The Abyss

[Dread]

Eventide

[#nightchilder, 6th June, 2009; participants: Amaranth and Zerachiel]

The soles of boots screaked softly but clearly in the labyrinthine pathways beneath Cemetary Hill. A familiar shape in clothes that failed to go entirely out of style but betrayed a lack of creativity in regards to fashion stopped just as it straightened at the entrance to Amaranth's room. For a moment, Zerachiel stares silently across to Amaranth, eyes narrowed a touch. "Do you trust them?" No 'hello'. No 'What do you think of the state of the clan in these early days?'. No 'How is your protégé?', even, or 'Tell me again how you contacted One Man Army, Kayura and Rabid Squirrel.' Just a question of overall trust, to the point.

Amaranth looks up, head cocked to one side. "I don't trust anyone, you know that. Do I think they will be able to get the job done without screwing up and whilst upholding our ideals? Yes," he replies slowly, after a few seconds thought. "Kayura is the weak link," he adds as an afterthought, more to himself than anything.

An expression of cynical amusement winds up Zerachiel's face, pulling at the corners of his lips. "But she's your protégé. And you brought her in. You're not going to say you're going to fail making her excel at Gehyra, are you?" Oh, touché. An underhanded assault at honour and integrity.

Amaranth smirks at the barb. "If she's going to break, then I'd rather sooner than later," he says, eyeing Zerachiel intently. "Who else is going to push her as hard as I am? It's why she's my protégé," he adds, emphasising his possession with an unsaid, half hinted, 'and not yours or Andriel's'.

The grin lingered. The two knew each other, of course - this was a fleeting game, no battle. Perfectly content with no continuing the train of thought directly, Zerachiel inclines his head slightly to state: "I enjoy watching you two, you have something quite... unique going for yourselves. Remember who you're talking to, though. It's Kayura. You wouldn't push her that hard after reeling her in if you didn't think she'd do you proud." A pause. "Not that I intend on clueing her in on that." And with that, the matter was done as far as Zerachiel was concerned, and in usual manner, he let it linger for a moment in case Amaranth had something to say. He'd come here for another matter entirely, but it could wait until Amaranth deemed the current conversation concluded.

Amaranth nods, smirk breaking to return the grin. "Of course," he says, cracking his neck and standing up from his crouch. "So why the question of trust?" he asks, shrugging his shoulders as he loosens his joints in turn.

"A brief check of the clan pulse." Zerachiel tips his head in a nod to underline his words. "I wanted to know if we can take Gehyra the places we intend to without the clan... fraying. That would be disasterous." Again, pause, letting the other decide whether to continue the train of thought or simply let that particular dialog die. His demeanour intentionally betrays a desire to communicate something else entirely - but Amaranth knows him as a patient one.

Amaranth nods his head, chewing his lower lip absently as if in thought. "If you lead, they will follow," he says, a short but sweet answer. "They've seen the others, they will see what happens to the ones who have strayed, and that can only further steel their resolve," he adds.

"I'll continue to puppeteer Andriel as long as it's necessary to puppeteer him," Zerachiel states. He was beyond the clan hierarchy, a mentor of everyone and anyone, not a leader - it was up to others to lead, though he certainly wasn't aversed to helping them along for a while. A long while. A stare lingers on Amaranth, half-scrutinising. Abruptly, the eyes narrow, though not out of distaste of him. "Can you keep your thumb on things if I'm gone for a few days?"

Amaranth nods again in confirmation. "Of course." Abrupt, to the point. He didn't feel much need to explain whys, or hows, because it would be redundant. Surely he wouldn't have been asked if he wasn't judged to be capable?

A nod. No further question. It was the sole answer needed.

"I should return with something rather... rewarding," he assures.

Amaranth raises his eyebrows, curiousity crossing his face briefly. "I won't ask because it'll spoil the surprise. That and you probably won't tell me anyway," he replies.

A wink, right index finger extended to point, and lopsided smirk confirm it well before he parts his lips to respond verbally: "You've been with me far too long. But don't pretend you don't like it that way, none of that." As if. A chuckle underlines the unlikeliness of that scenario. "Besides, you know I'm not kidding. That's all you need to know for now."

Amaranth laughs, shaking his head. "Very true. Fair enough, then," he says finally, hands slipping into pockets. "So when are you leaving?"

"When?" he echoes, seeming almost surprised that Amaranth would ask a question so... generic. Of course, it was entirely warranted, so the surprise is quick to dissipate. With a casual smile, he responds: "Right now. I've got a train out in... fifteen minutes, to be exact."

Amaranth chuckles. "Thanks for the lengthy period of notice, then," he says, grinning. "You should probably start running. Although trains these days, you probably have a good hour or two's grace to get there."

"As long as it actually ever leaves for my destination, I'm happy," he snorts a response amusedly, before turning to leave. A brief pause, and a glance thrown back over his shoulder. "Good luck. I hope you won't need it."

[Dread]

[7th June 2009.]

"You have piss-poor track covering skills, my dear."

The chair screaked slightly as Neike half turned and half leant back in it, away from the computer screen, a look of idle surprise and cluelessness etched into her features. The London office was dark, only a few white neon lights puncturing the night within, but the pale features of Zerachiel were not only almost immediately visible to her but nearly as swiftly recognised. Abruptly, a life dismissed and forgotten since her leave of Ravenblack City, held at distance by her night-time, freelance job of code maintenance, seemed freshly tangible.

Silently, she stared across to him, so surprised by his being here that she could neither quite comprehend his words nor fathom a way to concot a reply, let alone a sensible question.

A saunter forward brought Zerachiel to the edge of her desk, his hands coming to rest with fingers spread across the surface of that table. His smile had that charming but serpentine quality as always, of course, it was nothing that particularly unsettled her, though she still didn't like him for it.

"Zyan. What can I do for you?" she finally managed to say, voice level, calm and collected. There was, after all, no fear, just surprise and a background worry.

"Come back with me," he stated, simply, lips curled almost as if he were contentedly proposing to a lover. It gave the whole thing a quality of a flirt. And it was that which made her realise there was something pivotal going on, something Zerachiel didn't want to reveal to her directly. "Things are deteriorating rapidly without you."

Her stare lingered, expression featureless but for the persisting stunned look.

"I thought you didn't care for my prowess at accounting and leadership." Her tone was dry, matter-of-factly, delivered without flinching, pain, or even a hint of accusation. It was simply the last thing she knew of Zerachiel's opinion of her.

Exaggeratedly dramatic, Zerachiel shifts to grind his elbows down on the table, leant forward, hands raised off the surface of the table and clasping together, spidery fingers looking almost surreal beside his smiling face and those gleaming eyes. "Oh, but the ones that have followed you impress me so much less," he remarked, voice almost melodic.

No, he wasn't even trying to hide that he had other intentions. He was perfectly capable of subtle - this was aggressive and overbearing.

Neike's face distorted to a grimace. For a moment, she lingered in silence, letting herself sink back into a more comfortable sit in her seat, staring at Zerachiel, in turn not trying to hide that she was trying to find out what he was up to. Finally, she tipped her head into a slight shake. "What do you want?" The tone made it unmistakable that the conversation up to this point had just been rudely and absolutely dismissed.

His gaze shifted to the side, shoulders touched by a shrug, nose briefly twitching as if he were tempted to snarl. A lighter smile settled on his lips. "They think you're dead, you know."

"That was intentional," she stated, simply, thinly.

One hand loosened its grasp on the other to wave dismissively at the air before settling back in that parody of a prayer. "Of course, of course," he acknowledged, settling a knowing, fiendish stare back on her. "You're still gekkonid at heart, my dear, aren't you?" he asked, avoiding to answer the question posed without that his tone suggested he was altogether dismissing it.

"If that's a trick question, you'll have to tell me what answer it is you're expecting to hear," Neike remarked, right arm rising to wrap its hand's fingers about her left as if she felt a chill, her brows furrowed.

"No trick question, just genuine curiosity. It's been a few years, after all," Zerachiel cooed.

A sigh escaped her and a light eyeroll touched her face. "Then, yes, I still feel attached to the gekkonid way of life, even if I won't return to the clan for reasons already outlined in my request to Mictian to keep his goddamned mouth shut about my whereabouts."

A chuckle wrenched from Zerachiel, jittering in his throat for a long moment, jovial and genuine. "Don't be so bristly, dear, I never meant to drag you back to the clan, just to the city."

Something in her gut churned, but she couldn't put a finger on why. Instead, she remained silent, watching him like a hawk, fibres of her body almost burning with the anticipation of some... fight.

"Oh, come on. What've you got to lose? A gekkonid has nothing to lose, after all. Aren't you the least bit curious?" Fingers flexed and he batted his eyelashes once, once more playing with clichés of buttering up so openly it nearly made her nauseous.

"Nothing to lose?" A snort, and a disconnected series of chuckles, denoted how preposterous she thought the statement to be. "No one knows I'm a vampire here, Zyan, I have a job to lose," she remarked, then raising both arms, fingers of her hands splayed, to gesture her irritation.

