The evening was young. The stage was set. The doors of the Ave Verum had opened just after sunset-- no one was permitted entry without an invitation to present to the security at the door, or the escort of one such card holder.

Every vampire in the great city of Demaitre had been sent an invitation, all personally addressed and signed by Marcus, months ago. The evening had been planned to encourage harmony among the vampires, but measures had been taken to ensure the safety of the innocent in the event that things got out of hand.

The grand concert hall had been cleared of all but its upper rows of seating, and a temporary dancing platform installed to even out the architectural slope of the floor. The lush velvet curtains of the stage hung closed, mirrored by the additional draperies that had been added as elaborate decorations over any wall not lined with the remaining seats.

Ribbons and tassels of silver and gold hung in luxurious scalloped loops, each line branching out from twin comedy and drama masks fastened in the middle of each wall of curtains. A crystal chandelier hung above the dance floor, adding its subdued pristine light to the flickering glow of the many silver candelabras lining the room.

Soft music played for the benefit of those who had already arrived, though the source was not to be seen. A mahogany table the length of a banquet table but the width of an end table stood along the western wall, a runner of the same scarlet velvet and metallic accents as the rest of the décor splashed down its middle. Atop it sat a number of punch bowls and matching glasses, all containing the same basic beverage. The only means of differentiating between the types could be found on the elaborately written labels on each bowl: A+ to O-, and every other letter between them in the alphabet of blood.

All was prepared, yet a certain sense of expectation lingered. The festivities had not truly begun; for that, four guests of honor were required to make their appearance.

The black buckle shoe that emerged from the back of the black car looked like any other shoe that could’ve been work by a six year old. The only difference was that there were no scuffles on these shoes, nothing amiss in the polish. There was no sign of wear or tear, no sign of play. The shoe, and the foot it was on, landed on the cement with the same grace and comportment of any glamorous movie star on the red carpet, though the bodies of these stars would indubitably be much, much more developed.

Followed by this one foot, was another foot, and then a sea of blue lace. In black gloved hands, a small navy blue fan was held, as if time had suddenly reverted back into the Medieval Era, and this child was a small princess off to a huge feast. Well, Euthalia assumed, they were half right. By any accounts, in the city of Demaitre, she was as close to nobility as one could come in the underground world of the covens. She stood straight, with the air of an aristocrat, her blue-green eyes taking in the view in front of her. It would do. There were people who’d been walking by who stopped to look at her, and wonder who she was, and what such a little girl could possibly have to do here, at the Ave Verum that had been rented out for the evening. Where were her parents? they wondered. Well, so far as Euthalia was concerned, they could keep wondering.

She turned to look over her shoulder with a casual roll of the head. Cheveyo was there with her, but it was apparent to anyone that they were not related. That suited her just fine. Humans were ingrates, in any case.

Even as she started to walk, it became apparent that this was no ordinary young girl. Those steps were too precise, too fluid for any normal child to have accomplished. That curl of the hair was too sensual for any young girl to think of. Indeed, it seemed that for this evening, Euthalia Akakios had momentarily dropped the façade of being simply a child in an eternal body, and set out to show them that she was not only eternal, but also a full grown woman in a body that didn’t suit her. Though most would have been rather disgusted to admit it to themselves, it was plainly obvious that there was something seductive in that walk. Euthalia was half amused by this, but her face remained impassive even as she passed through the threshold into the Concert Hall.

Calculating eyes observed the interior. It looked almost gaudy to her tastes, but then, nothing ever met her satisfaction. Still, she had to admit, Marcus of Felsina – she’d heard of him long ago while he was still going by that name – had had a good idea. She’d never say so out loud. That would have been most unacceptable. She could pretend to respect them, and do a good job of it having the years of practice that she had, but she didn’t really respect anyone either. She turned her gaze slightly, catching sight of Cheveyo. He was the exception, but she’d never say that out loud either. No, but she was sure he knew. She’d created him as he was now, and she had yet to kill him. Yes, that demonstrated a little respect on her part.

Looking down at herself with an air of casual interest, she smoothed out her skirts. They were a deep black satin, with a long red train following behind her. She had black lace gloves over her small hands with delicately manicured fingernails. Her hair had taken the most time, and was in some style in the back of her head, all curls, with shiny black garlands with little spiders entwined around it. Only one long tendril of curl fell out of it, and it had lay against her undeveloped bosom, luring people there, if only so Euthalia could get perverse pleasure in watching them get sickened with themselves for looking there on an apparent child. Her mask too was black, and had the appearance of a spider. Yes, this evening she'd gone as a Black Widow.

Slowing down a bit, she fell into step with Cheveyo. Taking his hand, she pressed it gently to her lips. Blue-green eyes looked up impishly at him.

“This should be interesting.”

"I don't want to go."

"You're going."

"No I'm not!"

"Darling! It's a little late to voice objections. We're here. Now get out of the damn car."

Such bickering had taken place the entire length of the drive from the Ace High to the Ave Verum. With his mother-maker's unusually stern command, Eric opened the door of the Rolls Royce as it slowed to a halt. He stepped out, and turned back to offer his hand to the immerging Lily. Once her skirts were clear of the door, he showed his displeasure by slamming the door and pouting.

"Leave the door on the car, please. We'll need it to get home." With a flick of her curls, Lily proceeded into the concert hall, trailing her dissatisfied son behind her.

Lily wore a glamorous affair of silk in a deep, rosy red. The bodice of the strapless dress; which had been tailor made, had been sewn onto her body hours before, and so comfortably hung to the curve of her chest and hips. The indecently low cut of the corset was made less scandalous with a layer of lace which covered the bodice and added another two inches, albeit see-through ones, to her outfit. The attached skirts floated out from underneath the bodice and created a slight pool around her feet, and the silk made a delightful swish whenever she moved.

Her long blonde hair had been swept up into a mass of curls at the back of her head. Several curls escaped to frame her face, and three fresh roses were pinned to one side. Small ruby drops fell from her ears, and excusing several ruby rings, she wore no other jewelry. She didn't wear a mask, but sheer silver makeup had been expertly blended about her eyes to give the illusion of one. Lily would never hide her face behind a mask; she had too much vain pride in it for that.

Eric was clothed in a very proper tuxedo, tailor made and slightly vintage in cut and appearance. He wore shiny black leather shoes, and a crisp white shirt complete with layers of fabric frills down the front. He wore a simple white mask over the top of his face, with a pearly sheen to it. It covered only the left half of his face, both his eyes, and half of his forehead. He had submitted to having his hair gelled back in place of his usual spikes, and despite his unease in the penguin suit, looked quite handsome.

Lily had allowed Eric to choose her costume, in exchange for her choosing his. It was the only way she could ensure he wouldn’t show up as Lestat, or Dracula, or any of the Lost Boys. Hence, she was masquerading as a rose, and he as Erik, the Phantom of the Opera.

Carrying a feathered fan, a black clutch, and the 'golden ticket,' she paused in the doorway to scan the light company with hawk-like blue eyes. Eric walked beside Lily, quite used to moving in her perfumed wake, and desperately looked about for Colton. He had secret hopes that he and his quasi-brother could ditch the party after making an appearance, but he had a feeling Colton would be tied up in coven-related activities. Not placing him yet, Eric quickly left Lily's side to blend into the wall, make himself as comfortable and unseen as possible.

Kashta ran his hands over his own flesh, cupped apart as if in prayer. The searing water surrounding him splashed and fell in level as he lifted his other leg from the bathtub, settling his heel on the edge. Already, his knee was practically forcing him to recline. He frowned as he exfoliated his flawless skin. Everyone seemed attracted to his figure – which made no sense at all. He had a thirty-six inch inseam – which made for legs a supermodel would be jealous of – and people still noticed only a slender build.

After he was sufficiently pleased with the smoothness of his skin, he lay back against the edge of the tub. He ghosted slim fingertips over his hairline, brushing away wisps of silken black. The rest of his mass of ebon hair was twisted into a messy bun, having already been washed at least three times

***

that night. Yes, it was nearly impossible, but Anton had somehow managed to change costumes four times in one evening. First he was going to go as Adam – with only a fig leaf, and then as Eve – with three, next he had proposed to be Eros, wings and all, and then Adonis, in a box. Luckily, he had settled for Petunia’s original suggestion of ‘Peacock’.

Arms akimbo, he surveyed the garments his servant had lain out for him. The style seemed reminiscent of the era of the French Revolution, all high-collared and skin-tight. Breeches of the most royal iridescent blue, lustrous stockings of a pale yellow and black knee boots. And that was only the bottom half. He sighed, and decided to begin getting dressed, lowering his Dockers to

***

his ankles. He would pick it up later, but for now, the towel could stay where it had fallen. Kashta strode nude from his bathroom into his bedroom, undoing his bun as he moved. Dry enough for comfort, he sat on the edge of his bed, and began to slip on his clothing for the night’s masquerade.

First things first. With a slow, caressing motion, Kashta slid a garter belt around his slim hips, then proceeded to lace the front of it up. Next came the stockings of delicate, snow-white silk, lily-patterned lace decorating the top, where garter met belt. Then the under bust corset of white brocade, designed to make his already small waist appear even more waif-like. He laced the cords in the back, and then stood, pleased with his stunning silhouette. With any luck, Marcus would be just as

***

pleased, if not more so. Anton vaguely smiled at Petunia’s fawning over him in costume. A silken, ginger-lined jacket with ornate cuffs shone brilliant ocean hues in the firelight, shades of earthen brown reflecting off of various threads. Beneath, a bright cerulean vest fastened with golden buttons rode against a long-sleeved shirt of pale blue silk. Breeches, stockings, and knee-high boots in place, Anton only needed to gather up his mask.

The mask was truly a work of art. Almond-shaped holes set at a slant allowed room for vision, while the beak, which rose out over the bridge of the nose, was of brushed silver. Feathers of a real peacock, radiant in all of their luminous iridescence, splayed out from the mask, alluding to the famous tail of the animal. The Ishak leader turned to his servant, mask held over his face via cut-silver grip.

“How do I look?” He asked, blond hair cascading down his shoulders in satiny waves.

“Anton, you look absolutely

***

ready to go.” Kashta chewed his lips, embarrassed by his bad habit of murmuring to himself. He ran graceful hands down his slight torso, nodding in approval. The costume was intended to liken him to a dove, in order to compliment his rich, dark skin and hair.

The tunic he wore was of pure, dazzling white. Two sterling clasps worked in the shape of olives drew the edges of the piece together, otherwise exposing Kashta’s elegant neck and collar bones. Near the tops of his arms, two cuffs of silver held billowing blooms of sheer gossamer, which draped over the Egyptian’s slender arms, and fixed into bangles of the same metal at his wrists. His fine waist was defined with a slim grey belt; his feet were sheathed in slippers of the same hue. With only a silver circlet woven into his dark locks, and a demure mask of white, the man turned, and left his home, nervously making his way via taxi to the

***

Ave Verum concert hall. Anton bent his head as he scaled the steps to the massive building, sharp wind nipping at his cheeks. The doors were open, and Anton was more than pleased to enter the building. Perhaps he would find someone to seduce? Maybe, if he was lucky, he would even catch another glimpse of that mysterious panther of Beltane, that once-and-future-peace-keeper gone astray, that

***

Marcus. Though the hall was warm enough, Kashta couldn’t help but feel a slight chill run the length of his spine as he awaited the debut of his lover. Something inside him made this night feel pivotal – as if the hours to come would decide something dire. Kashta’s obsidian eyes focused on the elaborate decorations, but his heart and mind mulled over only one subject: Marcus.

A sleek black limousine pulled to a stop in front of the concert hall and a man of average height stepped from the limo. His shoes were black leather and neatly polished and his suit was clearly personally made and fit him flawlessly. He stood proudly with an air of arrogance around him. Stepping away from the limousine Tristan turned back to let the other three steps out before the driver pulled away. "Mitchifer, I cannot believe you forced me to wear this thing in place of a decent mask."

A man of around the same height stepped from the limo and stretched his hand back in to help his guest out of the limo. "Oh it makes you look happy though you. It will make you stand out. Besides that's what you get for making me leave my swords at home." Mitch wore a suit as well but rather then the standard white shirt under his black jacket Mitch wore a bright vibrant orange one.

"Yes, but that was for a logical reason. You shouldn't bring weapons to these kinds of things. This mask on the other hand deserves to be burned and sent to the lowest pits of hell. Anyone who would willingly wear this is a fool and need to go to hell with the mask." Tristan's was glaring rather coldly at Mitchifer as he helped Tiffany out of the limousine. On his face was a mask that looked very much out of place on the ancient vampire. The base of the mask could've been like any other. It was almost reminiscent to the number eight, and white and red with gold gilding. From the top of this inconspicuous base, rose three points, crafted in the style of a jester's hat of old. Two were black, one was red, with the same golden gilding in outlandish swirls. On the top of each point, there was a rather large, and noticeable golden bauble. His hair was neatly hanging at both sides of the mask.

"You look happy for once Tristan. So turn that frown upside down and go in there and show those vampires that you’re not a dusty pile of bones." Mitchifer was wearing a rather simple black mask that left his mouth and most his forehead uncovered; above each slot of his eyes was a strand of diamonds made to look like eyebrows. His hair was hanging loose and messy over the edge of his mask and covered his ears.

Tristan waited for them to get out before walking into the concert hall mumbling. "I show you happy you stupidunsophisticatedidioticbloodsuckingjokeofavampire." Near the end his words were little more then one long strand of incoherent mumbles.

"Oh come of it Tristan, you know you like the mask. It's so not you that it fits in with you perfectly." Mitchifer grinned widely at Tiffany. "He really isn't that bad of a guy, he just prefers to be alone in dark damp places reading...things. I'm not sure what he reads but he does read some things that I guess are interesting to dusty old vampires who don't know how to have fun." Mitchifer held his arm out to Tiffany before proceeding behind Tristan and his arrogant, mumbling self.

Tristan showed his invitation to the people at the door and walked in without a word though he could hear Mitchifer complaining to the men about them not letting him bring a knife in. "I cannot believe I am related to that thing. How bad did my genes get on there way to making that? I blame his parenting." Tristan walked away from Mitchifer heading towards a wall and hoping that he would be able to avoid dancing at all.

