undergrounds | There's a place I know I can always go (Open)

Entry tags:

There's a place I know I can always go (Open)

It's been a while since Cesare was last in London. He had...other issues to attend to in other countries. But now that he's back, he wants to immerse himself in his surroundings. Cesare is not exactly the type of man to spend any extended period of time with strangers so voluntarily, but he wants to pick up the pulse of London again, see how it's moving nowadays. And where better to do that than on his home turf?

Cesare is lurking in a corner of a lounge at The Angelo, sitting in an armchair and sipping an Old Fashioned (the irony isn't lost on him). He doesn't look particularly remarkable, at least when compared to the hotel's typical clientèle of businessmen in suits and high flyers with a little too much time on their hands. In fact, Cesare has gone out of his way to blend in. He holds a paper as if he actually cares about standard current affairs and looks at his phone every so often as if he finds it useful and not newfangled and pointless. You would probably have to know who Cesare was to spot him. Constantly, though, he's watching.

A. Can I buy you a drink?
Eventually someone catches his eye at the bar. Are they familiar? Does Cesare know them? Perhaps. Do they just seem interesting? Just as possible.

Cesare leaves his paper on the lounge chair and sits himself down next to them. He smirks, his manner calm and collected. You're in his home. He's comfortable.

"What do you drink?"

B. What are you doing here?
Someone is here who shouldn't be. They could be an old foe who has grown over confident with Cesare's absence. They could be the wrong type of person for this type of hotel. They could simply not have paid.

Either way, they shouldn't be here. Cesare quietly makes his way up to them. When he speaks, his tone is polite and cordial but there's something slightly too piercing about his gaze and he's standing a little too close to them for comfort.

"Something tells me you might be lost."

C. Can I speak to a manager?
Someone isn't happy. In fact, they are really quite frustrated. One of the hotel staff has messed up royally and someone is demanding that they speak to a higher up about it. This needs to be fixed. Something has to be done and Cesare is happy enough to oblige. With his façade of a casual hotel guest ruined he smiles as the waiter anxiously frets.

"I'm certain that we can sort this out."

D. Pick your own adventure! Choose something else!

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Evie doesn't stop herself from pursing her lips, her glass nearly to her lips. "You could, just not locals or those that didn't want it." Carefully spoken. She knows many vampires always ate around those rules. Evie was a fan of blood banks. It didn't taste as good, but it was better than the alternative, like poor Natasha was doing- though Evie was unaware.

Harris was younger, though. Near her age. "None of us are partial to young leaders." Those that have been around for thousand of years tended to lead, because that's the way it always had been.

"Perhaps he's behind it."

Cesare laughs and dips his head slightly in response. Joscelin has every right not to be keen on the US: it is fresh and young. But Cesare thinks that gives it charm. It is fascinating to see a country when it has barely begun.

"Don't be so quick to judge it. It's calm there, with miles and miles of nothing. It's a good place to think. You should try it sometime."

And then Joscelin mentions Millicent and Cesare can't help but grin.

"Have I? I hadn't noticed." Although his smirk suggests something else entirely. "Good riddance, if you ask me. We needed something to shake things up. We were beginning to atrophy."

Cesare sighs, disappointed that she would turn down his offer. In his eyes, he is simply trying to help her. The idea that she would reject his offer under some idea of morality is absurd to him. Animal blood is no way to live.

However he is far from the type to give up so easily.

"How long does it take you to heal from injury?" he asks calmly. It is not a threat but instead merely a blunt question. He knows that the more real blood you drink, the easier you heal. "A deep cut, for example. Minutes, days? Or are you practically mortal again?"

Cesare acts calm. He is friendly, just about, but firm. He does not appreciate having the people he pays getting yelled at so furiously, particularly when they are likely in the right. He doesn't hire idiots and he doesn't want them to be treated as such. Cesare is very happy to help out fellow vampires but they need to be polite first.

"I can help you, but you need to stop yelling at my staff. They are merely doing as I have instructed them. How about we sit down and have a talk?"

