Islington Nest Christmas Party, Dec 17 [Open to all Nest members and their guests]

[vampire_barbie_girl]

Caroline has worked hard to put together the evening's event, which is not only a Christmas party but also hopefully a chance for the Nest to celebrate its new leadership. The room at the Angelo has been decorated with a winter wonderland theme which, while not exactly original, is quite lovely.

A string quartet is playing a selection of Christmas and other classical music. Any attempts to feed on the musicians will result in the perpetrator getting thrown out the party, or worse. But feeding on any of the hired help or performers should be unnecessary, since several varieties of "blood punch" are available to drink. There is also food and other drinks available for non-vampire guests and anyone else who wishes to partake.

There is a strict black tie only dress code and Caroline will tell anyone who is under-dressed to go home and change.



[The event is happening on Dec 17th but I wanted to get it up early so everyone had time to do get involved if they so desired.]

Comments

Early Evening

[baisant]

Jean-Claude may not have met Micheletto before, but he knows of him. He has heard of him, from Cesare. And so when he spots him from across the room, Jean-Claude is able to put the pieces of the puzzle together and understand who this mysterious stranger is, all clad in black and sticking to the shadows.

He has to wonder if Micheletto knows of him in turn, but then again if he doesn't he will find out soon enough. Clad in his usual poet's shirt, black leather pants, and thigh-high boots, a red and gold brocade vest on above the shirt and a red velvet jacket above it. His long black hair spills about his shoulders and his deep blue eyes shine mischievously as he heads towards the other man with his own glass of barely touched red wine in turn.

"Do you hang about the shadows because you wish to be mysterious, monsier, or perhaps is it because this sort of a gathering is less than your idea of a good time?"

translation for italics in hover text if needed :>

[excrucior]

Micheletto is not one to miss a detail. Cesare has mentioned Jean-Claude; oh, he has mentioned him. And so when the elegant, dark-haired, handsome Duke comes striding toward him, Micheletto spots him immediately through the crowd - though, he doubts that Jean-Claude wants to be inconspicuous, particularly in an outfit as well-fitted as that.

Dammit.

When Jean-Claude closes the distance, Micheletto respectfully bows, at the waist, his courtly manners not going to waste here. "Bonsoir, Monseigneur," he answers in fluent French, his accent only slightly touched with the sound of Italian. "Le Duc de Londres Central, je présume?"

He stops only briefly to consider Jean-Claude's question. "Both, I would say. The shadows are... comforting. Though I had hoped I was mysterious already."

i am mostly fluent (if a little rusty) in french actually! c: but ty!!

[baisant]

Jean-Claude raises his eyebrows slightly at the other man's manners, not because he is disappointed in them but because he is almost flustered to be approached in such a formal way from a man who actually means the action.

"Oui, c'est moi," he replies in turn, before gesturing the other man to stand straight. "But please," he continues, switching to English much the same as Micheletto himself had done, "call me Jean-Claude. I am unused to such formalities. I fear they do not suit me."

His smile widens slightly, as he continues, "You may maintain your air of mystery then, monsieur, but I hope that you do not mind a little conversation while doing so."

[excrucior]

Micheletto does as instructed, folding one hand over the other and resting both over what would be his lap, were he sitting. Never let it be said that Cesare has poor taste in henchmen, particularly where politeness is concerned.

"I doubt I have much mystery left in your eyes, Jean-Claude, but I will dispense with some of it regardless. I am Mick." Michel de Corella, as he is known in French. Miguel to the Spaniards, Micheletto to the Italians. Long ago his name was feared almost as much as Cesare’s. "I do not mind small talk, though I am sure you will find better conversationalists elsewhere." He pauses, then, mulling over his words a bit, before finally deciding to add, "I was… hoping Cesare would introduce us. He has mentioned a lot about you."

[baisant]

"It is a pleasure to met you at last, Mick," Jean-Claude repeats, in a decidedly French way, as he smiles in a way that suggests he is greatly pleased with what he sees before him. And also perhaps a little amused as well. He had not assumed that he would introduce himself as such, after all, but that pleases him as well.

He cannot help but raise his eyebrows at that last bit though, tilting his head to the side as he continues, "Dare I ask what it is that our Cesare has shared? At least something good, I hope."

[excrucior]

There is a blatant flirtation in the Frenchman's speech, one that makes Micheletto's fingers tightening around his glass. But he gives no other indication of his uneasiness, keeping his tone impersonal but engaged. "And you as well, Jean-Claude. I look forward to working with you."

Micheletto pauses for a moment to consider his reply. "I had heard you were once... closer," he answers carefully. "And that you put on an impressive show for the late Mister Harris. Ended in quite a bloodbath, as I understand it. But such a culling was necessary, yes? Removing a festering toe to save the leg, if you'll pardon the expression."