After arguing with the men at the door Mitch reluctantly gave up his knife and walked into the grand room. "Wow they really did a number to this place. I can hardly recognize it." His eyes locked onto the 'refreshments' and he grinned. "Is that blood? Wow the host really thought of everything." He looked at Tiffany and his grin faded for a moment. "On that same note try not to stray to far away. I wouldn't want someone to mistake you as part of the refreshments." He stepped closer to Tiffany and grinned again. "Shall we find something to do then?"

Sighing every so softly, Rowen stood looking at herself wondering as she played with her soft black hair trying to get it up, though it wasn’t easy.
“I really don’t want to do this Raymond…..” She stated again, though she got the same look as the last from Raymond. A soft growl came from her as she looked back to the pins before her, though only soon felt Raymond take over, her words none, knowing he could something to her likening.

“It’s been so long since I was in a dress like this Raymond….A vary long time…” She said softly, shaking her head slightly as she fingered the fabric. Standing once Raymond was done with her hair, she turned looking at him, and he, gave a nod.

“You look beautiful Mum…..It fits you well, and I’m sure you’ll it in. Just talk to people.” Raymond laughed at her and smiled. He only meant good, knowing how she was, quite though never shy, that just the kind of person she was. Nodding softly he looked over the dress.

The dress itself was a tempest style of dress, made of silk, dyed a deep royal blue, and throughout the dress itself was an elegant soft pattern. The dress hung off her, and a lose band around each arm, from which hung, not sleeve’s, but arm coverings made of chiffon dyed a medium blue. The bodice was kept on to her small frame by tightly pulled strings in the back, the front was lined down the middle with a gold cord to keep the front closed, and ensure the fit. The skirt of the dress consisted of the white skirt what was attached to the bodice itself, the, the matching blue overlay was buttoned on to the outside of the bodice, hiding the knot that kept the back tie closed. The front of the skirt was still the white that had an elaborate hand sewn pattern across the bottom. The edges of the dress itself were hand sewn gold lining, and small glass beads. Really the only thing keeping her dress on, was the tightly pulled back strings, though for added safety she had Raymond sew ever few string together to ensure they wouldn’t come lose to anything. This was really a one fit dress, made for her body alone, virtually a second skin.

There she stood, the skirt of the dress flowing, and floated as she moved across the floor, the slight train followed behind as she moved, her feet unseen by the extra fabric that lay on the floor and pooled, though completed the look of the dress.

Getting her cloak, she hung it over her shoulders, and smiled.

“Thank you Raymond for helping me. Don’t wait up, tough I have a feeling you will…” She smiled and looked outside, the Limo was waiting. Nodding she gave Raymond a hug and walked outside. Raymond following and saw her off after handing her, her mask.

*******

In the Limo she played with the mask, looking it over, the colors matched her dress, and her eye’s. A soft sigh came from her as she blinked putting it on it fit her well, the butterfly shape it was. Thus all she could do was wait, though it wasn’t long before she arrived.

Nodding her thanks to the driver, she smiled and made her way inside. Handing off her cloak at the man waiting, she nodded softly, he black hair curled softly as if from a fairy tale, she made her way inside.

“Marcus did do a number on this place, Perfect for such an event.” She smiled, the light from inside hitting her, the royal blues, of her dress catch it, and her mask taking on the colors of her dress.

A Midnight Butterfly as Raymond called her.

There was a slight whoosh of air, then Alessandro Nicolla Fioricci’s toes alighted on the steps outside the Ave Verum concert hall. While the use of a limousine would have been keeping up with his usual love of the ostentatious, he had opted for non-vehicular transportation tonight. Instead he had flown high over Demaitre, cloaked from view by the darkness of the night. Now standing before the beautiful concert hall, he gently smoothed out his clothing, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve.

Alessandro took great pride in his costume; he hadn’t ceased to agonize over it since receiving the invitation. At first he’d thought to attend as an angel for the sheer irony of it. After all, he had the looks – was it not he who had posed for a fresco of the angel Gabriel when he had lived in Florence? While his soul was black as the sky above, the beautiful contours of his face and his flowing hair concealed his diabolical nature. He had in the end decided against it, however, for fear that others might be inclined to similar lines of dress. He would attend the masquerade naked sooner than wear the same costume as someone else!

Then the idea had struck him – his angelic countenance was already a mask, so for a mask, why not wear his true face?

His soft, black leather boots padded lightly on the marble steps as he climbed to the doors of the concert hall. They went up to his knees, tailored to show his shapely calves. Beneath them were breeches of dark green velvet, trimmed along the seams with golden thread that shimmed as he walked. Next he wore a silken white shirt with tiny threads of gold woven into the fabric that glistened when the light hit it, with a lace cravat tucked into the green waistcoat that was impeccably darted to show his thin hips and broader shoulders. The material was a green a shade lighter than his breeches, and patterned with thin, sinuous lines that wound across the surface of the cloth. The buttons were gold and engraved with inscriptions of each of the seven deadly sins. Over this was a dark green frock coat, and to top it all off was a long cape of a thin, gossamer material embroidered with a scale-like pattern.

But the true work of art was the mask – It hugged the upper half of his face, completely covered in tiny scales of green metals, with the occasional fleck of gold or silver. Braided gold wire trimmed the edges and lined the narrow, slanting slits for his eyes. Two small slits also covered his nose, giving him a decidedly reptilian appearance.

Alessandro was the serpent – the temptation of original sin.

He presented his invitation at the door and entered the concert hall with a flourish of his cape and wished that he could still fawn over his appearance in mirrors. No doubt the light was bringing out the red in his auburn locks, which loosely tumbled to his shoulders. It would offset the green so nicely...

The lavish beauty of the concert hall brought a smile to his lips. As a lover of the arts and comfort, Sandro always did his best to surround himself with beautiful things. He attended the concert hall constantly to see the Opera, but the transformation for the masquerade made it nearly unrecognizable. This Marcus has outdone himself. He crossed over to the refreshment table and passed the glasses full of dead blood, plucking instead an apple from a decorative bowl of fruit. He took no bite from it, but instead toyed with it, twirling it by the stem and manipulating its spherical form with his supple white fingers as he casually leaned against the wall to watch the flow of immortals arriving.

Perhaps tonight Llehna would appear a bit outmoded, but she really cared little. Having a care with her transportation would mean that she could dress as anything. After all, different time periods were frequently mimicked by those attending masques.

A long onyx limousine pulled to the front of Ave Verum, and the front passenger door opened so that the footman, of sorts, could walk neatly to the door and open it with a flourish. Reaching his hand inside, a snowy and delicate one was place in his. With a gentle pull, he drew out a slender woman, petite in size, but anything but diminutive in appearance. While her usual nature was rather whimsy, tonight it was clear that she was very much accustomed to such galas.

It was amusing to Llehna that a masquerade had been called. Long ago, she had thrived in the dances and games that her village had held on the green during Feast Days and Holy Days. Now, however, as she moved into the swirl and ebb of the assembly within the lavish decor of Ave Verum, she found great entertainment in enjoying the masquerades of others. She saw a short little pirate moving along, and her golden lips curved upwards. How darling. She let the shadows that had dimmed her appearance flee, stepping through the entryway and into the room. Her costume shone brightly among the guests, seeming a drop of golden rain among the others.

She caught a glimpse of a blond under the lighting of a highly polished chandelier, but could see no more, and passed over it. She did not know him that well, but even so, his change of appearance would have startled her. A vampire dressed as a storybook vampire walked by, and she had to restrain a giddy little giggle from bubbling up. A giggle? Well, it was unlike her, perhaps, but seeing what she was worn as a costume tripped her fancy.

She had had some expense in her costume, taking pains with it. She delighted in parties, and this one would be wonderful. After all, the simple pleasure of seeing the displays others presented was tantalizing in and of itself.

Her eyes moved over the shifting crowd, as she slipped through them, admiring the colours and the media through which the different individuals expressed their charade. Her eyes were, however, the only things that she assumed could indicate her identity. The chocolate pools glistened from the almond slits in her masque. Dyes and toned colouring gave her a bronzed appearance, a golden shimmer to her normally fair skin. The dye was a gold shimmer colour, sun kissed in appearance. She had smoothed it over her skin, and tonight, the bare shoulders and daringly exposed décolletage were luminous under the lighting.

A mask over her face was composed purely of a thin, carved piece of yellow gold, inlaid with topaz and a little amber to give a fair impression of flames and rays radiating out from her umbral, enigmatic eyes. Her dark curls had been covered, a wig of blonde so pale it was almost white, intertwined with straight strands of varying shade of yellow and orange joined it, an auburn tint to it.

Her full lips were rouged golden, face shimmering with diamond dust and the topaz-graced dye. Her feet were adorned with slippers the same as the dress, two suns embroidered in gold thread upon the toes, the same lightly embellishing her gown, which hung in a series of varying lengths, full with volume, but sheer, flaring away at her hips even as it hugged her upper body. Shining threads were woven, giving a metallic stylization of rays at oblique angles. A wrap of sorts, the same material and shades of the dress, fell from her shoulders as she moved further into the room, and it looped about her back loosely, secured as it curled around her forearms, dangling to blend with her skirts.

Her walk was sinuous, swaying, unmetered. A slender golden chain encircled her neck, dangling a pendant of a full, brilliant sun, matched by the charms dangling from her ears, and replicated in engravings all around a similar bracelet on her right wrist. The fourth finger of her right hand bore a flawless ring, imbibed with a raised tableau of the sun at full zenith.

Breathing deeply, she allowed her smile to grow, feeling confident in her disguise as she noticed other guests, other glances, in passing, though she did not know them.

Tonight she would bring to the night - to darkness - what had never before deigned to intrude into the hours of its twilight reign as more than a pale reflection of moonlight: the Sun.




Tiffany's heart rated in her chest as she felt the limo stop and saw the door open. Wide-eyed and excited, though suffering from a serious case of nerves, she scooted after Tristan and Mitch, and took the hand extended to help her from the vehicle.

She was not only nervous about the event, but also her costume. She had been rather bold in her choice, and had thought she would be easily able to adapt, but found it daring, still... Well, rambling as her thoughts were, she breathed deeply, wincing slightly as she noted the chain affects it caused in her appearance. A more... mild approach to the masquerade might have been better.

A gown of a very thin white material was fitted snugly to her body as she stepped beside Mitch and his disgruntled family member. She flushed a bit behind the pristine masque she wore. The gown had a squared neckline, darts cut and sewn so that everything was very form-hugging. The sleeves, however, tightened at the shoulder, then fel away into a shower of fabric, white and silver-gray, giving her the appearance of a 'mourning dove'. She had found white feathers and created her masque, rhinestones scattered discreetly throughout them, tucked under the feathers to give a glimmer of light from time to time.

Her eyes shone far brighter than a rhinestone could, though, and she slipped her arm into Mitch's offered one and walked along with him into Ave Verum.

Inside, she caught her breath. It was amazing how the place had altered for this gathering, and her eyes ran over everything, everyone with an awed look, lips parted slghtly beneath her guise. Her skin was naturally fair, a few freckles palely visibly over the nose, but she had used a very light pink tone to lips and cheeks which made her unusually (for her) mature appearance softened, giving her more of the child-like aspect she seemed to live with.

Her hair was curled, left down, but drawn back a bit from her face, a few white feathers woven among the tendrils and curls to match her appearance, and a single strand of pearls encircled her throat. Feet adorned with white sandals completed the ornithological display.

She had listened to Tristan whine and Mitch enjoy the discomfiture of his forefather for some time now, and been amused by it. Thus, a smile was still clinging to her lips as she looked about. Having Mitch step closer was a comfort, and she glanced over the table herself, and then back to him with a raised brow. She did not particularly want to be a refreshment...

"You might find it difficult to be rid of me if that is a concern."

Grinning though, she looked about and bit her lip, still a bit conscious of her rather revealing choice, glancing to others to ensure she had not been overly presumptuous. But still, her face was masqued, and that was what she had chosen, so she drew another breath, and smiled.

"What shall we do then? I suppose you know how to dance... This is a ball after all, hm?"

Colton was put into a difficult situation. A masquerade. After Beltane, he was just positive he'd never attend something like that again. But this was a masquerade hosted by Marcus. Could he trust that man, even after the horrors of Beltane? Perhaps. Colton went online and hit up Wikipedia for all the details on masquerades of olde. When nothing about a coven leader orgy popped up, Colton was persuaded into going. It seemed safe enough.

With Celeste out of the house visiting her biological father, Colton could do whatever with his free time. Lily had probably meant for him to go; she had given him the day off, as well as left him a note that said to check his mail. Had she not done such, he would not have known about the masquerade in enough of an advance to find a suitable costume.

A week or so ago, Colton had been sitting in his living room, staring at the horrid wallpaper he had been meaning to replace, thinking up what sort of costume he could wear. It took brainstorming, and with Colton's sense of humour, a few cheesy ideas formed. Going as Dracula. That would have gotten a few laughs out of those that were there and vampiric. Then again, it seemed more suitable for Halloween than for a masquerade. He'd be Dracula for Halloween when he took Celeste out Trick-or-Treating.

The next idea was something older fashioned. A king in some fancy robes? No, too flamboyant. A bird? Too feminine. It took a minute, but an idea struck him, and, still staring at his wallpaper, he had it. Colt laughed out loud so hard, his eyes began to water. After a minute, he stood up and got to work.

First the fabric store with a swatch of his old wallpaper. The woman there looked at him funny as he asked for fabric that matched as close to his swatch as possible. It was a horrid looking colour--very pale sea green, perhaps?--with little colourful flowers and birds all over it, leafed with bits of gold foil. Looked like a watercolour that repeated too much, and was decorated too heavily to be useable as good wallpaper. But it was serving a higher purpose now.

Once Colton was handed over an almost identical roll of fabric, he ran off to the tailor. He had it fitted into a tunic for him, knee length, with cropped sleeves in the wallpaper fabric, and longer sleeves in white coming from underneath the cropped edges. The belt he had was a bit of gold rope to match the gold stitching, and he laced up the front with a bit of gold thread. After pulling on some white tights (Real men wear tights.) and some old looking boots, he went after putting together his mask.

There was nothing better to do with his mask than showcase the inspiration for his costume. Colton spent an hour or so covering his mask with the original wallpaper from the living room. The big torn chunk missing from his wall now stood as a constant reminder to finish the job and redecorate.

Colton left for Ace High in costume, and walked the full way there. People stared at him, and he’d wave and pass them a grin. By the time Colton arrived at the doors, his cheeks had warmed slightly to a pale pink colour, and a few freshly washed strands of hair were already making their way into a usual mussed up pattern. Colton made no effort to fix his hair or catch his breath. He truly didn't care. Tonight, he was all smiles.

