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

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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!

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Cesare shrugs. He appreciates Thomas' opinion, but he doesn't quite share it. There are always plenty of people, he finds, who have no idea what is about to happen to them, and by the time they figure it out it is usually too late. Cesare doesn't feel the need to make things harder than they already are, not when it comes to feeding anyway. Cesare knew what he was getting into when he became a vampire. He has made peace with that.

But the comment about the new leader makes Cesare smirk as he takes a swig of his drink.

"You're not keen on sudden change, Mr Raith?" The Mr is a habit from his days of My Lord and My Lady that he isn't quite over. You can take the man from the Renaissance but you can't take the Renaissance from the man.

"Maybe from all these flames we will see new growth?"

If Evie voiced her concerns to Cesare, he would have immediately offered to help her: ask one of the more trusted employees to fabricate her an alibi, one that had enough distance from Cesare that it wasn't suspicious. He would have placed her across town, with witnesses and receipts to prove it. Cesare is not beyond a bit of duplicity to help a friend.

Cesare laughs.

"I suppose you're right. If another leader doesn't swoop in to take the title and distract us again. Whatever happens, I doubt this transition will be smooth. I suspect there are others already planning to overthrow him."

He doesn't ask whether or not she's seen any people with such plans. That would be impolite. Perhaps one night when they have had dinner, are sitting in comfortable armchairs and are adequately appeased with wine.

Thomas just assumed that Cesare was being formal, which was probably for the best. If he'd known that Cesare's choice of words came from an impulse that was in any way derived from a desire to refer to him as something like 'Lord Raith', he'd have been slightly disturbed by it. After all, that was what his sire went by, and the relationship between them was complicated at best.

Still, even thinking it was just formality, Thomas saw little need for it. "You can call me Thomas. Most people do. And whether I like change or not depends entirely on what those changes are. I'm not a fan of dealing with retaliation."

Which if they went too crazy was exactly what they'd have.

"But who knows, maybe you're right."

Maybe the new leader being so young and reckless would give them a chance to get a better leader in place to take over. At least, young by most vampires' standards, as it still seemed strange to Thomas that someone over a hundred years old would be considered young. Still, the fact that there were meant that many vampires might be quick to fall behind someone better.

Perhaps, though she trusted few outside of the Brotherhood, in the end. But that's her fault, in the end, for keeping her lips sealed.

"Oh, of course. Which-" she shakes her head. "The girl acted hastily." So did Evie. She should have taken her time, found someone suitable of taking Millicent's place. "We've seen so many regime changes in our lifetimes, I don't suppose this one will be much different. But if anyone is looking to act- I hope they've already found a suitable replacement."

Eames doesn't think of the threat as false, and he all but rolls his eyes at the confirmation. It's like Cesare thinks he's unaware of the danger, and Eames just doesn't have the patience for all this bluster right now. It almost makes him want to egg the man on, see how strong the vampire really is, but he won't. He's not an idiot.

Ugh. But now he's sitting too? Eames gives him a look of tired disinterest across the table, "wasn't my idea, in truth." Eames gestures absently at the bottle of wine on the table, "but you have an excellent selection, might as well enjoy the good things in this rat's nest."

Cesare knows better than to dismiss his elders and he respects Joscelin's opinion. Cesare just doesn't share it. He knows that all alliances, however long they've lasted already, are always temporary. Tides shift, regimes change, empires fall and people who were closest allies become enemies in mere moments. He is not afraid of an upset. So when Joscelin mentions not being able to war openly, Cesare looks out into the bar and pulls a wry smile.

"Why can't we? The witches could be taken down a peg or two as well. They should leave us to fight our battles instead of attempting to rule us through some absurd bureaucracy. Don't you find it ironic that for something called the Night Council, the fucking witches are running it instead of the vampires? Who the fuck let that happen?"

Cesare thinks it's a joke. The idea that everyone has accepted the witches' rule for so long seems ridiculous to him, particularly considering their youth. In Cesare's opinion, he thinks the establishment needs a bit of a shake up.

"Just between the two of us, though." He smirks. "I don't want to be undone just yet."

Cesare smirks at Cooper's shift, entertained by how swiftly he can go from arguing vehemently over drinks to ordering another. Cesare isn't surprised the other man has been having a bad month: his personality seems verging on manic.

Cesare isn't complaining about the alcohol though. He orders a second beer for himself, matching Cooper in a small gesture of camaraderie. The two of them should both try to get along, after all.

"Really? And why is that?" He leans back and crosses his legs, his ankle resting oh his knee, positioned wide.

When Cesare hears the word "stubborn", he grins, broad and predatory. He hasn't been called something so flattering in a while. He basks in it. To be stubborn means to have principles, character, a spine. Cesare would rather be dead than not be stubborn.

He listens carefully to her explanation, being patient with her as she works through her words. When she's done with them, though, he isn't too impressed. Sorry, Natasha. He's not an easy man to convince when it comes to his views on vampirism. He shrugs and takes a swig of his drink.

"Some people are meant to have blood on their hands." He himself has known many people who were better suited living their lives by ending the lives of others.

He could make the point that he doesn't believe depriving yourself to the point that it affects your health is exactly control, but he leaves it for now. He's made his views on the necessity of drinking very clear.

Cesare lets out a quick laugh before sticking his tongue into his cheek in thought and looking down at the business card. He reaches forward and takes it, before putting it into his suit pocket.

"I'll have Cameron Brig. Dalwhinnie at a push." If Jean-Claude is joking about special requests, Cesare doesn't care. He wants good scotch. If he didn't have an opportunity to have it before, he's making one. Give Cesare an inch and he'll take a mile.

"I hope they're good dancers." Because Cesare is obviously visiting to see the ladies' dancing ability. Of course.

"Maybe," she says, not so much allowing for the possibility as not arguing his opinion on the matter. She's not trying to convince him not to drink human blood, and if he doesn't understand her reasons, she can't force him to. "I have nothing but time to find out for myself though. Maybe I'll try this for six months, five years, either way..."

What was even a few years to them?

She glances away, the smell of blood from the glass wearing on her nerves more than she likes to admit, and she can't hide her tension entirely. The temptation to let him win this argument is very real.

But he's not the only one who's stubborn.

"Any of the above, anyone who's new enough that they might not yet understand how everything works around here, people with the potential for causing trouble." He smirks. "Aside from me."

He slides the paper towards her. "I would like to keep an eye on them. If they don't know how to behave, I wish to teach them, keep everything reasonable and safe." Or maybe he just wants to be the one controlling the trouble, or perhaps he's trying to recruit for a mob. Maybe it's all three.

"If you need anything else, just ask."

Cesare is tempted to explain that he isn't concerned by the threat of retaliation. Vampires have lasted a long time. They will last through this too. They are resilient enough to deal with it.

But that's not exactly the type of conversation to have when you've only just met someone and so he just about manages to hold his tongue. Instead he deflects with jokes, smirking behind his glass as he takes a sip.

"Maybe we could learn a few things from the other factions. I've heard the wolves are great at digging and the witches make delicious stews. I've become rather sweet on the fae, though I wonder if that's more appetite than anything else." Once you've tasted fae blood, it's very difficult to come back from. That's how it's been for Cesare at least.

Nancy smiles at the joke, reaching for the paper at long last. "I completely understand." There were bound to be what would feel like thousands of new vampires in the city soon, of that she had no doubt. She was more likely to meet them than Cesare.

Without looking at the check, she placed it in her purse. No need to be rude or overtly curious.

"Thank you. You're too kind." She was certain it was a decent amount of money, at any rate.

Clearly, this wasn't a concern Cesare took too seriously. Although that last point was a little bit worrying. He'd heard some very unpleasant things about what fae blood could do to a vampire, once they became addicted to it. Then again, he wasn't sure if that comment was just talk.

"Have you actually tasted..." Then, after a moment he decided better than to ask. It didn't matter, this man's choices were his own after all. "Nevermind. And call be crazy, but I'm fairly certain the other factions are capable of doing quite a bit more than that. After all, I doubt we've had the restrictions we've had for so long because our gardens could get dug up."

Not that it really mattered what this vampire thought. After all, it wasn't his opinions that were the problem. He kept things clean enough in his own hotel, after all, and whatever he did or did not do, it really didn't make a difference when neither of them would likely be the reason for any retaliation.

"Though I guess I might as well not worry about it. It's not as if though my actions will influence them one way or the other."

After all, even though he wasn't harming anyone, there were plenty of vampires that were. Ultimately, it was the vampire at their head that they'd suffer or not suffer for.

"Besides, I came here for dinner, not politics."

Cesare has a fair assessment of Cooper's personality. He's a downright lunatic some of the time, always ready to fight someone at the drop of a hat or charm them if he wants something. He's certain that at least half the supernatural community can't stand him, to say nothing of his fellow vampires in Islington. He taps one of his feet back and forth as he speaks.