[baisant]

Jean-Claude inclines his head politely at Micheletto's words, noting how carefully they are chosen. Closer, he says. Pointing out that they were lovers, without deliberately stating as much aloud. "We were 'closer' once, as you say," he acknowledges, with a soft smile that says everything and nothing at the same time. "Though I will not tire you with such details. I am certain you have heard enough about it as it is." How Cesare had tired of him and at last had turned him away. Perhaps the other man had known that there was another to whom a piece of Jean-Claude's heart would always belong, and perhaps he was not a man to share. Perhaps he had just decided he did not fancy men, in the end. Jean-Claude had never truly pressed him for the answer. He had cared for him once, and he was not in the habit of opening old wounds, if he could help it.

Carefully, he takes a step aside from that conversation. "Raymond Harris and the vampires that supported him were a danger to our continued survival in the city, not to mention our reputation." He tilts his head to the side to regard the other man carefully. "It is an interesting way of phrasing our choices, but yes. In the end, it is what we were forced to do. Though considering the method of choice, your analogies may be rather too on point, monsieur." Considering the fact that Jean-Claude had decapitated him in front of the crowd there gathered, and all.

[excrucior]

"Very little, but I should not like to pry." It was true that Cesare had said a lot, but left out the salacious details in his letters. Micheletto is more than happy to put that particular bit of conversation away as well, for now, having never been particularly adapt with relationship talk in the first place.

"I had heard as such. Raymond Harris... was one to flaunt the curse, yes? And that has rarely ended pleasantly for any creatures such as us." He gives a small shrug, as if he doesn't seem too upset by that fact. He enjoys the shadow, enjoys the secrecy.

"It was very often the case, in my time, that troublesome beings would be dealt with in a similar manner. Some times... it is necessary to look back at the old ways," he concludes, before finishing off the last of his wine.

[baisant]

"Raymond Harris," Jean-Claude repeats, his fingers delicately clasped around his crystalline wine glass as he does so. His expression is cool, collected, his dark blue eyes deeply assessing as he regards Micheletto, looking pale and perfect and hardly real in the way that some of the older vampires can, when they try. And Jean-Claude tries. It was what he was trained to do. It seems as though it is all he knows, at times. It feels like it to him, in any case. "Raymond Harris enacted a decree that allowed all vampires to kill whoever they wanted, whenever they wanted, because he believed that it was our right. When the Night Council did not agree with his actions, when they threw him out, he declared that vampires were better than that. That they were outside of the law."

He tilts his head at the other man. "No one is outside of the law, Micheletto," he says, the name rolling off of his tongue like silk. "Not like that. Not when they are making decrees to directly flaunt its authority. The Night Council had started making their own degrees in turn. That it be legal to hunt us down like the animals we were behaving as." Jean-Claude turns his gaze down to the wine in his hand, which remains mostly untouched. He's never had much of a taste for human foods since becoming a vampire, and especially not since he had gone centuries without requiring its sustenance. "I had to do something or else we would find ourselves exiled, if not worse."

[excrucior]

The witch's amulet hidden beneath his shirt protects him from the mind magic of elder vampires, true... but Micheletto still feels his heart skip a beat at the sapphire eyes examining him so thoroughly. Despite that, he keeps his expression metered, crossing his arms over his chest and leaving his now empty wine glass dangling from his fingers, leaning back against the wall behind him. The picture of nonchalance.

"And Raymond Harris was a fool for doing so. I would agree there. Using positions of power over some to flaunt the law of many... generally creates some enemies, harboring many grudges. Throughout history, such a thing has been true - I should know, as a relic from the past myself."

His pulse quickens once more at the use of his given name. Damn. Damn. "I would prefer Mick," he starts, calmly, "as it has been my sobriquet for... oh, two centuries, now." Micheletto goes to look at his glass also, swirling it gently in his fingers and watching the pattern the dregs made at the bottom. "It's a delicate thing to balance, asserting your authority while pleasing your Nest. I have no doubt, with you as Duke, such an equilibrium will easily develop."

[baisant]

Jean-Claude's eyes sparkle at the other man intelligently, mischievously, with a certain hidden laughter as he inclines his head at the other man's request. He had anticipated a response, but he had not known to anticipate such a response as that. He can almost taste the other man's pulse quickening under his skin, and the thought of it excites him. Micheletto may not see much in himself, or think that Jean-Claude does in turn, but there is potential here. He has always enjoyed the chase, after all.

"Mick," he corrects himself, gently, though even that sounds foreign, with Jean-Claude's delicate French accent. "Pardon, if that is what you prefer than it shall be so." He inclines his head at the other man. "You flatter me though, if you think I am so skilled a leader as that. Pleasure, perhaps. I have experienced in such matters as giving people what they want. Asserting my authority is another matter entirely. It is, as you might say, tenuous at best." He plays with his own glass, which is recognizably fuller than Micheletto's empty one -- he doesn't have much of a taste for food or drink these days. After a brief moment of consideration, he holds it out to the other man in offering, raising an eyebrow in question.