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It was THE event of the year and Azriel had absolutely NO plans to miss the affair this year. Once the announcement of the day and time of the New Year’s party we announced he went into instant prep mode. Making sure his hair looked its most lustrous, deciding on what clothes he would be wearing —knowing full well there would be a club scene there with a lot of hot people milling about, primping and polishing himself to pure perfection.

Though in his mind there was honestly little they needed to be done to improve his already perfect appearance. But it gave him the excuse to spend gobs of money and maybe not everything that was purchased was meant for this evening.

Either way he knew he looked amazing.

Donning a white mask threaded through with elaborate gold patterns. Topless, save for a black and gold corset that barely came up to cover his pierced nipples and tight little leather shorts that left little to spare to the imagination. Knee high boots that gave him just the littlest bit of height but still made his shapely legs look sexy as all get out. Fishnet covering sun kissed thighs and a black collar with a glittery red rose adorning the front as more roses weaved around the crown of his head, expertly placed within the pale strands of hai r. Gold chains wrapping around his elegant throat to dangle against a well formed exposed chest. There would be no eye that did not linger on him tonight the Toreador was sure. Dress to impress, dress to inspire. Dress to tease and tempt and lure.

The Toreador was there to be the center of attention. Having arrived early, forget being fashionably late that was so last season. Plus it guaranteed he got the best spot in the club to sit and watch from the upper level of the east wing that overlooked the dance floor. Waiting to see if he could pick out a particularly dazzling Toreador who had caught his attention recently while still getting an eyeful of all those hotties coming and going. Sweeping back long white hair that hung loose along his shoulders and down his back he gave a lithe stretch of his body upon the lounger he was currently seated. An all too familiar scene that would definitely remind a certain someone of how they first met, only this time he was not sprawled across the lap of any stranger.

No, there was only one lap he wished to sprawl across lately and hopefully he would make his delicious self appear soon. Az didn’t want to miss a second gobbling up the other’s time this evening while he could. Was he a bit obsessed? Yes. Was it perhaps a little unhealthy? Also yes. Did he care? ******** no. Dazzle was a treasure and one he enjoyed greatly keeping all to himself. It couldn’t be helped. There was no denying that the other Toreador had a passion that called to him, that drove him utterly and desperately wild. Azriel often dove head first into his own vices and Dazzle ticked all the boxes for him. s**t forget ticking, he filled those boxes up to near bursting.

Excitement danced in his golden gaze as a smirk curled his lucious lips, a fang slipping free from his upper lip as he casually sipped at a drink he had plucked off a passing waiter’s tray as he had made his way to the upper floor.

—---


Vagabond wasn’t even entirely sure why he had come to this whole event. He wasn’t fancy like some of those in attendance and while he was used to the club scene he had to be in a rather particular mood to want to dance. Oftentimes the dance floor felt too crowded, too claustrophobic with all those sweaty, writhing bodies pressed up against him. No, he preferred the open air of the streets when he could. The cool darkness of back alleys where one could simply lurk and…be.

And perhaps find a little bit of trouble to get into in the process.

He had decided not to really go out on his appearance for the party. Simply donning a plain black mask that swept across his golden eyes. It was the only required bit of dress code required so he felt no need to change up his usual garb. Though maybe he did add a few extra touches here and there, to “fancy” it up just the tiniest bit. Though he wasn’t too sure anyone could call a fishnet top under his black and red jacket and some extra earrings, rings and necklaces fancy. He didn’t look like he had rolled out of a gutter that was for sure.

Snagging a drink off a server’s tray he meandered for a time amongst the throng of party goers. Listening, watching. And when it all started to become far too much for him he slipped out of the mansion, wandering through the relatively peaceful quiet of the open air patio and stepping out into the chilly night air of the moonlit garden with its smattering of small snow patches.

The year would be turning soon. Another year of existence. Another year of immortality. To most here he was practically a baby in comparison to his time as an immortal. s**t, he’s been a mortal longer than he’d been a Kindred in all honesty. What a trip though. It had opened up so many little doors here and there for him. And even though he had little memory of who had turned him, just the aching burn in his veins, the hunger and having to learn to traverse this other, darker veiled side of the world he wouldn’t change it for the world.

It had been tough, but he was made of tougher stuff than that.

