Eyes. Hard as steel and just as cold, they travelled around the room; a mire of brooding darkness. "Merde!" Roughly brushing (or rather kicking) the drunken man aside Téran cursed softly, glaring down at the sopping mess an upset cup of something left in his lap. The liquid, a curious red substance, slid down his leg slowly, dripping onto the floor with wet little smacks. His attempts at brushing them off were to no avail, for already dark patches had seeped into his pant legs, producing the oddly amusing effect that he had wet himself.

Still mumbling dire curses under his breath he leaned forward, hands tightening around a fistful of material and viciously jerking. The sound or cloth tearing reverbrated around the room, silencing its rowdy inhabitants before rising, again, to full volume. Well... what had he expected, coming to this place? It had looked quaint and somewhat familiar.. a misleading quality he'd discovered once he stepped into the place.

"Disgusting.. filthy humans." This accompanied by a resigned sigh he set the cup to an upright position and commenced cleaning his trousers with a piece someone's shirt.

The door opened to the dingy little tavern. A woman stood in the entrance way. She brushed a strand of cyan hair from her face as her legs moved her to a stool that was near Téran. Her liquidy blue eyes moved to the red substance the made its way down Téran's pants. She had an incredible urge to suck it right from his pants, thinking it was blood. Daphne bared her fangs at the bartender, giving him the idea he should serve her. She spoke in an almost hypnotizing voice.

"Bloody Vodka, but please, use real blood."

As the bartender set the down the glass of a thick, red liquid, Daphne smiled with pleasure. Blood, it was a wonderful thing. Of course, it tasted much better when it was to be sucked from the punctured holes that her fangs would create, but she needed permission from her coven leader who was too far away to bother with at that moment. She turned to Téran with intrest. Daphne greatly wanted to know what coven he came from. Again, using her enchanting voice that just seemed to happen, she spoke to the vampire.

"What coven do you reside in? Or are you a loner who prefers to be independent?"

Her blue eyes stared at the vampire, awaiting her question to be answered.

Téran smiled, as though almost having read her thoughts. Sucking from anyplace was good.. wasn't it? ( xD Pardon for the dirty joke.. )

Familiar with the ways of Command he smiled, gesturing lightly for her to seat herself closer. "Nephim." The solitary word uttered quietly, yet plainly heard above the babble of voices. Giving himself some time he glanced curiously at her, eyes taking in the blue-tinted hair with a mild arch of one brow. "You?"

A smile moved across Daphne's face as Téran motioned her towards him. Standing up from her seat, she moved towards Téran and took the seat next to him. A hiss emitted from her pink lips. She hoped the bartender would figure she wanted a refill.

"Well sir, I am of the Tarepha coven."

Again the urge to take the blood from his pants appeared, but again she resisted herself.

(Sorry its so short)

"Mmn.. Tarepha? You don't strike me as one of them.." He smiled humorlessly, tapping the counter to indicate that another drink was due. "Why aren't you out feeding on fresh ones? You know the bottled kind is dreadfully stale."

Nephim didn't like to drink dead blood, it's true. His drink was simply alcohol, though it was not easily distinguishable from real blood. Sipping pensively he dabbed at the still moist areas of his trousers, tossing the rag aside after a few moments. No good, the stain would stay there, and for good. Time to get new pants.

A tall pail man enters the Tavern. He his long black hair that covers his face, he uses this to hide his fangs. His coat is extremaly long even for a vampire, under you can see a gold chain that holds a cross on it with silver ingraved on it. He smells more than just puny mortals, so he moves swiftly across the room and sits at a table near the back of the room to ponder on who will be his next meal and who are the vampires.

fealing that he might get better pickings some where else. He leaves to find another place to find more suitable for him than these puny mortals who are drunk and fat. He flys off.

"I would love to feed on blood of the living, but I need permission from my master, Jonah. He does not let us feed without his consent and he is too far away to ask right now." Daphne sighed. How she longed for the taste of warm, fresh blood.

Daphne really disliked cold, dead blood as well. But, with Jonah gone, she hath no permission. She took a sip of her dead blood and made a discusted look. But she had to make do with the blood she had. She hadn't fed in over a week, so the blood was very precious to her. "So, what is Nephim like? I heard all the covens are very different.."

"Ah, a pity. There seems to be an abundance of humans hereabouts." His smile was almost mocking. Lifting the newly arrived glass of alcohol he raised it to his lips, taking a miniscule sip before setting the glass down again. What fun was drinking if you couldn't even get a hang-over from it? Strangely enough the pounding headaches seemed to suit him.

Masochist.

"There's not much to say about the Nephim." He shrugged in reply to her inquiry, absently tracing a groove in the wooden counter. "Most of us prefer to hide out in the shadows or our coven. You know how the light irritates our eyes." Téran gestured to the pair of dark glasses beside his drink, abandoned as, fortunately, the dingy tavern did not offer much in the way of bright, blinding light. "I suppose we like to keep to ourselves.... What of your clan?"