"A job," Zerachiel echoed, gaze drifting to just past her, seeming almost disappointed. He watches the glow of the computer screen, taking in the words and symbols that were meaningless to him as if rapt with attention.

"Yeah, a job," she repeated, with a more prominent tone of irritation.

"I see, I see. I'm afraid that's the wrong answer, though."

For a brief moment, he kept himself still, stare affixed as it was, and the menace and darkness in his voice seemed so grossly unfitting that Neike's mind didn't quite manage to acknowledge it. A split second later, he was upon her, chair crashed to the ground, his left hand wrapped around her neck and right pressing a thumb against her forehead with a force as if he sought to crush her skull beneath it, a venomous hiss spouting from her, fingers clawing up toward the assailant, nails of her thumbs aiming to gorge themselves into Zerachiel's eyes, missing, even as something stabbed into her mind like a hot blade and reaped her breath from her, yanking a shrill, thin howl from her.

Then, darkness.

[Dread]

[#nightchilder, 8th June, 2009; participants: Kayura and Zerachiel]

Amethyst and Second was an abandonned block, shards of glass at the edge suggesting the weathered sign atop the door had once been illuminated with neon tubes long since gone brittle by age and perhaps a hand of helping. Six blocks away, The Red Arch was still a pulsing centre of life, the survivor of the financial competition, it seemed. 'The Belly Of The Whale', if she was deciphering the weathered script properly. The doorframe housed no door, instead cutting through the wall to reveal a dark, largely unfurnished interior, excepting an in-built bar that was no doubt covered by an inch of dust.

Zerachiel had asked Kayura to come here, and sure enough, sat on a discarded pile of old packaging as if on a barstool, dust lining the edges of his clothes, polished glass with some wine in one hand, there he sat at that dusty old bar, smiling across at her as she entered. "Glad you could make it."

Kayura entered the bar curiously. An odd choice for a meeting, perhaps. She eyed the dusty bar and the dust free Zerachiel. Casting a glance first left then right, Kayura entered, nodding toward the older vampire, a sort of slight bow, her standard greeting. "I don't suppose you have a second glass," she questioned, lip curving slightly in a smile. He may answer the question or simply continue on with the points he wished to. She would not be surprised at either option.

"Well, as a matter of fact, I do," he remarks, twisting his torso and right arm back to behind the bunched up remnants of a box now filled with plastic assortments galore and the sound of glass scraping across the bare concrete floor fills the silence for an instant, before he's extending his arm to offer another spotless glass to her. "And there's wine where that came from, if you fancy Sauvignon and forgive my utter illiteracy on the subject." A pause, still holding the glass out to her, seeming thoughtful rather than waiting - and then he's shifting to rise, turning away from what he'd established as a surprisingly comfortable chair-ersatz and offering it to her. "Take a seat."

"How kind of you," she said, accepting the glass, wondering briefly at how long he had been there, to find wine and glasses, then clean them. The bar hardly looked used for a year or more. Accepting the wine then the seat, she sipped the wine, gaze focused on Zerachiel. Curiosity gnawed at her. It was not often he requested her audience. "Lovely place you have found here," she comments. To question him directly on his request could be considered rude. He would inform her of what she wished to know in due time.

Standing straight with his own glass still held in his right hand, contents swirling slightly from the momentum of his rise, slowly abating, he slides his left thumb into the respective trouser pocket casually, regarding her in a silent scrutiny for a moment, as if to determine what she was thinking without her having to say a word.

"I think you know me well enough to know that I am not a fan of purposeless violence," he begins, a touch of concern carrying his tone. "I assigned you to Amaranth so you two might get over your differences and find out what you have in common. I must ask. Has he been treating you with that minimal level of respect even a Meister should have for his protégé?"

"There is a degree of respect he uses with me that he reserves for no other," she voiced, sipping the wine. She eyed the contents of the glass, sparkling clear ruby. He respected her, enough that he did not attempt to kill her again. Their interactions were far from civil. The mere fact he spent time guiding her could be considered a sign of respect. "Our time together is always educational in some form or another," she concluded with a smirk. They were Splinters at heart, and education would not come without pain.

Zerachiel bobs his head subtly for a few moments in semblance of a nod, absorbed in thought about the words as they were spoken. An inhale, the parting of lips, then another pause, before he finally settles his idly wandering gaze back upon Kayura. "Don't be afraid of my disapproval, Kayura. If there are troubles, I expect you to tell me about them. You are Gehyran, and that Amaranth brought you in is all I need to know that you're no coward." He lets his gaze linger for a moment, before letting a warm smile creep onto his face and a touch of humour touch the glitter in his eyes. "Just as a general statement, I don't doubt your words at this time, madame," he tips his head down in elaborate hint at a bow, before straightening again and allowing himself a sip.

No, no coward, just a blood whore, she wished to say. Though the humour would be lost unless Zerachiel were to observe Amaranth and Kayura together. Though such was quite possible. "Should something change and trouble me, Zera'," she dared to shorten his name. "You should be the first to know. And I suspect you know that I will not lie to you." She watched him curiously for a brief moment before nodding to him, a much more subtle bow that held a great deal of respect.

Of course. He inclines his head acknowledgingly. It took no genius to sense the life debt she felt she owed Zerachiel, though as much as it was incredibly useful to him, he wanted her in Gehyra for other reasons, firmer reasons, nothing that could be paid off later or shattered simply because of an abrupt disliking of his person. Which, for that matter, was why he'd brought her here. "I suppose you're wondering why I asked you to come."

Kayura leans forward slightly. Pleasantries appeared over. "Yes, I am rather curious," she said, allowing herself to eye the decaying establishment. Lamplight entered through the dirty windows, dust could be seen floating through the air. "Why here and the purpose," she stated.

An intentional slight turn of the glass tips its contents into a lazy swirl, his gaze locked on her, however. The moment that he lets silence linger lets her assess that the gaze is not so much at her as it is through her; but focus returns right along with his words: "I have a guest. Down in the cellar. And, as not to beat about the proverbial bush... I brought you in because I am curious what your reaction might be." A pause, then his free hand, held flat, extends to her, offering to help her back up from the seat in her own time.

Her own hand extends to his, accepting it as she rises from her seat. "A guest? A gekkonid?" she questions, tone clearly perplexed. Her expression matches her tone, eyebrow quirked, eyes alert. What value would her reaction be as opposed to that of Amaranth? She set her glass on the bartop, casting a glance toward the door to the cellar.

A crescent of darkness frames the foot of the glass in the dust as it shifts just barely across the surface as it's set down. As he helps her up, he leans forward to do the same, setting the glass neatly beside hers, without that they touch, though the symbolism of a certain unity could well be interpreted into that gesture. Straightening again and letting go of her hand at earliest courteous moment possible, he smiles at her. "You'll see," he promises, before taking a stride toward the aforementioned cellar door and waving his left hand in generous curve through the air to beckon her to follow.

Kayura follows, intrigued through a trail of dust. The cellar door looms before her, dark, unlit. She grasps the railing to guide her on her way down the stairs. Vampire eyes need some degree of light to see in complete darkness, and the light dimmed half way down. She follows without further comment, half a pace behind Zerachiel, pausing only when she hears his steps still.

The door opens into a corridor between large, dry barrels, silhouettes like abstract geometric forms, high windows with their irregular surface allowing star- and moonlight to trickle in and dispel what would otherwise be an absolute darkness. At the far end, crouched and crumpled, lies a form unmoving, scent certainly that of an undead, vaguely female in outline, with long, chaotic strands of hair half draped across shoulders, half obscuring the face, head rested on the ground. Zerachiel gestures for Kayura to approach as she pleased, himself evidently staying at the doorway, adopting a certain regal posture in the process.

Kayura eyes the form for a moment, casting a curious glance to Zerachiel. "I would recognize any Splinter," she said, gaze returning to the figure. Shards, however were a different case, especially the newest in the clan. She approached slowly, watching the figure. The scent of undead and dank wood filled her nose, a mingling that helped little.

"Who are you?" she whispers, her voice sounding too loud in the otherwise silent room. A hand extended forward, slowly to brush the hair from the figure's face. Face revealed, Kayura gasps, jerking her hand back as if touching the vampire were burning her hand. A sound escaped the crouching vampire, a strangled sort of gasp. She jerks, gaze darting to Zerachiel then back to the prone figure. "Alive," she hissed. "Alive. But.. where? What? How?" She stares hard at the figure then brushes her hair from her face again, slowly. "Neike?"

"I'm afraid she can't hear you right now," he states, voice not raised in volume at all despite the distance, carried by the dulled echoes ricochetting off the walls. She lay there, on her side, breathing, entirely recognisable, arms tied behind her back with a strip of leather, ankles in much the same fashion. It didn't look comfortable... but she was alive, and her vampiric canines were visible past loosely parted lips. "But, yes, it is her," Zerachiel remarks, a touch of resentment in that final syllable, surprisingly subtle, as if counteracted by the respect he had of her purely on Kayura's behalf.

