Lies, Deceit and Betrayal in D.C. - Revisited (V:tM RP)

[Bethany Trix]

"May I ask you some questions?"

Bethany coolly appraised the stranger who had approached. He wanted to ask her questions? What kind of questions? Was there a quiz she'd forgotten to study for? What was his game? She was the one who usually asked the questions. And she didn't want to be late for her meeting with Lucien. Her natural state of inquisitiveness had deserted her after the time spent with mr and mrs dopey, but she reasoned that was little point in being rude.

"Okay, buddy. Buy me a drink at the Nile and sure, you can ask me some questions." Stretching her lips into a smile that revealed gleaming teeth, she backed up the sidewalk to the entrance of the club and waited. "Buy me two drinks and I might even answer them."

Ignoring the small queue of people, she dodged through the doors, not sure if he would follow her. For the second time that night she inhaled the scent of hot sweating bodies but this time she kept a low profile, keeping to the shadows and finding a seat in a corner. Lucien would find her easily enough. As would the stranger, if her instincts hadn't double crossed her.

[Ashwyn]

Sheper stared at where the pale woman had stood a moment before, more than a little thrown by her sudden departure. He just hadn't expected that reaction. He watched her enter the club with trepidation. He didn't like being indoors, especially if there were crowds, and from the line at the door, this place would be very crowded. Steeling himself, he followed after, deciding to follow the woman's example by ignoring the line. A folded bill passed to the doorman saw him inside, where he immediately stopped.

The Nile set Sheperd instantly on edge. The place reeked of alcohol and human sweat, and the music was painfully loud to his ears. Unconsciously he fell into a fighter's stride, a deceptively relaxed, almost arrogant glide that left the body prepared to attack or defend in an instant. Leaving his instincts to filter the overwhelming information from his abused senses, Sheperd stalked forward to find the woman from the tattoo parlor. Staying close to the wall, moving through pools of shadow, he found the woman in a corner seat. He watched her from the darkness, suddenly unsure why he was here. He had been certain that she was another vampire, her porcelain white skin and seeming arrogance supported his hunched. But if she was a vampire, why would she want to come here and drink? He continued to watch, idly rubbing his tattoo left arm through his coat.

Suddenly he felt his skin crawl. Someone is watching me, even in the darkness. He looked about him, searching for the source of the feeling, but the lights and sounds of the club had his senses confused, making the search impossible. Shaking his head, Sheperd moved to the pale woman's side. He didn't like this place, but he still wanted information. Maybe she could help him, even if she wasn't Kindred.

What do you want to drink?

His voice rumbled in his chest, sounding almost like a growl. He looked down at her, waiting for her reply, and wondered if he were making a mistake...

[Bethany Trix]

So he had followed her. A surprise. He seemed uncomfortable in The Nile and Bethany felt something akin to pity for the stranger. She smiled and indicated an empty seat.

"Sit. It's more bearable if you sit. Keep your back to the wall. Disengage." She kept her voice low, but knew he would be able to hear her. "You are new to the city. Did you announce yourself?" He did not reply so she continued. Matters of protocol could be attended to later. "No need for a drink. What is here is poison anyway. I wouldn't recommend it." With distaste she recalled the drugged blood offered to her the previous night. No, one shouldn't drink here.

Bethany leant forward, resting her arms on the table. With growing interest she watched the man at her side. He was wary but held no immediate danger. A couple passed close by and Bethany followed them briefly with her eyes. "What you have to remember is that most here are truely insane. No need to fear them. But you had a question?

Resting her chin in her hand, she looked at him directly.

[Ashwyn]

Sheperd was caught off gaurd again. Suddenly the woman seemed so serious, her whole demeanor seeming to change from the somewhat flighty girl from outside, to something entirly different. Moving carefully, he took her advise. Sitting with his back to the wall did seem to help a bit, calming his instincts enough to let his intellect work again. Still, he wasn't used to people staring at him so intently. He met her gaze briefly, not so long as to pose a challenge, letting his beast play in his own eyes.

"I know they are all insane. They cram themselves into these cities like sardines in a can, thinking that if they are part of the herd the wolves won't get them. They don't seem to realize that the monsters are already inside with them."

For a moment he was stunned. That was the longest speach he had made in years. Then he grinned, looking slightly feral, as he realized that this was the first time he had someone to talk to in years.

"What did you mean, have I announced myself? To who and why?"

He went back to scanning the room, watching the humans' desperate attempts to ward off boredom and solitude. He watched the couple as they walked by, idly wondering if either of them really cared about the other, or if they were just using each other.

"I wanted to ask you about a tattoo I have. I've heard that the really good tatoo artists can tell one another's work the way painters can." he said, pushing the left sleeve of his jacket up to his elbow. The tattoo revealed was an intricate merging of styles. Celtic knotwork wove in and around tribal designs, and those in turn were mixed with a kind of thorn and vines design. And all through the design were what looked like Germanic runes. On the back of his hand was a torn infinity sign wrapped around a shattered hour-glass.

"I've been told it was done in the old style, using a heated needle instead of a gun."

In fact, the "thorn and vines" were more than tattoos. The vines were actually scars, as if someone had cut the pattern into his flesh, then sealed ink into the wounds. raising his arm, he offered it for the woman's inspection.

"By the way, my name is Sheperd."

[Jonnalyn Savoiz]

For a few short moments she had thought perhaps her fears had been unfounded. For a few short moments she had thought that she had escaped what had been her fate through the last few centuries. For a few short moments she had thought he would not make an appearance- despite the fact she had been left alone. He always struck when she was alone. Always.

He didn't disappoint.

He had only waited long enough that the chances of Kraine returning were so small as to be laughable. Just long enough that she had thought the coast was clear to try and unchain herself and make her escape- despite what Kraine had threatened. She hadn't even had a chance to try and pick a lock when she'd felt the icy unnatural texture of the air. Then she was no longer chained to the bed. She was cowering in the corner of the room, wrists and hands bleeding from having been ripped from shackles with such force as to peel back her skin like a glove.

She didn't cry though. She didn't scream. It wasn't from fear of drawing attention from outside and earning Kraine's wrath. It was from experience. If she cried-if she screamed-he would make it worse on her ten-fold. She remained silent because though he'd never permanently harmed her in the past, she never trusted that he wouldn't in the future. She had to not anger him, if only so she could try and escape into the night. Or if need be, escape into the day and eternal death.

She kept telling herself that. Even when it became obvious, he'd never let her escape.

[center]*****[/center]

Evening turned into early morning and finally day. Life went on outside as normal. No one suspected anything unnatural had occurred in the dwelling. Children played outside, people went to work and day turned into Evening again. And inside Kraine's home, she hung from her ankles, blood pooling beneath her, long blonde hair dragging through her vitae like a macabre paint brush drawing childish art on the floor. Her wounds were many and brutal- and as usual not lethal. He'd had his say. She had finally been allowed to rest.