Recent Entries

(no subject)

It's been a long couple of days, followed by seemingly endless nights. He's been reading, researching and stretching the limits of both is social connections and his magic at the same time. Zmey'd agreed to look into it and tho Ethan's not thrilled with the price, (who asks for three questions and three honest answers over money?) he knows that Zmey's got resources beyond his own. He'd done some discreet 'shopping' at the bookstore owned by the angel Aziraphale and while even Ethan wouldn't steal from an angel, that doesn't mean that he couldn't spend six hours in the shop (after bringing Aziraphale some take-out) and read through all the books that could have something in them.

( Read more... )

(no subject)

Well, well, well.

I do hate to be a backseat Seeker but I don't think that party thrown by 'The Family' went as expected considering the fact it was meant to allay fears of the growing influence of vampires in our country and it ended up with one Arnold Rothstein being turned into a Strigoi (See footnote for Description and Definition of types of vampires) and general mayhem.

Your intrepid reporter was there at the scene when the brazen attack occurred with Mr Rothstein taking the fang for the Moroi Queen Vasilisa Dragomir who was without bodyguards, against her own better judgment and that of her advisors. I would personally like to thank Kirill Seymonov for his valiant efforts in defending Matthias Heim from attack. It has been many years since our little society has dealt with necromancers but given our current situation - it's a most welcome talent indeed! I'm certain Heim will take his miraculous save under consideration when it comes to the upcoming Dangerous Creatures Act vote.

Speaking of Arnold Rothstein, the vampire businessman, kingmaker and alleged gangster has been seen living his best undead life with a new blond companion. I happen to know for a fact that he has released his former progeny Lucky Luciano and taken the blond under his wing (or should I say 'under his fang') Break ups are always messy, aren't they?

In more vampire news (perhaps we should start a crime page solely for vampires. what do you think?), the Watcher's Council suffered 42 confirmed kills between London and their headquarters last night. Who would strike against the very organization dedicated to policing vampires and other supernatural creatures, other than more vampires. The reason for these terrible and gruesome murders are unknown though there are rumors of missing millions.

Well that's all for now!
Be sure I will keep you up-to-date on all the news fit to print!

Yours,
Rita

(no subject)

Who: Pam, AR and Godric

What: Break Out

When: ...around the same time as the meeting with Shaw I imagine

The cell was comfortable if nothing else, a little drab and lacking the smallest details that would denote this belonged to Rothstein. Pam always liked the quiet luxury AR exuded, the perfect blend of home and modesty. She knew he cultivated the persona like vinter’s produce their wine, made sure it was sweet or bitter, down to the final moment before it left their care.

This was not AR; her brother was languid on the bed; eyes skimming over whatever book Amelia had sent him. He sat up when he saw her and smiled.

Blood red eyes met hers, coolly. If her heartbeat, she would have felt it skip. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Abe Mazur is expected in tomorrow.”

His brow flickered as he bowed his head, hand going towards his own throat again. Godric stepped forward, carefully eyeing him. She hated that. The way everyone watched him, like he was some violent animal that could rip out their throats.

She hated it more that it was true.

“Step back and let me feed you.” She snapped, refusing an inch.

AR shifted, glancing for the bottles he’d grown accustomed to. “Eric said you prefer the vein now. Figured you could use a break from Charlie and his dreams too.” The smallest smile, burying the fact it didn’t receive a blush. “Since you’ve been a good kid.”

He side stepped Godric as he entered, keeping his head bowed respectfully and waited till she walked in.

The next moment his fangs were in her throat, like a vice crip with the back of his hands holding spine. If Godric tried to pull them apart, he’d behead her. Son of a bitch. Smart.

His bite wasn’t painful, instead it felt warm and soft like being eased into a warm bath. She was only vaguely aware of Godric, and it was only her angry determination that her brother wasn’t going to escape. She found his arm and bit down.

He instantly released her and she choked out the blood in a panic, falling to her knees she cradled her throat and felt Godric cover her, felt his wrist feed into her mouth and Arnold was gone. Fuck.

(no subject)

AC can admire Shaw's choice in meeting place. It's a small outdoor cafe near a park in a forgotten part of the city. Public, yes but not crowded. It's strange that he thought even for one minute that being in public would give him any sort of cover. She'd made Max...NO. she told herself firmly she'd made ERIK promise not to reveal himself. He could have Shaw if he wanted. But she didn't want to kill him if Annika was near. Annika Christine.