Wandering a little ways from the noise that seemed to spill out from the party he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket pulling out a carton of cigarettes and tapping one out. Igniting his lighter that illuminated his pale face, gold eyes glowing as he inhaled and the cherry flared to a brilliant red until he pulled it from his lips and let a steady stream of smoke pass through his lips as he lifted his gaze to the starry, winter sky. Watching as dark clouds scuttled across the inky midnight black.

Reminding him of familiar black feathers and the clacking of sharp, black beaks. Keen black eyes that watched curiously with an intelligence behind them that spoke volumes behind the personality behind them.

Maybe the little cracker loving feather brains were growing on him. Slipping the carton back into his pocket he gave a light chuckle as a packet of crackers brushed against his fingertips. Clearly he was going soft.

It had seemed almost like an eternity had passed since the last time Ravnos had milled about among Kindred society, though he did from time to time visit the Kumpania to check up on his clan mates. But for the most part his time was spent traveling with his beloved or lingering about the temple — as had been the case for quite a while now. Grendel had taken up another mission of bolstering the rank and file of his followers. Selecting new Disciples for new Clans that had begun to branch away and form under new leaders. It was to be expected that the Deity would be gone for short spans of time, busy with his work. But Ravnos understood that a God’s work was never truly done, there was always something that pulled him away. Matters among his followers, dealings with other deities or higher beings in places that he could not follow.

But he took comfort in the knowledge that his most beloved would return to him once he could.

So it was, he kept himself busy with his own Clan, their children and perhaps a bit of five finger discounts here and there. Though his newest venture seemed to be a heavy interest in delivery trucks that oddly enough would break down close-ish to the temple. Full of pillows. And oh how could he resist such an opportunity? He was a lucky vampire indeed.

As the end of the year drew ever closer he knew that the invitation to the Toreador party would arrive. And so it was to be a masquerade party. All the better for picking pockets when no one knew who you were just from the sight of you. But then, arriving with the God of all Vampires was surely to give him away right off the bat. The evening required a certain type of dress he was certain, so Ravnos had shed his usual attire of patterned folds of fabrics and trinkets for something a bit more appropriate. A subdued patterned jacket over a white shirt open to the navel, black slacks and a patterned scarf about his neck. Gold necklaces hung low across his chest and of course his usual rings and a few gold bracelets about his wrists. And the ever cherished black ring with the blood red stone set in it. Long dark hair hung in a loose rope over his shoulder, secured by several bands of fabric and laced with gold beads, strands of hair framing his face charmingly and a simpler black mask set across his face.

Green eyes glowed as he cast a warm glance up to his companion as they appeared from the Deity’s hand wavey mode of travel. “It seems the Toreador have upgraded a bit for this year, no?” Letting his gaze cast about the elegant foyer he could appreciate the effort in which their host had gone to. Though he much preferred the more welcoming and comfortable side of the temple.

He had yet to spot any that he might assume to his of his own clan, but the evening was still early. And he expected at least a few to show themselves anyhow. It wasn’t necessarily their type of party so he couldn’t really hold it against them for not being here.

Though the itch to go poking about niggled at the back of his mind just a touch. Who knew what the Toreador had hidden away in unlocked drawers or behind paintings….

—---


Had a year really gone by? Time certainly seemed to be flying by lately, but then to someone as old as the Justicar time really held no significance. The last time he had been here Armistice had newly arrived in Hemlock, back on the trail of a certain Methuselah that the council so desperately wanted.

But that council was gone and even more aggravating was that a new one had yet to establish itself so far. He had hoped by the time he had returned from the Cathedral there would be order, new bodies at the table, a new leader in the high throne. By the time he had felt he’d lingered long enough, much longer than he had initially thought he would be there, there was still no clear idea of what this new council would be. As it was everything had come to a standstill.

The Justicar’s hands were tied until order was restored, new orders were given and old were reviewed with possible revisions. ******** buracrasy at its finest.

So at least this year he could somewhat enjoy himself, a bit of a sabbatical as it were for however long although his keen eye was always watching. Carefully scrutinizing and mentally noting things to look into later. Just because the Council was in tatters didn’t mean he could just idly sit by and do nothing. They would be calling soon enough he was certain.

