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Marko Cain last won the day on April 12

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About Marko Cain

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  1. NEW ORLEANS (Around the city) New Orleans has always been the kind of place that offers everything and more. True to his word Marko led Erica on a tour, personalized by his half of a millennia of unlife, the likes of which she could not have purchased anywhere. He took her by all the usual places but sneaked her around the corners, into the nooks and crannies where tales and secrets only someone who really knew, could tell. Then he took her to places that were not on any tour routes, the places only the old folks knew about, the mysteries and folk lore that were kept close to the chest and guarded by the locals. In these places Marko drew looks from old white haired men and women whose heyday had been long, long since past. If Erica noticed the looks, some of dread and fear, others still of hatred, or the subtle crossing or the warding from the evil eye of the superstitious, she gave no notice, but was appropriately flabbergasted and amazed at Marko and the display he gave her. They lunched at a small out of the way creole restaurant where they were the only two white people in the place and were treated like they were royalty and regaled with stories and culture like they were and would be part of the family. Time was forgotten as they combed the city and Marko was all but lost in his memories telling tales that had been dim afterthoughts in his mind of bygone eras and fallen empires, but today he seemed revisit them with renewed intensity like they were just yesterday. The sun began to set and they dined at what he considered the finest restaurant in New Orleans then they walked back to Erica’s hotel. It was in an old building had been standing since before the civil war. It had been a brothel back in the 1800's and Marko killed three men out back and wondered if there was still one buried in the bricked up space deep in the cellar. He decided to leave that off the tour. Today, it was a small hotel with less than twenty rooms. A square building surrounding an inner court yard with a well-maintained garden. It was peaceful and quiet and Marko found himself a bit surprised when Erica took his hand and silently led him up the stairs to her rooms. Neither said a word as she opened her door, he barely noticed that it hadn’t been locked, and she gently pulled him inside. The room was decorated in tasteful ways and while modern, did have a sort of old world feel about it. It was comfortable, consisting of a living room/bedroom with a large walk in closet/dressing room, and a large bathroom. There was no kitchenette which would be found in most modern hotels but there was a small, well stocked bar. Erica turned and shut the door once they were inside and in the same move stepped into Marko’s arms pressing her body against his, her lips finding his in a deep passionate kiss. She encircled his neck with her arms as she kissed him, the two gently swaying to their internal rhythms. After a long moment of bliss she pushed away from him and strode to the bar. “Do you want a drink?” “Please,” he answered watching her she seemed much sexier than she had before, Marko’s arousal was in full heat by the time she returned with the drinks. “To fate.” She raised her glass as Marko did the same. “To fate,” he replied. “We may not be where we thought we were heading, but somehow, we always end up where we're meant to be.” He didn't believe in fate, but hot blones ate up romanticized quotes like that. She took a big drink and Marko gave chase. She took the glasses and set them on a coffee table then stepped up and kissed him again teasingly then stepped back and pulled the straps of her dress off her shoulders and let the dress fall to the ground giving Marko full view of her naked beauty. In an instant she was back in his arms her mouth against his, her hands undressing him. Her kiss was intoxicating the whiskey from their drinks mingled and flavored her tongue like a shot of erotica served up just how he liked it. She pulled his shirt off and the kiss upon the side of his neck was delivered while mantled in a hot, passionate breath and punctuated by a love bite which made him smile. Feverishly she began undoing his belt, the buckle clinking as she opened it and pulled it aside. He opened his eyes and caught their reflection in the full body mirror on the dressing room door. His eyes widened when he saw that she had a large tattoo on her back, a tattoo of a Blue Phoenix. SAN FRANCISCO 1887 Marko watched Kristen make a fool of himself. Strange that it took seeing his maker without the influence of his sister to realize how crazy and unstable the Original could be. Crazier still