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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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"No, you brought it up now."

Evie turns towards her, on her side.

"What is it, Natasha?" Her eyes, unusually soft, lock with her friend's, even in the dark.

"There will always be those that oppose whatever regime is in charge." She had learned this a long time ago. "But hopefully this has at least made them quiet dissenters."

"I wouldn't have any way to know, one way or the other." Natasha says by way of agreement. She thinks they're both on the same page about that. For different reasons, it's better that both of them not be in the spotlight.

For Natasha's part, if no one even speculates she was here outside of the few allies in the circle.

"You know, I wondered who's side you'd come down on. I had a pretty good guess, but there's always an air of mystery."

Natasha meets her gaze for only a moment before she drops her eyes, sighing. "You know I haven't been feeding?"

Evie does. There's no need to reiterate it. But it lets Evie know where this is going.

"I've been thinking about that. And about what would happen if I stop abstaining."

Evie waits for the other shoe to drop before she says anything. She takes a moment to inhale, to consider it, and then offers Natasha a small smile.

"You'd be in better shape, certainly." But. They all had a deep, dark craving that they all fought every time they were around blood. She remembers how awful it was, as a newborn. And she imagined after having stopped drinking for so long, how easy it could be for Natasha to slide down that path.

"But that's not what you're getting at."

Edited 2016-11-17 04:46 (UTC)

"Not exactly," she agrees. "I don't intend to stop soon. But I was thinking..."

She pauses, then takes a steadying breath. Her voice when she continues is more professional. "I mean to make this work, and I have support there. But I'd like to have an exit strategy in place if those should fail. I need another vampire I can trust to supervise if it comes to that."

Her brow creases as it so often does. She trusted her. Perhaps it was foolish, perhaps it was a smart move, Evie herself wasn't sure. But she knew she, too, trusted Natasha, and trust between two vampires, and two different (A)/assassins was not an easy thing to come by.

Gently, she places her hand on Natasha's shoulder. She doesn't need to say how much her trust means to her. She knows the other woman feels it.

"I will. I promise you that. Whatever you need."

Cesare laughs at that, leaning back into his chair and taking a swig of his drink.

"You think I'm untrustworthy?" he asks, though he doesn't take offence to it. He's incredibly trustworthy in the sense that he'll always prioritize himself and those he cares about. He can be relied on for that. He has never lied about that and he doesn't intend to do so now.

Natasha does. And she appreciates that Evie leaves it there. Exposing herself like this isn't easy for her. But it's the best choice, the best way to make sure that no one gets killed.

She trusts Evie. She trusts that she understands what's at stake. And she's the only vampire Natasha knows who she truly believes will be invested in preventing her from taking feeding too far.

"Thank you." The relief is in her voice, subtle but real. "I mean that."

"I didn't say that." She answers in good time, not missing a beat or rushing to set the record straight. When she clarifies her position, her tone is easy and professional. "What I didn't trust was that you wouldn't see your best interests and Harris's aligning. I know we have priorities. Different ideas about vampires best role in the city."

And Natasha doesn't judge that, not really.

Thomas shot her a grin. "Glad to help!" he called, before he went back to fighting another of Raymond's followers.

Their eyes meet in the darkness and Evie nods.

"Of course," she reaches out and touches Natasha's shoulder. After a second, she gives it a gentle squeeze. It's nice, to have her here with her. It's been a while since she's shared a bed with anyone, and after such an exhausting night, it's good to have that comfort.

She pulls her blankets up a bit further with her free hand.

"Whatever I can do to help you."

"Thank you. I appreciate it." Natasha does settle down then, making peace with the fact that she's going to be sharing the bed with the other woman—it's Evie's bed, after all.

She finds it easy, somehow.

"Goodnight?"

"There's no need to thank me," she says. She follows Natasha's cues, getting back into a more settled position. She turns her back to her friend, but glances over her shoulder.

"Goodnight. If you wake up first, help yourself to coffee." There was blood in the fridge, as well, but she knew better than to offer.

"If I do, I'll keep that in mind." Invitations for breakfast and offers for coffee... Natasha wonders if she should really be letting herself get this comfortable, but at least for today, while the sun is up and they've had a very real victory the last night. They deserve something nice.

Joscelin lowers himself into a chair with a visable wince as his body stitches itself back together. He is covered in blood, most of it not his, but a vampire drunk on fae blood had gotten in a lucky shot before Joss had been able to finish her off. But the pain is fleeting, and within seconds the tear in his shoulder has mended. The same cannot be said for the rip in his favorite tuxedo jacket. Ah, well. Sacrifices must be made in times of war.

He spies a familiar face nearby and motions her over to his table.

"Miss Romanoff."

"Didn't expect to see you here." She's not unhappy that he is, though. Not if he didn't side with Raymond.

She takes in the torn jacket, bloodied, but the flesh underneath healed. Natasha still couldn't count on that, her diet putting her at a disadvantage to most of the other vampires fighting tonight. But she hadn't been in the thick of it, and skill kept her from missing quick healing too much.

"Good evening?"

Joscelin smiles, showing her his bloodstained teeth. "Got a bit of exercise in. Worked up an appetite, too, but I will spare your delicate sensibilities for the moment. Provided you're still starving yourself?"

