undergrounds | [OPEN] MURDER ON THE DANCEFLOOR

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[OPEN] MURDER ON THE DANCEFLOOR

The Duke of Central London's Samhain festivities are open upon invitation only. Those who are fortunate enough to have received one, either from the Duke himself or from one of his guests, are privy to quite the affair. Raymond has obviously been planning this for some time now, and the bar is fully stocked, the room fully decorated for the festivities. Collected from the fae hunt that their leader had encouraged, fae blood flows freely, available freshly served in punch bowls or straight from the source itself, in the form of kidnapped fae off of the streets. The vampires who partake are drunk with it and high on the euphoria that it offers, a drug unlike any other their kind can partake in.

As promised by Raymond himself, it is a rave the likes that London has never seen before. And it's about to get a lot more memorable still...

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"I'm fine," she says seriously. "I heal faster than you." She'd be lying if she said she hadn't partaken in some of the carnage.

"Get yourself out of the sun, take a shower- you can borrow pajamas, if you want." She trusted Natasha in a way she hadn't trusted anyone in a while. Enough to let her into her home.

She presses her key into Natasha's hand.

Natasha flashes a quick, tired smile as she accepts the key. She realizes just how much trust Evie is showing her doing this, and she appreciates it—she doubts Evie could understand how much. It's not something she can feel like she's earned.

"I'll meet you back there when you get free," Natasha says, giving her a meaningful look. "A shower sounds good right now. Real good."

"I'll see you there. Rest up."

It's odd for her, too. But she cares deeply about her friend, and they both have had a long night. There's no reason that Natasha should have to stay if she didn't need to. If it wasn't safe for her. Evie just felt obligated to remain.

It's a few hours later when Evie, armed with her spare key, entered her flat. The sun was up, and the vampire looked absolutely exhausted. Still, she tries to be quiet as she slips into the shower to rid herself of the grime of the evening.

When she leaves the bathroom, she's piled her dark hair up on her head, her clothes replaced with a pair of shorts and a tank-top. Bedtime, at last.

Joscelin gives Jean-Claude his most feral grin. "Why would they displease me? The man was an ass. We're better off."

The Nest had been going in an dangerous direction; rule under Jean-Claude will be more stable. Won't it? Christ, he's getting old if he's welcoming return o the old status quo like this. Because that's what this is. Jean-Claude will bring back the old ways, the old balance between London's supernatural elements.

With a few exceptions, of course.

"Just don't let this get to your head. I have been where you stand right now, and I was just as violently deposed."

Jean-Claude's face breaks into a tired yet appreciative smile and he inclines his head at her in response to her words of congratulations. He is always appreciative to hear his native tongue here in this city, especially when it is becoming more and more of a rarity these days. Perhaps that will change, with him in charge. Who can say for certain? Nothing is in this moment, save for the fact that they have had their victory and they must celebrate it for who knows what may come next.

"I will admit, I am more than a little out of practice," he says. "It has been some time since my dueling skills were required on a regular basis. But my old training has served me well, these past few months."

Jean-Claude knows that one sure-fire way to start off on the wrong foot with his people is to make them fight his battles for him. So fight he does, until the fighting winds down and Jean-Claude is left standing in tattered clothes, covered in blood and gore, most of which belongs to Raymond and his enemies although he has not escaped completely unscathed. He looks quite the sight and he's so tired that if he allowed himself the weakness, he might be swaying on his feet by now. But he's got a job to do. There's no rest for the wicked, after all.

He spots Natasha approaching and offers her a smile as she does, inclining his head in greeting as she makes her way to where he leans against the edge of the stage and surveys the work yet to be done.

"It is good to see you here with us tonight, mon amie," he says, in greeting.

"Poor little faery." Raymond shakes his head, keeping his voice low. "You are so far from your friends."

There's mock-sympathy in his voice but behind that a seething anger that he's barely keeping in check. Eames' words hit him right where it hurts: his ego. Even if he wasn't making a performance out of this stage show of theirs, he'd make Eames pay for his insolence.

And the fresh smell of fae blood is oh-so-tempting.

The crowd cheers their Duke as Raymond snarls, eyes dark, teeth white and sharp. "Don't mind if I do."

He strikes like a snake, a whip-like movement that has him burying his fangs in Eames' proffered throat. He'll make a fresh puncture wound, drinking from the other side of the fae's neck, and he won't stop until he's drained the Lord of Autumn dry.