AC wants to claw his eyes out. Dig her perfectly manicured nails into his eye sockets pop them out with her thumbs and use her fingers to roll his head like a bowling ball down the shady little lane. She's been a vampire for decades and she never had much blood lust. She has it now. For years she thought Shaw had just turned her into a whore and she could live with that. She'd grown up with whores and she could hold herself together and tell herself that she'd done what all the working girls who worked for her mother did: the best they could do to hold themselves together body and soul. But Sebastian Shaw had done more than that. He'd turned her into a monster. Since he'd turned up again all her thoughts were bloody.

She knows Shaw won't show up until he pleases. She knows how much he likes to make her squirm. So she orders a cup of tea inside the cafe and sits at a table out in the open to wait. She can wait. She can be patient. Shaw is a predator but then again, so is AC.

(no subject)

AR is not a man caught unawares often, nor was he someone who neglected had a back up plans. He is known for his cold calculating way of thinking, his refined persona and the fury and rage of wolf reigned tightly back by a schoolboy smile and terrible poker face. All of that was true.

Or had been 24 hours ago because now, he’d awaken in dirt next to Eric and his brother with the terrible truth dawning on him. He’d been turned. He was grateful to believe or closest to it but he needs to think. He knows time is winding down, before the Watchers notice or Drusilla does and above all the City has to survive.

So he feeds and pushes down the revulsion that it blossoms in his chest. He isn’t a Watcher here. Can’t afford to be. He has to be the Man Uptown and there are things to do. It’s too important to waste.

He arrives to his house and prays he can shower and control himself to get things ready for the boys. He can die when he’s done.

He’d forgotten he’d given Charlie the keys to his house.

(no subject)

WHO: Everybody
WHAT: Supernatural Hootenanny
WHEN: Current
WHERE: The super shmancy townhouse Lucy bought for the family to operate out of
WHY: Because Lucy thinks The Family got off on the wrong foot with the UK

"But, Caro. This isn't what I do. This is your thing." Lucy had whined into the phone just a few days earlier.

"You'll be fine. You don't need me to throw a party. For goodness sake you've been a hostess for how long?"

"That's different. This is more your kind of party."

"You'll be fine. You've got everything under control."

Standing in the foyer of the grand old townhouse, Lucy's not sure but what she is is an entertainer and an actress. That's the secret whenever she gets overwhelmed or flustered about her lack of upbringing or education or any of those social niceties she puts on her best Carolyn Rothstein impression and she fakes it. Shoulders back, chin out, little delicate movements that show care and precision. She can dial back her personality into something more subdued more acceptable. Even her Jersey accent gets less noticeable.

She wants to throw her hands up and just forget the whole thing but she and Nucky walked into a bit of a hot mess when they arrived in London and it was pretty obvious that the public's perception of their new American allies wasn't very nice. That was the problem with letting AR, Charlie and Meyer head anywhere first. The three of them were always so focused on getting the job done that they sometimes forgot that edges need smoothing out, ruffled feathers had to be soothed. That's where she and Nuck come in. Nobody, and she means NOBODY was as good at soothing ruffled feathers as Nucky. Lucy was happy to stand back and watch him work. Her job was to lay the foundation for him to work from. She ordered the flowers, she hired the caterers she got the linens and the string quartet and arranged for valets who could be discreet, but also for the right price be their discreet little spies. She and Nucky know the secret that the rich and hoity toity never notice the staff and the staff always notice everything.

Maybe after the party she and Nuck would stay in the townhouse for a few nights. It was a lot quieter than the hotel and after a night of orchestrating the Family's re-introduction to the supernatural community of the UK she was gonna need a lot of sleep. The chandeliers are lit, the quartet is playing out in the courtyard, everything is done in soft, subtle colors and so far everyone has promised to be on their best behavior under pain of something far worse than death if they're not. Lucy even got Alphonse to dress his best and tuck himself away in the club area, giving him permission to pour some drinks, smoke a couple of his horrible cigars and tell some of his most carefully edited stories. Meyer and Aida should be sticking close together. AR and Amelia and Jake their little family unit close. Lucy's maker doesn't need any advice on how to work a crowd, Pam was charming people long before Lucy was a twinkle in anybody's eye. She thought Godric would be happiest in the library or the garden; part of the party but not in the center of it. Eric on the other hand was meant to be front and center along with Charlie. he wanted everyone scattered throughout the house to make it look more like a house party and less like an invading army.

Appearances can be deceiving.

OCTOBER 1928

He woke choking on dirt. It was thick, dark and damp and the woman beside him in the dirt was the same woman who'd put him there Drusilla the Mad. Every Watcher knew about her, about the Whirlwind and he'd known when she showed up in his club that his days were likely numbered.

