Outside, the grey stormy clouds completed the eerie scene of the old, gated mansion. Inside of the iron gate was a dry angel fountain, the petrified holy creatures holding a stoic, judgmental expression toward anyone coming up the driveway. The multi-storied building behind the fountain provided no comfort either. Various brown gashes decorated the outer wall where the paint had worn away, and as if this weren't bad enough, nature seemed to be beginning its push to take back the mansion, as vines snaked from the bottom upwards around the corners.

The inside was as eerie as the outside would imply. While kept clean by various maids and butlers, wear was apparent in the aging wood and paint of the halls and rooms. The dim lighting also revealed a flaw in the electricity.

"Alright, thank you all for coming." Came the deep, slightly southern voice of Joseph Mikkish Callahan, as he sat at the head of a long table.

"You all have a few things in common with me and each other. Exactly how much I don't know. I don't suppose there's any other Georgia boys in here?" Mikkish took a sip from his fine, red wine.

"If you received my invitation here, though, it means you fought with the cult. Now...I don't think anybody else here blew up any islands, but you're experience fighting this cult tells me something about you. Most people die or go insane fighting them, but not any of you." Mikkish paused a moment, slumped in his chair, and looked around at everyone.

"I know we will all work together just fine, but first, lets go around...and introduce ourselves. Tell us what you bring to the table. Oh, and by the way, this wine is for everyone. I got plenty of it." Mikkish said, holding up the bottle and looking around with an offering expression.

Rowan sat several seats down from Mikkish and listened to his introduction, but all his words appeared to reflect from her ears. Her face was expressionless and her icy blue eyes were as cold as death. When he offered some wine, she glanced at the bottle, almost wishing that she could summon her crossbow and shoot the damn thing from his waving hand. Alas, she had manners and did not wish to piss off her host--yet.

"I am Rowan Hendrix, a cryomancer that fought on the island." The woman appeared to be young, but the way her voice carried through the hall made her sound as if she were years older. "I took out many several smaller groups of cultists in my home area of Colorado."

"Ah. Good to see another 'volunteer' from that project here." Mikkish said, with a brief, sarcastic applaud as he poured himself more wine. "As for Colorado, I heard about mass killings in the Rockies on the news. Must've been you. Anybody else?" He said, looking around

Eleanor wrinkled her nose disdainfully at the sight of the old mansion. It was obviously beginning to fall into a state of disrepair, as evidenced by the peeling paint and vines crawling up the foundations. This had better be worth my time, she thought. I cancelled a pedicure just for this Mr. Callahan! Eleanor flicked an invisible speck of dirt off of her satin gloves as she continued up the front walk, heels click-clacking against the ground.

Eleanor wore a pale, dusty pink dress with lace at the hem and at the collar, as well as at the ends of the sleeves. A riot of ruffles ran across the skirt, and a thin leather belt was cinched at Eleanor's waist. Her caramel-colored hair had been carefully arranged into precise waves earlier that day, but the damn humidity was undoing all of the hairstylist's impeccable work. She'd gotten her nails done two days ago-she'd opted for French nails, as usual, and she had them painted a light rose pink to match her dress. However, her nails were currently concealed by a pair of lovely, pristine white satin gloves. A hint of blush graced her cheeks, which had been contoured to emphasize her high cheekbones, and Eleanor had decided to go with lip gloss instead of her typical choice of lipstick. She wore mascara and eyeliner, though not as much as she usually wore, and soft grey eye shadow topped off the ensemble. Of course, Eleanor was wearing a pair of spiky heels (white pumps with bows on the straps this time, and though they appeared to be more fitting for a young girl than a vampire of eight hundred and two years, the heels were just as sharp as any other pair of shoes that Eleanor owned), and a small dagger was concealed in her bodice. She carried one of her favorite bladed fans-a white lace one from her marriage to Mr. Stanpoth that complemented the rest of her outfit perfectly-and a white leather handbag that held lipstick, a compact mirror, and a gun.

Eleanor had impulsively decided to wear a jaunty little hat decorated with cloth flowers and a small bit of netting that was reminiscent of Victorian England before she set off for the mansion. It was the color of cotton candy and fresh cream, and it matched her jacket, which was cream-colored and featured puffy sleeves similar to those of princess-dresses in children's storybooks.