"I knew it," she whispered more to the prone vampire than to Zerachiel. "I would've known if she had died." Her fingers traced slowly along Neike's jawline, across her lips lightly. "Where has she been?" The question is soft, though obviously directed to Zerachiel. "Will we recruit her for Gehyra?" This time, her gaze moved to Zerachiel as she spoke, returning to Neike. She stroked the girl's hair slowly, straightening it as she combed with her fingers.

"London," he responds, simply, to her first inquiry. The more interesting question of course was how Zerachiel had known, but he wasn't going to humour her with that unless she sought to know and now hardly seemed the time for anything other than Kayura's focus on her old... friend.

"Recruit?" He seems mildly surprised by that particular question, flirting with some other idea for a moment, before grinning back across at Kayura in a way that could be interpreted as generous and benevolent. "That depends on her, I'd say. Her stamina, her convictions." A pause. "Or are you suggesting we take her in without test and trial?" Judging by his tone, something seems to be amusing him, though even in that, it's clear that it's not Kayura's ties to the girl.

Kayura knelt before Neike, a position that hinted she would not be moving immediately. "She was a Splinter," she said simply. "She is more likely to withstand what tests are presented to her than any of the new Splinters, don't you think?" Her hands moved from the girl's hair slowly down her arms, fingers dancing over the bonds. The discomfort of the positioning did not escape Kayura though she made no move to loosen the bonds. Zerachiel wasn't one for pointless actions, she was bound likely for good reason. "Or do you think she wouldn't withstand it?"

Silence. For a moment, he simply stands at the door, his face a light grimace, though a smile of idle satisfaction plays around his lips, fighting with the concentrated look of thought for domination. Finally, he pushes his shoulders back, warm, faux-humble - but for now, entirely convincing - smile cast her way. "Do you want an honest answer?"

Kayura hesitated a moment. The desire for a lie, something that would comfort her, please her in some way was desired. But it would only be a lie. "Yes, I would like an honest answer," she said. Her gaze never left the prone vampire. She wanted to scoop her up and hold her, to ask about where she had been and what she had been doing. Her dearest friend, clanmate once was no longer lost to her.

There's barely a pause this time. "We're talking about a vampire who pondered suicide once, after, oh dear, her dignity was a little tarnished. Terrible, terrible. Actually, don't misunderstand me, it was, but a gekkonid should deal better with such things," he states, a brow arched judgingly. "We're also talking about a vampire who faked her own death and had her sire report her death to her clanmates - to lie to them, to lie to you - so you'd all leave her alone. I'd say her priorities are sorely misplaced. I'd further say she's a coward - and always has been."

As much as she wanted to contest his words, the older vampire brought up good points. "Mictian knew?" she questioned, her voice pleading for a negative answer. "What was she doing that she wanted away from us?" A slow swallow, her hands returned to the former gekkonid's long hair, tangling in the long strands. "Do you know why she lied to us? To me?" There was no point in contesting she was a coward. What other term could be given to someone that would hide as she had done? "Why did you leave?" she whispered faintly to the unresponsive vampire.

"Mictian knew," he echoes the question as its answer, nodding once as if Kayura were not preoccupied with the bound vampire. "Fear? I hear the Temple of Secrets didn't treat her so well, in a last straw kind of way. The only question I'd have is why she hung around the city after leaving the clan for as long as she did. It was overdue. But you can ask her that yourself, I suppose, when she wakes from her... slumber."

Kayura nodded slowly. "So you don't mind if I stay until she wakes?" she questioned, tone eager. It may be faster to wait for her to waken rather than find Mictian. And even then, he would only be able to answer a few questions. "Are you evven considering putting her through any sort of trials then? Or..." She let the sentence trail and have Zerachiel fill in the blanks.

"Oh, I will humour her with... trials," he remarks, brief pause suggesting that he's thought this through far too well, to the point of briefly being unsure if they could be called that. "I believe in a fair chance for everyone," he assures, his demeanour having adopted that malicious good mood all over again. "The question would be whether I can count on you, especially if she fails."

"She-" The sentence died upon her lips. To claim she wouldn't fail would be childish. "I hope that she won't fail," she said slowly. Obvious. "But you can count on me." She half turned her head to look at Zerachiel, eyeing him with one green eye. "You may doubt that and I wouldn't blame you. But I would like to be there for the trial and afterwards."

A soft chuckle surfaces, and he tips his head into a nod. "You may doubt that," he begins in turn. "But I respect the friendship you have with her. If you want to oversee them, I will not bar you from the events. If you would rather not, I won't force you to attend. I just need to know where you stand in the matter, I can accomodate for most constellations."

"She is my dearest friend," she said after a long moment. "She used to be stronger than I was. I don't think I would've managed to become a gekkonid without her influence, if you believe that." She chuckled softly. "Oversee gives me too much responsibility. Observe, perhaps. It is easier to see this sort of thing on someone else. I don't know if I want to see her, what will happen." Another chuckle. "Decisive, I know and I apologise for that."

"You needn't apologise," he states, simply, now detaching from the vicinity of the door and moving across to her with a slow, sure stride, spidery fingers flexing idly. His right hand extends across to her and fingertips seek to rest against the top of her spine in surprisingly gentle gesture. "Come," he prompts, voice soft. "She won't wake up for several more hours. I'd like Gehyra to be present when she does, let's try to contact our brethren, shall we?"

A gentle touch, not the first she had felt from him, though a rather rare treat. Her eyes close a moment, revelling in the moment before rising slowly. "Thank you," she says softly, casting a final glance to Neike. "I should be able to find Amaranth easily enough. Then the others."

The fingertips slide to her shoulder and fingers curl to a brief grip against it, a squeeze, familial and friendly, even as she rises, only to leave her as not to obstruct the motion. "I'll write a note on our forum, then. If you could point them to it, I'd appreciate it. Specifically, I would like the exact nature of this... gift... to be a surprise until they get here."

"I understand," she said with a faint smile. "I would hate to ruin the surprise for them," she said. "Am I the only one, other than Mictian I assume, that knows she is here?"

"I doubt Mictian knows, to be honest, nor Lucifa. They're not expecting her back, they've have no reason to check if her location is now within city limits. And I intend on having that be a surprise for them, too." Zerachiel inclines his head, lips curled to a content smirk. And what a surprise it would be.

Kayura nods, making her way back toward the dusty stairs. "Then I shall speak nothing of it. I would hate to be the one to spoil the surprise for them," she said, tone just a hint flatter than before betraying just the slightest bit of malice. "I can keep secrets just as well."

"Excellent," Zerachiel responds, syllables carried by sincerity as he saunters to follow her, visibly happy that Kayura's cooperation came without much protest.

[Dread]

Revolution

[#nightchilder, 18th June, 2009; participants (in part I): Kayura, Zerachiel]

The Belly of the Whale was hard to recognise. The floor gave an impression of cleanliness despite the coarse surface of the concrete still not being furnished with laminate, carpet or comparable surfaces. A short-haired rug pretending to be a bear skin but made of thin nylon fibre lay on the ground beside a lively, flickering fireplace. An oil lamp added some more light at the far end of the bar, adding to the overall effect of filling the room with a dim, bizarrely pleasant light. A handful of chairs lined the polished bar, an empty glass set down before each, and two couches had clearly been salvaged from somewhere to make the fireplace a homelier place. A decorative, vertically stretched scroll opposed the fireplace, reaching from the ceiling to the floor, a decent gecko watercolour design between thick borders emphasising the end of the scroll to the left and right, a pastel teal in colour.

An assortment of wines - not bloodwines and not bottled blood - sat between the glasses on the surface of the bar, and while the back of the bar, which should have contained various further bottles, was empty, the dim illumination didn't make that all too obvious. A handful of reptilian sculptures sat in select corners of the room, one particularly beautiful rendition of a dragon reared up behind that lamp on the bar, edges shining from the light. The chairs were surprisingly delicate given the group of vampires that were meant to occupy them. But, most notably, Zerachiel wasn't there when she entered. No doubt, he was down in the cellar with his... 'gift to his brethren'.

Kayura entered and for one wild moment knew she was in the wrong place and made to leave. Someone had come into the pub since her last visit, restored it, and clearly Zyan was elsewhere. Then her eyes fell upon the various decorations, the dragon sculpture and gecko painting. Correct place, decorated. Had that been a clan activity she was meant to join and hadn't? She entered, closing the door behind her. Her feet whispered over the dust-free floor as she walked slowly around, surveying the new decorations. Her gaze turned to the various bottles behind the counter, and for a moment she debated on helping herself to something. "Though I have nothing to pay for it," she said to herself. "Zyan?" she questioned into the empty bar, listening to the silence for a moment. She made her way to the cellar door, tapping lightly with her knuckles twice on the sturdy wood. She waited a moment before pulling it open a crack so she may listen to what may be transpiring below.