Everyone knew Drusilla was childlike in her mind until the moment she wasn't. Happy to talk about dolly dresses and tea parties one minute and tear a man's spine out through his mouth the next. So he tread carefully. He kept an eye on her from a distance, speaking to her only a couple of times one on one. The Council was aware of her presence, AR and King Francois knew she was around. As much as Jake hated to think it he was relieved Eric Northman and his progeny were in town because Northman and Pamela were sane enough to be discreet about the bodies they left in their wake. Drusilla was just as apt to prop up her kills like dolls in Central Park and the public didn't need that little flair for the dramatic.

Jake left Drusilla in the dirt and staggered his way back to the club. He knew better than to try and go home. Home wasn't home anymore. The apartment he left behind wouldn't let him in. Luckily, if anything about the night could be considered lucky, he kept a few changes of clothes at the club and his office had an adjoining bath. He needed to get the dirt off of his face and the taste out of his mouth. Before getting into the shower he caught a glimpse of himself: covered in dirt, blood splashed all down the front of his white shirt from where Dru bit him, and blood smeared across his mouth from where he'd drank hers. He would have thrown up if he could but there wasn't anything in his stomach.

A fact that became more painfully apparent with every ticking of the clock on his bedroom wall. His stomach was twisted and gnawing on itself with hunger but he couldn't think about that. He wouldn't think about it. Every Watcher knows. They know their duty. Even substitute Watchers who could never be expected to fill their oldest brother's shoes. They knew the only honorable way out if you got turned was to either meet the sun yourself or present yourself to the nearest slayer or Watcher to be put down. Jake didn't want to make anyone else have to suffer for his stupidity. He would meet the sun in a few hours but first he had to make sure that there was some kind of record of what happened to him.

He sat down at his desk and pulled out a sheet of stationary, addressing it to AR. He hated to leave it all on his shoulders, but Jake knew his brother could handle it. He was halfway through the letter when AR knocked on the door to his office.

October 1928

Arnold Rothstein was not a man without means, or a way out. He’d never been- not even as child under Big Tim Sullivan and Charles Becker. That he had grown into the King of New York City in those years seemed as natural as a card turn but this was different.

This was Jake and he had failed him.

He’d been able to keep the information away from the Watcher’s Council but he knew it was only a manner of time before they’d come looking for Jake. Before they…

No. He’d lost too much already. Just as he knew this was foolishness. Dru had massacred an entire Speakeasy for his brother, had turned him into…something else. He needed to find them both. He needed to fix this. He just had no idea how.

So he’d called someone who might. AR had never assumed anything close to friendship with this man; if anything through the years it had been quiet respect; a chess game. He even liked the Vampire’s company while never forgetting he could tear out his throat if he so chose. It was a simple thing to respect the stronger animal and after all, AR had made a reputation of being the wolf at the door.

He was grateful when he entered his office late that night and saw Eric Northman sitting at his desk. He managed a weak, tired smile. “Thank you for coming. I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t an emergency.”

And the words that burned his throat. “I need a favor. I’ll be in your debt.”

(no subject)

Some day, Peter Hale is going to learn not to answer the telephone. He hopes it's someday soon.

But for now he's stuck in the UK on orders from the Marrok and his mate to 'do something reasonable' with the wolves of Great Britain. Oddly no one laughed when he suggested stuffing the lot of them in a sack and tossing them in the Thames. Fair enough - he'd only been half joking. The trouble with the UK wolves was that their packs had disappeared long ago and they didn't seem inclined to return to a pack system. Peter can respect that. He's been known to have troubles with authority himself from time to time. But he does understand the logic and sense in having stable packs. The more stable the alpha the more stable the wolves in the pack. The more stable the pack the more stable the wolf population. The more stable the pack system the less likely monsters like Fenrir who were just out to maim and mutilate would get very far.

Packs policed their own and any wolf that couldn't find a way to control itself or was a danger to the public was usually disposed of quietly and quickly by other wolves. Brutal - but effective.

He was willing to roll up his sleeves and get to work, but he wasn't at all interested in the whole 'registration' thing and he'd been advised by the Marrok to refuse. Flatly. Emphatically if necessary. And if there's one thing Peter is great at - it's being emphatic.

So he'll meet with Matthias Heim and discuss it but he won't be registering shit. He'd brought along Leah's pet wolf Remus to act as a wizard to wolf translator. Peter liked the kid, smart, quiet, maybe a little haunted. He reminded him of his nephew Derek. He got the feeling that Remus was going to be an alpha someday. He just needed to get his feet under him and learn the skills. For all of Peter's failings he's always been good at teaching kids. Maybe it's from being a born wolf or maybe it's from being his sister Talia's Right Hand. But he's more or less confident he can get these young wolves in shape.