Eleanor carefully made her way up to the front door, her eyes scanning the area and her mind reaching out to see if anybody else was there as well. If this is some sort of trap, I shall be extremely cross with Mr. Callahan, Eleanor decided. The humidity is ruining my hair and there's dirt everywhere. Does this man not know the meaning of basic hygiene?

The insides of the mansion were no better than the outside. It was dark, though that was of no concern to Eleanor-she was a vampire, after all-but goodness gracious, everything was filthy!

Eleanor arrived at the dining room. Her eyes immediately went to the blonde man sitting at the head of the long table. Eleanor herself took a seat across from a woman with white hair and ice-blue eyes.

Joseph Mikkish Callahan began to speak in a deep voice that held a hint of a southern drawl. Eleanor found southern drawls to be very charming, having spent time in the American south during the mid-nineteenth century after marrying a wealthy plantation owner when he was visiting England and coming to America to live in his lavish estate. Of course, not three years had passed before Eleanor had drank the man dry and sold all his assets (including the beautiful house, as much as she hated to do so), taken the money, and left.

Their host mentioned fighting the cults. Eleanor blinked innocently at him, though her mind was racing ahead.

Fought the cult? More like... disposed of a cult. A fight implies that both sides have an equal chance of winning, does it not? They killed my dear little Melissa, so I killed them. End of the story. I have to say, though, their blood was some of the best that I've tasted since Spain. Perhaps I should kill more of these cultists. It would get me out of Mr. Callahan's dreadful old home, and I do enjoy the taste of their blood.

Eleanor reached out and listened to what they were thinking. Joseph Callahan was enjoying the red wine, which he thought was rather expensive. Eleanor had to stifle a giggle at that. The wine was expensive? It was second-rate, at best. Eleanor hadn't had wine so cheap since New York City, and that was only because there was a massive shortage of finer alcoholic beverages. These days, though, Eleanor preferred champagne; the best champagne that money could buy.

The elemental mage who could control ice sat stoically, her eyes practically burning. Eleanor resisted the urge to roll her eyes. What in the world is she so worked up about? Indeed, the woman had just thought about pulling out her crossbow and shooting the wine glass out of the other mage's hand. Now, that's not very polite, is it? thought Eleanor. It would be terribly rude to interrupt, and think of how the wine would stain his clothing. Although I wouldn't mind the spectacle. It would certainly be quite amusing.

Their host suggested that they introduce themselves. Eleanor pointedly ignored the wine that he offered, instead focusing her attention on the blue-eyed woman. She told their host that her name was Rowan Hendrix, and that she was a cryomancer who'd fought the cults on the island and in the Rockies.

Eleanor went next. "I am Eleanor Fife-Stanpoth," she began, flashing the pair a warm smile. "Before I begin, I would like to thank Mr. Callahan for kindly hosting us in his...home, as well as for the generous offer of wine," Eleanor went on, subtle inflections of her voice hinting at what she truly thought of the mansion and the wine. "And what do I bring to the table, Mr. Callahan?" Eleanor paused and placed her index finger on her chin and looked up at the ceiling, as if she was deep in thought. "Well, I am sure that you are aware of my true nature, as well as my other abilities, or why else would I be here?" she giggled, as if any other idea was completely absurd.

"No, Mr. Callahan, I am certain that you already know, but for Miss Hendrix's sake, I shall humor you. I am, ah, a telepath, and I can most certainly provide assistance if I deem it worth my time. Oh, and a vast array of cosmetics and high heels, if any of you have interest in that sort of thing." Eleanor gave him a sickly sweet smile. "Yes, please do make this worth my time, Mr. Callahan," she finished, giggling slightly, though if one looked hard enough, they would be able to detect a dangerous gleam in Eleanor's wide brown eyes.