He doesn't sound concerned; he's just making conversation with the condescending air of someone asking about how a diet is going. If she wants to be silly and naive, that is her decision. Instead, he finds a glass of half-drunk wine forgotten on the table next to them and raises it in a mocking toast.

"Sic semper tyrranus, as they say. May our new regime fare better than the last two. Or mine, for that matter.."

"In pace requiescat," Natasha murmurs, snorting softly. It's clear from her pronunciation that Latin was part of her education. Not that it's surprising since Latin was once essential to most formal educations.

She lets the comment about her diet slide. Not answering it answers well enough, in her opinion. Joscelin is no ruder or more condescending than several other vampires she's met in London. It's not unexpected.

"Jean-Claude has an advantage over Harris, at least. He took the position because there was a power vacuum. Jean-Claude claimed it."

And in a vampire nest, that made a difference.

Joscelin had been raised in a monastery; Latin was practically his mother tongue (it also helped that his sire had been born in Rome in the First Century). It takes a great effort to resist his innate need to one up her Latin with more of his own and simply mockingly crosses himself. "Well, he's not resting anywhere anymore, peacefully or otherwise. I'd wish him a thorough roasting in hell, if not for the fact that he's not going there either."

Vampires only get to cheat death once. Their second deaths are not nearly as forgiving as their first. Raymond Harris had ceased to exist in any form, and that is as it should be.

Joscelin contemplates what little remains in his glass. "I have known Jean-Claude for more than a century. I suppose I had not thought him capable of something like this; he's never been one for getting his hands dirty. A public execution stands him in good stead with the Nest; none of us can resist a good bloodbath. But still, I worry. He is as close to a friend as I am capable of having, and I know that there are many young vampires who preferred Raymond Harris's style of governing, and many of the old guard who have never liked him."

Cesare's idea of the vampires' rightful position has always been pretty clear: the top. He didn't join this team for it to be a losing one. He can understand that Natasha might be more interested in keeping the peace, but he doesn't agree with it. He's been on this earth long enough to realize that a truce of goodwill tends to be shortlived. Tonight is proof of that.

He smiles and shrugs.

"The people wanted change, an end to the bloodshed, even if they had to shed blood to do it." He says the words knowingly, a call to how ridiculous this all truly is. But everyone else had wanted it and so, ridiculous as it was, Cesare had gone along with it, making sure to pick up what he could along the way.

Natasha shrugs off the comment. She's not all that inclined to waste time considering what happens to vampires when they die. Really die, that is. She'd spent her youth an atheist, insofar as she was anything, and the idea of nothing after death doesn't trouble her. Not that she's in any hurry for meet it, but if that's the end, that's the end.

"From you, that's high praise." Or she assumes it is. Natasha sees no reason to disbelief his own words.

Natasha leans back, arms crossed over her chest thoughtfully. "So I hear. I don't know all the details, but I hear he's not always the most popular. Still... he appeals to enough of the nest that they'll take his side. Most of them will go with whatever the status quo is."

Now it's Joss's turn to shrug. It is high praise coming from him--the highest he can offer. But he sees no need to comment further. He does not, as a general rule, express emotion to anyone. "It needed to be said."

He shakes his head. "Most, but not all," he cautions. "Being effectively immortal means we tend to hold grudges for quite a long time. I am still persona non grata to most in the Nest over one hundred and fifty years of age, with a few notable exceptions. I doubt it will be any different here, unless every single Raymond Harris partisan is purged, with immediate effect."

Jean-Claude had been more than clear about his intent and as the night and fight wore on, Daryl got the idea in his head that maybe - just maybe - he'd been tasked with watching the door (along with a couple other willing Hillingdon hunters) along side the actual Islington supporters to make sure those orders were carried out. Many of the people - vampires, monsters in human form because Daryl didn't want to give them even the mental dignity of being called a person - they were killing tonight were friends and probably even family to those who supported the new leader. It would be hard on them to not let one or two go out of loyalty or love if there wasn't someone there to reinforce the need to not be lax in their executions. Those same people might be friends and family of a few, but they were also the ones most willing to attack anyone openly, to drain fae of their blood, to drag shapeshifters from their beds and into the night for blood sports and death.

They were the enemies of Islington's new leader.

Daryl would give them no mercy and he would make sure no one else did, either.

In reality it didn't take long for things to settle down. Maybe a half-hour to an hour after everything got started. The fighting inside died and there were eventually no more bodies making their way out. Things went quiet before new celebrations started. He could only assume that meant Jean-Claude had been successful.

And with the change in the air, Daryl relaxed enough to start walking from body to body and make sure each and every one had been dealt with appropriately. He'd ripped a fair few throats out, after all. Those would need to be stabbed before they got themselves fixed. As he did so, he started looking to the Vampires who were there with JC and nodded to each of them as he came up to them, gave them a quiet thanks and "Ya did good."

Once the fighting stopped, Caroline found herself just standing there, staring at the scene around them. She'd been in fights before, killed people before, but nothing that was on this scale.

She looked down at herself and she's covered in blood. A bit of it is hers but not most. She took a deep breath and clasped her hands tight in front of her, to try and keep them from shaking.

When the shapeshifter got near her, she looked up. "Don't thank me," she said softly. "I just did what had to be done."

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[OPEN] MURDER ON THE DANCEFLOOR

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