[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]

The way Eames is brought out isn't graceful in the least. He struggles as he's pushed, but it's largely for show, make it a little entertaining for Harris. Make him feel like he's really winning here. He's shoved to his knees, and looks up with his lip curled in a sneer. Eyes locked on Harris across the room.

Come on up, Raymond. You know you want to.

[brightwitch]

Raymond's cronies chuckle at Jean-Claude's little speech, in particular his remark about dressing for the occasion. Raymond himself remains silent, but he sits up, eyes alight with interest, when the guards drag a new prisoner up to the stage.

Eames, the Lord of Autumn, the arrogant fae who turned down his offer of an alliance. Well, well. He had last seen the fae thrown out of the Angelo when he had set his guards upon him. No doubt Eames remembers that too, judging by the hatred in his face. Bound by iron, he appears to be weakened but still defiant.

Well, if Raymond is going to break his fast and drink fae blood, this one seems a fitting tribute.

"A pretty prize." He waves his hand. "Bring him over."

[baisant]

Jean-Claude reaches down and runs his hand through Eames' hair as he kneels before him. Petting him as though he might pet a hound at his feet before he clenches a fist in the other man's hair and pulls him upright. He's certain that Eames is going to love him for this, but he'll understand. What is a performance without a little theatrics, after all? Or a stage, for that matter?

"Why not join me here, monsieur?" Jean-Claude calls out. Looking Eames in the eyes for a moment as he holds him close to himself, giving him a moment to collect himself for whatever might be coming before turning to Raymond once more. "I offer you a toast, after all. In front of all here gathered. For the Nest!" he calls out, and it is not just those he has planted among the crowd who cheer in response to his words.

[falsify]

He understands the need for theatrics, but that doesn't make it any less unpleasant, and the way Eames seethes at the petting and pulling isn't entirely for show. He clenches his jaw as Jean-Claude looks at him, working it when he looks back out on the crowd and Harris. There's no noise, no open hint of worry or fear, but he does flare his nostrils in open hatred for everything this event stands for.

[brightwitch]

Raymond is most amused by the show, in particular the look on Eames' face. And he can sense the mood of the crowd. He will have to go on stage. So he stands, taking two of his vampire guards with him, and approaches the stage to raucous hoots and cheers.

It so happens that Raymond is partial to a little theatricality himself. He certainly isn't going to let Jean-Claude upstage him. So he steps to the front of the stage and raises his hands to quieten the crowd.

"Thank you, thank you! And thank you to Jean-Claude for this most kind gesture. It's All Hallows' Eve!" He cries out that last announcement, throwing up his hands as the crowd cheer and stamp their feet. "Tonight, we celebrate freedom. Tonight, we let the blood flow. Tonight, I am Bacchus and I bring you drink."

He grins, slapping his hand on Eames' shoulder, to another whoop from the crowd. Then he steps back and indicates for one of his guards to take hold of Eames, pulling his head back at an angle to expose his throat. By this point Eames is between Raymond and Jean-Claude, and it's to Jean-Claude that his neck is being tilted.

"A toast!" Raymond claps his hands. "Jean-Claude. As a thank you for your generous gift, I offer you first bite. Let's see how much wine our Lord of Autumn can spill. Go on, take a drink!"

He gets the crowd involved too, chanting "Drink, drink, drink" while Raymond smiles and watches. Of course the truth is that he still doesn't entirely trust Jean-Claude, so making him drink first is a test. Everything about this night has been tightly controlled by Raymond except for this. He isn't about to let that control slip away.

[baisant]

Jean-Claude knows that Raymond is no fool. It's how he has come this far in life already. But he knows too that he must outwit him if he wants to stand any chance of winning this fight tonight. And thus, sacrifices must be made. Sacrifices not entirely all his own.

He raises his hands before him to appease the chanting crowd and let it be known that he will not protest this offering. "What a generous gift, monsieur!" he calls out, not only to Raymond but the audience around them. He lets his fangs extend in answer to the excitement of the crowd. He needs to demonstrate that he has not done anything to this blood. That he will not be offing the Duke with poison. No, Jean-Claude has a far more dramatic end in mind for him. "I will do my best not to let it go to waste!"

He steps closer to where the guard is holding Eames with his throat exposed to him and reaches out to cup the fae man's jaw and turn his head further sideways still. He hopes that Eames understands he has no choice in the matter. This is not about his blood, or his pride. This is about the means to an end, and if this is what it takes than so be it. What's a little blood donated to the cause? And if he does not? Well, he can hear about it later. Provided they both survive this encounter.

With the flash of white teeth, Jean-Claude lowers his head and sinks his fangs into Eames' neck, doing his best to hold onto himself in the moment as the sweet, heady rush of fae blood spills into his mouth. He needs to keep his head in this, and he cannot do so if he allows himself too much. But he is a vampire, and he cannot help the fact that the rush of it across his tongue, the slight struggling against his body and the smell of Eames' fear, of his anger, only serves to excite him further. It is all he can do to tear himself away just on the edge of being drunk from his magic, and he lifts his head to the ceiling and hisses, his true face on display for all to see before him.

"My dear Duke!" Jean-Claude calls out. "I fear that I must stop myself before I drink too much and spoil your offering!" A trail of blood rolls down his chin, and when he speaks his lips and teeth are covered in it, and if there were any doubt he has tasted of the fae there should be none now. He reaches out to pry Eames out of the guard's grip and 'restrain' him for himself, swaying on his feet slightly as he does, and not entirely for show either. "Come, monsieur! Let us not let this bounty go to waste!"

He steps forward with the fae man held close to him, but not as tightly as the guard might have done. If plans have come to fruition he knows Eames' bonds are not as tight as they seem after all, and if he wants for him to be his own distraction then he needs to stay out of his way.

[falsify]

One of the things Eames hates most about vampires, is how there's no hiding some things from them. He knows that the trio around him are completely aware of the note of panic that rises in him at Harris' 'offer,' the sharp inhale and the way his pulse spikes. It's a knowledge that only serves to fuel how unbelievably angry he is in this moment.

He struggles — against the guard, against Jean-Claude — but it's largely for show, more like a flinch as a show of defiance than anything he'd expect to help him get free. Eames doesn't take his eyes off Harris, even when Jean-Claude steps in close and tilts his head, his gaze is fixed on the Little man. Lips parted a moment as if he has something to say, but then Jean-Claude bites him and Eames clenches his jaw with a pained grunt, though he refuses to make more noise than that. One must consider his pride, after all.

"Too scared to try your own meal, huh?" Eames's voice is low, obviously pained, but quiet while Jean-Claude drinks from him, so only those of them on stage can hear. "Worried I might be poisoned? Or are you just that pathetic you need someone else to weaken me first?"

Goading? Absolutely. Even as Jean-Claude takes hold of him, (and Eames slowly, very slowly, tries to slip something out of Jean-Claude's trousers and into his hands. It's hard to use his magic in this state, but he can do it,) even with the stinging, open wounds on his neck and the rivulets of blood falling down his neck, there's something smug in Eames' expression. Like he's seen a joke no one else has, and it's on Harris' face. He needs to be absolutely certain that Harris will go for it, and he's seen the man's ego in action.

[brightwitch]

"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.

[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.