He arrived at the masquerade in his typical role: a wallflower.

Istar Indora frowned, and even as he did so he was pretty sure that this would be his expression of choice for the night. He had come, hopefully avoiding any personal insult to whoever this Marcus was.

However, he was uncomfortable as always around the undead, and he’d be damned if he let one iota of comfort bleed into his psyche around the ancient ones. Nope, just wasn’t gonna happen with the millennia and up club around, they creeped him out for sure, but also he was rather intent on surviving the night, so yes frown, paranoia, and all the alertness that brought them along seemed more than appropriate. Hell, even more was probably appropriate. Indora didn’t doubt for a moment that he might be underestimating them.

All of Istar’s self promised alertness came to fruition in an instant as the limo he had rented for the evening came to a vile pause, and his stomach swirled with the sensation that told him an immortal was about.

Normally the feeling would have been an immortal, perhaps two, or once upon a couple of times, four. But right now the sensation wasn’t just in his stomach; it was in his blood, a nauseous sensation that made him think of the reactions that he had gotten from friends about his driving, back when he was mortal, and cars were very different things.

The thought of something so light hearted nearly made Istar laugh, but he muted it quickly, not the place for it. At least not as it was, his mind all loose, splaying thoughts everywhere.

Rather quickly he chided himself, ordered his thoughts, and put up mental barriers as best he could. Speaking of mental abilities, Istar wasn’t very powerful, but he put the barriers up all the same, just as he had been taught. Anyone playing with his head would have to work for it. The “young” vampire had already had enough of random immortals playing with his thoughts for a life time, and again he wanted to be sure of his survival.

It wasn’t that he was looking for trouble, but he had also had enough immortal to immortal contact to know that sometimes you didn’t have to look very hard to find something that you really didn’t want. He had said it himself, paranoia is the mother of survival among vampires, and as vampire and part-time assassin, and he had more than enough.

Paranoia or no paranoia, when Istar opened the door to his left, he slid from the car with a liquid grace. He was sure of every step. His eyes looked harsh amber for a moment in the light that was on the street before the Ave. Verum, but suddenly they were there usual brown, ringed with the black and crimson of his mask’s eye holes.

The mask was a split, deep ebony on one side, a lush deep bloody crimson on the other. The ebony side was touched with crimson on one cheek, like drops of dried blood, and from the left and right corners respectively of the eyes fell tears. The crimson tear, like the drops, looked like blood on the mouth less ebony visage of the right, while upon equally mouth less sanguine left, a tear of ebony fell.

Istar had liked this mask the moment he saw it, and it matched rather well to the Armani suit he wore. The suit was as were all Istar’s suits, crisp and clean. It smelled of nothing so much as a faint breeze of winter air, and perhaps the smell of night married happily with the faint leather of the limo’s seats. The cloth was ebony, the black of the mask’s right, with a soft amount of embroidery at the end of each sleeve. Celtic knots looped gracefully at the wrist of each jacket arm, a delicate black on black, a nod to his sire’s roots and a patterned favorite of his own, for all its grace and beauty. The knots at both arms were different, yet both told the story of Alex’s people; told of death, of rebirth, of ancestors, and life.

The Celtic knots were full of meanings, a universe of them actually (figuratively and literally), and though Istar knew some, had studied long and well under his; sire, master, and lover. He knew not even a tenth of what dwelled at his wrists, and at the neck line of his jacket, but just the same he was honored to wear her last gift to him.

The jacket was joined by the pants that completed the suit; they too held that beautiful, varying and eternal design. Like the ones on the jacket they were exquisitely beautiful, and black on black. This meant that one must have good eyes to even see the designs, but in the company of immortal, well Istar didn’t doubt someone would see and understand their subtle beauty.

With this beautiful gift of a suit, and the mask, Istar wore expensive Italian leather, shoes and belt; both were nice, shiny and smelling the way new things that had been alive do. His socks were black silk, and again they were simply new items bought to compliment the exquisite suit. They were things that made him rather monochromatic, though this was quickly remedied with the new shirt he had gotten for his suit.

The old shirt had gotten ruined with far too many and too large bullet holes to fix, but the new shirt was nice and Istar thought it rather interesting how it moved along his skin. It was silk, not truly raw, but close with a lining of deeper darker satin within and the color of the mask’s crimson on the outside. The red was vibrant and alive; the same as the mask and like the mask the shirt seemed a bit more vibrant because of its ebony prison. The tie as well, considering that it was the same crimson, only with a soft piece of silk tied across its end.

The piece of silk was to cover the black cross embroidered in the tie. He hopped out of sight was out of mind with those that were put off by crosses, but he also felt better having it on the tie. Was it a weapon? Well that was debatable…kind of like the cane that he reached back into the limo and retrieved.

The cane was black wood with a silver wolf’s head; Istar leaned it against the limo, reached back in and pulled out his black fedora with its red band. Putting the hat on, over his newly braided cornrows, each tipped with alternating ebony and crimson beads, his step became a constant echo as he approached the entrance.

Istar stood for only a moment in the entrance, steeling himself, and then he entered praying that this was not his last night.

A silver mare pranced to the front of the concert hall, regally dancing about in place before the concert hall. White mane laced with flowers and groomed to an art, it seemed very fairy-tale fit. However, the creature was outshone by its cargo, whos cheeks glowed a sinful hue of frosted pink.

How Fauve had always adored a good masquerade as a youth. Of course, her suitors had been many then, and her beauty more real. Cosmetics now took the place of a naturally lucious blush, and her lips had never had such a perfectly sweet red pout. The lust for the old days had brought her here. Not to mention the sheer desire to show off an overly-slender waist.

Fauve had made sure not to feed a week before the masquerade. Feeling satisfied with her figure, she'd gotten the most flattering dress she could think up for herself, and made it official. So now she just had to coax herself past the doors. She couldn't convince herself that she was good enough, perfect enough to join the others just yet.

Fauve touched her hair self consciously-- when she looked in the mirror, she'd been pleased with the fiery copper of her hair. It was twisted into intricate designs, then tucked neatly in a bun at the back of her head. Little strands fell around her face and neck, little curling tassels that bounced with her movment.

Then her gloved hands wandered to her mask. It was upturned at her temples, silver, with thin gold lining and barely slanted almond holes from which she peered out, and a crescent moon that covered her forhead, laced with thin swirls to mimic her hair. A small tear-shaped saphire hung on each side, resting on her cheek.

Her gown was a work of art. She'd worked on it herself for several hours, fixing and refixing any possible imperfections. The result was quite breathtaking, but recently she had lost such self-confidence. She would have no special attentions from men as she had in France. All the others were just as beautiful, most more beautiful, and so regal in their formal gowns and masks.

The neckline of her gown left her shoulders bare, coming just below each shoulder and sweeping across her chest. The velvet material hugged her from breast to hip, creasing slightly as the material spread into a long, flared skirt. A diamond-studded belt hung loosely from her hip, and a saphire was suspended on a black ribbon around her neck. a string of tiny diamonds hung down the back of her neck from her bun, and the laces in the back of her dress were studded with a lighter blue jewel.

The dress matched the night sky and its deepest shade of blue. She meant to represent the night itself... Though as she looked enviously on the ladies she felt her heart sink.

Glowing demurly, Fauve handed over her invitation and drifted into the concert hall. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked around, quite taken with the room. All of it glittered. Like a star among many, she thought as she walked a little deeper into the concert hall, peering around with a rather sweet, lost expression.
How self absorbed of her not to forsee this.
She didn't know a soul here, yet expected to be so very wecomed...

Everybody's attire seemed to reflect something unique about them, in a round-about way. She took pleasure in admiring colors and styles for awhile, in love with the glitter of the room.

Now as one not being social, Drakeon had tried his best to slip into this city, wihtout bringing attention to himself. He soon was laughing at himself as months ago, when he had first even got to the city. He realized the emense amount of knowledge a Marcus had. He of course quickly had learned of all of them, but choose to join none. He had not even met any of them personaly. He had felt them, always it would seem.

Nevertheless he took his time in perfecting his atire for the Masquerade. Carefully having it custom made, even though he meant to please, he also did not want to be noticed. But he disregarded that, with asuming he would be ignored by most of the older ones anyways. So he went all out.

He took a nice week off wondering the city, to purchase a nice motorcyle. It was a crotch-rocket, black, with of course blood-red designs of his own imagination. The beast between his legs was quite at he stopped it in front of the concert hall. His usual dark, golden brown and red hair started very flat at the top, then curled wildly and thick once it reached the lower part of his head, then had a mind of its own till it reached mid-back. His outer leather long coat settled just as his hair did, and then with a quick motion it was in a little ponytail. The outer coat partialy hid a bloodred vest and tie underneath, with little black pictured that only those with very blessed eyes could see. Figures of rome falling and the like of his past littered his chest, mearly looking like an odd design like his bike. The vest was fullback, and almost glowed. Underneath was his base shirt, Black, with a smaller collar that was turned up, and made some of his sharp features in his mask more invading. That was followed by his legs, hidden beneath Jet black Pants. His coat finaly settled against lavished up combatboots. They were more like a hybrid for dress occations, but could be used casually if taken care of.

This only left his hands and mask. They were layered to look human-like. In reality his face had not mask, but he mearly just looked human. Filled in tanned. Even his movements seemed waited down by gravity as he walked to the entrance and handed in his ticket. He wondered exited if they even could see the error. The uneven walk as if maybe a limp or a bad habit in walk, he the slower movments. He did it with enough error not be be perfect. Not to be so unreal, but had to for a split moment show what he was, to get into this event.

At last he was in. He resumed his mortal acts. He was good at it. The hunter letting himself be hunted by the overestimated vampire. It had been his game, and he had a while for tunning. The added fear he put into his eyes, covered with an awe that was not at all a lie. He threw up mortal insecurities, not so maginfied by being alive so long. These could lead to insanity. His gate was submissive, as if he had been invited but the vampire that might have taken him had still not entered. His even faked the breathing of course with as before done outside the natural pull one had when mortal. He could get lost like this, missing his mortal years. Alas it was all to fun. But would it do?

He made his way to the side, taking in the scence before apraoching anybody. He would not indeed he would wait to be aproached as if to wait for a cue from whom one might think he had come with. But also to observe casually all the vampire within the room. They made his clothing look maybe just casual. For they were great. Many sided, many minded people. Humans as well. He let his hands hsake a little as if nervous from being alone with so few mortals. Constantly looking to the door. Smiling on the inside, the beast contained within. Not caring if they could tell, expecing it, but not sure of the reaction he craved. Hoping the ones attending would asume his vampire freind had dressed him up.

The room was filling up fast as the citizens of Demaitre turned up for their party. Lily quickly left the vast entrance way, and moved across the floor. She was searching out her fledgling, and as Colton’s presence escaped her she grew more irritable. She had made sure he would not be working; she had made sure he checked his mail. Of course, she should have verbally requested his attendance, possibly even supplied him with a costume so he would have absolutely no excuses for not attending.

Eric looked up as Lily stopped in front of him. He expected her to scold him for his unhappy expression, but luckily her anger was not currently directed at him. “Take the car and driver and bring Colton here. I don’t care if you have to dress him yourself, but you had better both return. If I need to come for you myself none of us will be happy here tonight.”

Sighing with the weight of being the obedient son, Eric nodded and started to walk away from her. When Colton made his own appearance, Eric stopped solid, staring openmouthed at the paisley wonder that was Colton’s costume. He made his way to him, his laughter growing louder the closer he got. By the time he actually reached Colton, Eric could barely gasp out, “What the hell are you, man?”

Lily simply scoffed as she raised her fingertips to her forehead in her usual manner... She really should have picked out his costume for him.

Peter was surprised when he received an invitation to the masquerade ball. He had
been at Dietrire only a short time and didn’t have a chance to meet anyone yet. He figured that the masquerade would be a great place to meet people.

The evening of the masquerade it was easy for Peter to decide how he was going to
dress. Since he was a cowboy all of his life, he would go as the masked cowboy.

After a relaxing shower, Peter looked around his tiny apartment for his dressy ranch clothes. He didn’t have time to unpack yet, so things were still in suitcases and boxes.

After searching through many boxes to find the clothes that he wanted Peter donned
them, putting on one piece of clothing at a time. First came the tan, long sleeve, cotton
classic western Shepler’s shirt with peril snaps as buttons. Peter slipped into very form fitting
boot cut Wrangler blue jeans. His belt was a brown, scalloped distressed leather belt
with a Montana silversmith’s scrolled initial belt buckle. It had a ’D’ in the center of it.
Then Peter added a red bandana tied around his neck. Next came the mid calf cognac, cow hide Roper cowboy boots. Once the boots were on, Peter added shiny, silver spurs
around the boots. Peter grabbed his bone colored, wool Stetson cowboy hat that had a
leather hat that had a horsehair band and a concho. From the table near the front door, he picked up a pair of black leather gloves and a black mask that only covered his eyes. Finally, he was ready to go to the masquerade.

The limousine arrived and Peter left his apartment and entered the back seat of the limo. Peter was truly impressed with the luxury. He was surprised that he received an invitation at all because he had just recently arrived in Demaitre.

The limousine arrived at the hall. Peter disembarked and walked slowly to the entrance. He presented his invitation to the person at the door. Peter wasn’t accustomed to all of the luxury that was around him. Peter handed his cowboy hat to the person taking coats and hats. As he entered the great ballroom, Peter glance up at a large crystal chandelier. He was amazed.

Peter made his way to the refreshment table, nodding and smiling to the other people who were at the masquerade. He stood alone as he took a glass of dead blood and began to drink. That's when her saw her. A beautiful woman wearing a tempest style costume made of blue silk. Peter wouldn't have known her name, even if she wasn't hiding her identity. Maybe when the music started, he could ask her to dance. He smiled at the possibility.

Colton grinned. Eric was a sight for sore eyes, he was. If Colton had to attend these shindigs, he'd much prefer to have his quasi brother in attendence. It just made everything all the better.

"I'm a wall flower! You know my horrid living room wallpaper? Well, it just got promoted." Colton was grinning just as widely as Eric was. "Hey, Lil, don't give me that look... I am going to have fun if I'm stuck here for the evening." Colton took a quick moment to glance around the room. So highly decorated. So lush and rich in crimson and silver and gold. Everything looked so hand crafted and well displayed. It was an impressive job done.