The crack opens a view upon the flicker of another oil lamp just an inch removed from the door's arc, to the point where it looks as if the door might knock it over any moment. The dim light fills the cellar and as if it cast an echo, wood-barrel muffled conversation drifts across to her, soft even as its source. Neike is sitting up, still bound as before, spine nestled against the cool cellar wall, with Zerachiel crouched beside her in an entirely casual demeanour. "...have to admit it'll catch their attention." It seems like an almost flirtatious, fond speech, which only serves to add another drop of surreality to the situation. Neike's gaze, of course, has drifted up as the door opened, and she stares toward it, trying to catch a glance of who might be standing beyond, her expression one of resignation. Spotting her stare, Zyan turns his head to cast his gaze across his shoulder.

For one wild instant Kayura wants to slam the door and dart away as if she had done something wrong, or seen something she should not have. Her gaze meets Zyan's, expression sheepish. "Sorry to interrupt," she said softly. "I wasn't sure if you were here." Her gaze drops to Neike, a slow smile spreading over her lips. "Glad to see you are awake," she said, voice genuine. "Feeling okay?" she questions, tone pleasant, as if she were asking an ill friend if she's feeling better, not a kidnapped former clanmate.

A hesitant glance drifts to Zerachiel - she's unsure if she should say anything, much less sincerely. A subtle motion of his head later, a shrug touches her shoulders... then followed by a slightly numb expression and a rapid but brief shake of her head. A sincerely warm smile tugs at Zerachiel's lips as he shifts his attention to Kayura and he pushes to his feet, briefly drifting fingertips of his right hand across Neike's head as if to soothe. "Kayura, you're early," he observes, those cyan eyes sparkling. Approaching her, he slides his left thumb into the respective trouser pocket and extends his right in greeting, though his demeanour suggests he might aswell be seizing her by a sleeve and tugging her out, filled with energy. "Do you like what I've done to the place?" No, he wasn't going to talk about Neike until later - though that left the conversation she'd missed up to her imagination. What could they possibly have spoken about in such a cultured tone?

A slight frown touches Kayura's expression at Neike's response. She had little time to dwell on it as Zyan approached. Kayura steps back as he approaches, accepting his hand when offered. "It is lovely," she said with a nod. "For a moment, I thought I had gone to the wrong place, it is so different than my last visit. I hope I didn't interupt anything," she finished speaking, casting a glance to the older vampire, gauging his reaction. Would her arrival anger him? She had interrupted something but had not heard near enough to grasp what it may be, how important their discussion may have been.

A firm grip later, he's given her hand an appreciating shake. No, he doesn't seem angry at all - though with him, it's never easy to tell, what with the myriad of emotions always so cleverly hidden away behind those eyes. It was worst when he was in a good mood, pretending to be some kind of entertainer, sacrificing clarity for the sake of a good show. A moment later, he's leading her back up the stairs, a swirl of his left hand gesturing to close that door behind her, even as he casually remarks, words laced with the hint of a chuckle: "I was just telling Neike about Gehyra, nothing exciting." Vague. Really, it wasn't saying much of anything at all. Did he threaten her? That didn't seem like it matched the tone she heard. A few steps later and he's reached the height of the main room. "Come, sit, have a wine - and do let me know if you have any last minute interior decorating tips for me."

Kayura bit her tongue from asking Neike's reaction to the clan. Zyan was intentionally vague, that much was clear. A sort of instinct worked when Kayura was near him, telling her to be cautious. He was dangerous and while he had been friendly with her, that did not diminish the danger and he could become angry should she step out of line. It was much like dealing with a wild animal, save Zyan was more cunning than any dumb beast. "The place is lovely," she said as thy made their way back into the main room. She waved her way around the bar choosing a seat before an untouched glass. "I am rather fond of that," she said, pointing toward the gecko painting. "I don't suppose you painted it, did you?" she questioned with a smile. Perhaps she was teasing a little, perhaps she really suspected him of painting it, or a combination of both.

"Is that a trick question?" he asks, lips parting in grin to reveal his teeth. "As a matter of fact," he gestures sweepingly to the picture with his left hand. "I did." He straightens himself, grin remaining firmly etched into his face. "But don't pretend it's too much of a work of art, you owe me no flattery," he throws her way with a tone implying a shrug, though his body is barely touched by even a twitch. With a generously spaced stride, he steps towards her and lets his fingers hover over the neck of one of the bottles. "White? Red? I'm afraid I've not got all that many different flavours to offer, but perhaps one of these strikes your fancy?"

"Would I attempt to trick you?" she questioned with mock horror. "Red please," she said in response to his last comment. "Sweeter than white, much more pleasant." She leaned forward slightly, arm resting casually on the bar, leaving her back on the floor near her feet. "Will Amaranth and the others be joining us?" she wondered. Here, she would not refer to him as Sinsiter. Zyan may not approve of her use of the Splinter name, namely because she used it to simply annoy Amaranth.

The fingers leap a space ahead, his shape tipping to the side slightly to stretch into the respective direction. "Red it is," he acknowledges, though it's half a mumble and more to himself, even as his fingers locked around the bottle in question. A moment later, his right hand is tugging at the cork, while he continues the conversation. "Well, I hope so. This place magically attracts dust, I'd hate to keep it clean even one more day," he states theatralically. Pop. The soft, red liquid flows from the bottle and into the glass in front of Kayura. "What's brought you in early? It's not for another..." he squints at his watch-less wrist as if scrutinising a clock face. "Twenty minutes?"

Kayura debated a moment on lying then doubted 'Oh, I was just in the area,' would be convincing. "To be honest," she began, left leg crossing over her right. "I had hoped to speak to Neike without the others present. Silly, I know," she said, waving her hand as if dismissing her want as trivial, head dropping to look at her glass. "I don't suppose she told you why she left, did she?" Her eyes tilted upward to look at Zyan as he came, bottle in hand. She shouldn't care about such reasons, it wasn't important but she did none the less.

"I didn't ask her," Zyan remarks. Something about his expression suggests that may, actually, be a lie - it's subtle, his tone just lacking joviality enough to stand out ever so slightly. "What did you want to talk to her about?" he asks, half-pushing, half-screwing the cork back into the neck of the bottle, before setting the bottle back onto that smooth, polished wood surface of the in-built bar. Casually, he leans onto his left elbow, hand of that arm drooping past the edge of the bar, glancing at her with his trademark good mood smile.

Kayura nods slightly as he responds to her question. Whether she believes his claim or not is unclear. "That," she said refering to her previous question. "Inquire as to what she's been doing, if she has still been living as a gekkonid. I wonder how she will do in the trials, I hoped to get an idea of that beforehand," she confessed. Her gaze drops from Zyan's to the wine, swirling the contents within the glass. She raises the glass, sipping it slowly. "Do you think me a fool for caring about her even after she abandoned us?"

A fool? That seemed a harsh word to attribute to how he felt about her. It was more subtle than that. He knew old ties were hard to severe, he had no delusions about that much of anything in gekkonid lifestyle were somehow easy. "A fool, no," he shakes his head. "It's inconvenient for you and for Gehyra - but it doesn't make you a fool. I have the good fortune of never having liked her," he explains with a shrug. While it had seemed like that last phrase was leading up to some other sentence, none followed. Instead, he let silence linger for a moment, before he brought up another subject, related: "You know you can leave any time, right? I promise I won't hold it against you."

Kayura tensed slowly, shoulders squaring, back straightening, legs uncrossing. Her chin tilts until she is facing Zyan directly, a faint frown on her features. "So long as the ethics of this clan hold true, do not diminish, degrade, decay, I will remain apart of it. To leave is to abandon and while I may forgive that in another, I will not forgive it in myself." A brief pause. "I just need to hope you don't discover I am not useful and kick me out. Then I will be screwed." A smile to acompany the joke, an attempt to lighten the mood.

"You, not useful?" he arches a brow exaggeratedly. "Perish at the thought." He shakes his head, eyes briefly closed to underline the sincerity. "Amaranth brought you in, I've told you before, I trust his judgement unconditionally. Not to mention you've yet to do anything to make me think badly of you." He's still casual about it, as if her more formal posture were entirely unnecessary. Truly, despite the rigid hierarchy, Gehyra had something largely informal about it - and most notably, there was very little proof demanded for much of anything. Of course, when Zyan opens his eyes to look at her, it's easy to imagine why - he does seem to look right through to her soul.

Kayura relaxes just as easily as she had tensed, gaze dropping as a faint flush creeped into her cheeks, perhaps a realizing her formality was excessive. "I hope should I do anything that results in negative thoughts, you let me know." Her gaze raises to his cyan eyes, a smile curving her lip. She knew he would let her know. How, was the question, however. Having not incured his wrath previously, she could not predict how he could react. His actions with Neike would prove very informative indeed.

Zerachiel tips his head into a singular nod, before pushing himself away from his lean against the bar. "Of course I will," he assures, tone ringing with sincerity and even a certain fondness. A glance drifts through the interior of The Belly of the Whale, probingly, as if he were looking for anything that didn't quite suit the mood.