Arriving at the mansion, he stepped from the town car, red gaze sweeping up the front of the venue. Anyone looking at it would simply believe it were a normal, run of the mill holiday party. Not a place teeming with vampires. Of course, Armistice was dressed to the nines as he always did at these types of events. A sleek, silver satin dress left little to the imagination as it clung to his figure, dropping deep in the back to expose his spine while a slit up the side to the hip revealed sheer, black thigh high stockings with lace around the top. Black heels with a small plume of feathers up the back as well as black feathers that draped around his shoulders and spread up to cradle around his neck and jaw. A black, satin choker around his elegant throat with a large, green emerald centered at the front, a simple piece of jewelry but no less elegant. Black arm length gloves with another band of smaller emeralds around his wrist. Black and white hair was half up, gathered in loops at the back of his head while the unbound half draped in long waves down his back, smaller strands curled around the sides of his face. An elegant bird shaped mask covered the upper half of his face but looking close enough one could see a light green shade of color dusted around crimson colored eyes and line in black that swooped out into a sharp pointed line. A deep, emerald green shade upon his lips contrasting with his pale skin.

Tonight was a night to be himself, obscured from most by the mask. Most didn’t know him personally and those that did typically saw him in his usual suit.

Casually he strode through the throng of revelers, chin lifted slightly, steps sure as he moved through the crowds. His gaze carefully swept about each room he wandered through. Taking in those he could quite possibly pick out easily enough. Though there was only one he was really watching for.

Heading towards the West Wing he was awash in elegant, decadence. A fitting place to linger for one such as he. The Ventrue wasn’t one for the club scene, too much nobility and breeding ran through his veins to debase himself in such a fashion. No.

Cutting through the open spaces of the West Wing he made his way down along a long hallway where signs had indicated the direction of The Hellfire. Passing past door after door of what he could only assume were the private sitting rooms that were likely mostly full already with any number of vampires enjoying a more private setting away from prying eyes.

Wondering briefly to himself how many tradition breakers lingered behind those doors.

It was not the Banu Haqim way to dabble in clan politics or attend parties, and yet, that evening a curious presence had arrived. An assassin was drifting through the crowd, dark-cloaked and skeleton-masked.

Though he was covered and supposedly unrecognisable, at least to the common rabble that littered the halls, he carried with him always an aura of blood and steel. He was a shadow, a reminder that though unlife had been granted, it was his hand, and the hand of his kin that would take it should they ever let bloodlust consume them.

Zalaam, Disciple of the Banu Haqim, was curious and ever watchful. The world of vampires was getting messier, with clans popping up, clawing their way into existence. It brought complications and potential friends and foes.

And so here he was, a sheathed blade, one step from returning to the shadows, but for now, simply witnessing what the vampiric world had become.

What better night than this full his evening with dancing, drinking and all sorts of debauchery. The three big Ds. Though by the end of it all, or maybe even a few times through out Rude hoped maybe for a fourth, or a fifth, perhaps even a sixth. Who knew? He was feeling generous. There honestly was no other place hopping this evening like the Toreador’s party. All others seemed to compare though he was certain he could find something possible if he looked hard enough.

But this place had no lines, not that he typically stood in them anyhow. And there was any number of hot as ******** looking vamps sauntering about.

And the Clanless was here for ALL of it.

Well…most of it.

As soon as he entered the mansion, sporting his best and most sparkly club gear along with a mask that flickered and glowed through a series of rainbow colors he made a straight beeline for the East Wing. Avoiding the absolute snob feet of the West Wing.

At least for now. He could certainly find himself some rich sugar daddy for the night if he so wish.

But for now the thrumming beat of the music called to his inner, darkest beast. Excitement ripping through him as he breached the doorway into that particular side of the mansion, music deafening, lights flashing, colors swirling. Taking in a deep, unnecessary breath, he let it out in a sigh of pure exaltation. This was where he would spend much of his evening. Making his way through the seating area, blowing kisses to those hot enough to grab his attention as he passed, Rude slipped out onto the dance floor. Melting into the gathering, writhing mass of bodies that bumped and slid sensually against one another.

This was bliss. This was ecstasy. The perfect start to his hopefully perfect last evening of the year.

There would only be one thing that could make it better.