Colt's attention quickly turned from ballroom to guests. Lily looked stunning, as per usual, and Eric akin to a penguin. He'd be sure to tease him about it ceaselessly, but be kind enough not to do it in front of Lily or any other person. It took a moment, but Colton soon picked up people he recognized. You could see the horror flash across his face at the sight of Anton, and all of a sudden, he was so much happier to be surrounded by Lily and Eric. Tonight would not be a repeat performance. Never again.

Tiffany, however, was the sole person he did not expect to see here. In fact, he was sure it couldn't be Tiffany. She was a mortal--he knew that. Why was she at a vampiric masquerade? Maybe as somebody's guest? Colton's mind raced back to Beltane. Anton and Nyx had both slaughtered their guests at that feast... Colton could only assume the worst.

"Lily? Hypothetically... Do vampires always kill mortals that are in attendence at events like this?" Though it was obviously not hypothetical, and the tenseness in Cotlon's shoulders gave away that he was more than worried about someone's safety.

Mitchifer had begun to gaze around the room at the vampires around all the while he was getting closer to Tiffany everytime one got close. So he was a little paranoid, no one could really blame him after what he had seem Nyx do...heck what he had done himself that time and now she was dead most likely replaced by someone even more twisted. Then it happened, his eyes found a small girl walking in this hall of vampires. He couldn't help but stare wide eyed and was doing all he could to keep his jaw from dropping.

"Tiffany, am I seeing things or is that a little girl?!" She looked like a doll in his eyes and he shivered madly remenbering the human dolls his sire made. Those humans who had their eyes removed and replaced by doll eyes, then their lips sewn into a smile that could never fade. He motioned vaguely to Euthalia. He was somewhat more collected by this time but his mind was still racing with why a little girl would be here of all places.

Tristan had found his corner and was now leaning against a the wall looking around the room but not really seeing anything. His mind was in another place, he couldn't quite remenber why he had decided to attend this event. Maybe he had thought that he would be needed? No that wasn't it, there were more then enough old vampires here to keep everything under control. More likely was the idea that he was simply lonely and bored and had hoped to be able to enjoy this evening slightly. Though it seemed so far to be just as boring as being home alone with movies to watch.

He quickly began searching out the coven leader's faces even though he had no real idea of what they looked like. Maybe he should just look for the vampires who were the most respected? Well it didn't really matter to him. It was just something to do. 'Damnit, had Mitchifer not brought that woman here with him I'd have an excuse to leave now though I'm gonna have to wait til one of them grows tired or bored, whichever comes first.' He sighed and went back to looking around the room boredly.

Memphis hesitantly stepped from the back seat of the faded yellow taxi. He grimaced slightly at the last whiff of body odor mixed with cigar smoke that saturated the seats, and slammed the door shut.

His costume was ruined. The tuxedo pants had shrunk in the wash, making them tight and nearly unbearable. His tuxedo jacket had gotten caught in the rickety staircase railing on his way down to the street and torn along the seem from the left cufflink right to the arm pit. The jacket then disintegrated as a quick sprinkle of rain hit its dry clean only material. To make matters worse his bronze mask, into which Memphis had put a great deal of personal time, slipped from his pocket and fell in the street. Just as Memphis stooped to pick up his mask, a vain attempt to salvage some part of his ensemble, his taxi pulled up – running over the mask and splashing the white tuxedo undershirt with a petroleum-swirled mud puddle.

His outfit destroyed, Memphis got into the car and chugged his way to the Ave Verum Concert Hall. Feeling the need to somehow get something out of this evening, the Egyptian killed the driver of the cab before leaving the vehicle and crossing the street to the ball. He passed his ticket, though it was now far from the beautiful translucent paper with bold red lettering it had been, to the door man and handed the tattered remains of his jacket and mask to the coat check office.

To most people Memphis would have just arrived in the worst of ways to the best of parties but, being far too old to let a few little incidents tarnish his first appearance on the vampire scene of Demaitre, the ancient man made his way to the centre of the dance floor. He allowed his bronze and copper strands of hair to catch the chandelier light and let it reflect about the room, and then made his way to the back of the hall to watch his new immortal companions.

Nafretiri Speaks:

The lights temporarily illuminated Nafretiri’s face a glowing orange as she leaned against the cool glass of the window. Amandine – who was driving her this evening – always reprimanded her for this simple gesture, saying that it would muss the expensive hairdo that had been done earlier. Nafretiri always ignored her, for it was a small thing that gave her some manner of calm. She enjoyed watching the city zoom past, even as Vivaldi played from the speakers. To watch mortals walk past oblivious to the world that lay underneath the cover of shadow… There were times when Nafretiri herself wished that she could be one of them.

Oh, she’d never say this out loud to anyone. No, she was far too old, too powerful, and too alone to divulge such secrets to just anyone, but there was no one else. Therefore, she kept all the things she couldn’t say out loud bottled deep within her, where she was sure they belonged.

Closing her eyes, she sighed. Did she really want to go to this function? In truth, no, not really. She would have been happier in her home at the outskirts of town, sipping tea and reading Aristotle in true Greek. Why then, had she come, or why had she not asked Amandine to turn the car around for her? The answer was simple enough. She’d all but invited Quan Lei Shen, proprietor of the Chinese restaurant Jin Se He, to meet her there. While she wasn’t exactly sure if he would come or no, it would have been extremely rude to imply that she would be there, and then decide not to come. Propriety demanded that she go, and so she had to. If Master Lei Shen did show up, her spirits would be lifted and perhaps she would not be quite so lonely among a race of peers that knew nothing of her.

Then again, it was a Masquerade. One was not supposed to know who one was talking to.

Nafretiri drew a shaky breath, and rubbed her arms in semblance of cold, but in truth, she had not been cold for a very long time… Or at least, not physically. The chill that gripped her now was of an entirely different making, and one that she wasn’t sure she could explain. There had only been a handful of times such an occurrence had happened, and more than two thirds had been while she was a mortal. The others had taken place almost a millennia before hand. She’d resigned herself to the fact that such things would no longer happen now that she’d descended almost as deep into the vampiric race as one could get. This was a thing of mortality, of faith, of many other things that required you to think that you were so small, with figures so large over you.

That was all but impossible now. She was Sekhmet, goddess of Divine Vengeance. There were few that were higher than her. Arrogant, but true. Few others could wipe out the world on their own if they wanted to with something that could not be stopped.

But she was off topic. The point of the matter was that she’d dreamt. Not the nonsensical dreams that one has after a long and tedious night, but the dreams that came directly from the gods, forewarning things to come. These dreams had been rare for her, even in life. She’d had a few of lesser importance, but all those that had been important, had been true, had involved just one boy, one man, and one god.

Kashta.

The dream had had her as little more than a bug, crawling around on expensive carpet. Everywhere she walked, she had to be careful not to be run over by jesters or snakes or some manner of thing that didn’t seem to belong in her dream at all. To one side, there had been a waterfall of blood from the place where the walls met the floor. To the other side, instruments that played themselves. Then, there was a bright light, and from the clouds in the sky, Kashta appeared, as beautiful as the day they’d parted, but there were white wings on his back. He smiled at her, with tears in his eyes as he stroked a bird with bright plumage…

Tears welled up in Nafretiri’s eyes as she even considered it, but kept them within the confines of her eyes, not daring to let them fall and smudge the makeup that her handmaidens had so carefully done this evening. Amandine would be very frustrated, and the Egyptian woman was not in the mood to deal with the woman’s temper tantrums. A black gloved hand stroked the pane of glass, as eyes stared out absently at the richer part of Demaitre. This district seemed to be filled with expensive buildings, art galleries of all sorts, and plenty of other fine establishments. The lights grew brighter as they approached the Ave Verum. Putting on her mask of composure, she slipped on her mask, and sat with all the decorum of a queen.

The white limo slowed to a halt in front of the gleaming concert hall. Nafretiri heard Amandine’s door open and shut, and then her own opened, exposing her to the bright lights that had been subdued by the tinted glass. Taking Amandine’s hand, she lifted her self with amazing grace out of the limo, and stood tall amid the people. Giving her handmaiden a small smile, she murmured her thanks, which was returned with a nod and a grin. Taking a deep – but almost invisible – breath, her smile grew and she walked forward, walking with all the confidence that a goddess needed.

Her gown tonight was black, with just the tiniest underlining of gold satin. The whole dress was designed by one of her own handmaidens. The top came to a halter top, but one that had a deep scoop to as low as propriety would permit. Apart from this, there were also sleeves that were off the shoulder, a few inches in width. The bodice was snug, until the waist where it flared out with taffeta, still underlined with the gold satin, making it all shine. Around her neck, hung an aqua marine scarab pendant on an intricate gold train. In her hair, there was also a small tiara sporting a similar scarab beetle. Her mask was long, and almost iridescent black which showed off Nafretiri’s eyes; eyes that had been painted in the traditional cat-eye style.

She’d chosen this costume weeks before. She was a scarab beetle, just like had been in her dream.

… Nafretiri only hoped it was as obvious to her son.

~*~

Euthalia Speaks:

Euthalia had long since seated herself on a chair, her hands folded decorously over her lap, making her look like the child every woman would have wanted in the days were etiquette had ruled. Her face was blank, and it showed absolutely nothing. Those eyes of hers however… There was something hidden lurking within their depths. It was a mistress of cunning, of trickery, and of manipulation. It took in everyone who entered slowly, watching them, learning how they moved, how they spoke, what they said, and who they felt compelled to join. It was all stored away in that tiny, pretty little head of hers to use later on when it suited her.

There was a Tarepha member here, that much she knew. She’d pinpointed exactly who it was, and she’d been more than a little disgusted. Rearranging herself, she sat straighter and watched on as a king does his court. This one, if her information was correct, was the one called Mitchifer Lanuros. Before now, it had been just a name. Now, there was a face, a body, and even it seemed, family, to put with this name. Her eyes were practically slitted now. He did not seem like a Tarepha at all. He caught sight of her, and there was fear from him. Good. She was pleased. However… only the mask hid it from his face. Most unacceptable.

That wasn’t what disgusted her most, however. No, compared to this next sin, the other was but a mere trifle.

Her coven member had brought a mortal to a dance intended for vampires. Disgusting, and unintelligent. It was the most ludicrous thing she’d seen all night, and her eyes danced with a blue-green fire at the thought of it. She was angry, but it didn’t show on her expressionless face, save in those all seeing eyes of hers.

Slowly, however, a bright smile curled onto her face. She smiled up at Cheveyo. “Would you please watch my seat darling? There are some business matters I must attend to. Come to my aid if you feel I need it.” She placed another kiss on his hand, before hopping off the stool. She smoothed out her skirts and her hair, making sure nothing was permanently mussed, before all but skipping over to the Lanuros man and his mortal woman.

“Hello,” she said brightly, beaming up at them, while in truth, positively repulsed by the sight before her. If not for that ancient that seemed to have some alliance with this younger Lanuros, she would’ve ripped the woman’s pretty head off. As it were, she kept up the childish façade, much to her displeasure. “It’s a very nice ball don’t you think? Everybody dress up in such pretty clothes!” She turned to the mortal. “I like your dress. Cheveyo,” She pointed at the man she had been with, “said you were a mourning dove. I’ve never seen one up close, but I doubt they’re as pretty as you.” Another beaming smile.

If Euthalia had her way, there would be mourning soon enough.

She turned to the man. “Ah, Mitchifer Lanorus isn’t it?” She was still all smiles. “You look very handsome too. You could be a prince in a fairy tale! I get fairy tales read to me sometimes, you know. Rapunzel is my favourite, even when the prince’s eyes bleed because they’ve been poked by thorns.” She took a step forward. “You have a very pretty date, Mr Lanorus. I bet you love her, huh? I don’t think you’d want anything to happen to her.” Her smiled dropped a bit. “It was very silly of you to bring her here. She might get eaten by the big bad wolf.”

The smiles dropped, and Euthalia stood now with a look on her face that belonged on someone much older looking. She looked at Mitchifer appraisingly, raising an eyebrow. Her mouth was in a thin line of distaste. “I assume, therefore,” she continued, her voice devoid of a childish accents and inflections, and now a twinkling bell-like voice with the faintest twinge of a British accent, “that you realize how utterly incompetent you’ve been? You fancy it alright to bring a mortal to a ball meant only for those creatures which walk in darkness? A ball where Marcus – and the rest of us as well – seek to divulge the secrets of the covens? Do you really think she’d be allowed to keep these secrets and live?”

She sniffed in anger, and looked away for a moment, before turning back, her eyes blazing. “It’s disgusting, and it’s imbecilic. By bringing her here, you have practically sealed her death warrant.” Her eyes shifted slightly to the mortal. “A pity, but perhaps her death would do well to educate you on proper vampiric propriety. Yours seems to be sorely lacking.” She turned as if to leave, before looking at him over her shoulder. “As leader of the Tarepha, I am revolted. We shall see what Marcus has to say about this little… problem.”

Euthalia’s face flashed for a moment into something horrific. It was gone before anyone could be certain it was there. She smiled that childlike smile again at the mortal. “Goodbye pretty lady. I do so hope you see your next sunrise.” There was a mocking in that voice.

Turning, Euthalia walked back into the crowed, a smirk on her face, and a pleased feeling in her veins.

Although the tuneless mumble of idle chatter had come to subdue the noticeability of the pre-show music, the meaningless notes suddenly silenced completely. Their empty rhythms were instead replaced by a more determined beat; that of rattling wheels as the whole of the concert hall was plunged into darkness. The electric chandelier and dancing flames were snuffed out as if one powerful breath had extinguished them all, while the perfect acoustics of the hall amplified the clatter of metal on wood.

For those vampires capable of seeing in the lightless dark, the anticipatory effect was somewhat ruined. However, it did not last long regardless, as a spotlight suddenly struck center stage, and the object that had wheeled itself there.

It was a cage. A bird's cage to be exact, of gilded gold and ornate design, big enough to hold a flock of doves and their keeper.

Presently, it held two birds, which to the onlookers were nearly lost against the scarlet backdrop of the cage. The fabric of the background was thick embroidered silk, the pattern of the elaborate stitching a tediously sewn embossed mimicry of feathers. The hue matched the wings of the two decorative birds perfectly, while their white breasts ensured they were not totally invisible in the forefront of their surroundings.

