[OPEN] MURDER ON THE DANCEFLOOR

[baisant]

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...

Comments

[falsify]

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."

[baisant]

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.

[brightwitch]

One moment he's consumed by the intoxicating taste of fae blood, his veins singing with power. The next he's being gutted like a fish. Raymond cries out, more in surprise than pain although there's plenty of the latter, and he hisses in anger as Eames yanks him away from his neck. His hands grab at the stake, expression contorting as he pulls it out, his shirt turning red with dripping blood. His guards will take care of this, give him the time he needs to recover and roast this insolent fae on a spit.

But they don't. Instead one of them falls and it's Jean-Claude stepping up to shove him back, Raymond's face white with anger and shock as he meets the eyes of his subordinate.

"You fucking–"

As far as last words go, they're not the most elegant. But Raymond isn't given a chance to utter anything else, as Jean-Claude's blade swings and the last thing he sees is the flash of metal before it cuts clean through muscle, sinew and bone and the Duke of London Central's head says goodbye to his body.

And then all hell breaks loose.