"Then you are more conscientious than I gave you credit for."

In truth, Cesare himself had been far from careful with such things at Thomas' age. He had a propensity towards killing people and simply throwing their bodies into the Tiber. It had been foolish. Cesare has learned a lot since then. He appreciates that Thomas is doing better.

"If you need anything, let me know." A willing participant? A victim? A tool of some kind? Cesare does not know where Thomas' preferences lie. Whatever they are, as long as they're human, Cesare is happy to help.

Surprisingly, Cooper calms down a little when faced with Cesare. When someone doesn't engage him, it's hard to keep the infamous Irish temper up. He's been having a bad couple of weeks and this was just the breaking point for his frustrations. He sits back down at the bar, his feet not even touching the floor. They dangle there and he occasionally kicks one of them back and forth for emphasis as he talks.

"All I want is to be able t'pay for my drinks in the way I am accustomed to. Is that too much to ask for?"

She hears a threat in the question anyway. Not overt or immediate—not the implication that he's going to do something now. There's a darkness in it though, a goading that hints at the potential for anger.

She licks her lips.

"Not quite mortal again," Natasha says with a wince. And it won't get that bad. She doesn't think it will, anyway. She's not sure. But she's felt the effects, and even she would have a hard time claiming that the weakness didn't bother her. "It takes longer than it did, but not that long. A deep cut might be a few hours."

"I try. I suppose I'd just rather make a new friend than a new...mess."

Corpse. That's what he really meant, of course, but he didn't want people overhearing him talking about killing people, and he did try to be friendly with his food.

"And thank you, I will," he said, though he wasn't really sure how far that offer extended, but it was still good to know it was there. "Although I am hoping it will be fairly easy to convince someone that they want to spend some time alone with me tonight."

Being as pretty as Thomas was was definitely an advantage in that regard.

"Straight to the insults? That is rather unbecoming of a host." Eames' smile goes nowhere, and he takes a sip of his wine. It's not that he thinks himself invincible — in fact he is highly aware that being here is flirting with imminent death — but he's not afraid. He could take a lot of people with him and cause a hell of a lot of collateral damage if someone intended to start something with him, and that in itself is a rather satisfying thought.

"Then again," he drawls, fingers trailing the stem of his glass idly, "your kind has never had much care for proper hospitality, have they?"

Far be it from Connor to object to a nice looking guy taking a seat next to him and offering him a drink. This may be an alternate universe but it isn't one where he's lost himself entirely. He smiles - the man looks familiar? Maybe?

"Vodka?" It's a question, because as he says it part of his conscience (yes, he does have one!) reminds him that he shouldn't be drinking, or flirting with me, or whatever. That he's trying to make things work with Oliver.

He's always been pretty bad at listening to the voices that tell you not to fuck up.

Jean-Claude has heard of this new establishment opening up in the city, although he cannot believe what it is that he is told until he has gone to see it for himself. 'The Angelo', he muses to himself, as he finds himself a seat at the bar and casually takes in the clientele in turn. It's a bit more upscale than his own affair, but he supposes that has something to do with the lack of scantily clad dancers besides.

He's just thinking about what his second ordered drink should be, having finished his first and really needing a reason to be there if he wants to continue people watching, when it is that Cesare finds him. A slow smile spreads across his face as he recognizes the other vampire, surprised to see him back in the city, but pleasantly so to be sure.

"Can it be you have already forgotten, mon ami?" he drawls at the other vampire in reply.

Joscelin takes a swig of wine and smiles. "Your taste in vintages hasn't changed, at least. This is excellent. Would've been better in a proper glass, of course. One doesn't get the full bouquet in a sippy cup." His eyebrow arches in jest. The criticism is not sincerely meant, for once. He would not necessarily call Cesare a friend, but the infamous scion of the Borgia clan is not a good enemy to have, so he's always made an attempt to cultivate his good side out of a healthy sense of self-preservation.