A voice filled the room with presence, penetrating unprepared minds and also ears, for the sake of those who might be shielding strongly enough to withstand the will of two and a half millenia's worth of telepathic ability. Within the cage, the two King Birds of Paradise fluttered from perch to perch uncertainly, accustomed to the addressing tenor voice, but not at such strength.

“Welcome.”

This single word was followed by a cascade of whispers; the very same concept of greeting in the native tongues of those present, sent around the room in a current of good will.

“Thank you for joining me on this night of gathering to celebrate our lives here in Demaitre, varied as they may be.”

The birds uttered soft cries of unease, blinking black eyes timidly in the glare of the spotlight.

“With the thought of celebration in mind, I ask that we all try to remain civil to each other, so as not to spoil the festivities. Despite our differences, we all have one thing in common: we are Vampire, immortals of near perfect flesh and form. Like it or not, we are united, by our taste for blood, unease of daylight, extended lives, and preservation of our ways through secrecy. It does not benefit us as a society to have a renegade among us; indeed, one careless act could destroy us all. Surely, with this to reflect on, it is not too terribly difficult to maintain decencies among like company.

“With us tonight are members of each of the five great covens, as well as their honorable leaders. Those of you who are of an independent nature are graciously invited to converse with them. Perhaps you will find a match of personality and ability, and in doing so gain protection and status among our people.

“Tonight, our music will be provided by the Lunar Elegance Orchestra, who join us from London. For those of you able to partake, refreshments have been provided.

“And now, I simply bid you to enjoy yourselves. A Masquerade with the splendor of old awaits you.”

The spotlight was cut. Into the refound darkness came the creak of hinges, then the snap of a latch falling. The rolling thrum of a trio of drums sounded from the stage.

Abruptly, full stage lights flashed on, revealing Marcus perched atop the cage. His green eyes glittered behind his wooden mask of carven design, painted an orange that brightened mid-mask to the same resplendent red of his sleeveless, ankle-length coat, which was of a fabric last seen behind the birds. Curiously, the decorative backdrop of scarlet silk was no longer present among the creatures.

His hair, left loose, reached his shoulders, falling in soft, medium-brown waves as light in weight as any crest of feathers. The same apricot hue of the mask dusted the shoulders and mid-chest of his outer garment, while details of emerald green decorated the crease beneath his arms, and curled from behind in thin lines mimicking the dainty curl of the tails of the birds still contained in the cage beneath him. The pure white of their breasts was reflected in the ivory of the long-sleeved silk shirt worn beneath Marcus's coat, and in the calf leather that adorned his legs.

The shirt hung loose, billowing outward from his shoulders to gather at the tightly buttoned cuffs at his wrists. The bottom of the garment was contained by a wide, slate blue sash of suede at his waist, while the collar hung open, its laces loosely threaded to expose a small expanse of smooth chest nearly as pale as the cloth around it. Boots the identical shade and material as the sash reached just above his knees, his skin-tight pants disappearing into their over-sized, floppy cuffs.

With a gesture of his hand, resting on an upraised knee, three things happened simultaneously; the cage made its way to stage left, the curtains drew open, and the now-exposed orchestra struck a magnificent chord on trumpet and strings, beginning their first piece.

The stage lights dimmed as the candles found the will to burn again, and the chandelier regained its composure.

Marcus slipped from his perch to land elegantly at the top of the stairs leading to the floor, coat fluttering to settle its panels around him as he held out his hand to his waiting dove, smile demure yet lit with a high sense of satisfaction by the sparkle in his eyes.

Despite not wanting to be seen in his ragged remains of a costume Memphis could not help but begin to applaud the work of the Masquerade’s host. He was unsure if the others would join him in his praise, but he hoped he would not be left making such an abrasive noise by himself.

Alessandro applauded politely after the elaborate performance and speech. Impressive. The birds were a nice touch, though he was mildly annoyed by the telepathic display – he hated having his mind messed with, usually being the one who toyed with others' mentality. He refused to admit there might be a touch of envy in his resentment. I could have been as powerful as all that if I'd wanted to, he assured himself, nurturing his ego. Could have been, had he not spent the centuries tumbling in the hay with whatever girl's breasts and throat took his fancy that evening. If pride was Sandro's primary sin, lust was an infinitesimally close second.

And speaking of girls...

A flash of silver registered in his peripheral vision as the orchestra struck up a chord. He turned and let his gaze trace the curves of an elegant lady in a deep blue velvet dress that left her shoulders bare. Her mask was a crescent shaped moon – the silver that had caught his attention. The night sky. Charming. He smiled slightly, continuing to toy with the apple for a few seconds before returning it to the bowl. He glanced down and caught his reflection in the blood filling one of the glasses on the tabletop. His own face was the only thing the glass contained that appealed to him – dead blood held no vitality for him, but his vanity appreciated the shining surface.

The orchestra was now playing a grand waltz, reminiscent of a number he'd seen in an opera performed at this very hall mere months ago. Satisfied that he was gorgeous, Alessandro straightened his back and meandered through the crowd to where the silver-masked woman stood. Offering out a hand, he bowed deeply, then glanced up with a smile toying at the edges of his mouth. "Might I have this dance?" he asked, his accent almost imperceptible.

Looking around, Rowen’s bright blues caught the light and she sighed softly, looking for anyone she knew, and that wasn’t many. Though she kept looking, until the lights went off, her eye’s moving to the stage as she watched. A small smile came to her face as she saw Marcus soon come into view, the birds sounds ringing in her mind though left as soon as Marcus’s words started, listening she nodded softly.

“He has out done himself this time.” She admitted to herself as she blinked watching him. After he was done, she continued to look about the people as se made her way around the place. Taking a mental note of everyone who was there, and who they were, or who she thought they were. Thus again in seeing no one she stopped and looked around.

“Maybe this was a bad idea to come after all.” Her words soft, she loved things like this, but coming alone wasn’t much fun. So she watched as everyone else had fun, or seemed to be having fun.

Lily turned her attention from her sons and to the stage to carefully watch the entrance of both the doves and the host. At the midpoint of Marcus’ speech she turned her head to watch the reactions from the other members of the Masquerade.

Eric had turned his torso slightly to face the stage; he stood there with the smile produced by Colton’s costume still present on his unlined face. He was politely listening to Marcus’ requests, but there was little chance of Eric causing any disturbances in the first place.

When Marcus finished, Lily turned her grey eyes on Colton. “I assume that answers your question..” She said to him without speech. She reached down and gathered her rose hued skirts in one hand, making it easier for her to walk. “You should greet your host and fellow coven leader, Colton.”

Tiffany smiled, but there was a slightly uneasy strain in the air now (that she did not understand) as the child skipped to them. She had turned to Mitchifer to reaffirm that there was indeed a little girl in attendance, but turned her face back at the childish treble that rose to her ears.

"Oh, hello. Ah yes, it's lovely. I can't imagine all the time that must have gone into it."

She flushed at the compliment, ducking her head a bit - a timid gesture that was not at all uncharacteristic of her masque of choice. Out of admiration had bloomed invention. Her grandmother had had birdbaths and feeders aroung her litle rural home, and at a certain one a younger Tiffany had enjoyed watching the small, mild creatures in their antics.

"Thank you, but I assure you that the actual bird is an unassuming beauty."

The tone the little body took then, however, rather incongruously for its apparent age, seemed to be filled with a sinuous disapproval. Tiffany slid one foot back a bit, a guarded alertness about her. There was something unpleasant lurking beneath the allusions to fairytales...

She listened to it all, close by Mitchifer, and rather regretting that she had earned him the rebuke. Swallowing as the little figure waltzed away from the disturbance she had so easily created, Tiffany shifted towards Mitchifer, resting a hand on his arm.

"Perhaps... perhaps this was a bad idea. I didn't mean to get you into any trouble. I'm sorry. I..."

She hoped that it was not too late to reverse any sort of punishment on Mitchifer's part. For now, in addition, she had no desire to learn who this Marcus fellow was. If he was anything like the un-child, she was not eager to converse with him...

Gathering her almost translucent skirts to gingerly lift them a bit, and free her feet a bit, she smiled and glanced over her shoulder, talking softly.

"It would be best, I think, to go. I don't want to cause trouble. Nor get either of us... hurt."

Or worse, she thought.

"I'll be back at the apartment when you've finished here."

She opened her hand bag and searched with a slightly tremorous hand for the key. She was not so much scared as worried. That had not been so bad... Not pleasant, but not so bad. It was not the first threat Tiffany had ever faced. She did not wish to stay long enough to earn any more negative reactions of the kind, though.

"You stay. Here. I am sorry to have caused trouble. Enjoy it anyway. It really looks magnificent."

She had set the key in his hand, still chattering a bit nervously, when the lights winked out, and she froze. To eyes not gifted with vampiric sight, it was a dreadful few heartbeats until the lighting on the stage flared in the darkness, drawing all eyes.

She heard the words spoken, watched it all, saw the man appear. It was like David Copperfield gone awry. That little fact might have been an amusing thing, that strangely connected tie... However, at the moment, she was more concerned about both she and her date exiting in one piece. She was disappointed. She had worked hard on her costume, planned and enjoyed the anticipation.. At least she had had that, though... And now she was too worried to think of being disappointed.

When the voice of the Amman leader had ceased to pervade the room, she blinked a moment, glancing at the room around her, and to Mitchifer's face with a blush. It was embarrassing to have made such a scene with Euthalia possible. A reprimand had not even entered her thoughts. She should have anticipated something of the kind. With her focused way of doing things, however, she had been all cheerful designs for the masquerade.

Her hand slipped from his arm as she moved away, taking a short detour. She could get back to the main entrance of Ave Verum by taking a side door not too far away and looping back to the vestibule. Collecting her things did not even enter her head as she moved across the floor, intent on exiting the room and the building as quickly as possible.

"Look," Morrigan whispered into Bliss's left ear, "Your temper almost caused us to miss the speech!" Her words were not harsh, but they stung Bliss's heart. He knew she was joking. The grin on her perfect, bloodsucking face gave her away. He was still angry about what she was wearing. Amadahy just stood beside the couple appearing rather bored.

The trio was almost late. They walked through the door just as Marcus started his little show. Morrigan would call that perfect timing. They watched quietly and praised Marcus with cheerful whispers to each other. Bliss was enthralled. His ill mood seeping from him. Amadahy's green eyes stared at Marcus with awe. A crush was forming in her head. Morrigan had a wide grin.

"You might as well have arrived naked, my love!" Bliss told Morrigan under his breath. She heard him and laughed.

"You're just jealous," Morrigan said.

Bliss snorted. "Well, don't think I'm going to let you dance with anyone else wearing that!"

"I'll dance with who ever I please," she lightly snapped back. Bliss's behavior amused her. With that said she wandered off to the tables. The bowls of blood were calling her name.

"Outrageous! Honestly, she flaunts her body like a whore. Amadahy, what do you think?" Bliss asked his spawn. She said nothing and walked away. "What? Both of you...leaving me? Really, now." He snorted, again, turning on his heels to follow his love.

It was easy to spot her. "She might have well shown up naked" was a little overboard, though her dress was revealing. It looked as though Morrigan merely wrapped herself with nearly transparent cloth. Sapphire blue fabric as soft as silk was tied in place at the back of her neck. It drooped down at the front, barely showing off her breasts and milky-white flesh. It clung to her body until her waist, where it cascaded down to her bare feet. Her back, arms, and shoulders were completely exposed, as were her tattoos. Bliss was afraid the dress might slip off her body at any moment.

"Love?" He caught her attention and wrapped his arm around her waist. The dress moved like water. She turned to face him, her dark eyes staring at him from behind her mask. He loved that mask. Made it himself. Molded like a dragon's head, it shimmered with silver and black and deep blues. Feathers, diamonds, and other jewels surrounded the eyes. The only thing Bliss did not like about it was the fact it covered more than half her face. Only her sweet, and deceiving, smile was visible. Her brown eyes were almost lost in the color. The theme was "sapphire dragon". It suited Morrigan.

"Care to dance?" He asked.

She nodded. "Only if I get to dance with other people," she said, sounding too much like an elder sister.

"Fine." Bliss squeezed her waist.

"I get to dance with her first!" Amadahy demanded, waving a hand at her elders.

She was dressed all in black, her mask like a raven's head. She looked stunning as well. Her mask was larger than Morrigan's, covering all of her face. Her neck held a black choker with a single, green gem. Her middle was squeezed into a little, black corset. Black fabric was bundled at her waist and fell, softly to her feet. Amadahy was upset no one could see her new high-heels that were tied around her legs up to the knees. Her hair was gathered up and gentle curls fell from the bun.

"Yes, dear," Morrigan chuckled. Amadahy's feelings for Bliss were no secret. She knew the young vampiress wanted to dance with her only to keep her from Bliss. Morrigan did not mind. Drama did not amuse her. Dancing was all she cared about at the moment.

Bliss grunted. "Maybe you should've dressed like a pig. You make pig sounds very well!" Morrigan joked, disappearing with Amadahy. Bliss let his eyes linger on her fine back side. He smiled.

His mask was simple. He spent most of his time getting his girls ready. He would rather see them dressed up and happy. A tuxedo was all he wanted. His mask was black and form fitting to his face.

"Very well," Bliss mumbled. He leaned against the table and folded his arms. Anyone would think he was sexy mortal with an attitude problem.

The gentleman always had a flair for gatherings. Sitting at his long dinner table he sipped his wine with his right hand with his left he stroked the oak table. Tonight would be a night for socialising, and he needed it so. The chauffeur entered the dining hall and nodded that they where ready. Picking up his glass he strolled over the hall to the door and shut the dining room leaving it in the darkness once again.

Stepping into the modest car he laid his head on the headrest in the back as they left the common housing. Wine glass still in hand the gentleman sipped it like blood from a young sinners mouth. Bliss.

"Put Mozart’s Requiem Aeternam on the stereo please driver" The man spoke from his darkness. With a nod the haunting melody echoed through the car as they sped past the innocent and the dying. Moving his hands in motion as if conducting his own private orchestra he pushed his long blonde hair back revealing his deep blue eyes. He tightened his gloves straightening each finger in sequence. His dress this evening he loved. He had dressed as if going to the renaissance ball. It was all traditionalism.

They had come to a halt outside the hall; the man leant over to the driver.

"Thank you James, go home to your wife and children now" He commanded in a whisper before stepping out into the freezing night air of Canada. The car drove off and the gentleman stood alone with no accomplice...as usual.

