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It hadn’t taken long for the Justicar to reach the tower stairs that lead up, spiraling towards the upper floors where the Hellfire was nestled away behind velvet ropes. Heels clicking against marble steps as he made the ascent. Maneuvering around revelers coming down, turned away at the door for not being on the so-called “list” the door man kept a close eye on. He wasted little time moving past the line that seemed to be forming outside the entrance as a tall, burly looking Gangrel with dark, spiky hair and a gruff snarl to his voice argued with those standing in line who tried to bribe and plea with him to let them past. A younger version of the first standing next to the older Gangrel, arms crossed over his chest as mismatched eyes watched the other place a large hand on the current person in line’s chest and push the argumentative mortal back with controlled force.

Wasting little time and never slowing his step he flashed the special token he had received. The younger Gangrel eyed it while the older was still busy before jutting his thumb past and unhooking the rope that seperated the bar, once he was through the rope was replaced until the next special guest made their appearance.

A short hallway to pass through and soon Armistice was awash is shadow and a low light. The room awash in the blood red shade of the atmosphere, almost as if one were wading through a haze of vitae. It was classy, decadent, a veritable feast for the eyes and his crimson gaze swept over everything. Meticulous in his inspection of the establishment. Moving through the more thinned out crowd that had been allowed entrance into the large area.

This was where the elite of the elite, the top Kindred were only allowed and it showed. Though he couldn’t quite place certain attendee’s there were small tells here and there that allowed him to make a generalized and perhaps more well informed guess at who lay behind the mask. Armistice was nothing if not attentive to the mannerisms and features of those he interacted with, if only to commit to memory for later use and recognition in his work.

It wasn’t lost on him that as he made his way to a booth settled within an alcove of a wall that he drew a lot of attention and gazes as he moved gracefully past. Those seated at their own booths, tables or at the bar. Quietly slipping into the booth it wasn’t long before a waiter sauntered by, stopping to take a drink order from the Justicar. Thankfully the host seemed to have spared no expense when it came to the liquor as well. But as the waiter scurried off another slipped into the booth beside Armistice. Shoulder length, deep burgundy hair curled around a black raven mask. A right eye obscured by darkness as the bright ruby of the left glowed. The other vampire dressed not too elegantly but passable enough in his red silk shirt, black tie and patterned red overcoat. Leaning into the Justicar’s side, the vampire’s head turned so that the mask faced away from the open space of the room. A hand gliding up to swipe claws along the Justicar’s jaw line before fingers trailed down his throat. Curling and caressing against the smooth cut surface of the emerald. As if the pair were sharing an intimate moment of whispers only meant for them. The waiter returned shortly, leaving a bottle of wine and two glasses having seen the other join Armistice, though a small smile graced his dark emerald lips in amusement, as if the other had been whispering a joke just between the two of them. Taking the bottle, he poured himself a glass but left the other empty as he continued to listen, the only visible part of his face giving away nothing more than amusement despite what was being relayed to him. Taking a casual sip of his wine he let out a soft hum in response to what was perhaps a question.

A gloved hand coming up to wrap around the wrist of the hand that toyed with the jewel at his throat, lowering it to the table where he held it there with minimal effort, fingers tapping against it in a slow, rhythmic fashion. His gaze still casually sweeping across the room of what he could see from where he was seated. It was bad timing on the other’s part but then….who would truly know what was being relayed to the Justicar in that moment?

The hand lifted away from the table, trailing fingers along the Justicar’s jaw once more before the figure slipped away. Standing and straightening his over coat and bowing slightly at the waist. A wide grin flashing at the Justicar as that single red eye burned, madness lingering on the edges of its depths. “Your Grace.”

“Demi.” Lifting the glass to his lips he took a sip as his gaze followed the other vampire while he made his way through the bar, disappearing as quickly as he had come. The corners of the Justicar’s painted lips tugged down slightly before that supple pout eased as he allowed the wine to spread across his tongue. Enjoying its heady flavor. A favorite of his no less.