But only if he can make the registration go away.

(no subject)

( Extra! Extra! Read All About It! )

(no subject)

It’s been weeks since he’s been home- no, not home because even the Townhouse is not home. Nor is the Manor or Spinner’s End. He doesn’t have one. But the hotel is close enough and even if it wasn’t- Abraxas is there, and the blood around his throat is close enough to be something like home. He holds it in his hand as he walks into the lobby and the girl behind the counter smiles brightly at her. “It’s good to see you again.” She chirps. She’s not much older than him, and pretty too. She asked him once for drinks after work and like a child- he blushed and declined.

Part of him wished he hadn’t. He’s just a kid and for the first time in his life, he thinks he has a chance to be one. In school, there’d always been the under current of war, at home, the parenting of Eileen’s drunken escapades or shying away from Tobias’ angry gait. In the past few weeks, he’s gotten to tease and laugh and cry. He smiles at the memory Lyra’s face when she tried sour candy, had wanted to kiss her with a simple childish want that reminded him of Lily years back. He hadn’t dared.

Sev’s not a kid. Hasn’t been for some time. He’s alone in the lift, and his heart is pounding in his chest. He doesn’t know why he’s afraid. It’s Abraxas. The reason he’s alive. The only reason, he tells himself. He’s not afraid.

Yes. He is. But why he’s not sure?

Pushing open the door of his-their suite, is like opening a crypt. Every noise is swallowed up by the fine carpet and darkness. “Erastes? I'm home."

(no subject)

Most people who meet AC don't imagine her quiet. Sometimes she's so loud and brash she can even make Benny take a step back but there's another AC. The real Aida Clair likes the shadows. She knows how to slip through the cracks ever since she was old enough to realize that being seen could get a girl in trouble. She knew her father was in trouble with Capone even before he got himself killed so she spent most of her time trying to be invisible and bringing baby Eli with her, sneaking in and out of the neighborhood. Once she even stuffed her baby brother in a messenger bag under a stack of stolen newspapers and dressed herself as a newsboy complete with cap to avoid some goons come to collect.

She knows how to map out a city one step, one stoop, one inch at a time and that's what she's doing with London. It's a different world than Chicago or New York, but she likes it. Even with all the wizard drama and war. Her current neighborhood she's stalking/exploring/learning is Stamford Hill. Known as the 'square mile of piety' it's one of the most heavily concentrated population of Hasidic Jews. It's something that makes her comfortable and nervous at the same time. But she wants to blend, she wants to fit. So she dresses modestly. Speaks softly, she even covers her hair because even if she and Meyer aren't married she is definitely taken, and when she's done for the day scuttles back home and share her hoard of hammentashen. She's getting to know the bakeries quite well.

There's not a lot of greenspace in Stamford Hill but there are plenty of little shops and cafes where the men sit and drink coffee and play chess. Sometimes she sits an watches. Many people speak Yiddish and while she knows it's not her native tongue it is a sound that soothes her. There's a young man today. Younger than many and he is just getting up from a chess table when he catches her eye. There's a flash of something - she doesn't know him but it feels like she could. It's when he reaches across the table to shake his opponent's hand that Aida feels kicked in the gut.

214782.

Inked there on the inside of his arm.

214782.

She remembers.

Aida doesn't have to turn her arm to look. She's 214783.

Lucy once suggested she get it removed or tattoo over it but Aida never will. She will never forget. Just like she will never forget 214782.

"Max? Is that you?" She gets up on legs that feel shaky as a newborn colt's but she has to be closer. She has to know. "Max." She whispers it again because his name is holy in her mouth.

(no subject)

The evening was unseasonably warm, but it could just be the tension in the air. Alexander was in the kitchens, fingers dancing over the crates of blood, ichor and other …specialized tastes his clientele might look for instead of the usual alcohol and potions. Niamh the Fae was unclipping the blood bag of her blood and slide it over to him with a soft smile. He peeled off the five hundred bills crisply and smiled at her. “Won’t you stay for the evening?”

Niamh shook head. “From what I understand the Family is very young. I wouldn’t want to be tempting.”

“More is the pity.” He watched her exit from the back door and is his smile dropped. She was right of course. As old as his bloodline and own clan were, Luciano and the rest had swept in and taken several interests that bucked directly against his own. It was an insult.

But still it could wait.

He walked into his club enjoying the music reverbing through his feet and found a seat new the bar to grow comfortable at.