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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Natasha performs her job dispassionately and efficiently. Vampires trying to escape or to take the fighting outside are met with bullets—mundane, but hallow point, with enough stopping power to keep most vampires stunned until she can finish them off. She knows what she's doing. Probably killed more vampires than most vampire hunters, even before she left her nest.

When the fighting slacks off, Natasha starts looking for Jean-Claude. She's sure he's busy, but if possible, she'd like to check in with him.

Maybe just to reassure herself she's made the right choice.

Cesare is sitting in a booth at the side of the room, his shirt bloodied and a cigarette balancing between his lips. He normally didn't partake in smoking and had decided it was a filthy habit, but tonight is a bit of a special occasion. Leaning back into the cushioning of his seat, his elbows resting on its back, he looks practically post-coital. He's missed this.

He had almost forgotten what it felt like to kill with purpose, drain the blood from a man when he was trying to do the exact same thing to you. There's a thrill in it.

He hasn't touched the fae blood but he's still on a bit of a high when he catches sight of Natasha, gesturing for her to come join him. He reaches for the bottle of scotch that he took from the bar and pours her a glass, sliding it over to her.

"So were tonight's actions of yours for Islington or for Redbright?" he asks. The two of them had ended up on the same side tonight. That had been a pleasant turn of events. And they'd done well. But Cesare isn't entirely sure if they'll be fighting on the same side again.

There's a brief hesitation before she joins him. While Natasha isn't surprised that Cesare fell into line with Jean-Claude in the end, it hadn't been a sure thing in her estimation. Not by any means. It's only an instant, though, then she accepts his invitation, taking the seat across from him and drawing the glass closer with one finger on the rim of the glass.

"To the best of my knowledge, Redbright doesn't know I'm here." She tips her head slightly, as though admitting something embarrassing. "I'd say I'm here on my own best judgment."

Cesare rolls his eyes a little and pulls a wry smile. In his eyes, it's pretty optimistic to think that Natasha can keep such a secret from Sylvia. She has too many hands in too many pots. He takes a hefty swig of his scotch.

"You think so? Nobody can take a fucking shit in this town without Redbright knowing about it." Though maybe he's just bitter. This has been a win for Islington, in a sense, but it's a bigger win for Sylvia. She's got exactly what she wanted: agreeable, compliant vampires. At least he's getting a promotion out of it.

If he doesn't have faith in Natasha's ability to keep a secret, Natasha isn't going to try to convince him. That's not the kind of argument likely to be successful, anyway.

Instead, she shrugs. "Like I said, as far as I know. I can't entirely rule out that she knows and is all right with it. She stands to benefit too."

The too is intentional. Natasha sees this as a beneficial move. She wouldn't be here if she didn't. She sips her scotch before adding, "Either way, I'm not here in any official capacity."

Cesare smiles. "Good, then that means you can't possibly have seen me here. I didn't attend. Grew ill at the last minute, you see. Swallowed some bad blood."

As much as he has his own reasons for supporting Jean-Claude, he has more reasons not to be seen doing so. Cesare is a man who is best suited to shadows when it comes to underhand dealings and assassinations. He doesn't like to be publicly declared an executioner. He's learned over time that it tends to taint his business deals. Whisperings are fine, but when it comes to political killings, he would prefer not to be the one photographed with blood on his hands.

He is sure Natasha understands that. After all, he knows she's smarter than he usually gives her credit for.

"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."

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.

"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.

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.

"Sometimes you have to get your hands a little dirty," Natasha says. She's not going to pretend any personal moral superiority. She doesn't see it as hypocrisy; just pragmatism.

"Harris's style of leadership wasn't any more sustainable than the bloodshed was. Something would have given one way or another."

She sips her drink, shaking her head slightly.

"For what it's worth, I'm glad you came out on Jean-Claude's side."

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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.

"It can't be a surprise." She joins him, coming to stand before and to the side. She doesn't look much worse for the wear. A little tired, but she missed the thick of the fighting; she had done an admirable job of picking people off as they left.

"Or did you think I wouldn't come through for you?"

Her tone is light, not a serious accusation. Perhaps it reflects poorly on her, but she's pleased. Happy might not be the word for it, but there's a sense of satisfaction that comes with success. Especially considering it is a real victory; Jean-Claude might still disappoint her, but she trusts he's smarter than Harris even in the worst case scenario.

But she would like to believe he's a friend.

Jean-Claude shakes his head slightly in response to her question. "It is not a surprise, mon amie," he replies. "But I would not have blamed you if you chose not to fight with us tonight. You have chosen where you stand, and it is not with us." Not while she still answers to Redbright, at least.

It's a harsh statement though, especially after she has given so much of herself for his cause this evening, so he softens it with a gentle smile and the light incline of his head towards her as well. "Yet you are here anyway, and I thank you for that. Perhaps I should even consider myself flattered...?" She hadn't had to participate, after all. Certainly not all of the vampires allied outside of the Nest had shared in her support of his cause, after all.

Natasha is used to harsh opinions of her. At this point, she has to have a thick skin. Otherwise she'd have gone slinking off to a new city and a new nest by now, and she has no intention of doing either. Still, it doesn't escape her that Jean-Claude softens his statement or that he seems genuinely grateful she's here.

"I just came to help with clean up." She smiles slightly. "We all like to keep this as smooth as possible, keep the mess off the streets."

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."

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."

"You're not wrong, but you don't live to be that old without learning to keep your head down when you have to. Effectively immortal or not, being stupid and petty is a good way to end up dead." Natasha says with an air of practicality. Left unsaid is the fact being idealistic and determined is another good way to get killed. They both already know that part too. "I think any of Harris's followers who'd like to outlive this regime will be keeping their heads down."

Natasha's Russian. She knows something about outliving regimes.

"Well, we can only hope that is true," Joscelin agrees. "For all of our sakes."

Because Natasha had picked a side. Despite her other allegiances and suicidal aversion to blood, Natasha had thrown in her lot with Jean-Claude's partisans and the old status quo.

"Why did you come here tonight? Besides the obvious, of course. You say that you are uninterested in joining the Nest, and yet whenever there is trouble here you are not far behind."

"I weighed my options and made what I thought was the best call. Believe it or not, most folks don't as you if you're actually part of a nest when they see a vampire." She says it flatly, as though that's all there was to it. Natasha doesn't try to make moral arguments for what she's doing. Not just because she doesn't believe they'll impress her audience, but also because she doesn't feel right with them. Her lips twitch though as she does consider who she's talking to. It's almost a smile. "Somehow, I think you would believe this."

She sighs then, softly. "It's best for me if the Nest is on good terms with the rest of the community. Not really that complicated."