that he didn’t see the same thing in himself. The girls, Kristen’s sister Kirsten and Marko’s sister Cara were still in New Orleans. The boys had come to California on business which had been all but forgotten in round after round of debauchery that they were in the midst of perpetrating. Guilty pleassures had been on the menu every evening thus far and tonight they were in the premier brothel of the city and being attended by the best working girls the city had available. Marko was growing bored when his attention was caught by a flash midst all the red and gold. A woman of remarkable beauty with pale blond hair dressed elegantly in a cream-colored flowing dress had come into the establishment, the dress was cut to scandalously display her whole back to reveal a large Tattoo of an exquisitely and vividly inked blue Phoenix. NEW ORLEANS Present Day (Crispin House Hotel) “Now he remembers,” said ‘Erica’ her Scandinavian accent much more prominent in words. “I was beginning to wonder how long it would take for it all to return.” Marko drew away from her as a strange malaise washed over his mind, clouding his vision in a vertigo of memories and events that seemed long locked away. One by one with aching accuracy each one staked a claim in the valley of his present announcing their arrival with aching pains, like several needle pokes behind his eyes. Fear mingled with loathing as his primal mind began to allow the emotional weight of his new memories to wash over him. He may not remember completely who she was... but he was fearful of her. Marko barely remembered fear, let alone what this woman could have done to provoke such a response from him. He needed time. He needed to collect himself and he didn't come five centuries along this path to throw it all away on confusion and fear. Damn this humanity of his. Blood engorged the veins on the corner of her eyes, spider webbing them in a demonic mask that gave her true being away even as her eyes blackened. Erica was a vampire. He closed his eyes tight to shake away the pain and as the dizziness subsided he gazed at her in a mixture of weariness and confusion. “Any time you feel like making sense with any of this, feel free to jump in.” Erica smirked and approached him. “I could, but let's both face the facts, Marko. Your head is a roiling ocean of neurosis, psychological problems and paranoias.” Her mask faded away. Her eyes returned to their brilliant blue and the veins faded away along with the tell-tale whisper of the fangs retracting back into their sheathes in the gum line. “You're a mess, we both know it. In time what's gone will, or should, rather, return to you. Bedsides, it's probably best your memory is a wreck, with your humanity restored I'd hate to have to deal with you weeping and moping about.” Marko reeled only to settle with his hand on the writing desk to catch his bearings and try to process everything happening to him. Erica, smile still spread wide on her lips, put her hand on his shoulder, leaning in while her golden hair fell about her breasts teasingly inviting him to sneak a peek. “For now, my Angelo, just consider that while your memory may not return for some time,” she tilted his lips to face her own and gently brushed hers to his. “I'm sure we can find ways to make it pass until then.” Marko was never a man to waste energy on things he couldn't understand. His memory, the hazy images, all of were painfully confusing things that when his humanity was off he never had to consider or deal with. Now, as a creature of baser instincts, one that felt fear and pain and misery only to have them amplified by his vampiric nature, he sought escape like he always did. If by any means he could shirk that pain or confusion or any real emotion that his vampirism amplified, Marko could, and always had, gone for it. Far better to drown in ignorance and forgetfulness than dealing with an eternity of life's little problems, right? Swept away by the desire to be rid of the burdens humanity brought with it his lips pressed firmly to her and she welcomed her kiss. Tightly he embraced her, the whispers of their heavy breath seeking solace in the forgetfulness of lust. In their fervent bliss she quickly undid his jeans, pushing them down with the anticipatory zeal only the lust starved could know. He lifted her to him effortlessly and she laughed, amused by a man, one of only a few in lifetime, who had never been fearful or intimidated by her. Her back slammed against the wall, alerting the occupants in the room next door, a sweet old couple sight seeing for their fiftieth anniversary. They stared at the wall in horrid fascination as the picture frames on the wall rattled and Erica's passionate obscenities echoed throughout the floor while her body rhythmically spasmed and thundered against the foundations of the hotel's walls.
