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

[excrucior]

"And you cannot be older than thirteen. Yet you are." Two can play at this game, Joss.

[dredefulchilde]

A smile. "I am not human. I haven't been human in centuries. But you smell mortal enough."

[excrucior]

"Nor have I been human in centuries, my lord." It's a true statement, certainly. "But I do smell mortal enough."

This game of guessing, this testing of wits, was engaging. Engaging enough for Micheletto to not notice that his drink had gone empty.

[dredefulchilde]

Ah, but what is he if not human?

Joscelin laughs. This is the most fun he's had all night. "I'm hardly a lord. A cleric's bastard, nothing more or less. And what of you?"

He notices the empty glass and indicates to it with his own cup. "More wine?"

[excrucior]

"A farmer's son," he counters, head tilting owlishly to the side as he studies Joss a little harder. "I think no less of you for your heritage; it is no worse than my own. And for that matter, I've befriended holy bastards before."

He takes a look at his glass and sees that it is, indeed, empty. "Yes, I should pour myself some more."

[dredefulchilde]

"Holier than I am," Joscelin counters, glancing over at Cesare. "My father was never a pope. Or do you know someone holier?"

He summons a waiter over to them. "Why pour your own when someone is being paid to do it for you?"

[excrucior]

"Oh, I know plenty 'holier', monsieur," Micheletto responds, calmly. "Sanctimonious sinners, each of them, prostrating themselves to a God who doesn’t listen to their prayers. I have seen it all before - all seven Deadlies. Sometimes all in one night. At least we own up to our sins."

His blasphemous speech aside, Micheletto tenses as the waiter comes forward and refills his glass. He says nothing, but gives the person a curt nod before turning his attention back to Joscelin. "Being paid hardly necessitates loyalty," he answers simply, keeping his glass in hand but not holding it in a way to take a sip of it any time soon.

[dredefulchilde]

"Do we?" A smile plays around Joscelin's lips. "I haven't gone to Confession since the Fourteenth Century."

Joscelin shrugs in agreement. "That is certainly true, but humans seem happiest when they are serving a purpose. Let the man do his job."

[excrucior]

"Precisely my point. We understand there is little need for such ceremony. It's all pointless, anyway." He pauses, then adds, "Fifteenth," as if that clears up all the mystery about him.

He eyes the waiter once more, then nods, thanking and dismissing him in one silent motion.

[dredefulchilde]

The fifteenth century. "You are a contemporary, then, of our Mr. Borgia," Joss points out. "Did you know him in life or after the change?" He's digging, of course, but he really is genuinely curious about the usually inscrutable Cesare Borgia, a man he has known and respected for a great many centuries but never quite considered a friend.

"I confess that I was not paying very much attention to the goings-on in Rome at the time of his father's papacy. Our own English feuds were far too interesting."

[excrucior]

"Yes," Micheletto answers. Joss seems to be enjoying their riddling back and forth, so he might as well not clarify that he means both. Joss is a smart lad-turned-elder-vampire, he'll figure it out.

"And your feuds with the French," he points out, cocking his head slightly out of interest. "Although, I've always been curious - who do you Britons hate more, each other or the French?"

[dredefulchilde]

"My mother was French," Joscelin shrugs, pointedly ignoring Mick's evasion of his question. "But I suppose it depends on the century. I've been in several wars--some with France, some civil." Being a drummer boy or powder monkey always meant being able to feed semi-openly in the midst of the carnage and chaos of battle. Too bad there are laws against child soldiers now.

"Certainly, we hate each other quite a bit."

[excrucior]

"There are many wars to be in," Micheletto points out, "when one gets as old as we are and continues to live in Europe. We are very proud of our ability to kill each other." There is a shrug, before he adds, "And were you born here, in England? Or born across the Channel?"

[dredefulchilde]

The boy smiles, showing off a little fang. "It passes the time, certainly. What else is there to do? Master the pianoforte?" Been there, done that, gotten the international praise to show for it. Too bad that being nocturnal for the last century has somewhat diminished his travel prospects as a musician.

"Here. Cambridgeshire. Nothing very interesting, I'm afraid."