"Thank you," she responds, watching as his attention drifts out to the bar. She swivels in her seat, glass in hand to look out to what he may be examining. She brings the glass to her lips a second time, not feeling the need to immediately fill the silence. Despite the knoweldge that Zyan was one of the strongest vampires she knew, that he was dangerous, there was an odd sense of comfort she felt around him. As if she were somehow protected.

[Dread]

[#nightchilder, 18th June, 2009; participants (in part II): Kayura, Zerachiel, One Man Army, Amaranth]

Zerachiel grimaces lightly after shuffling a full turn and having sweeped his glance slowly and to thorough scrutiny through the ancient, once-abandonned pub. "I don't know, I feel it's missing something." His nose is wrinkled in mild, undefined distaste.

Kayura looks around as if she may find what is missing. "Music, perhaps?" she wondered, half to herself. She slants her gaze toward Zyan to gauge his reaction, wondering at his musical tastes. Classical? Rock? Pop? She entertains the image of Zyan listening, no, singing, to the pop princess of the moment. She snorts into her drink to keep from laughing.

"We've no electricity here, or I'd toss in a nice electronica backdrop," he responds to her prompt of music, still carrying a slightly absent-minded expression about himself, lost in thought. Slowly, he bobs his head to some inner tune that he's no doubt thinking of, and spidery fingers of his left hand find his chin to clasp it in hint of that classic, clichéd pose of a thinker. "Oh," he remarks, underwhelmedly, uncurling his fingers. "No, nevermind." This said, he flashes a grin back to her, back from his proverbial trip to nirvana.

Kayura eyes Zyan over her shoulder. His grin hints that he is purposely witholding information and is expecting her to question. "Nevermind? What did you think of?" she questioned, curiously.

A gurgle of amusement surfaces from him and with his eyes back to their excited sparkle from earlier, he thumbs toward the cellar door, silent for the brief moment it takes her to realise what - or rather, who - he meant. "I figure thing'll liven up considerably then, don't you agree?"

Kayura smirks though she does not share the same degree of amusement as Zyan, she can appreciate the joke well enough. "I would be shocked if they didn't liven up," she confessed, gaze dropping to her watch, eyeing the tiny silver hands in the faint lamplight. "The others ought to be here soon," she murmured.

Another inquisitive glance at the non-existent wristwatch elicits a rumble from the Altachra, lips twisting to grimace, although he's hardly truly discontent about a few minutes delay. "They should be, they're already late," he remarks, his voice almost feminine for a moment of fake outrage chained to a posh flavour of courtesy. Chuckling, he lets his hands drop and begins a saunter to take him around to the back of the bar. Apparently, he intends on serving something other than wine today.

Kayura watches as Zyan moves to retrieve another bottle, intent on seeing his choice. Her desire to taste blood wine, or perhaps pure blood brings a smirk to her face. It would not do well for Amaranth to see her drinking blood.

Except it's not a bottle. In fact, it's neither edible nor a drink. From behind the edge of the bar, not quite into view, but onto the lower table on his side, a sizeable assortment of daggers clatters softly into spread across the surface, his scrutiny dragging across them. They look as polished as the varnished surface of the bar proper, though that doesn't stop him from plucking a piece of cloth from one pocket and picking a seemingly random dagger from the fan of blades and dragging it between that cloth, fingers pressing it firmly against the smooth surface with strong grip.

Kayura eyes the dagger in hand, the blade glinting in the faint light before it is polished. She swallows, a conscious effort at the simple action. Humor and joking aside, they were here for a purpose she had let herself not think of. She cursed herself mentally for not taking this time to prepare for what was about to happen. Fool. "Do the others know, about her being here? Have you told any?" she questioned slowly, each word measured and neutral.

A simple shake of the head answers her question, silent, as if that motion of cleaning the dagger demanded all of his attention. Fortunately, that moment passes quickly. As the cloth vanishes back into his pocket, fingers poking it past the edge until the last hint of it's vanished from sight, his gaze leaps up from the daggers to her, the one he just cleaned still held between delicate fingers, hilt shifting toward her subtly, an offer. "I suppose I can't seduce you into partaking, after all?" he asks, his lopsided smile rapidly adopting the feel of a smirk, that glint in his eyes entirely malicious.

Kayura is silent for several moments, gaze moving slowly from Zyan's eyes, along his arm to the offered blade. Slowly, she extends her hand to Zyan, fingers brushing against his hand as she reaches for the blade, cold metal pressing into her palm. "Perhaps at the start," she murmurs, eyeing the blade. While there may be an audience, she could ask her questions then. And perhaps vent her anger in a healthy sort of manner for she would not deny she was angry and hurt by her clanmate's choice of leaving. Confrontation would be healthy.

One Man Army entered the bar, quietly closing the door behind him. He was not precisely on time, but nor was he overly late. It came as no surprise then to see Kayura and Zerachiel waiting, but no other clan members. One Man Army crossed the room to greet his waiting brethren. Kayura he had known from before joining Gehyra. They had fought alongside one another as Splinters, back when that name held meaning and honor. How that had changed. When he had awoken from his long hibernation, One Man Army had inquired about rejoining the Splinters, but found the group lacking the virtue and purity that had once attracted him. For a time, he had resigned himself to a solitary existence, until, that is, he met the man standing alongside Kayura. "Hello, Zerachiel, Kayura."

It came as a pleasant surprise to him, his expression melting into a warmer one as he watched Kayura take the blade, handing it to her. His lips part to speak, but instead of doing so, he shifts his gaze to the opening door, instead adopting a happy grin as One Man Army entered. "And here I was, placing bets with Kayura on how long it would take you to arrive," he remarks, clearly lying, though in good humour. "Come, sit, have a drink. It's very good to see you." Said, he gestures to a chair beside Kayura and straightens in glowing confidence, good mood clearly apparently.

Kayura is examining the blade, wondering at what ways she may end up using it. And, more importantly, would it be a dry blade or damp with holy water. The door opening, albeit quietly snaps the vampire from her thoughts, gaze turning to see One Man Army enter. A smile curves the corners of her mouth. "Hello," she said, genuinely pleased to see her clanmate. "Glad you could make it."

"I do hope whoever won is buying then," he replies in equal mirth. One Man Army sits down and sips the wine Zerachiel poured for him, silently wondering what Kayura's blade was destined for, but content to let that fact reveal itself in due time.

"I'd say when Amaranth shows up, it'll be time for your collective gift," Zerachiel assures One Man Army, casting a wink across at him. Then, Zerachiel pushes himself forward into a lean across the surface, both elbows rested upon it, his stare cast past raised, folded hands, chin hovering near the same. "That particular blade's from my private collection. You should see if it's still sharp," he recommends, perfectly serious, tip of his index finger - removed from the tangle of fingers - swirling in the air to gesture at the dagger she holds.

Kayura eyed the blade. The light glinted off of the edge in a manner that hinted at sharp, very sharp. Slowly, she brought a finger to the blade, dragging it along the length slowly. She gasped softly as the flesh parted to the hard metal. She eyed the wound, short though swelling with blood. "It appears rather sharp," she comments, bringing the injured finger to her lips. How many pints of blood had this dagger spilled? She takes the dagger and wipes it clean on her pant leg before examining it closely. "A beautiful blade," she remarks.

"I'm glad you like it," he tilts his head and smiles thinly. "Keep it, I'd say," he adds, casually, tipping his right shoulder into a light shrug. "I have to admit I'm burning with curiosity as to what you've got planned with it, m'dear, but let's not spoil the surprise for the others," he says, whispering the last words, though not in honest attempt to hide them, more as a form of added humour.

Her eyes widen slightly as he tells her to keep the blade. "T-Thank you," she murmurs, surprised. "And we mustn't spoil the surprise." She eyes Zyan, foot nudging her bag on the ground. The contents shift, glass clinking against glass. "They shall see soon enough," she murmurs softly.

One Man Army watched the exchange of the dagger with curious amusement, sipping his wine as it went on. "I do hope Amaranth arrives soon," One Man Army remarked as the conversation lulled. Sharp blades in dangerous hands didn't leave much to imagine in terms of activities, but the subject was, as yet, unknown. "The anticipation is rising something fierce."

As if on cue, he thumps the door open hard and shuffles in, letting it slam loudly behind him. He slips off his cloak to reveal the black robes underneath. Something told him it would be an occasion to dress up for, although quite what kind of occasion it was going to be was still beyond him. He was late, of course. Very late, but simply wanders silently to the bar and sits, elbows propper on the bar. The sleeves of his robe fall loose to reveal the burn scars crisscrossing his forearms, and he idly runs the fingers of one hand accross them as he speaks. "Sorry I'm late," he finally gets out, with a heavy sigh. "Got a little bit behind with my day."

"Amaranth!" Zerachiel's entire face lights up as Amaranth enters the Belly of the Whale, grin almost comical, his shape immediately straightened at the spine, glee radiating from him. "Excellent! Three's a crowd," he laughs, gesturing with little focus on accuracy to the other seat beside Kayura. "Come, sit, have a drink with us. I'm glad you could make it, I was starting to worry you might've ended up wrapped up with something." He certainly seems delighted about Amaranth's arrival. "Pick a flavour," he follows up on his gesture with another one. "I'll head down and get you guys your gift, shall I?" he beams at Amaranth, then shifts his gaze to One Man Army, then back to Amaranth, waiting for the sake of courtesy. Perhaps Amaranth had something to discuss before he did.

