the great seal of House Malkavian engraved in the wax that kept it shut. "I'm glad you visited me when you did. I was about to forget my duties as Master of the House." He took the envelope and strode over to Viktor, handing it to the proud man.

"There has been some clamoring in Parliament. Apparently, there's been a few radicals that want to separate the Church and state, and they've been gaining quite the audience. They're prepared to send a bill to do such through next Friday. As our primary influence comes from within the Church, this would be a devastating loss. In short, I want these reformers out of the picture." Francois stated concisely. He began to pace back and forth with his hands gripped behind his back, each foot stepping with eloquence of a thoroughbred stallion. "However, this isn't your run of the mill assassination. I want their deaths to seem like accidents. Inconspicuous. I don't want the masses out on a witch hunt. As a man of many talents, you're the right man for the job."

The Malkavian stopped his pacing and pointed to the envelope in his Prelate's fingers. "That contains all the information available about these men. Names, addresses, hobbies... You get the picture." As if on que, the serving girl that Francois had sent off earlier returned with a case of wine and a couple of glasses. A small smile flickered onto the blond's face, and he gestured Viktor out the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have my own 'duties' to attend to. We will speak more on the morrow."

---

-Possession-

An enormous shadowy figure watches as the two Adjutants, Laurant and Igraine, are bossed around by the imperious Elizabeth. Before Elizabeth can vanish into the tunnels beneath the tavern, the heavily garbed vampire steps forth. This person's face can not be seen, hidden behind their shrouded hood. You can't tell if the figure is male or female.

"Oh my darling Elizabeth, where, oh where are you heading now?" the ambiguous sing song voice of her superior calls out. "I have come to give you orders. Pressing matters, my darling." It's quite clear from their demeanor that they are a Prelate, a rare sight for the two Adjutants. Unseen eyes suddenly dart to Laurent and Igraine. A soft chuckle can be heard before this enigmatic person steps closer to Igraine. They kneel down to get on her level, silently breathing.

"Amaury's bastard. As edible as your mother was. If only he had let me have you when you were a child..." the shade whispers ominously to her. Igraine can make out the lower portion of this eerie person's face. Two massive scars run from the corners of their mouth, a terrifying Chelsea Grin "smiling" back at her. The rest of their jawline seems burnt and scarred. Before she can respond, they stand upright and stride toward Elizabeth.

"As I was saying. Pressing matters, Elizabeth. Very pressing, yes. Lord Grangrel would like you to find the root of the Malkavian infestation." they purr. "This isn't an open ended assignment though, my darling. Oh no, no, no. You have until the end of the night to uncover a lead. If not... Well..." The person draws a smile across her lips (as if insinuating she'll have a permanent smile just like his), snickering all the while. Whoever this figure is, they are clearly not sane.

"Don't think I have forgotten about your kiddies though." they tell her, adding more onto her plate. The shade spins around and stares at the two again. "You two... So young, so fresh. They call me the Wraith, for I have no name. I have served Lord Grangrel longer than anyone. As a matter of convenience, I will have you carry out a couple of menial tasks that would be beneficial to our House."

The Wraith pulls off one of their black gloves, revealing a disgusting necrotic hand. One of their shriveled, black fingers points at Laurent. "You, fancy boy. There's been rumors of someone investigating our Lord's latest kill within the Red Light District. You should be able to find information in the whore houses. Discover who this person is. Then dissuade him from his case by any means necessary. Do this on top of whatever else your lovely, luscious mistress has demanded of you." [Neko Sensei, if you haven't already, please read Nytem4re's recent post]

The frail, gross hand then aims at the smaller vampire, and a long, saliva coated tongue drags across the Wraith's chin. "And you, my treat... If you wish to find yourself in the kind graces of you father, then locate a package that was taken from him. It contains our newest supplement to our thriving, underground... 'pharmacy'. Yes, yes, the white stuff." they inform her, a somewhat seductive tone to their voice. [Stern Algorithm, please read "Nose Candy" event]

With that, the cloaked figure begins to take his leave. However, a few steps forward and they stop. "Remember, failure is not an option, my sweets..." they warn before vanishing from sight.