Entering the large hall he could see it was packed, with some of the most prestige and honourable vampires in the city, it was a good decision to come tonight. He had arrived in time for Marcus's speech. The famous and glorified Marcus. He had no desire to grab him aside and speak to him; he was not so desperate for the company of others who wish not to speak unto him.

He touched his mask.

It was steel cold on the one side, but black felt on the other, his heart had hardened more than before. Lucius was alone.

His catholic ways had always aided him and his spirit in the lord reigned in him always, but tonight he felt alone... the Holy Spirit had left him for the first time since he had devoted himself to Catholicism. Standing by the side he clutched his dinner jacket from inside and studied the crowd more, in order to find out... the mysteries of his kind.

One would think this a piece of living history, Beth couldn't help but think as she approached the carriage. Funny, there hadn't been any place she could find that offered a carriage service, at least not until she had named the sum she was willing to pay. Then, these young men were more than happy to offer her their chauffeuring services for the evening, proudly displaying their splendid carriage and equally fine horses. She offered a dazzling smile to the young man who handed her into the carriage. He turned bright red and, after assuring she was safely in, closed the door and hastily made his way up to the box with the driver.

It had been almost laughably easy to come up with her costume idea when she received the invitation. Take a large sum of money and a fond memory to the finest seamstress in town, and you've got yourself a spectacular costume. But it wasn't really a costume, was it? No, it wasn't. Not for Elyzabeth. She fondly smoothed the yellow organdy across her lap and leaned back against the cushioned seat.

"Bethie, you must promise me the first dance, otherwise I shan't get another chance all evening! Your dance card will be full up within moments, for all the boys are sayin' they won't leave until they get to dance with you." The young man grins roguishly from where he lounges in the doorway.

"Oh, all right. I suppose I can spare a dance for you, since we're family. Now, what d'you think of my gown? Mammy and that new mulatto girl have been working on it for weeks." The girl does a quick spin.

"It's gorgeous, Bethie, and so are you. Now let's go!" He very properly offers her his arm, and she very properly accepts. A few very proper moments pass before brother and sister burst out laughing.

Elyzabeth was so lost in her memories that she didn't notice the gradual decrease in speed until the carriage lurched to a halt. The young man leapt down from the box and opened the door, helping her out. She treated him to another smile before walking through the door. For a brief, dizzying moment, she felt as though she was back in time. Pretty Bethie Young, resplendent in the latest fashions from Europe, at yet another ball. But the moment passed. She was Elyzabeth again, and she was just in time to hear the speech Marcus made. Quite theatrical, if she did say so herself.

Taking in the costumes of her fellow vampires, Beth decided she was, if anything, overdressed. Her gown was of pale yellow organdy, baring her shoulders but not too much skin as to be indecent. Well, it didn't expose cleavage, which in her time had been indecent. The bodice accented her tiny waist. From there, the skirt flared gracefully over a hoop and several petticoats. The skirt was embellished with vines and flowers embroidered with fine silver thread. On her hands were white gloves, and she carried a fan in her left hand. Her mask was a simple thing, made of silver and covering her eyes, nose, and upper cheeks.

Beth flipped open the fan and held it in front of herself, screening the lower half of her face. She continued to look around at the other guests, rather unsure of what to do in the company of so many others like herself.

Dance was something that Llehna had known from her youth, and through the centuries, that had not changed. It was a transient thing, however. Many of her kind seemed to linger in different time periods. She was never one to freeze in one place, however. A bit psychotic at times, she had interests spread through almost a millenia of culture and rhythm. She was fond now-a-days of the pop cultural beats and club atmospheres, though... Well, there were obvious reasons why she really had to stay away from most of those.

Her clothing often had a vintage look to it, however, as her fashion since had progressed at a slower rate than other things. She wasn't too bad about it, however, and had never been suspected by Mortals that she knew of... Of course... She avoided them...

Her eyes moved over the childlike vampire and could tell that both she and the sulking vampire near the couple were quite elderly in vampiric terms. And something odd to note... A Mortal, hm? Poor thing, she probably had no idea what she had walked into. Likely a fatal date.

Something of a sadistic smirk curved her lips. He had picked a pretty little snack. Her eyes flickered back, and she wondered if the little old vampire was vying for that treat... Ah well, not of importance to her at the moment.

Strolling onward, she hung back a bit, trying to find a shadowy place near a curtain so that she could examine the other guests. For quite some time she took in the conversational tones, the rich clinks of blood-filled crystal.

Alone as well, she could not say she regretted that fact. Something of a coquette, it suited her just fine. Dead blood was not her cup of... blood. Thus, she refrained from joining the growing group around that table.

The lights dimmed suddenly. In truth, it was totally dark, but her keen eyes were not put out of commission by the lack of illumination. The birds she watched curiously, a small frown turning down her rosebud mouth. Her eyelids drooped irritatedly. Those birds were quite unique, but the bright colours offended her eyes, and she just generally decided that they were mockingly brilliant against the backdrop. Horrid birds. She clicked her teeth once in annoyance, turning from them only to look back as her Coven leader appeared atop the cage. A vague smile returned to her face.

When the lights once more filled the room, she glided from her place of watchfulness. A glimpse of blonde tugging at her memory. Yes... the length, the height of the man... It was hard to mistake the walk of certain individuals. Besides, being quite old herself, she had a few advantages of the prying mental sort.

Her skirts swept behind her, perhaps not the most practical, but... That was not what masquerades were for... The amount of fabric ensured that her walk was stately and swan-like... A bit of time in certain courts of old were bound to teach one a few things about a courtier's manners.

Approaching Lucius, she inclined her head and gave a shallow curtsy. An outdated greeting, but one not so auspicious at such a gathering.

"Good evening," She began as she rose. "Hmmm..."

She slanted her eyes to the stage where Marcus had been, then ran them over the blood-laden tables.

"A wonderful entrance for the host, yes?"Not for the first time, perhaps...

“You are cordially invited to a gathering of the ages.

It will be a grand Masquerade such as has not been seen for centuries.

Please dress accordingly, and let your imagination guide you.

Location: The Ave Verum Concert Hall
Date: The Twenty-Ninth of July, Two Thousand and Five
Hour: After Sunset
R.S.V.P.: Not Necessary

I do hope to see you there.

Marcus Felsen, Leader of the Amman Coven”

Quan Lei Shen fingered the invitation he had received in the mail nearly three weeks before the present date. When he'd initially read it, he'd informed the servant who had presented him with it to discard it. Yet with a healthy foresight and the knowledge of how fickle his master could sometimes be, the servant had kept it, and been rewarded with a week of holidays when Lei Shen had requested to gaze upon it again.

Flipping the card back and forth, the Chinese vampire's thoughts were reflected in the far-off glaze of his eyes. A voice that had been haunting his memory replayed through his mind as he debated risking the outing.

"You know," she said, her hands hugging her cup once again. "There is apparently some sort of coven get together relatively soon." Her eyes dropped to her hands, as she fiddled with a golden ring of hers. "I have no prior engagements that evening, so I believe I will be in attendance. However, it is unlikely that there will be many there I know, having so recently come to Demaitre. Having the company of someone... interesting, would greatly please me." Her eyes rolled up to look at his, and there was a certain impishness in them. "Perhaps, if you find yourself not otherwise entertained, we might run into each other there, hm?"

Nafretiri.. Would she truly be present? Was it honestly worth his time and unease among a crowd of vampires to act upon the chance of being in her company again?

His eyes focused sharply, and found Jia, watching him patiently from her place curled up before the hearth in his bedroom. The big cat stood, stretching languidly and then padding over to the screen that hid part of his expansive wardrobe. She nosed the rice paper and wood piece aside, then sat casually batting at a particular garment, her tail twitching pointedly as her great golden eyes found his surprised gaze again.

He frowned, started forward, hesitated, and then rose. The snow leopard backed up a pace or two and reseated herself as he took his intended costume for the Masquerade down from its peg on the wall, running the fine imported silk between his fingers, thin brows furrowed with thought. He looked once more to his animal companion before reaching a decision and calling an aide to help him get dressed. Jia purred with satisfaction and resumed her place before the fire.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cheveyo rode in silence with his mistress, only giving a nod of his head here and there to whatever comments she made. While he did not address his own personal feelings much anymore, not since he had died as a matter of fact, he had the bothersome notion that he was nervous beneath the typical apathy that he felt when not angered. Why, he couldn't care less, but the feeling in of itself was beginning to agitate him.

As they arrived at their destination, he waited approximately fifteen seconds before climbing out of the vehicle to stand with Euthalia, giving her time to clear her lengthy train of the car and the potential of being accidentally trodden on. He'd never understood European fashion, but it was another of those notions he noticed, and then disregarded.

He himself was dressed traditionally enough for his people, or what pop culture thought his people should be wearing. His shirt was made of buckskin, dyed black as a base colour and flecked with white in a specific checkered pattern to mimic the common loon. Fringe adorning the chest and sleeves of the garment did a fair job of hiding the assortment of knives tucked into specially made inner sheaths, for the handles were of pale antler and bone, and so were the beads dangling off of every other piece of fringe. His leggings were also black, but the decorations on them were longer and ebony-- the beaks of loons, strung in a shining line along the outside length of each leg. His feet were clad in modern black boots, unadorned by any extra details.

In his eyes, he wore contacts the colour of blood. His neck was adorned with a beaded choker, again in mimicry of a true loon's markings. His raven hair hung loose against his back, while in front it was kept in two braids on either side of his face, displaying his high cheekbones and the baleful gaze of his eyes. Feathers of his bird of choice for the evening were woven into the base of the braids, and in random placements within the unbound strands.

He gave the barest of smiles in return to Euthalia's comment regarding the potential of the festivities, really more of a smirk or a grimace than a show of humor.

He followed her willingly enough into the concert hall, seated himself at her back and a little to her right, scanning the room out of habit and finding nothing of terrible threat there. He gave an acknowledging nod as she went about coven business, and focused with all his keen senses upon the conversation held between his small savior and her follower who had displeased her. Absently, his right hand went to the nearest knife hilt to it, fingertips caressing the small ridges formed naturally by a buck's antler with the fondness of a lover.

He waited, and hoped, just a little, that the lackey would do something stupid in the face of his leader's disapproval.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The wheels of the carriage bumping over uneven pavement jarred Lei Shen from his thoughts as it made its way down Demaitre's streets toward the Ave Verum. His personalized vehicle usually held a smoother ride than this-- but then perhaps he was just irritated at being brought from his wandering imaginings. Imaginings of what Nafretiri might look like, dressed in hand-chosen finery.

As his team of white stallions trotted along, Lei smoothed his outer robe with slightly nervous fingers, which played over the embroidery stitched into the garment as they came to it. The pattern was of a luna moth, wings outspread upon his back and curling forward, as if one of the creatures had grown to gargantuan sizes and embraced him from behind. The silk within the etching of the embroidery was dyed the lovely pale jade of the insect, and patterned appropriately with the whimsical spots and curls of ruddy brown found upon the moth. The rest of the garment was white, leaning toward tan.

Beneath the outer robe were two more layers of silk robes. The one closest to his skin was a very faint robin's egg blue, undecorated, and for the most part, unseen. Over it was an overrobe of pale grey perhaps better described as subdued silver, decorated with assorted finely detailed lunar and floral patterns and tied twice in front with a wide belt of the same fabric. On his feet he wore slippers, tan-white and unadorned.

The robes hung a little more casually than was traditional. A fair portion of his upper chest lay exposed in a “V”, tapering from his shoulders to the top of the belt. While his uniquely gold-tarnished skin might have been splendor enough to look upon on its own, he also displayed two strings of ivory beads upon his neck, each carven with calligraphy. His hair was also disregarding the binds of appropriate style, and spilled in a sheet of gold-tipped black down his back and over his shoulders.

He had chosen to go without a mask, instead painting his face with shimmering russet dyes that outlined his eyes and curled to his cheekbones in the same single-loop pattern of the moth.

Some small part of him felt ridiculous, going to the trouble of putting together an outfit and placing himself in a situation he was sure to find uncomfortable. But the greater, outspoken part still fantasized and flirted with the images of Nafretiri in formal garb.

The carriage halted, and he stepped out as his servant opened the door, proud composure doing well not to betray the conflict of interests in his mind. He passed off his invitation at the entrance, and came into the hall on the tail of Marcus's display.

A faint smile passed his lips as he shook his head. That man sought attention with the affliction of a brothel girl after her first payment.

Ignoring his rising agoraphobia, Quan Lei Shen began to make his way among the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of the woman he was suffering this elaborate political gathering for.

Nafretiri Speaks:

Nafretiri sat stiffly off to one end of the hall. Her hands, as per usual, were folded exquisitely into her lap, and there was no slouch to her posture, merely a woman who exuded an air of authority. Normally, this authority could easily have been mistaken for arrogance, but not this evening. There was something almost desperately sad in those dark eyes as they surveyed the room, and even with a mask, one could tell that even one wrong word might crack the façade that she’d so carefully placed. Despite their elegant situation on her lap, her hands fidgeted nervously, as she looked this way and that. Looking for something, but from the look of her, one would assume that even she didn’t know what.

Tonight, however, this wasn’t the case. She was looking for one of two men, possibly both. One was Quan Lei Shen, whom she’d all too subtly asked to meet her here had he not previous engagements. He intrigued her in the most peculiar way, a claim few could make. The other was her long time missing son, Kashta. She’d been searching for him for Re knew how long at this point, and all she had to go on was a dream. For her, however, given her profession as a mortal, that was most certainly enough.

Oh, Gods, why was she so nervous? And why was she letting it affect her so visibly? Throughout her long life, she’d made certain to keep her emotions private, and her dealings even more so, yet tonight, she couldn’t do the first, and she doubted she’d be able to do the second. Here she sat, at the side of the ball, letting her emotions run away with her. This was good etiquette, not at all, but she couldn’t seem to stop.

Even when Marcus made his debut appearance at the ball, she’d watched with only feigned interest while others had murmured amongst themselves at the spectacular entrance. Oh yes, it was quite a feat, she assured someone to her left, smiling that false smile she had for occasions such as this. Oh yes, he is quite handsome, to someone else, sharing in a imitation chuckle. However handsome or debonair or powerful Marcus Felsen was this evening, he was not the man – men – she wanted, and so her mind held little interest for him. No, on another night when she wasn’t so wound up, it would have been lovely.

Just not this night.