Rowan ignored his comments about her own little battles. She wasn't one of the strongest Mages, that much was for certain, but she wasn't in this war for the chance at becoming well-known for her power and helping to save the human race. No, she couldn't give a rat's a** what happened to the rest of the world. All she longed for was a fight that would put an end to her own blood lust. If she desired to speak her mind, she would have snapped at him to skip to formalities and get on with the killing, but she wasn't that rude. There was no hope in finding a better battle than with him, so she would have to play his little game until she could find the time to run her own course.

Her ice cold eyes glanced at the door as soon as she heard the clicking of heels coming down the hall. The woman's body tensed and she mentally prepared herself to attack if the intruder meant to do them harm. Alas, much to her dismay, it was merely a fluffy pink bundle of egotism that strutted into the room as if she were the belle of the ball. Oh, for heaven's sake... first the pompous Southerner and now a walking bundle of frills. Too bad that suicide attempt didn't work out as planned...

Rowan longed to tune out the woman's voice, but of course, curiosity got the better of her. She longed to know exactly who and what she was to have been brought here. The Cryomancer didn't appreciate the venom that rolled off the woman's glossy pink lips, especially when she looked at her as if demeaning her. Though she couldn't help but appreciate the woman's subtleties aimed at the state of the mansion and the wine that he was offering so frivolously.

When the woman told her what she was, Rowan internally grinned like a Cheshire Cat, though her exterior remained unaffected by any of her words. Let the fun and games begin...

@MikkishtheLeprechaun@ayzrules

Mikkish chuckled at Eleanor calling him 'Mr. Callahan.'

"Please, miss. Call me Mikkish." he said, taking another sip of his wine.

It wasn't the Mikkish hadn't picked up on Eleanor's snobbish reaction to his wine and his home. It was just the Mikkish didn't care.

No, it wasn't that he just didn't care. He actually found it amusing.

"Clayton." Came another voice. This time, a similar accent but...different. It drew attention to the man who said it. A man, taller than anyone else yet in the room, wearing a duster and a stoic expression.

"Ah, Clayton McDougal. I think we've met." Mikkish smile upon addressing Clayton was very obviously fake; a thin veil over the seething anger he held over the incident years ago "Only one here who killed that broodmother on the moon. Pity."

Eleanor didn't pretend that she couldn't hear the others' thoughts. "A walking bundle of frills, hmm, Miss Hendrix?" she giggled happily, though there was a dangerous gleam in her chocolate-brown eyes. "I suppose that's rather accurate," she said, stroking her bladed fan. There was enough lace to conceal the blades themselves, but one could surmise that the Victorian fan was more than what it appeared to be by Eleanor's sugar-sweet grin.

And yes, let the games begin indeed, she said to herself.

Next, Joseph Mikkish Callahan-who insisted that she call him Mikkish rather than Mr. Callahan, as improper as that was-thought that she was a 'snob'. Well, I cannot blame him, she admitted silently. People who are not as powerful as I am tend to place more value in the second-rate products that they find so fine. It's no fault of theirs, really, but a fault of their...circumstances, which they have failed to change. Hmm. So I suppose it is indeed their fault! No matter.

"I'm glad that you find my distaste so amusing, Mikkish," Eleanor said sweetly, imagining what it would feel like to rake her bladed fan across his face or stab one of her hairpin-daggers into those eyes that reminded her way too much of the plantation owner she'd married. Or, better yet, what it would feel like to sink her fangs into his warm neck and suck the life out of him, the way that she had with that plantation owner. George was his name, was it not? He was charming enough, until he started complaining that I was spending too much money. What a bore. And I must admit that his southern accent did become irritating after awhile. It was not very hard to kill him. He was surprised, yes, and he fought back, of course, but that's just what humans do. Humans; they're so weak. Mages, for that matter, are only slightly better. Where they lack in weakness they more than make up for in ego.

And then there was Clayton. Eleanor perked up at the enmity in between him and Mikkish that she could sense without even attempting to use her abilities. Oooh, Mikkish is very obviously angry at this Clayton McDougal. This shall be interesting! Very interesting indeed.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. McDougal," Eleanor responded sweetly, flashing him a winning smile with a flip of her glossy caramel waves. Very emotionless man, is he not? Hmph. Those are such a bore.