Eames lets out a sharp cry when bitten, something raw and uninhibited, like expressing every bit of pain and rage he's experienced over these last few hours. It could just be that Raymond isn't nearly as gentle as Jean-Claude, but more than that it makes a pretty decent cover for the sound of rattling chains as he grips one tightly and pulls a hand through the cuff. Plus, it's kinda nice not to pretend it doesn't hurt like a bitch, the burn of the iron on his skin and the way he has to dislocate a thumb to get it through.

All in all, 2/10.

In incredible pain though he may be, Eames doesn't exactly have the luxury of taking a moment to recover, and just as Harris struck quickly? So does Eames. It's a smooth movement, one that speaks to his confidence even in this nightmare of a situation, as he moves in closer to Harris and plunges the stake into his stomach. Making sure to push it in as far as it can go with a second thrust so that no one thinks he simply missed.

His other hand, the one still cuffed, comes up with the intent of pulling Harris' hair and tugging the wretched leech off his neck, tilting his head to speak directly into his ear.

"You should have killed me."

Jean-Claude knows he has to move quickly if he does not want the guard to step in and take this moment from him. The second he feels Eames pulling free from his bonds Jean-Claude is stepping back and releasing him, reaching behind himself to draw the blade strapped to his back just under his jacket where it has been hidden, waiting for this moment as well.

As Eames plunges the stake into Harris, Jean-Claude spins to gut the guard beside them. It will not kill him, but he does not need him dead, not yet. Just out of the way, and he doubts, with his insides on the outside as they are, that he's going to raise much of a fuss in Raymond's defense.

He turns on the pair of them, and he knows he has only seconds to take his action before the club beyond erupts into chaos. Seconds to take action and he does not have a clear blow, not with Eames so close. And while he would sacrifice many things to win this, he would not execute Eames to get Raymond as well. Not with this many witnesses.

So he steps forward, and in the blink of an eye he has his free hand fisted in the front of Raymond's clothing and uses it to shove him backwards, to catch the other vampire in surprise, to push him off balance. And to give himself enough of an opening to strike.

"For the nest, monsieur!!!" Jean-Claude cries out. And swings his blade down to decapitate the Duke of London Central.

Once his first target was down, Daryl lunged out of the fray and rushed around the outside of the group fighting each other and fighting to get out. He harried a few of those he wasn't sure the affiliation of and brought down those he recognized from those nights of torture. He still had to watch the door and make sure no one escaped. Full revenge would have to wait until lines were clearer.

As the group thinned out, Daryl had to take more time to assess who was an ally and who wasn't. Blood was everywhere and it made scenting 'his' people difficult. He ended up pacing and watching the edges of the group more than helping kill the last of them.

Thomas blended in seamlessly into the crowd at the rave, dancing, celebrating, and generally joining in with the revelry, though he refused to take a single taste of the blood offered, though the sweet smell was more tantalizing than he'd anticipated. His incredibly skimpy 'fairy' costume seemed to communicate that he was just there for a good time, though despite apparently losing himself in the celebration, he was incredibly alert the entire time, waiting for his cue. He might not be ready to take on their esteemed leader, but he was more than willing to fight those who might try to get in Jean-Claude's way.

Those who saw him also might notice that his hair was a bit different than before, as he'd finally decided to go sans wig, showing off his hair that had grown back rather nicely since his incident with Cooper, and was now about four inches in length. Of course, to those who knew him it would look like he'd gotten his hair cut, and he had no intention of saying or doing anything that would correct that idea.

Edited 2016-11-08 03:10 (UTC)

Thomas fought. The only sign of the fun, flirty, party Thomas from before was in his ridiculous outfit, but if one were to look past that, they'd likely only see a feral creature, pouncing on and attacking on any of Raymond's followers that tried to emerge. While he might be more of a lover than a fighter, his supernatural lent him an unnatural grace, and the tension from spending the night ignoring his urges had left him frustrated, and now he had something to pour his frustration into.

By the end of it all, he was breathing heavily, the wings of his costume were torn, and he (as well as the sword he loosely gripped in one hand) was covered in blood. Thomas looked around, surveying the damage, and looking to see who still stood. The silver witch's amulet he'd wrapped around his very heavily gloved hand still dangled there, though he suddenly seemed to notice and started to pack it away in it's pouch, where it would sit until he took it home where he could stash it and ignore the fact that it existed once more.