Part of her whispered to walk around, dance a few dances, and look for the men she sought that way, but the larger part whispered that she was not in any mood at all to dance, nor exchange pleasantries at the present time. Even the Tarepha Leader’s display with her coven member had only gotten a slight frown from Nafretiri before those dark eyes had turned elsewhere. It seemed her attention was rather flighty this evening.

And then it was there, caressing her skin. She shivered, and her eyes snapped forward with renewed fervour, searching the crowd. Her whole being seemed almost to vibrate and tingle. It felt like something slithered over her neck like an embrace that was deemed unfit for anywhere save private chambers. She let out a ragged breath, and stood, straightening her skirts and her bodice. Her hands went absently to her hair to make sure they were alright as well, even as it felt like there was a second, far more powerful heartbeat pumping the blood through her veins. Taking a moment to steady herself, she started through the crowd.

Her steps were slow but sure, as she followed her senses throughout the crowd, aware that her heart was beating with some emotion, whether excitement, anxiety or nervousness, she wasn’t sure. Still, she pressed on until that feeling that she’d experienced only once before became strong.

Someone moved out of the way, and there he was. The part of her that was a mother was disappointed that it was not her son. The part of her that was a woman was far more than pleased. Was this feeling desire? She wasn’t sure, but she did know that it was suddenly hard to draw breath. She watched him for a moment, before she remembered herself. Allowing a secretive smile slide across her face, she walked forward with measured steps.

“My, Master Quan,” she said, her tone playful, as was her smile, “it seems that you have proved me wrong. Here I thought that nothing could make one such as yourself more handsome than he already was, but I stand here corrected, if you’ll excuse me for saying so.” Her eyes glittered. “I am surprised that half the ladies in here have not already stolen you away from my company. I daresay, I would not blame them.”

Looking down at the floor for a moment, she continued, “I am pleased you came.” Her eyes fluttered back to his. “Most pleased,” she added quietly.

Mitchifer felt like he had been punched in the stomach. He felt his blood raising and his muscles tensing. He could feel his mind moving emotions to the back but leaving rage to control him. He was ready to spring out at this monster and rip it's doll-like head off. Oh how he wanted to kill it his body craved it, it needed to kill her. Her small body just taunting him. Just commanding him to leap out and slaughter the little girl. His mind fought for control over a highly sensitive kill reflex. He strained to relax his muscles and get control again.

This vampire had killed Nyx? He knew looks could be deceiving but this? This was just impossible, how could she have been killed by this being? Well it mattered not, he wasn't stupid and he would make sure she knew that. He tried speaking but it felt like an invisible gap had been put into his mouth. He couldn't move, he couldn't talk, and he couldn't even blink. No, he had shields up how could this happen t- Tristan! Tristan had been the one who taught him how to make those shields of course he knew how to get around them! 'Why is he stopping me from defending myself? This little demon just basically said she planned on killing Tiffany! That bastard is going to let her die?! Of course he will he never liked mortals!'

As the demon of a child walked away from Mitchifer he felt the bonds slacken until they were gone completely and the monstrous vampire had gotten away. He looked at Tiffany and frowned. She had really been looking forward to this evening too and now because some vampire decided to voice her opinion about mortals she was leaving. He turned to look at Tristan who had decided to be looking away at the time. Mitchifer decided to leave with Tiffany; after all he had no desire to stay with being that looked down on him for having a mortal friend.

Mitchifer had paid some attention to Marcus's entrance but he quickly decided that it wasn't important if he was leaving. So he moved after Tiffany rather quickly only stopping to get his knife back from the man who took his coat. It took a bit of arguing to get it back but nothing to worry about as Mitchifer dashed out catching up to Tiffany and slipping his jacket on. "Sorry that it happened like this Tiffany. I didn't think they would make this big of a deal about this really. Come on I'll walk you home...then again I do live with you so it is on the way." He grinned at her and gave her a playful nudge.

~*~
Tristan took a moment to glare at Mitchifer, he had warned that child about bringing his friend to this event but did the boy listen? No he was most likely to love sick to even notice how many looks his friend was getting. I swear that child with be the death of me and to add it all on he left with her and made me wear this ridiculous mask!

His eyes then passed over the woman who had confronted Mitchifer about his date. Sure she went about it in a wrong way but at least she said something. Better then not saying anything and killing the child, but Tristan had a feeling the mortal was alive for the sole reason that he had been around. 'Hmm, so this is the woman who replaced the other for control over that beastly coven? Well it was quite interesting to have a child in control of a bunch of hyenas on leashes. Though I must say I am slightly surprised. Well who she is doesn't really matter interfering with coven business is not really important, after all the Amman do keep the covens under a reasonable amount of control.'

Tristan moved from his wall as if gliding on air his face calm with an emotionless mask under the more foolish mask which he was wearing. When he reached the dance floor he watched the lights fade and stopped moving. Instead he directed his attention on the cage of birds. 'Quite beautiful birds really and clearly they are somewhat used to the cage as they don't try and fight their way out of it.' Then a man appeared, a man of respect it seemed. Tristan chewed over the information for a moment before smiling slightly. 'Ah so this is Marcus? Quite a man, no quite isn't a good enough word he is an incredible man. He himself isn't as old as some people in his coven and yet he has them all listen to him and respect him. Yes quite a man indeed and with a grand entrance to match.'

After getting over the entrance Tristan moved onward quickly trying to get away from the dance floor so no one would try and get him to dance. His eyes found the only person in the city he knew but the woman Nafretiri seemed busy at the moment. Perhaps he would say hello later if she wasn't so busy. In truth he was just making excuses to avoid talking to people. It's not that he disliked talking to people but he just found that he tended to have nothing to talk about and he would rather be alone then stuck in a conversation with many awkward silences.

He moved on and as he passed Euthalia he took his time to pause and look her over before moving on. 'Marcus said be civil so I shall listen to him and not get into a fight with that demon child.' Decided he had walked enough he once again traveled to a wall and began to lean on it boredly picking invisible dirt from his fingernails.

Lucius's eyes moved on her, her beauty and her magnificence. From the moment she had let the bow down, it had put a smile on his face. Bowing in reply greeting to her Lucius moved his hand through his long silky blonde hair and he cascaded the hand across his chest in adoration.

"He is quite the dramatic type, non?" Lucius stood up promptly. Scanning her with his eyes as he so liked to do. The loneliness had left him this once and he stood in the presence of an angel it was sure, a fallen one... but an angel never the less.

He scanned the room a few times gazing at who had arrived and who had not, he was most intrested in seeing Llhena tonight and also Tsuka.

"I have broken one of the commandments, I worship you like a goddess Llhena" His lips broadened into a smile as he grabbed two glasses off wine from a local waiter. Handing her one he laughed very quietly to himself.





The crypt was damp and reeked decay. The rats where his company now, he liked to talk to them so... they had such interesting conversations he thought. Laying on his back on top of a tomb of some old aristocrat Aracind rattled his fingers on the side of it. It was time. He had been sent the invitation that was true, many would be there... many who he had once loved but now hated with a passion.

He had lost himself in a creature that persuade him relentlessly, it had been the darkness, and it had engulfed him eventually like it was said it would. Throwing his legs to one side he stood up in the crypt and stood there for a moment or two thinking about the mistakes in his life, but then the being inside him destroyed his train of thought. He had lost his sanity.

Grabbing the long fur lined coat and his mask Aracind moved to the crypt door, resting his arms on either side of it. He stopped and gazed into the mask, Who am I? He kept looking Who am I? Where have I gone? Before putting the mask firmly on his face. It fitted so nicely.

The grass moved in a sordid motion as Aracind whisked through it and proceeded to lift from the ground and take to the air. The humid breeze met him mid flight and he smiled slightly for the first time since he had lost himself. His feet met the cobblestones of Ave Verum. Looking the building up and down he knew what lay inside.

Moving through the onlookers and partygoers Aracind kept to himself. Too many people disliked him in this party. Grabbing a glass of some intoxicating liquid he drank it quickly before putting it quickly back. Shadowing towards the back the damned one watched.

With another slight inclination of the head and appropriate thanks, Llehna received one of the glasses from him. Fingers twining beneath the bowl of the wine glass, her eyes danced a bit at the unguarded comment. He seemed in a less reflective mood than he had been in at their last meaning.

Twice before she had seen him - once very near the Amman headquarters, and then before that, at the party of one she had considered a friend - and spoken with him briefly. It was a different thing altogether to meet him in a more social climate.

"Yes, quite. He seems to have a flare for such things, in spite of his more reclusive ways. Speaking of 'recluse'... You have made yourself scarce. A pleasure to see you again."

Smilingly, she held the drink she had been handed, not tasting it at all. She was on something of a restricted diet, and neither wine nor pre-gathered blood were included in that. Still, she loved the colour, the smell... It held memories for her, as so many things seemed to do.

Her eyes ran over his form, curious. She loved to see what others would come up with for masques. It seemed there was high demand for insects and other such creatures.

Her golden rouged lips held a vague wariness. She felt someone enter... but the sensation was not overly broadcast to her, and the subtle tug at her consciousness was noted and passed over. It would not be, surely... Likely an imagined sense. Thus, Llehna ignored the sense that she had felt while Javert was pursuing Jean Valjean, or agan as Cinderella was enacted in living sound and colour.

"Not quite broken, is it? 'Thou shalt have to other God before me'. I suppose then you may worship a little beneath?"

The words were arrogant, but the good humor in eyes and facial expression clearly indicated that she was only joking.



Out in the warm night air, Tiffany hugged herself, sighing. Her cheeks were still flushed hotly, throat a pink colour as well. It was embarrassing, humiliating. She hoped she had done the right thing. Her leaving was not intended as abandonment... After all, it was proper that he stay, maybe. It was not good that someone had chided him. She felt a rebuked child, the disappointment seeping in now that she had exited teh suddenly close walls of Ave Verum. Such an occurence was the type of thing girls raised in families stringent with etiquette were horrified to even consider, and she had put Mitchifer through it.

Ooh, she should never have come. Warm moisture filled her eyes, blurring her vision for a moment. With a half-laugh at her childishness, she lifted her hands to carefully remove the masque from her face. Darting a finger under her left eye, she sniffed a bit, her eyes catching sight of the clutch in her hand along with the white dove's downy face. Missing a step, she just stood on the sidewalk, pressing the back of a hand to her cheek. She had given Mitchifer the key, and she could have simply let him in... Now she had no key. Squeezing her eyes shut, she took a deep breath, a ragged laugh that was almost tearful coming from her throat as she heard someone approaching. A flash of fear pierced her momentary mirth, but she heard Mitch's voice and matched his pace, grinning vaguely as he nudged her, giggling a bit at it all. It was embarrassing, but it was irreversable.

Sighing, she looked over to him.

"It's not your fault. I'm sorry I got you in trouble." She bit her lip.

"Do you think she will stay upset?" Looking ahead, she took another breath, and moved along with him, glad that he was not upset, at least.

A pale, slender dancer’s foot stepped from the two seat buggy to the pavement before the concert hall stairs. A waif of a woman followed her leading right foot as she glanced up at the magnificent Ave Verum.

”My goodness, it’s beautiful,” she breathed, pale green eyes widening as she took in the full beauty of the building. “Just look at it.”

Tess had made the executive decision that she was going out tonight. She’d argued with herself back and forth as to whether or not she should attend the Masquerade since she’d received her ticket, but finally she’d made the definite choice to attend.

Her costume was truly the result of life long inspiration. Her left arm was wrapped in the tight embrace of a black velvet sleeve that started mid-bicep and ended at her wrist. From here the sleeve broke into several straps that wound their way about her thumb and fingers. The left side of her dress was made of matching material, hugging her as tightly as her own skin. The bottom half of the velvet dress was sliced into straps of varying lengths; the longest of the cuts starting at her hip bone and running the length of her leg. The top of the dress was cut low, revealing a generous amount of cleavage that Tess found to be a little too much for such a public appearance.

The costume worn on the right side of her body was far different from the dress Tess wore on her left. A billowing silk sleeve, made of the purest white material, ran over her right arm and cascaded into a lace frill at her wrist. The body of the dress on this side was made of several layers of white silk. The layers slowly thinned away as the dress fell further and further down Tess’ body, diminishing at last to nothing more than a thin veil for her right shin.

Her hair was pulled back into seven corn-rowed-braids that met at the back of her head where the skull meets the spine. Here, her hair broke out into three large ringlets, centered on a small bun, and then fell in straight, shadowy lengths to her shoulder blades.

Her mask was the perfect accessory to her costume. It was the masks of Tragedy and Comedy, both made of wax and melted together to create a disfigured look. The colours of the mask were inverted with the colours of the dress, an effect meant to mimic the ying-yang symbol.

Tess had gone to the Masque as herself, a mixing of good and evil with a balancing of both.

She had also come to the Masquerade far later than she would have liked. She quick stepped her way up the stone stairs leading to the concert hall door, nearly tripping over a young boy at the top of the steps.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Henri de Lesang had arrived just in time to hear the last of Marcus’ speech from the front door of the concert hall.

He would have come sooner had his costume not taken so long to get ready. He was quite proud of his apparel this evening, having designed it himself.

It was the costume of a court jester, made from several bits of different materials all in burnt reds, yellows, and oranges, with black swatches and hints of gold and teal. The outfit was done in a traditional style: shoulders, neck line and collar bone covered by an eight pointed shawl, each point done in a different fabric and colour. The sleeves were likewise made of numerous pointed bits of cloth, the longest of which only reached to Henri’s elbows. The tunic was stitched from the longest pieces of cloth, mainly faded red, black and yellow strips, all of which ended in fine points.

The britches were the least mixed and matched portion of the ensemble. Henri’s right leg was made of a faded gold material while his right leg was sewn from a cut of teal cotton. The britches came to several more points at his knees, giving way to a pair of black tights.

Henri’s feet were adorned by a pair of thin, pointed slippers, the right foot made of a red fabric, the left of a brunt yellow material. To make the outfit a bit more playful, Henri had hand sewn bells on to each point adorning his costume, including his the pointed toes of his shoes, which jingled as he walked.

His mask, white with rosy red cheeks and lips, topped with peacock blue eyeliner and capped with half a dozen jingling points, was attached to a thin wooden rod to double as a Fool’s Head accessory.

The centuries old vampire who appeared to the entire world as a twelve year old boy stood ready to step into the main hall when a woman in black and white crashed into him from behind. The two landed in a heap just a few steps past the door man and instantly began to right themselves.