He drops his voice conspiratorially. "At least with Millicent, everyone knew their place, more or less. There's no respect for age or rank anymore. She was a right bitch, of course, but at least she was a known quantity. Raymond is...someone more mercurial in temperament." He smiles slyly. "Though I can't say I disagree with all of the changes he's made."

"Nothing that I would not confess with enough drinks in me." He grins and takes a swig of his drink as punctuation.

His words aren't entirely true. Well, they're more of an equivocation. Despite his amiable demeanour, he is a man who is always plotting. Success, he believes, lies in a man's ability to react quickly to surprise or, even better, be the one doing the surprising in the first place. Cesare has some plans that he would not share with Nancy if he has a choice, of course he has plans. But enough alcohol can make anyone's lips loosen.

"If you need a suite for the night, let me know. For whatever reason. After all, sometimes it is simply nice to wear a dressing gown and hotel slippers."

Cesare shrugs and nods, pondering over Evie's words.

"I think that entirely possible." In fact, he wouldn't be even remotely surprised. Harris is far too young for his position. He has to have done a considerable amount of moving and shaking to get it. The chance that some of those movements were illegal seems rather high. Millicent's death was exceptionally convenient.

"But then again, I wasn't there. You were though." He leans in, resting his elbows on his knees, and gives Evie a look that says "go on, tell me your insight, if you have one. I'm curious."

Quite frankly, Cesare has little interest in going through the discussion of how Cooper can pay for his drinks. The topic is banal at best and Cesare has better things to do. He has all the time in the world but even he can't bear to waste it on this. So when he catches the young man's face properly as they sit down, he has no hesitation whatsoever about changing the conversation.

"I know you. Holloway, yes?" With Cesare being away, the two of them haven't met, but he has been keeping a distant eye on London and thinks he knows who Cooper is. He has...heard things. From what he can tell, the two of them don't entirely see eye to eye. At least they have the same allies.

He holds out a hand. "Cesare Borgia, Angel." He doesn't use the word Earl. It is too formal, too ostentatious and verging on crass. He doesn't need to say it for them both to know what he means.

Silently he picks up his own glass and finishes it before crushing it calmly in his hand. It crumples like paper, the shards digging into his skin and creating deep lacerations in his palm. It's a detached, low-key move, one that wouldn't draw too much attention unless someone were already looking and knew exactly what they were seeing. He holds out his hand for Natasha to see and it heals almost instantly, skin threading back together apart from in a small place where a fragment still remains. He casually pulls it out and puts it on a napkin as he speaks.

"There are some things that are integral to our being. A body craves for a reason. We both know that you are harming yourself. You cannot undo what has happened to you. Any thought as to some broken concept of morality is a long defunct. You have been given an opportunity and I suggest you do not throw it away."

Cesare can't help but laugh: a quick, suppressed snicker at Thomas' exceptional confidence.

"You seem quite assured." Although, in truth, Cesare himself isn't much different. He just isn't quite so loud about it. Having someone to eat for the night isn't exactly difficult when you have a decent face, considerable power and even more money.

The part where they do differ is what appears to be Thomas' interest in keeping his prey alive. Cesare is a man who likes to finish his plate, so to speak. If Thomas wants to do that too, Cesare certainly isn't judging.

"Accidents happen. If they do, leave a message at the lobby. Maintenance will come and help."

"It's not morality." Her answer comes a little too quickly, with a catch in it like a scratch of some unidentified emotion. That could just be her voice, though. It's always a little husky, the kind of sound that lets people project meaning and feeling on her words that may not be there.

She forces herself to watch his hand, though her jaw tightens and her lips thin. The sight doesn't do anything to assuage her thirst. Or her nerves.

"And I'm not trying to undo what I happened." She'd been a killer years before she was turned, which in a way was part of the problem. There's a pause as she considers how to put him off. The temptation to just drink it and say it's because it's the most expedient, because it would put him off and it's not as though she'd be feeding on a human directly so it's not really defeating her goal, but she's too stubborn to listen to that voice. Instead, she says softly, "I appreciate your concern, but it's not necessary. I might be harming myself, but it's just for a while."