Kayura smirks as Amaranth enters, nodding to him. It isn't until Zyan is out of an earshot that she turns to her clanmate to greet him. "Sinister," she smiles. "Glad you could make it." In her hands, she holds the dagger Zyan had given her. She raises it slightly so the vampire may look at it. "New toy. What do you think?"

One Man Army watched as another clanmate entered the bar. "Hello, Amaranth," he said simply. "Nice to see you could make it." He then stood and made to follow Zerachiel if no other business presented itself.

Amaranth smiles at Zerachiel's sudden burst of enthusiasm. This was turning out interesting already, he thinks. "I'm fine for drinking, thank you. You'd better have brought me back something good though, you promised. If it's a novelty souvenier or something I'm going to make you eat it," he says, idly balling his fist into the palm of his other hand. He turns to Kayura at the mention of his old name and frowns darkly. "Amaranth," he hisses, ignoring the rest of her chatter as punishment for the transgression. This wasn't the place for tarnished names to be spoken. Looking back up, he nodded curtly at One Man Army to return his greeting, mood slightly fouled by Kayura's shortsightedness.

Dismissed, openly amused by Amaranth's 'threat', Zerachiel runs a hand through his hair to tuck a stray strand of hair into the expanse of the rest, and a moment later sees him sauntering away from the bar and down the stairs, opening a heavy door down to the cellar. It closes behind him, leaving the whole thing suspended in mystery for a long moment in time, giving the other three a moment by themselves.

"Any ideas?" she questions, placing the dagger atop of the bar, finger tracing slowly down the hilt. "Any ideas as to what the surprise is?" she clarifies, directing her question to either vampire should they wish to respond.

Amaranth shuffles off of the stool and wanders accross to the cellar stairs. "Haven't a fucking clue," he says, gruffly. "Better be good, though," he adds, before turning and making his way down to bang on the door. "We're waiting, Zerachiel," he calls out, slouching against the wall to his side.

[Dread]

[#nightchilder, 18th June, 2009; participants (in part III): Kayura, Zerachiel, One Man Army, Amaranth, Hit]

Two minutes pass in silence as far as their perception of Zerachiel is concerned - before that door opens again, glare from Zyan shot toward Amaranth in a 'learn to be patient or I'll detach you from your spine' way, and a grip that must be far stronger than his wirey, thin shape suggests, is found to be curled into long, strawberry blond hair. A curt cry of protest surfaces from the held creature, strands of hair obscuring a face, but it's hardly necessary. A blue gecko tattoo shines past the strands at height of her neck.

Her weight drags up the stairs forcibly, bounds ankles unable to compensate by helping with the rise up that slope, clothes protesting slightly as the concrete of the edge of the stairs rakes across them. A moment later, a dull >thud< sounds as Neike 'Dread' Satana's shape impacts with her right shoulder against that faux-fur rug, hip and legs on the hard concrete.

"Mesdames et messieurs," Zerachiel proclaims, eyes almost seeming to swirl with excitement, though latched down at the bundle. "I present to you... Pink Goth the Second." A laugh that seems to sit in his chest never quite surfaces, though he's positively glowing with glee. The introduction elicits an almost feral snarl from the captive, her hair a tangled mess, arms tugging with fresh enthusiasm at wrists tied behind her back.

Kayura watches as Neike is dragged forth from the basement, dropped on the rub, snarling. Kayura remains seated, fingers curling around the blade before her. Zyan's laugh sends a shiver through her, the humor lost, the sound almost maniacal. This really was going to happen. Kayura swallowed and rose slowly from her chair to walk toward the pair. "Neike," she said simply in greeting. She took in the tangled state of the vampire's hair, her disheveled clothing. She appeared to have tried to struggle from her bonds. And failed. "Can I let her loose?" she questioned, kneeling next to the figure, gaze on Zyan.

Amaranth watches wide eyed as she's dumped on the rug, thrashing like a fish out of water. The curiosity in him replaced with a wave of burning anger, followed swiftly by a calm. So this was the gift. Interesting choice for their first victim, but a natural one. He crouched down at her head and stared at the back of her head, fingers tracing her outline in the air just above her. This was going to be good.

Zerachiel narrows his eyes, brows twitching to furrow slightly, a brief, bright glare stabbing at Kayura. "No," he says, his voice actually quite level as he takes a step away from Neike, a softly audible breath drawing through his body, travelling as a motion, tugging his shoulders down, then back. He stands there for a brief moment, before he's back to his energetic stride, walking a wide curve back to the bar. All too soon, he's back at his fan of knives, grinning. "I come prepared. Daggers! Who wants one?" He plucks one off the surface beneath him and holds it in half balance between thumb and index finger, tip swaying to and fro like a lazy metronome.

Neike's entire shape curls in on herself, eyes squeezing shut. In that one motion, it becomes plainly apparent why Zerachiel has brought her here - what Gehyra is to prove. There's no gekkonid in her. A snarl, but no fight, no dignity, just a fresh bout of fear even before the first strike landed on its mark.

Kayura sighs slightly, not disappointed in the negative to untying her. She had expected that much. Seeing she already had a dagger, she did not respond to Zyan's request about blades. Instead, she shrugged slightly. "Sorry, Neike. I do hate to see you like this." That said, she rises and returns to the bar, snatching her bag and setting it on the counter. She opens it to reveal a number of vials of holy water. A priest would be less equipped than this vampire. She set a few atop the bar, lining them up in a row that Neike could see should she look this way. She pockets a pair of them, and turns her attention to Amaranth to see which blade he may choose.

Amaranth flicks his gaze up to the bar, eyes running along the fan of blades on its surface. He reaches up and picks out the centre one by the blade, ignoring the bite into his palm as he grips it. "This," he says, reaching into the inner pocket of his robe. "Will complement mine nicely," he finishes, revealing a blade of his own. A bizarro mirror reflection of the one taken from the fan, the surface of his blade was marked and scuffed, small patches of corrosion creeping accross the once-smooth metal. Along the edge of the blade, nicks and cracks had been made to form a very rough serrating pattern. That wasn't going to be cutting anything any time soon, although if anything ever needed shredding it was clearly the tool for the job.

Silent grace, arguably the very essence of the elvish woman, made her presence known. Sound had not accompanied those light padding steps as she had entered, nor had door been allowed to strike. She knew she was late, though regrettable there really wasn't a thing the woman could do about it.

Directions, had never been her strongest trait, well in the city at least. Gun metal gray eyes passed over the scene before her, empathy for the woman on the floor filling her bosom before she quelled such thoughts. Emotions were weakness, and weak she was no longer. Nor would she be again.

A wrinkle of that sharp nose, as hair was drawn before that marked cheek and those ears that would end in a sharp incline, as if to conceal those obvious markings from they who had gathered. A ritual of sorts, it appeared to her, though she knew not why nor the customs with which it would be performed, or even whether sight and culture had jaded her view of that visage before her.Silently she took a place just inside the gathered group, she would observe until her mind was sure of that which was taking place lest she commit some grave interruption of ceremonies, but she would always be partial to her own blades.

Neike's nostrils flutter slightly in silent display of disgust at Kayura's words, though her demeanour doesn't change from the curl in on herself. There's something quite raw and animalistic about her fear - like a cornered animal that snarls and bites, but is deathly afraid. Her shape as it is now, lying with her shoulder on that rug, is paralysed by tension, shoulders pulled in on themselves almost to the point of breaking, and a glare follows Kayura. Amaranth and One Man Army, while familiar faces, had at least never had the tie of close friendship.

Of course, the blade of Amaranth's was met with an excited glance of approval from the Altachra. 'Leave it up to Amaranth to know how to liven a party up,' he found himself thinking, biting his lower lip gently and nodding across to Amaranth. He really was quite fond of his 'original Gehyran'. Lips curl to another smirk as Zerachiel's gaze dips down to look at his 'gift'. "So," Zerachiel remarks, jovially. "The nice thing about Neike is that she's very quiet. She doesn't insult you, she just glares at you with insult intended," he informs with a dark chuckle. "So you shouldn't run into troubles." A pause, staring down at the bound girl contemplatively, expression briefly blank. The moment passes and a smile flowers back across his face. "Oh, and... I feel a certain obligation to point out that the lady won't be this pretty once we're done with her, so there are a few things better done sooner rather than later." He didn't really expect anyone to take him up on that offer, though he found the idea wildly entertaining on basis of the raw irony. Predictably, it elicits a hiss from Neike, dripping with venom.

Hit'd come in halfway into Zerachiel's ramble and his eyes lit up at sight of her, his head dipping to nod an at first silent greeting. Once he was done, he placed the dagger back down and swirled his right hand's fingers in motion of a wave. "Hit, I almost thought you weren't coming." He seems amused and in a wildly good mood. He gestures to Neike's bound shape. "I hope you like my gift."