As soon as she was on her feet, Quintessa fixed the boy with a threatening glare.

“You would do well to stay out of my way for the remainder of the evening, boy.” she accented her point with a sharp hiss before sweeping inside the dance hall.

The door man helped Henri to his feet and instantly began to try to dust the boy off. Henri shrugged him away, assuring the servant that he was more than capable of maintaining his own image. With a quick brushing to prove his point, Henri made his way into the hall, still without one hair out of place.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Memphis made his way to the refreshments table and helped himself to a glass of AB-, first mimicking the motions of whine sampling, and then taking a hardier swig of the drink. He was delighting in the sheer presence of the other immortals this evening. He enjoyed watching them squirm under the appraising looks of their peers and their superiors, each person in attendance trying to out shine the rest.

At one moment Memphis had considered asking one such shining beauty to dance, if for no other reason than to see her reaction. He’d heard her name was Nafretiri from the hushed whispers floating about the concert hall, and although he’d only been in Demaitre for a short time, he’d heard some tales of her exploits. Memphis could honestly admit to himself that his real attraction to the woman was far from her beauty and much closer to her power. He’d fallen for a false god once – long ago – and could be easily tempted to fall for one again, however his object of desire was preoccupied tonight.

Memphis could see hints of unease edging at the corner of her calm façade, and so he chose to leave her to her contemplations – for the time being. Instead Memphis chose to attach himself, or at least attempt to attach himself, to another false god this evening.

The Nephim coven leader had chosen an interesting outfit for the Masque, and although he had all the outward makings of an impulsive youth this evening, there was some bit of aged potential hidden in the young man’s behavior.

Memphis made his way to Colton, as he believed the man’s name to be, his eyes intently trying to decipher the costume adorned by the Nephim leader.

“That is some outfit,” Memphis said as he came to stand before the coven leader. “I’ve been trying to figure it out for some time now.”

The ancient waited for the coven leader to reply. After an uneasy pause and seeing no response forthcoming, Memphis quickly sought a new line of conversation with the young man.

“I do think I have a chance at winning best dressed this evening, wouldn’t you agree,” five thousand years of near total silence made Memphis’ sarcasm more than weak. He glanced down at his shrunken pants and mud stained shirt before giving Colton a sheepish grin.

This is going to be a long night. he thought to himself. A very long night.

Lucius heard her speak, heard her gesture towards the wine he had given her and taken in every syllable of every breath whispered from her lips. He had kept himself away for some time it was true, keeping his thoughts and his emotions to only that which could hold them. Himself. Llehna was remarkable beyond belief she could read Lucius like an open book, which he had tried to conceal from many and had always succeeded, but this girl was different.

"No my dear I wish to remain anonymous, the public eye is not my place, but my study is a different matter" He had no physical study at all, the study he talked of was his mind and his reflection upon his hellish world.

"So the Amman have not welcomed me due to no reply?" He spoke with a hint italian in his words, he sipped his wine peacefully and sank into every breath that eased from her lips.



He had remained in the shadows, always in the damn shadows. Like some coward of which he was not, but in this instance he was a coward, there where too many powerful vampires. And one that he did not wish to lay eyes upon, one that had hurt Aracind to think about, to dig up the past. It’s in the past you fool the voice was ever present, Aracind was merely the desperate host for the creature within him.

With a thought and a flicker there was a young waiter with a cup of coffee for Aracind, it did nothing for him. But the heat was what he craved-
It was then he saw her, Llehna. Clenching his teeth in a passionless flame he wept inside, he had lost her when he held her in such high esteem. But now she was gone from him, all his companions where gone. The one called Bastet had left the city and had met her fate at the hands of one of the elders for her stunts at the party. It did not affect him. He was Aracind, the vampire. Immortal, emotionless. A killer.

Morrigan dragged Amadahy to the center of the dance floor. She took the role of the man and pulled Amadahy; she lifted her lips to the young one's ear.

"I know you love Bliss," Morrigan stated. Amadahy tried to step away, but Morrigan tightened her grip.

"I am not a fool," Morrigan said, the two were dancing beautifully. Despite the tension. "I'm sure you know I am not pleased with the fact Bliss created you. You were fine before the Blood took you. Bliss isn't one to just pick a mortal out of the random mob." Morrigan continued. Amadahy's brows pinched together. Where was Morrigan heading with this?

"Which leads to...why Bliss choose you," Morrigan stated. She lightened her grip alittle allowing Amadahy to breathe.

"I...don't know." Her eyes began to water. Why did Bliss choose her? She thought for love, but he belonged to Morrigan.

"I think he choose you for some bigger plan. I could be wrong! But that's not likely." Morrigan's words hurt Amadahy. The goth vampiress did not stare Morrigan in the face. She could not.

"Don't worry. I will not let him abuse you, I promise," Morrigan insured her. They came to a stop on the outside of the floor. Amadahy dared to look at Morrigan. She gasped. Her eyes were so dark.

"What do you mean?" Amadahy asked, shocked by the old one's promise.

"You cannot win his heart, young one. He is mine. But I will not let you be another one of his toys."

"I'm not-"

"His first? No, child. You're not." Amadahy let her gaze fall to her hidden feet. Morrigan kissed her cheek. "Honestly, you haven't been in my favor until recently."

Amadahy's eyes widened.

"There you are!" Bliss walked briskly to Morrigan's side. "You, two, dance very well."

Amadahy blushed slightly. Bliss chuckled at this and handed her a glass of fine blood. She accepted, not daring to mention the conversation she had with Morrigan.

"Dear?" He asked Morrigan, "Did you not want to meet other vampires?" He took her hand.

"Yes, let's do that," Morrigan said, cheerfully. She winked at Amadahy and walked away with Bliss.

Thanks for the help, Morrigan, but I don't want it. Thought the naive Amadahy.

Unlike most of the other vampires, Elena made her way to the masquerade by walking, like she always did. She wasn't quite sure where this place was, the Ave Verum, since she had never been there before, but it took her quite a while to find it. Although, she couldn't really use that as an excuse for being late, considering it was her oblivious nature that caused her to not check the time.

When receiving the invitation, Elena was absolutely delighted. She had been to these sort of big occasions only a couple of times, and she enjoyed them alot. After all, she had been bored out of her mind lately. Although, that was mostly her fault again, since she was spending so much time to herself ever since she had returned to the city.

The invitation had been from the Amman coven leader. Elena found this all the more special, even though she was pretty sure every vampire in Demaitre probably received one. Oh well, she could still pretend she was special, like she often tried to do, anything to boost her self-esteem really. On that note, she decided that she was going to really try hard to look good and act properly for the occasion, unlike how she usually threw herself together. The being late thing wasn't a good start, but at least her outfit was better than ordinary. Well, that was her opinion anyway.

The top was a strapless black corset, with a dark blue ribbon tying it together up her back. The material falling from the corset to Elena's feet was a dark blue, shiny satin with a touch of silver glitter on it, causing it to resemble the night sky. Elena was very happy with the dress, that seemed to fit her form perfectly and compliment her pale skin. On her hands were the same color of blue material gloves. Her shoes were rather simple black strappy heels, but would rarely be exposed beneath the length of her dress.

Elena wore her hair rather nicely tonight. She did wear it down as usual, but the rich brown straight locks had neat curls at the ends, giving her a slightly different look. The only other thing she added to it was a diamond barrette, clipped neatly on the side of her head. It matched the simple strand of diamonds she wore around her neck (she didn't much care for jewelry). The bit of makeup she wore was a tad of glitter around her eyes. And last but not least, her face was partially covered by a simple black mask to match her outfit for the evening.

Elena decided to feed before she came, so nothing could interrupt her evening. She knew too well what it was like to have to ruin a good time because of an appetite.

She finally arrived at the Ave Verum alone. Elena walked in, quickly remembering to place the mask on her face, and stepped inside. The building was quite large and in Elena's opinion, beautifully decorated. This was probably normal to some vampires she thought, but she definitely was more of one that spent their time on the streets and in abandoned buildings. She looked around wide-eyed, marveling at all the beautifully dressed people and the melodic music. Admiring all the vampires, it was hard for her to spot anyone she knew with all the masks and crowds of them. Elena knew where she would end up: leaning against a wall.

To avoid that situation as much as she could, Elena made her way over to the refreshment table, which was decked out in none other than blood. Although she wasn't very thirsty, she pretended to be deeply interested and contemplative of the many different blood types, occasionally glancing her violet eyes around for someone familiar.

Drakeon was very amazed at the little show that Marius made. It was really wonderfull to him. But he kept his little human act up, and looked for a familiar face. His gaze had went to his sire. Morrigan, wearing little to the immagination. He knew not this wild side to this extent, but did not act at all suprised. He watched her company carefully, as if aserting possible prey. They all faught over her. His disire to anger them grew to the point of almost breaking his act. Only she would regonize him like this. He was the way he was before the change, the makeup working very well, and he walked over, swinging his arms carefully in Morrigan's direction. He spoke to her in her mind, to give her a heads up. "Dear mother-" As he called her. "- please play along for a moment I am coming."

His exitment grew as he made his way, observing her company all the more with a level of intrest and loathing of the young, it made him sick. He liked it. His stride was now with an air of arragance, letting anybody know if they stil thought he to be mortal, nearly found his vampire invitee. The leather coat beconed at his sides, and made him look like he was floating from behind. Practiced and human to the art.

He wondered sometimes, as his gaze locked on hers for a moment, that if he was to good at being human, and had forgotten what he really was. He diregarded this, as he bowed to her breaking the gaze he had, and even added fear to fool her company. They must think him to be moral in his game, but he would soon find out. It was even better feeling knowing they would have to play nice when they did realize him. At the same time he still eventually wanted them not to hate him, but would they even hate?

He rose from his bow. "My dear Moriggan, you bless me with your presance again." He emphasized the word with as much power as he could, and still hold his act together, craving the reaction almsot as much as blood...almost...

"Who are your guests?" He finaly gave them notice, still with that humanlike fear in him. As if not wanting to know them. How hypocritical the moment was!

Morrigan felt a tickle in her brain. It was Drakeon. He was up to something. Grand! She was always amused by his games. With a light push of the hand she released herself from Bliss. He tilted his head towards her, confused. Amadahy rushed to his side. She wore a fake grin.

"What is it, dear?" Bliss asked. Before Morrigan could answer a mortal stepped up to them. Bliss looked at the male as if bitten. A mortal? Were they invited? Were they food? Bliss looked the lad up and down. Something was not right. He should have sensed the presence of a vampire, but Bliss's self-centeredness kept him from it. Amadahy stared at the man still looking very bored.

"Hello! It is good to see you, again," Morrigan greeted Drakeon. She pulled him lightly to her side and patted his back. Her eyes shot Bliss a look that said "Don't be rude. Shake his hand." Bliss offered his hand and nodded.

"This is Bliss, a fedgling of mine. And this,"-she gestured to Amadahy-"is Amadahy, his child. Both of you, this is Jack." Morrigan smiled, acting as if treating a mortal as a friend was common. She was not sure if giving his real name was a good idea. I know, Jack is a silly name for you. Morrigan sent Drakeon a little message.

"Amadahy?"

"Yes?" Amadahy's smile had become genuine. This mortal man's fear was a little amusing.

"Do you care to dance with this young man?" Morrigan had to hold back a laugh. "Don't break him, dear!"

Amadahy was taken aback. She was a vampiress! Dance with a mortal? Oh, well...she could try biting him.

Istar Indora was silent as the grave, arms crossed over his chest. The Arabic-Afro-American "young"man looked toward the stage even despite the darkness. Indora’s night vision was superb, however despite Marcus’s misgivings about those gifted with vampiric night vision, it turned out he was incorrect. The other immortal’s movements had been so fast, so concise and purposeful that Istar had seen only a blur of motion and then the other’s figure.

Such a thing had been a surprise if ever there was one, and with that surprise Istar felt his skin shudder.

The feeling that so pervaded him, Istar suddenly felt it increase. It was a sharp increase, as if a cup had already been full, but more liquid was added anyway. Liquid however was not the feeling, it was not a sloshing feeling or even nausea as it had been outside of the Ave. Verum. No, now the feeling was a heat, a warm sensation. It moved across his skin like a summer breeze, yet he felt it more keenly than he now felt breezes, summer or otherwise.

Istar looked at Marcus; it seemed he couldn’t look away. He heard his voice, not only in his ears, but his head. It was unnerving to say the least, but also it was annoying. Istar had been shielding, damn it he had been shielding as best he could, and still the voice in his head was as sure as the one in his ears. Damn!

He wanted to shout, but that wasn’t the brightest or most polite of ideas. Instead he decided to simply accept things as they came.

Suddenly Istar couldn’t help but lean back harder against the room’s back wall, as he had been since entering. He had only glanced at the stage and a few of the faces filling the expanse coming in, but now he was watching Marcus and the expression he wore wasn’t completely hostile or particularly friendly.

With the man’s voice in his head, Indora also couldn’t manage neutral, instead his expression was one of annoyance, his usual confidence, yet touched with a shard of the fear he felt.

Istar admitted this fear to himself, but he’d be damned if he showed it, and he sure wasn’t about to lie down. Not for anyone, even those that affected him the way Marcus did, those that made his mind scream... Powerhouse.

With Marcus’s remark of civility, Istar unfolded his arms, and his right hand fell to the cane that was leaning against the wall beside him. He gripped it, ran fingers over the well molded wolf’s head and seemed almost to stroke the metallic fur with his finger tips. Suddenly wrapping his fingers around the metal, Istar lifted the cane, promising himself that he would not let go of it again.

Marcus was powerful enough to ask for civility and to be caught off guard while expecting it. Istar wasn’t so lucky, he would hope for civility among the others, but he’d be prepared in just in case. Prepared for anything, he hoped.

Listening to the speech end, and watching the host for a few moments even after he had left the stage, Istar wasn’t so sure how he felt about this whole Masquerade thing. Oh, he was sure that he was still creeped out, by immortal concentration of this magnitude. But he also now found himself curious, curious about the others; curious about their stories, their ages, and their first hand accounts of history.

Alex had been a great teacher, stirring her fledgling’s curiosity, and it was the curious student within, Hitman, Istar Indora that made him see opportunity. All of this was a heck of an opportunity. That was if anyone would even talk to him, and if he didn’t die.

Survival superseded curiosity though, and this was point as Istar Indora proceeded carefully, moving gracefully through the gathering of immortals before him.