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t h e . w a y w a r d - e v e n t
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On the surface,
an Elysium of unsurpassed splendor. Beneath, something sinister lurks...
Jules De'Floren maybe he just didnt like apples *laughs* Nikodemus "I heard some twenty years back he got run out of town. Seems a pack of lupines followed a trail of bloodied bread crumbs to his haven. I understand there's a nice orchard where his house used to be." Jules De'Floren an apple orchard? well that is quite ironic is it not? *puffs his cigar* Where has everyone gotten off to I wonder? ------------------ Nikodemus
"I sure thought so." Nikodemus stands and looks around. "Not sure." Jules De'Floren ------------------ Neuromortis Perhaps. And there are others who mayhap have their eyes drawn to the massive oaken bar nestled between columns of slate grey alabaster and deepest onyx, draped in Royal Violet wrappings of luxuriant velvet, trappings well suited to the discerning aesthetic. The bar teems with the motley array of visitors: Some remain perched upon the high oaken chairs girding the commanding presence of the station of servitude; others procure their desires and retreat to the sanctity of their booths. All seem quite content with the prizes they come away with. Behind the framework of the bar is a blur of activity--drinks here, there, and most assuredly everywhere a hand is raised find themselves effortlessly owned by needy fingers. The procurators of said relief are several, alternately gliding blithely to and fro from patron to patron, or bedecking the tiers of bottles rising high behind--yea, they take the air at times, gravity losing her volitional chains upon the bodies in motion. Silken-garbed, they work patiently, methodically, effortless in their pursuit of the next request. Perhaps the more discerning ear will hear polite refusal to certain desires, coupled with a sudden stillness of movement otherwise unbroken--a stillness punctuating cause and effect: There will be no part of "No" that you will not understand. And not a being so halted so much as offers a rebuttal--perhaps a lifting of the eyebrow at length, before the request is remedied to bring acceptance and good cheer. From a distance, one might not understand the wellspring of such instant submission. From a distance, one might learn that some questions are better off understood before asked. And as the evening begins, those with senses capable of such a task pick out the underlying tension of mutual, tentative truce-- overwhelmed by a blanket of grateful awe. The room awaits...
The sleep of reason breeds
monsters. Jules De'Floren what is this place, it is unlike any place which I have seen before *gets up and begins to walk around* I'm going to find the lady of the house and discover just what is going on here *he continues to look* ------------------ Jules De'Floren where is she, what kind of hostess is never around? *taps a man at the bars shoulder* excuse me sir, could you be so kind as to tell me where i might find the lady of the house? ------------------ Neuromortis Subtle gestures of invitation. Not so subtle invocations to kindly move on. Seductions and seditions. Business and pleasure. A microcosm of the slice of life that lies underneath the dermal layer of humanity. As a gentleman approaches the bar, he might notice, inlaid within the deep-set varnish in red gold: O Domínio, Do Hospitality ------------------ The sleep of reason breeds
monsters. Vash Err... Ha lo amiko? Kien c^u banejo? *Ponders why the only other languages he knows are ones that are never used* Elijah Robert Marks "Oh Lord, your hospitality is the parental Pez dispenser?" He shrugs. "I never could get the hang of Latin. I was always a better at Aramaic and Hebrew." ------------------ Nikodemus Again, Nikodemus pulls his hip flask and takes a quick drink. Then, almost ashamedly he offers some to Elijah. "Want a hit, Slayer? It's of an...unusual vintage. I believe the creature called herself a sidhe. Absolutely delightful, with such precocious and the vintage is pretty good as well. I think your palate would find it agreeable." Elijah Robert Marks ... and almost drops the flask as he gasps in shock. He hands the flask back, trembling. "Sorry. That was... as my father would say, you need to learn to drink whiskey before you can move to 'shine. My blood is boiling. I think I need to sit down again." As he returns to his seat he looks vaguely haunted, as he realizes he just compared drinking blood to drinking alcohol. He sighs again. ------------------ Nikodemus Nikodemus turns to Florindo, Vash & De'Floren: "Gentlemen, ladies, whatever?" Elijah Robert Marks Florindo Florindo swings a chair around and "perches" on it just as Elijah takes his his first swig of Sidhe blood. Florindo's nearly ever-present smirk widens (s)he(?) grips the back of the chair and watches the comedy of a Fledgeling ingesting Changeling vitae ensue. That's a trip, no? Can't say that I've ever had the pure stuff before. I ran into a girl who said she was a "cousin" of the Wild Ones a few years back. Her juice was pretty wicked on its own. Careful with how much you drink or you'll have a bad trip. Elijah Robert Marks He chuckles softly, a mix of irony, bitterness, but also genuine humor. "I do believe I'm a bit tipsy. You know, when we said 'they're drunk on blood this evening,' we always meant -- " He stops himself abruptly, frowning. "I'm sorry. That's in very poor taste." ------------------ Nikodemus "Actually, it is a nice change to see a Kindred that is 'truly' interested in the social amenities, not just new ways to use words as weapons." Voracia The eyes of the short assembly flick to the source of a familiar voice which dances about the subconscious like a fading dream sparked into life. The woman drinks in the newcomers casually,the tint of shade her glasses provide creating a minute buffer before azure eyes, which take brief respite in each new face, maintaining the gaze offered therein in kind. She continues soft but heard above the din: "It would seem to me that we have newcomers to Great Hall," Her accent bears the effects of time spent in European regions--Spain or Portugal perhaps...but wait, there might be Russian...perhaps Slavic? Romanian? Certainly her countenance confirms the descent of lineage through the European mores... One might take her question as a double-entendre as her eyes come to sparkle across the tipsy young Marks: "You ARE new, are you not..." Florindo has the courtesy of her mirth immediately following, and just as though the thought had never broken, "...children..." A barely perceptible wink. "...of ALL ages are welcome to Great Hall..." With this, she places hands upon the shoulders of Nico and Eli, stepping gingerly upon the table, assuming a dignitary pose reminiscent of the CHORUS orators of Shakepearean fare--hand on hip, another proffering her assertions to the heavens, head snapping sharply up: "Built upon the banks of the Techirghiol - famous on account of its curative virtues, for centuries a haven to world-weary flesh!" Her presentational tomfoolery nevertheless attracts many a cultured eye--and as she continues, fed by the fires of attention, a transformation takes place: "For who, within the frame
of constant mind, Timbre and rhythm. Cadence and pitch. Tempo and articulation. A gestalt of passion and torment arise to the fore in defiance to the public acknowledgement of shared anonymity. "The latter is a soothing
empty touch- And as she continues, the more discerning might notice the enchantment taking place here--and these will observe the dichotomy between those who willingly surrender to the Embrace of a passion...and those who grow more and more uncomfortable when confronted with it. "What bourne is this?
the puzzle has no face, O, gather here awhile! Rejoice,
forsooth! Silence. The orchestra ceases. And in the breath of time before the interior life resumes at Great Hall, there is a hearkening to that elusive sliver of existence some have all but sundered: Humanity. And herein lies the origin of the enraged outburst at the far end of the Hall--followed by a tormented cry from elsewhere within. Another, and yet another--voices raise in cacophony of dischord... Apparently, some do not appreciate being "touched..." ------------------ GothicHeresy Hm. Yeah. Sucks being dead, dunnit? The figure glumly slinks back into the shadows from whence he came... >>Szandor, Clan Nosferatu Altiriel Twice-Born It must be strange to remember something so long forgotten. Perhaps better not to forget it in the first place. ------------------ Elijah Robert Marks ------------------ Vash *Vash shrugs and takes a seat on the nearest chair and glances around at the newcomers in the room*
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