Edited 2016-11-08 02:45 (UTC)

Seeing one of the attackers try to move in on Evie while she was fighting another, Thomas pounced, tackling his surprised opponent to the ground before slicing off their head with his sword. While normally he went for his gun in a fight, he'd realized going into things that a gun with regular bullets really wasn't the most effective weapon against their kind, and so he'd chosen to stash his sword out here earlier, fetching it quickly once the fight moved out here. Still, what he lacked in experience he made up for in aggression, as well as not being high on fae blood.

This, however, was not the only weapon on his person, as he now held a small, silver witch's amulet in his heavily gloved left hand that he had produced from a small pouch at his waist, which he was using to further damage any vampires that he caught in melee combat.

Edited 2016-11-08 02:46 (UTC)

It seemed like either the vampires inside had realized escaping wasn't an option, or most of them were already dead. Or both. Either way, there was definitely fewer of them trying to get past now, which gave Caroline time to reclaim her stake. She moved back a bit further, trying to stay focused - everything smelled of blood now, which didn't make it easy.

She was finally able to get a better look at the animal she'd seen before. It was a bobcat and it was now wandering around the same area she'd retreated to. She kept an eye on it, not quite sure what exactly it was, other than on their side.

Caroline must admit that she's a bit surprised that this is the case. But she is indeed still in one piece, albeit it a bruised and battered piece. "Yeah," she says finally. "You too." She'd had far less doubts about Evie's survival, especially after seeing her fight.

Evie's been alive long enough that she speaks more than just English. Hindi was the second language she learned, actually, and from there she moved back to the Romance languages, including French. Sometimes it was nice to switch to another language.

"Your skills are still admirable," she tells him, "for being so out of practice. I'd like to see what you look like with more frequent sparring." She smiles. "If you'd ever like an opponent." Evie missed a good duel. No one ever whipped out a sword anymore, it was always guns.

Boring.

Evie vanquished her foe with a well-placed stake, driven out from her sleeve. Hidden blades had always the preferred weapon of Assassins, and stakes likewise. She turned in time to see Thomas swinging his sword.

"Thank you, friend!" She calls towards him, as she prepared to move to another target.

Evie shrugs it off. "It comes with hundreds of years of doing just this." She looks around at the carnage and frowns deeply. "Usually, I prefer more subtle methods of dispatch, but Jean-Claude had a statement to make."

She turns her eyes back to Caroline. "And it certainly seems he made it."

"Yeah, if people don't get the idea from this, then there's no help for them." It had been awhile since she'd seen carnage quite like this. At least this time, she didn't feel guilt about the bodies she was responsible for. They'd all had their chance and they wasted it.

She nods grimly. "You're terribly right." She intended to keep working alongside Jean-Claude, having come to grow close to him in the most recent months. Perhaps take some time out to work on rebuilding London again, without heeding the call of the Brotherhood.

Her city, after all, continued to need her.

Daryl didn't really stop his pacing, but his path adjusted to bring him in closer to Jean-Claude. Close enough to sniff at him and do a quick check over for injuries. Make sure most of that blood wasn't his. Then moving away like he had no interest in the man's well-being.

"About damn time," he barked out, lip curling in an agitated snarl. "Been waiting out here for hours."

"So, what happens now?" She's asked Jean-Claude that question after Southwark but this time she needs to know the answer. And she needs to be part of it too.

By the time Evie gets back, Natasha has given in to laying down. She took a shower first and intended to stay up, at least a while, but with dawn bringing the light and the weight of fatigue, Natasha surrendered. She's not entirely asleep when the other women comes in, though.

She stirs at the sound of water hitting tile, pulling herself up drowsily in bed and trying to clear her head.

"Clean?" she asks when she hears Evie pad out of the bathroom.

"Clean," Evie repeats, a little surprised that Natasha is still awake. "I didn't wake you up, did I? I tried to be quiet." And that meant she could be nearly silent. Then again, vampire hearing.

"You can go back to sleep, if you like." That was her plan, anyway. Sleep, and then in the morning have some coffee before going to speak with the Brotherhood.

"We rebuild. Things are going to change, again, and this time for the better. We have to repair our relationship with the Night Council, the witches, everyone. There is much work to be done, and we'll need all the help we can get." She doesn't want to put her in harm's way, but she was already here. Here of her own free will.

And allies were always a valuable asset.

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