Mr. Spades had been an early bird to the party at hand. He'd been one of the first guests at the table, if only just barely, but it allowed him to preemptively muster and judge everyone before Mikkish had the chance to start flinging words and phrases across the room. The suited man did so with a smile, as per usual. A smile that was almost a trademark, no matter how hollow and dishonest it came to be. As the round of introductions began, he had the pleasure to confirm whether his first impressions were accurate, which was always great fun.

The blue-eyed girl turned out to be a cryomancer, how fitting, he thought. Even without her abilities, she appeared like the coldest spot in the room anyway. The stoic, disinterested eyes told a silent story, one of parental neglect maybe, possibly betrayal or a long history of lost loved ones. He had assumed that her heart might be locked in a proverbial ice coffin, but for it to be a literal one was a bit beyond what he suspected. For shame, the unapproachable ones were usually hard to faze, unless one stumbled into their big red 'DO NOT PUSH'-button.

The one he mindfully dubbed 'dolly' showed a little more promise as she spoke up. Since her arrival, there seemed to be something off about her. Something he couldn't quite lay a finger on. She seemed like a woman either too old for her appearance or too young for the way she moved about. His first assumption went along the lines of a spoiled brat with rich parents, but the way she moved and gestured was too smooth for a pampered bitch. The way she expressed herself confirmed this second impression about her, as she was outright dignified, a trait her age group was usually completely void of. The way she made clear that she considered herself way above the wealth surrounding them with the tone of her expression alone made his fake smile grow considerably wider and less dishonest for a moment. This was the kind of fire he enjoyed stoking so much, and with Miss Hendrix 'the walking ice pack' around it was an outright heartwarming discovery. Learning that she was a telepath didn't dampen his mood in the slightest. Although it would make it a little difficult to hide his intentions from her, it wasn't impossible to still get from point A to point B, and he loved a good challenge. That little spark of hostility in her eyes didn't escape Ryan's attention, and put the proverbial cherry on top of this tart. He would have to be rather careful with his thoughts around her...or maybe not at all?

The voice of the rather huge man sort of surprised him. For some reason, he didn't take note of the guy up to this point, thus he had no pre-introductory opinion to confirm or disprove, which was sort of telling in its own way. The guy had a rather weak presence, despite his size. Or maybe he was some sort of shadow-mage. Or maybe Ryan was so preoccupied comparing glacier and brimstone over there that he simply got distracted. The big guy revealed so little about himself that Ryan actually pinned a mental note to the 'shadow mage?' section of his memory wall.

Since Mr. Shady seemed finished enough, Ryan considered it to be his turn. He rose from his seat nearly opposite of their host and tipped his hat, only to make himself look like even more of a douchebag than he already did. This also revealed more of his bilious green hair. "Ryan Spades. Here to lend my expertise as an investigator and hemomancer to this wonderful little troupe, it appears." His gaze went across the room once, establishing eye contact with everyone ever so briefly, in an attempt to measure how much disdain he had earned yet. He quickly added a cheery "So nice to meet you." that would be mostly genuine, but an observant telepath would undoubtedly pick up on the underlying layer of sarcastic glee that filled his mind like poison soaked cotton stuffing. As he sat back down, Spades wondered what exactly caused Callahan to gather such a diverse group of glorified scoundrels. Particularly since one of the present attendees of his little congregation made the man almost flinch with anger, just by the mention of his name. But as long as some good old murder was involved, he wasn't one to let a generous offer pass, even if it was for an ultimately righteous cause.

And while all this was happening, Mikkish remained in the same, slumped position in his chair. The same amused smirk was plastered on his face as he watched all the little children at the table.

"Alright, alright. Get along, kids." He said, in a mocking tone "If we all tear each other apart now, who is going to take out this cult?"

"Look, when I was in the Malificus Project, I did a good bit of snooping and found a great deal of secrets out about Maniacles Corporation, including evidence against them. They don't want word getting out about what they do, so Maniacles grants me some perks. This includes them sharing information they have gathered about this cult. Anybody here ever been to Louisiana?" Mikkish said that last part with a false excitement, as if talking to a bunch of third graders. He even raised his hand.

"Anyway, thats where we're going."