She's not sure if that's true, but it's not untrue either. Once she gets her head on straight, figures herself out, maybe she'll be comfortable feeding again. There's no way to know.

"Oh," Cesare replies, feigning displeasure at Eames' comment as if that were the thing angering him and not the man's gall. "I wouldn't say that. We host fantastic dinner parties." His tongue dips out of his mouth to lick the side of his lip for the slightest of seconds. It's a reflex. Cesare has drunk fae blood before. It may be a vice but he would be lying if he said he weren't at least a little tempted to try it again tonight.

"You should join us for one sometime." Although it's pretty damn clear that Eames would be a course rather than a guest.

Cesare looks simultaneously surprised and impressed by Connor's answer. Nowadays he rarely sees someone drink vodka straight, at least not in a place like this, and Connor's suggestion skips the slow amble of a cocktail or wine and propels them immediately into shots. Normally he reaches those an hour or two in, when the two of them are back in a back lounge. Quite frankly, it makes Cesare's goal a hell of a lot easier. He appreciates it.

He waves down the bartender and orders two shots before holding up his own glass in toast.

"To our health."

Cesare smiles and shrugs. He has a solid idea of Jean-Claude's favourite drinks (after all, it was not that long ago since they were drinking together), but just to be challenging, Cesare will pretend that he has no clue. Jean-Claude is a friend, but sometimes Cesare feels that he needs a pleasant, soft jab to level everything out a little.

"Remind me. It has been a while."

He reaches forward and slaps the other man on the shoulder.

"How have you been keeping yourself? Still reveling in the business of sin and debauchery?"

"Hey, at least they didn't give you a straw." And by they he means him. It is certainly helpful on occasion to hide behind the technicalities of employees, even if it's exceedingly transparent.

Cesare leans in and grins. Just this once, he is the one who seems childish. When he speaks, it's with a surprising amount of glee.

"Yes, but that is what is so fun. I cannot wait to watch this unfold. He won't last, of course. But while he does, by God, he'll be entertaining to watch. That man is a beautiful, bright explosion waiting to happen and I, for one, am looking forward to the show."

Jean-Claude raises an eyebrow but holds up his wine glass. It is small, intended for dessert wines. Jean-Claude has always been partial to sweet things, berries in particular. Blackberry especially. "Have you grown senile, in your old age?" he teases. Knowing full well that he is older than Cesare himself by at least a century, and that having died in his 30's, he looks older than him besides.

He sets his glass down on the counter again and regards the other vampire coolly. Definitely taking in the measure of him, how he might have changed in the last few decades, how he has stayed the same. And admiring as well. Jean-Claude is not ashamed to let another know that he likes what he sees. "I have a little club now," he responds, before turning back to the bar. Flicking a business card out of his jacket and sliding it down the bar at Cesare. Guilty Pleasures, it reads, as if there were any doubt as to what sort of club it was. "You might come and visit me sometime," he suggests, flicking the other vampire another smile as he does.

"You'll have to forgive me if I pass," he responds lightly, as if it's really just a casual dinner invite he's passing up here. As if he's totally unaware of the temptation he can see on Cesare right now. Eames refills his glass idly, thankfully the last glass of the bottle, and takes a sip. "I think my tastes would run a little contrary to that of your guests."

Unless Cesare happens to know a bunch of vampires who desperately want to know what a chest full of wood feels like. Then Eames is eminently willing to help with that.

Perfect. Get them looking from within- anyone should be suspicious of Harris, even if, as far as she knew, the two were unrelated. There's no reason to think the wolves supported Harris' policies. None at all.

But now he wants to know more. "I believe Harris is responsible, yes. The girl in question- perhaps she was put up to it. Blackmailed- we've all heard the stories about the pizza man being forced into robbing banks or else they'll be blown up. I wouldn't wonder if this is any different."

She pauses to take a sip of the drink. "But it's a pity they won't take her alive."

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 2 of 5

There's a place I know I can always go (Open)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

a;

A

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject