undergrounds | The Other Mayor of London

The OTHER MAYOR OF LONDON invites you to a night to remember...

Hosted at The Angelo in the heart of Islington (courtesy of Cesare Borgia), Raymond Harris invites you all to join him on the night of Saturday, 6th August to celebrate his self-proclaimed ascension as the Other Mayor of London. His aims are threefold: to stake his claim as the most powerful supernatural being in the city, to persuade other interested factions to ally with him, and to intimidate his enemies with a show of extravagance. All members of the Islington Nest are expected to work hard tonight to achieve these goals.

The party officially begins at 20:39 when the sun sets and ends at 05:34 when the sun rises. Of course, there's no guarantee that everyone will make it until dawn...

Rules of entry
• This is a black tie event. Anyone who fails to wear the appropriate attire will be denied entry.
• No stakes or other vampire-killing weapons. That's just rude.
• No more than five werewolves and shapeshifters will be admitted in total. Raymond wants them to witness his power, but not to spoil his party. They will be closely watched and likely mocked by the surrounding vampires.

Raymond is guarded by his vampire henchmen at all times. Any perceived threat will be dealt with swiftly and mercilessly.

Places to go
Once you're admitted to the hotel, you'll walk into the lobby, where you're free to mingle with the other guests. It's here that you're likely to first spot the party's human contingent: a collection of young and beautiful men and women whose sole purpose is to provide a live food source for the vampires. Dressed in uniform black suits and cocktail dresses, they will offer up their wrists and/or necks to anyone who wants them.

From there, you can head over to the bar for a more relaxed and cordial atmosphere. Drinks are free until midnight; after that you'll have to pay. The bar does not serve blood; it's expected that vampire guests will drink directly from their nearest human.

If you're looking for something a little more substantial, try the tea room where you'll be served tea, coffee or red wine, and a selection of cherry tomato canapes, strawberries and scones with jam and clotted cream.

The main action, however, takes place in the ballroom. Red mood lighting continues the general theme and live music will be playing all night. Professional dancers provide entertainment in the early evening, but it won't be long before the ballroom is crowded with party-goers revelling in the fun, free and wild atmosphere. This is where you may find Raymond, the benevolent host watching over his guests. Drink and be merry. He wants everyone to have a good time.

(You can check the OOC plotting thread for more info and to ask any questions about this event. Enjoy!)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Jean-Claude raises an eyebrow slightly at her, before inclining his head as well. No one has made the right offer. Of course they have not, because no on in Islington has had the position to do so. No one that she would have accepted it from. He has to wonder whether she would accept such an offer of joining if it would be from him.

He supposes he will just have to wait and see. For now, though, he crooks his head at her and offers her a careful smile. "It is good to know that we haven't lost you completely to the witches," he replies, before he raises his glass at her in something of a salute and takes a careful sip of his drink.

"I'd say it's not so much that I belong to the witches as I'm tired of belonging to anyone." She knows that's not exactly what he meant, and she does give her answer in the most figurative sense, but it's also true. "I'm with Redbright because it seemed like the best chance to get that."

She raises her glass as well, her smile a bit regretful. "I'd like to they don't make everything feel like us versus them, too."

Natasha isn't sure if he'll take her meaning, or if it matters if he doesn't, but she hopes he'll understand what it would take for her to be friends with the nest, whether or not she would consider joining.

Jean-Claude has to raise his eyebrows a little at that. The suggestion that Redbright should make things feel a little more fair. "I suppose if you are comparing your situation to the present one within our nest," he says, turning back to his drink, and swirling it in his glass, "that it would probably feel that way. I find it ironic that you might suggest Redbright should be the one to turn to for such freedoms, however."

Jean-Claude may have only just recently stepped up into this game of politics, but he has been in the city for the last century. He has seen Sylvia Redbright slowly stake her claim not one, not two, but three different factions. He would not hesitate to suggest that it is all a monopoly, and one of her own design.

"Actually, I'm comparing it to what I knew back in Moscow," Natasha corrects gently. There's no way of knowing how familiar Jean-Claude is with the situation in Eastern Europe, but Natasha is only too aware.

"But the current situation reminds me a little too much of Moscow once upon a time." Not now. Islington had a long way to go before it reached that trajectory. But the mounting decadence of Millicent followed by the escalation and clear totalitarianism of Raymond Harris found parallels in her memory that she didn't like. "I've seen where that ends. Didn't care for it."

Her answer intrigues Jean-Claude somewhat, and he tilts his head at her slightly at the mention of Moscow and whatever situation she might have found herself in there, once upon a time.

"What you knew back Moscow," he replies, repeating her words and giving her an inquisitive look. If she cares to elaborate, he would love to hear the story there. He understands however, perhaps better than everyone, what it is to want to keep your past behind you.

"These days, the nest I was part of is losing a war with the local werewolf pack," Natasha says. It's not personal information. She likes keeping it general like that, losing herself in the landscape. "Has been for a couple of decades now. But before that, we thought we were untouchable. More power and more blood than you could imagine, and a steady stream of bodies bound for the gulags."

Her voice is low as she describes it. She might be embellishing somewhat, but that was how it seemed at the time.

"A couple of decades," Jean-Claude says, repeating her words again. It does sound like the sort of situation that a vampire should get out of if they care to live. Unless their loyalty has them unable to do such a thing. He would have turned tail exactly as she had for his own self-preservation however, so he can admire that in her.

He flicks something of a smile at her as he says, "I know it is rude to ask a woman of her age, and yet. You have me wondering, mon amie. I take it that you had the fortune of knowing just exactly what they are missing these days, non?"

"You're right. You shouldn't ask." She says it with humor, though; she doesn't scold him. She knows that as vampires go, she's not brand new but she's still barely more than a child. Old enough to feel like she'd seen a lot compared to most mortals, especially considering the kind of life she's led, but hardly ancient. She still met humans who were older than she was.

"I'll be seventy-eight in November."

She flashes a smile at him, not entirely genuine but prepared to shrug it off if he doesn't take her seriously because of her age.

"So if you were planning to throw me a birthday party, you know when."

Jean-Claude glances sideways at her and flashes her a smile of his own. "You look good for your age," he comments, which is something of a vampiric inside joke, especially coming from Jean-Claude himself, who is going on six-hundred and ten. By all accounts, he should be nothing but bones and dust, himself.

He sits back in his seat and takes another sip of his drink. "I'll keep the month of November open for you. Let me know if you've got a favorite dancer to request." He tosses her a near-wink. "I'm sure that something can be arranged. On the house." It's a strip club. You'd better believe there are private rooms for lap dances and other such terrible ideas.

She does laugh at that, soft and short but a sincere laugh. The joke isn't lost on her, nor is the humor in his offer. "If I'm still around in a couple of months, I might take you up on that."

She says it archly, amused.

"I hope your dancers are prepared to back you up on that." Her smile falls a little then, but she trusts he'll understand she's not a threat to his people—she wouldn't hurt them, or take things that hadn't been intended to give. She adds then, more wryly and perhaps just a tiny bit flirtatious. "You don't dance yourself, do you?"

Jean-Claude quirks an eyebrow at her before the side of his mouth turns up, the expression very much a 'wouldn't you like to know' sort of face as he raises his drink to his lips and takes another healthy sip. Not that the alcohol is really doing much for him. Neither food nor drink really does anymore. But it is a good prop, at times like these.

"I have been known to put on a good show every now and again," he replies, after he has let the mystery sit for a moment between them. "I was once in their shoes after all, mon amie. It is why I own such a place. To make certain they are treated the way they should be." The way had never been himself. And to be surrounded by hot dancers in little to no clothing. There is something of an appeal in that as well, he won't lie.

"Well, in that case..." Natasha says, drawling out the words in gentle amusement. She doesn't judge his history. At this point, she'd much rather be around strippers than most vampires. Or most assassins.

"I'll just have to think about what I want for my birthday—that's a big decision."

The Other Mayor of London

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