It really was a very nice wine.

Arriving without a little drama had never been Arianna's style. These events were...places to see and be seen. And now, she had someone on her arm to show off, which was always the fun part. Some might have thought she lowered herself, selecting a Brujah partner. Arianna thought that Aistra was a delight, and a man who knew exactly how to treat her like the princess she was.

And although she had come separate from the rest of the...hive, as it were, she still wore a mask that showed where her allegiances lay. Black, with gold honeycomb decorations and bees hovering around the edges, paired with a flowing black dress decorated with a garden of roses. Her hair was teased into a careful updo, decorated with yet more gold flowers.

It wasn't hard to spot Mithras himself; ever surrounded by plenty of people. But she could network later. For now....

"The west wing, I think. It should be more than enjoyable." The VIP area itself would be restricted to those of high enough rank, and she wasn't there. Not yet. But there was still plenty of networking to be done, and plenty of knowledge (and idle, entertaining gossip, couldn't discount that) to be brought back to the boss.

The scent of one of Ravnos's signature cigars was a familiar comfort. However, the smell of cloves, spice, and citrus never failed to bring back memories of their first encounter a little over two years prior, a time already so different from how things now were. It was a time when he could see all, sense all vampire-kind, and feel their numbers begin to dwindle as, one by one, they had been steadily slaughtered.

All to sate another deity's boredom.

Already he could feel the presence of some of his Disciples that had arrived. Espen and Zalaam, as they had acknowledged Grendel's presence, recieved a nod in return, and a slight raise of his goblet as if to salute them, the faint whisper of his voice in their mind bidding them greeting and a promise to catch up with them later, should his time allow. Both of the Disciple's presence was a welcome surprise, as Grendel knew such gatherings were likely out of their comfort zones.

"Your work as well, " he said aloud, his voice like the deep rumble of thunder before the storm, even while his mind drifted through the mansion, a quick scan of all those present. "I would not have come so far without you."

He had seemed like he might say more, but his mouth suddenly shut, his eyes narrowing slightly. He turned his body more toward Ravnos and leaned down toward his ear to murmur. "We will have company in a moment...those who perhaps you once knew have resurfaced recently. Do not be alarmed."

After saying the words, he turned again, his burning gaze honing in on Abel and his flashy companion as he raised his goblet and took a long drink, watching them.

It had been one of these end of the year parties that had greeted Artemis when she first woke from Torpor into a new world.

That had been several turns ago now, of course, and this year, instead of entering alone, she entered with Veddartha at her side--an improvement in circumstances that it was difficult to quantify.

She had not realized how much she missed him, until he was returned to her. How much she had tried to fill loneliness and boredom with other lovers, seeds sown and discarded into the wind. But he was back. And things felt, in a way, right, in a way they had not since she emerged.

Perhaps her outfit was not overtly ostentatious, though it wasn't without flair--her mask, gold with winding antlers, would certainly catch eyes, and her dress flowed just so, shimmering with gold carefully woven into the layered-over fabric and granting a hint of the bejweled bustier beneath. Subtle displays. Or, as subtle as she was capable of.

She scanned the party, and a wry smile drew itself across her face.

"It seems one of your Childer is here, beloved. And causing quite the scene." But then, that was Mithras's way, wasn't it?

She wondered if any of the others were here. How many ancient creatures moved through this house tonight.

“As you wish.” Sounding more like the Dread Pirate Robert’s than a ninja, Aistra chuckles softly. Escorting his glittering mate across the threshold and through several rooms he grins. He’s well aware he is eye candy for his mate to show off. Though in his opinion she far outshines him. As they move he looks for other Brujah’s. He has goals and aspirations. One of which is to move up through the ranks. More so he looks out for them as a whole. His… devotion… to the Ventrue beauty hasn’t changed that. She simply became one of his aspirations. He has no doubt she will go far within her own clan. Their… relationship… as it were only adds to their respective capabilities.