Kayura eyed the woman that entered, Hit, as she was refered to. She had not met the woman before, however now did not seem the time to be introducing herself to new clanmates. Kayura was silent then, watching the reactions of the others to The Gift. Then her gaze turned to the snarling figure. Where had the Gekkonid gone? Was now the time to ask questions? Kayura moved back toward the prone vampire, kneeling before her. "Neike, before this goes on much further, can you tell us why you left?" she asked, voice even. "Why," she continued, drawing the back of the blade, the blunt side along her jawline. "Why you lied?"

Amaranth weighed the blades up in each hand, taking a seat at the bar again as Kayura continued her seemingly pointless interrogation. Whatever the answers, it didn't matter. He glances up briefly as Hit entered and then flicked his gaze back to Neike, watching intently.

She waved back, the amusement in his eyes causing a smirk to cross carmine lips. "So that's what he'd meant by "gift"..." she muttered before giving him a slight nod. She knew not of this woman, but if Zerachiel and the others felt she needed such treatment Hit would hardly stand against it.

The light of his eyes when she entered was enough though to allow her to feel more comfortable amongst these near strangers. "Now now zerachiel, when have I ever let down on my word?" that smirk moved into her eyes as she acknowledged each pair of eyes with a glance before looking down at the woman once more with a wrinkle of her nose.

One Man Army watched in surprise as Zerachiel's gift was revealed. He had not expected to see Neike ever again, and certainly not under these circumstances. It was a curious scene to witness, which was only compounded by Zerachiel's offer of daggers. But before the matter of the offered blades could be resolved in One Man Army's mind, a newcomer entered. She was obviously a clanmate, but not one he knew, and the mystery of her identity hung in the air until Zerachiel addressed her. But there would be time for exchanging pleasantries with this 'Hit' later; a simple yet courteous nod would do for now. One Man Army returned his attention to task of selecting a blade, where he picked one at random. The dagger fell into his practiced hand where it came to life, its movements as deadly as they were elegant. "Thank you Zerachiel. I think this shall do nicely."

For a moment, Neike regards her friend with a look of bitterness and suspicion, before the grimace on her face deepens perceptible and she says, without tremble or croak, just flat-out: "You're all insane." It's hard to tell if that's a response or a comment while avoiding to answer, but something suggests it's a little of both, though it's ironically both the twitch of her left eyebrow and her heavy breath that make it obvious that she was hardly in a stable mental state, herself.

Zerachiel responds to Hit's question with a simple fond chuckle. She was, of course, the only one beside Andriel who'd never been a gekkonid, in a way, that endeared her to him. He didn't quite realise that she didn't know PinkGoth2 - it just didn't occur to him right now, elated as he was, and she gave no immediate indication that this was a stranger to her. "Can I offer you a dagger, m'lady? Or, Kayura has an assortment of Holy Water if you'd rather." There was no question in his mind as to whether they were for sharing or not - Gehyra property was clan property, he had always lived by that and he expected his brethren to live by it, too, without second thought. No insult was intended. To One Man Army, meanwhile, he tips his head acknowledgingly, enjoying the skill with which it was wielded.

Kayura frowned at the answer. "Neike," she said softly. In the background, she can hear the conversation between Hit and Zyan. In case Hit happened to be the shy sort, Kayura waved her hand dismissively in the general direction of the vials. She had more. "I can ask Mictian. He won't snarl at me," she said, removing a vial from her pocket, flicking the stopper off. She dropped a few drops onto the side of the blade then tipped the blade over Neike's cheek, watching as the drops slid down the smooth metal. "I'd really like to understand, to hear from you," she said. "We were close once, you and I. Don't you owe me that much? Just an answer?" Three drops ran down the blade, meeting at the tip, hanging there for a second before falling, splashing onto Neike's cheek. "Don't snarl," she said. "I know how badly it hurts," she says with a vague smirk.

Amaranth chuckles to himself at Neike's simple response. Yeah, probably. Zerachiel certainly, if the giggling fits were any indication. "That's not going to hurt enough, you know," he murmurs, absently toying with the tips of his blades.

One Man Army watches with an amused look as Kayura dripped holy water on Neike's face while she questioned her. It was a more personal line of questioning than he cared to interrupt, but his time would come soon enough. It was only proper that Kayura, as the one closest to Neike, should have first pick. There was no doubt that there would be plenty to go around, and as One Man Army heard Amaranth's murmured comment, he silently agreed. Neike's tolerance for pain was well-known, and it would likely take their combined efforts of cruelty to break her. Even so, One Man Army was content to wait for another to act as he moved to the array of holy waters, running his fingers thoughtfully along the wood in front of them.

There was no doubt in her mind that her sire would not betray her even if he found out that she'd been discovered, that she'd 'come back from the dead', so to speak, so the mention of Mictian d'Avarice only scrunched her face into a silent, wordless snarl. Tension curled her fingers to useless fists, crescents of the nails pressing angrily into the palms of her hands. A breathy, toneless hiss surfaces from her as the drops begin to travel across the surface of that blade, glittering in the soft light. Her eyes squeeze shut unbalancedly as the drop hovers at the tip of the blade, lips parted in elaborate grimace - and a moment later, a briefly cool sensation stabbed into her senses. It took only an instant for a burning heat to dissipate that soothing sensation, and another hiss flew from her, discomfort evident, but the pain certainly tolerable - even for one as her. For now. "'Owe you'," she mutters an echo, wrinkled nose twitching, before uttering a despising chuckle, evidently thinking Kayura had shirked any debts she could've collected by siding with Gehyra.

[Dread]

[Dread]

[Dread]

[Dread]

[#nightchilder, 19th June, 2009; participants (in part VII): Zerachiel, One Man Army, Amaranth]

A band of thin, sickly yellow bleeds up from the horizon. A wickedly bent pole, previously a poker for the fireplace pokes out through a torn wound about Neike's previously better shoulder. Zerachiel sits with a scrunched up piece of cloth, previously the captive's shirt, squeezing fresh blood from The Red Arch from it, the drops trickling lazily into the wound. The pole's been firmly attached to the roof - its bent an inch above her skin, like a branch of a gnarled tree, which easily ought be enough to cause all attempts to detach from it to falter, but the blood closes the wound around it, making it just that much more impossible.

He's crouched beside her with a look of concentration - and as it is, it seems she's slowly coming to, soft, wavering groan the first sound she's made for what's easily been two hours. Her wrist is re-bound before her, tied to her body,ankles in fresh ties up to her knees, all with a transparent brand of duct tape.

Amaranth sits facing the horizon, watching the narrow yellow line slowly expand. "This is familiar," he says, squinting into the distance. "Although I was the one nailed to the roof before." Fucking Mercurian. He idly picks at moss on the tiled roof, flicking clumps of it off into the guttering.

One Man Army stands on the roof watching the horizon grow ever brighter. The night is almost over, their deed is nearly done, and it's an oddly peaceful moment for One Man Army. Nevermind that all kinds of chaos were about to rear its head on the horizon, he stands there, ready to see this through.

"Don't worry, I'm sure we'll figure him out before long," Zerachiel promises Amaranth. Of course, this isn't new - they've spoken about possibly stripping Mercurian of his Daywalker powers, amused and tickled pink by the thought, though knowing how to achieve it was still a different question entirely. And the rest of the clan probably had some idea since Zerachiel's rambles on their internet forum.

Neike's eyes flutter open, face distorting to grimace, and a twitch touches her shape. No cry, not this time - she's probably too weak aswell as too woolly-headed to feel the pain as anything but a numb, background throb. "...wh-wh...?" Lips part and her tongue surfaces as if she'd just tasted something bitter, face distorting further, but the thin voice doesn't return with anything more coherent.

A clatter sounds as the small bucket shallowly filled with the aforementioned fresh blood is tipped into sway by the large wad of cloth impacting with the edge. "Welcome back," Zyan remarks, blood-covered hands folding before him, elbows resting on his thighs while he maintains his crouch. His tone is almost amicable. He lets Neike stare at him for a long moment, before, with an almost warm smile, remarking: "I give you the gift of seeing a dawn one more time." He sounds as if he genuinely believes it to be an act of generosity, but anyone who knows him better would know it's pure malice under that so genuinely sweet seeming surface.

Amaranth steps carefully down the incline and crouches down next to her, staring at her confused expression. "Oh Neike. It's times like these people could really use a shoulder to cry on," he says, deadpan. From behind his back the arm appears, held mockingly infront of her for a few moments before being laid accross her chest, wrapping the ruined fingers gently around her throat.

[Dread]

[Dread]

[#nightchilder, 25th June, 2009; participants (in part IX): Zerachiel, Andriel]

Violet hues lightening minutely as the seconds passed with the ever approaching dawn became overcast once more as Andriel glanced down, more for a moment if introspection than to shield his gaze from the light that was beginning to move up along the line of the Earth, pouring from the Sun like waves unstoppable acid, even though his sensitive eyes did complain some from the illumination. And then, as if by second thought, he glanced up again, first towards Amaranth, and then to Neike, and finally to Zerachiel, who was setting up the camera so that it would be able to record the woman's, agony laced moments. "I think everything is in order, is there anything else that needs done before we're to move on?"