"Where to start? You know that little wolf who took out the boss lady? I caught up with her the night it happened, but she got away from me. I've been lookin' for her ever since. She's got the luck of the devil himself to have escaped for this long." Cooper wasn't a stupid man, all appearances to the contrary. He figures that the girl still has to be somewhere in the city. He'll find her sooner or later. It's just a matter of time.

Joss raises his eyebrow over the rim of his glass. "You've been away for quite some time," he explains patiently, as if to a small child. Or a simpleton. "The Night Council is for our mutual benefit, or so they claim. We even have something vaguely resembling a democracy." His mouth twists. "Millicent's position was never up for a vote, of course. She never did share power well. But the presidency of the Night Council was. I recently had the dubious honor of casting a ballot with her name on it." He can't even remember who else was on it. Something about a bear?

The establishment may be a joke, but it's their reality. The witches far outnumber them. Simple arithmetic is not on their side, and the witches do not need an excuse to start vampire hunting.

"My dear Mr. Borgia, if you don't want to be undone you'll do well to leave this particular mess alone. When Harris does flame out, he will do so spectacularly. Take care that you are not burnt."

Jean-Claude would probably be lying if he were to say that he weren't pleased with the fact that the other vampire had taken the card at last. So he doesn't say anything about it at all.

Instead he raises his eyebrows at the other man's requests, before shrugging slightly. He'll see what can be done. At the mention of his dancers offers him the opportunity to focus his attentions elsewhere anyway.

"Do you doubt my taste?" he asks.

Cesare pulls a wry smile. "They fancy themselves to be suitable, I have no doubt." Whether they are actually good leaders or not is another story. Quite frankly, though, Cesare is a bit jealous, frustrated that he hadn't come back sooner or had not left in the first place, almost as soon as the political climate was becoming difficult. It was poor timing on his part. He should have been there when Millicent died, but instead had thrown his time in London away in search of his sister. It was poor strategy and Cesare had thought himself to be above than that.

He looks at Evie for a second, curious.

"You think you know someone who might act?"

Cesare laughs, pulling a wry smile.

"You are kind, Mr Eames. From a fae like you, that's practically glowing." A waiter quickly puts a napkin on the table and hands Cesare a glass of scotch. It's difficult to keep Cesare away from his scotch.

"Who brought you here? Did they know what they were doing or are your friends simply oblivious? Either way, I suggest you might think about changing friends..." Your friends are idiots, Eames, sorry to say.

"It sounds boring as hell, if you ask me." Idiotic and boring. But Natasha is her own woman. If she wants to be foolish, that's her own prerogative. He's made his point and she has made hers.

He reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a card and a pen, crossing out the number on it and replacing it with another, a direct line.

"Just in case you need to contact me." She knows who is. She knows that he can help her if she wants it. A vampire is a vampire and Cesare is happy to help them, even if they act like fools.

"For a drink?" Natasha asks, her brows tugging together slightly. If she did fall off the wagon, she didn't have a problem hunting for herself. That part was only part of the problem. Not an insignificant part, she supposes, but still only part of it.

"Or did you have something else in mind?"

Cesare doesn't miss the fact that Nancy doesn't look at the cheque. She has always been discreet. That's why Cesare likes her.

He looks over her for a second, eyes tracing over her features and figure as he wonders if he should ask if she's free tonight, or if he should save that for another day. He's not above paying Nancy for her services (business is business after all), but he decides that perhaps this evening, particularly so soon after their transaction, it might be somewhat distasteful.

Instead he gives her a polite nod and gets up to leave.

"You're welcome. Have a lovely evening."

Cesare holds up a hand and bows his head slightly.

"My apologies. This conversation is unbecoming for us both. It's late. I'm sure you're hungry and don't want to be talking about government policy with some old man."

Cesare himself needs to find himself someone to eat, though he isn't quite as kind as Thomas. Cesare is a traditionalist, believing that he signed up to drink humans dry and that it's par the course. Killing others is just what happens when you're a vampire. That's just how it is. Control isn't exactly Cesare's strong suit, not that he's ever much tried it.

Cesare smiles and rolls his eyes slightly.

"For anything." And he means it. At his age, he's used to a lot of peculiar requests. He's helped a lot of people with a lot of strange things. You never know when you might need a friend.

"But, of course, a drink will always be on offer too."

He wasn't a friend, but the man is definitely an idiot, Eames won't disagree. A rich idiot with no idea of the market value when it comes to stolen artefacts, so Eames is quite keen not to let him go just yet.

Still, he does huff a laugh at Cesare's 'suggestion'. "I know a lot of people," he says, swilling his glass idly while he talks, "some of them are... just a little ignorant, shall we say."

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

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