Nodding to key creatures and smiling charmingly, Aistra keeps his eyes scanning for key networking of the Brujah’s. So far he hasn’t seen either of the active Elders. Granted, in masks he could easily glide right by them. Scent, scent is going to be one way to identify anyone tonight. Even if everyone’s scents are mashing together.

When they reach the West Wing he focuses less on which clansmen are around and more on the sexy vivacious woman on his arm. “Care for a drink my dear? Or something else in mind?”

A party.

Normally, Vlad did not consider himself the type to attend parties. He had, once, when he had been a young, handsome aristocrat with charm and ego to spare. He was less young, now, though if you asked the right people, no less handsome, and at least his looks had been frozen when he still had some charm.

Most would not recognize him anyway, he suspected, but his simple mask provided an extra layer of anonymity, and if he had chosen an outfit that highlighted his physique, well. This was a flashy Toreador party. To have shown up in dour furs, as might have been his preference, would have been to stand out far more than....adapting to modern styles, as it were.

Still, he had claimed a table in the VIP lounge--certainly none could bar him, not now that he and Grendel had made their bargain.

He swirled his drink, scanning the crowd. Flashy. Dramatic. Not nearly enough of his Dragons, but there had never been many of them. Perhaps this new world, with its new god and new order, was an opportunity to change that.

Vlad supposed such a thing would be...quite pleasant, were it to come to fruition.

It was quite the ordeal to get to where he wanted to go. Through the West Wing of the manor, past private rooms and some fancy areas that he paused momentarily to glance over before moving on. Most of the followers he had arrived with stayed behind, though he noted that a few of the younger vampires amongst them had chosen to go to the East wing instead. As he made his way to the base of a long flight of stairs, one hand went to the inside breast pocket of his jacket, feeling for the token within as his gaze drew upward, his feet soon following. He did not know quite what to expect once he reached the top, though he was confident it would be extravagant to the extreme, perfect for one such as himself, and yet...

Expected. And when one lived so long as him, one did grow bored of the expected.

Upon reaching the entrance to Hellfire, he bypassed the lines and withdrew his hand from his pocket to flash his token. A quick glance behind him showed the few in bee masks who had followed behind, curious and expectant.

He turned back toward the ones manning the entrance, catching the attention of whichever were not so busy. At that moment, he drew upon his powers of persuasion that his Discipline allowed, though only enough to impress upon the much younger vampire words he did not want him to forget. "Those with masks such as mine." He pointed with one long, golden claw, tapping at the mask just beneath his eye before gesturing at those behind him. "They are with me and should be allowed entrance."

With that taken care of, he made his way inside, head turning as his eyes took in all the splendour of Hellfire, the private area for Hemlock's most elite vampires, awash in a red glow that glimmered off the gold that adorned him. The token slipped back into his pocket, he looked around at those now present, though it seemed at this time only a few had yet to arrive. Servers strode to and from the bar, and the tables or booths that were set against the walls. Mithras briefly considered finding one to slip into himself but dismissed the thought. Better to make himself visible first, lest there be anyone about who wished to do business with him...presuming they could recognize him, of course.

Making his way instead to the bar, he held up a hand to hail the bartender over. "Your finest red, please." He smiled, a flash of brilliant white beneath his mask, and then he half turned outward, an elbow resting atop the bar as he again scanned the room, eyes lingering over those who were stood in groups or couples, chatting, drinking, laughing, but after a moment, his drink arrived, and he reached for it, twisting the stem between two fingers as he watched the interactions.

And briefly, a pang of something long forgotten dug its way into his chest, a sense of emptiness, of wanting, and he turned his eyes down, staring at the red of his wine through the fine crystal glass, comparing it to the colour of a certain pair of eyes he had not seen in far too long. A wry smile slanted his lips for a fleeting moment before he raised the glass to his lips for a drink, allowing the full-bodied wine to slip over his tongue and roll smoothly down his throat.

Gods. He really needed to find a distraction.