Tape winds about the end of the pole. Hands had dipped back down to that particular task, and Zerachiel snaps his gaze up to Andriel as the question is asked. "I think we're good to go," he responds with a nod, his brows furrowing lightly. Shoulders shift and the softest hint of a cracking noise betrays the reality of his physical frame. With Neike's throat punctured as it is, she wouldn't be able to answer last questions even if he had any - briefly, he flirted with the idea of sticking around until she woke up to torture her psyche a little more, but on the other hand, Amaranth was probably capable of that all by himself. It was, after all, why they got along. "Let's scram," he grins up to Andriel. There was more work to be done.

As if the intent behind Zerachiel's words had been spoken aloud, Andriel responded. "Yes, we've a lot to do, and time; though not our enemy, is also not being our friend either." Glancing towards the edge of the roof, and then over towards the ladder that had carried him up, the Archadex opted for the less showy of exits, and strode briskly over to the runged climbing instrument, turning to rest his heel upon the second bar down, even as he grasped the curved metal that held the ladder to the roof and acted as arm catches. A final look given to the grouping on the roof, and he began to descend, eyes trailing lastly upon Zerachiel before they disappeared below the roofline.

And there they went, leaving him to his fate. Amaranth followed them with a stern stare, though aside from the grim prospect of having work to do and trying not to turn to ashes, the whole thing came with opportunities, as well. Telling them he'd meet up with them later went without saying. The soles of his boots crunch slightly as he turns and lowers himself to a crouch. Hand held straight, he strikes her face a few times, to and fro, quite lightly, before remembering his own resolution - Stop having fun. Humour could wait until he wasn't burn to a crisp.

[Dread]

[#nightchilder, 25th June, 2009; participants (in part X): Zerachiel, Andriel, Amaranth]

Long minutes later, Zerachiel and Andriel are back inside The Belly of the Whale, waiting for Amaranth, even as the sun is rising. A curse surfaces from Zerachiel, sat at the bar as he is, leant across a preparedly 'weathered' sheet of paper, shaking a pen in attempts to get it to work with blood. It seems a smidgeon too thick to work, at least judging from the scratched surface of the post-it note block he's practising his stroke on.

Within The Belly of the Whale, Andriel sat at the bar adjacent to Zerachiel, midnight curls just barely brushing the counter top, one leg crossed over the other at the knee so that one foot dangled and the other rested upon one of the stool rungs below. His head tilted to one side as he watched the man as he tried to get the blood to work as ink would have. One , pale hand rested in his lap, the other drumming delicate digits over the wood of the bar's surface. "You're trying to write a note? Maybe if you mixed the blood with something? Otherwise, you might have to fashion that into a quill of sorts." He mused, eyes darting towards the entrance of The Belly, as if anticipating Amaranth's arrival.

"I'm getting the impression I'll need to," Zerachiel mutters, grimacing slightly. "Can you grab me the bottle of water?" he asks, dragging the tip of the pen across the post-it block again, gaze latched onto it attentively, even as he waves his left hand to gesture the whereabouts of the bottle. A speck of red appears, but a line isn't drawn.

Slender fingers wrapped around the perspiring bottle of water, a bit of clear liquid rubbing off on his hands as Andriel handed the water over to Zerachiel, the mundane scenario almost underlining the severity of what was happening above and what was to come in the next few days.

It takes him a minute to unscrew his pen-contraption without spilling the crimson contents, dilute it, then close it back up. His expression is almost neutral, and with the pen held between the tip of his pinkie and thumb, he gives it a thorough shake to mix the contents. Perhaps if he were planning to write something else, he'd take a moment to laugh about the ridiculousness of it all. A few tiny drops spatter half against the block of post-its and half against the top of the bar. His left hand seizes the pen, leaving the side of his right to wipe latter away, his nose wrinkled slightly. Back in his right hand, the tip sets down against the yellow paper and a testing stroke curves across it. "Much better."

"Really, writing a note in blood shouldn't be so much work." He said, just a hint of mirth in his tone as the darkness of a single brow hiked upward on his forehead, curving just a bit more in its thin-ness. He idly brushes at the blood that's splattered on the counter top with an already marred piece of paper. "What exactly are you going to have this little note say?" He inquires, voice faint, though full of intent.

"I've been thinking about that for a while," Zerachiel states, sounding somewhat absent-minded as he shifts his attention to the larger piece of paper, tip of the pen hovering across it. A sharp but thin inhale preludes his next words. "I always find typical death threats and cries for vendetta so boring," he muses. "They all seem to say the same thing, really. 'Oh, we hate you, in case it's not clear to you yet,' you know. 'Die the most horrible death I could possibly imagine,' with or without details." His head swerves from side to side lightly, rapidly. Then he gives it a shake, huffing another sigh. "It's easy to laugh about them. I'd like to give them something so unusual it'll make them stop and think." A pause, as he sets the pen down, but waits with the first stroke. "I'm certain you'll approve," he remarks, allowing his lips to curl to a smirk as he casts a stare past his brows, across to the Archadex. This said, he begins to write, both without haste, but also without taking his time, much like one might write a mundane but not taxing letter.

An almost child-like interest forces the man to glance past the line of the other man's arm, to watch as the note is written; it is this interest which peaks within the man's mind, and yet he turns his head away, raising an arm to rest its elbow upon the bar top, fingers brushing just under his chin so that his hand can support his head, with his inward lean. "Of course I'll approve, perhaps a note of humor would set the note into place; not mocking, of course, but something to help offset the severity of the situation." He replied, voice barely audible save for to the one he's speaking so close to.

"Like I said, I've thought about the wording for a while," Zerachiel casts another smirking look across to the Archadex, fondness playing on his features. A flurry of motion completes the effort - it was a short note, evidently. He sets the pen down with a soft clack onto the polished surface of the bar, and spread fingers of his left hand press against the page with fingertips, before turning it so Andriel can read it without even the least of effort to him. "That should get their attention."

The corners of his lips turned upward in a smile. Perhaps it was inappropriate given the circumstances, but the note seemed to have that trace of humor that he'd asked for; and yet, there was the ever underlying threat behind the levity filled words. "I like it, it's absolutely perfect for our needs. Now we just need the video to complete the process." He looked towards the entrance of The Belly, as if if expecting to see sunlight pour in as an answer to the second part of his statement.

[Back on the roof, after completing his duties of waking the captive...]

Squinting in the glare of the sun, Amaranth picks up the roll of tape, drawing the sharp blade from his pocket. Hastily, he cuts the camera free from the pole and points it towards the rising orb, pressing down on the record button. Looking through the viewfinder, he moves the camera towards the source of the prickling light, before turning it around to face him. His face is reflected in the lens, a vicious grin accentuated by the marks and scars on his face beginning to redden and blacken, small whisps of smoke rising to frame his visage like some kind of hellish demon. Good fucking god this hurt, but the effect was worth it. His grin transitions into a dark frown as his free hand raises to his throat, thumb drawing slowly across his bare neck. A gesture of impending execution. Slowly, he pans the camera around to face Neike's broken form, and quickly fumbles with the tape in his pocket to re-secure the camera to the pole. Quickly, quickly, quickly, need to get down now. Finished, he yanks up the hood of his cloak and stuffs his hands into his pockets, scrambling frantically to get down from the roof, leaving Neike alone in the frame to burn.

[Dread]

Gehyra

This particular fine morning finds a letter delivered to the Calignite, packaged in a spotlessly clean white exterior, with no return address - or even anything on the front. Of course, this wouldn't be the first time someone struck up conversation with them by snail mail in unmarked letters. No, that itself is hardly of relevance.

Opening it, however, reveals an intentionally weathered parchment, like a novelty item, deliberately feigning semblance to a scroll. It's been crafted to that effect with a notable amount of love without carrying the pretense of being 'the real thing'.

A crusted, dull-reflective ink suggests blood, though there are no spatters or smears of the same.



In that same white parcel is a slim plastic container for a minidisc.

And it's the contents that might cause outrage - gehyra_dawn.avi, a video file of decent resolution, fortunately without sound, introduced by a grinning, familiar face: Tarwedge. Tarwedge, known to most who'd ever had contact with the gekkonid's Mictian/Lucifa incarnation as a codex-worshipping fundamentalist even within the clan. Tarwedge, gesturing with a finger to his neck, a horizontal motion. Introducing death row with a smirk.

The video documents a familiar sagged shape, already half-mutilated, but freshly recognisable as PinkGoth2 - Eventide leader from the same two clan incarnations ago - lit afire by the rays of sunlight, a torn throat clearly unable to conjure up cries for help or screams of pain. Thrashing, visibly in agony, even as skin burns away, rays of light raking down to her bones.

And then, lastly, in the final minutes of that video, after the ordeal, a morning breeze carries the ashes away.

[Dread]