  2. Depends on if pig-tails are in play. Her being a writer, librarian seemed to be her appropriate slutty patronus.
  3. The crowd of the bar, the music, the noise, Erica's voice... they all dimmed as Marko's hearing focused on something small, something just beyond his senses... his sister's voice. His ears tilted back slightly to accept the sensory input from what lie beyond the office's wooden door when a sudden ear bleeding, high pitched squeal like nails on a chalk board blocked his hearing. In a blink, and with a slight winch from the sound, his normal hearing returned and smiled at Erica as her hand ran gently down his arm, which was girl talk for 'you're most definitely having sex with me later'. "Yeah," he said, looking at her with that hypnotic grin of his that capable of saturating panties for miles. Frankly leaving the place now that magic had been started was first and foremost on his priority list, whether it was to stop Erica from getting curious and invite herself into the back to see if Darrik was returning or to be as far away from any juju as he possibly could was a definite reason as well. "That's honestly not a bad idea. It's been forever since I was back here, it'd be nice to re-aquiant myself with the area. Plus I know all the history there is to know about this city, you're in luck." He left out the part where it would provide him the perfect opportunity to scope out the local haunts, do some recon, and with her on his arm it'd look more legit as he strolled through Lilith's domain. No one would suspect Marko was doing anything but trying to do anything more than bust up her guts and feed off her. She'd make the perfect little meat puppet alibi he could throw at any trouble to negotiate himself safe passage (since he could kill first and ask questions later anymore). "How do you know all this stuff?" Erica asked innocently. Marko nodded. "A fair question. Which would you be likely to believe: that I'm a centuries old immortal, or that I have a PhD in world history?" "I'm inclined to believe you have a PhD," Erica laughed. "Okay," he shrugged. Humans were so stupid. "Let's go with that then." He motioned towards the door and offered her his arm. "Shall we? Hope your pen has lots of ink."
  4. "Oh, sister, you got that right. Actually, it is the most haunted city in the U.S.," Marko chimed up with a slight whistle and a roll of his eyes. He was speaking the truth, hell, a lot of the hauntings were his fault. "But please, whatever you do, don't trust those stupid haunted tours. Take the haunted mortuary tour, it's all B.S.. The facts are way off." "Oh," she looked at him with a glare of doubt in his previous statement. "And you're an expert?" "I know it's not haunted," he said matter of factly. "Mary Slatterly was way paranoid and superstitious, and a bit a nut job, if I'm being honest. Well, she hallowed the ground around the entire estate, this was back in 72'. When the property traded hands to Marie Lafontear and William Klein in 1905, they were never made aware of the hallowing of the estate, nor were any of the other owners. Fact of the matter is, when it as converted into a funeral home in 1930 it became one of the safest places in New Orleans, at the time, to prepare the dead. Their souls were guaranteed peaceful repose. So, yeah... not haunted." Erica looked a him with a wide eyed, but still skeptical expression. "Wow, you uh, talk like you were there." The ancient vampire stuttered as he realized he did let his guard down as the memories of how marbles and conkers Old Lady Slatterly really was as she grew late in her years. She was so stupid crazy that she always brought a smile to his face and lightened his mood. "Uh," he laughed, giving himself time to think. "I have a background in American history. Unlike the tour guides, I've actually done my homework. Now, the Upstairs Lounge? Oh yeah, haunted as hell."
  5. Marko chuckled. "Uh, yeah, it doesn't look like they're very interested in hiring anyone at the moment. Besides, this bar? This place is a bit on the weird side. They're a little eccentric. The dude, Darrik? Complete sexual deviant, he's fighting four or five sexual harassment lawsuits. Very handsy," he leaned in close to whisper something between them. "Got that whole Weinstein vibe going for him, whipping his junk out, rubbing on the girls, forcing them to watch him do his business." He leaned away, hands raised in defense of his comment. "Don't quote me though, it's just what I heard. So be careful around him." "The bartender, Dominique? All kinds of mental issues." He shook his head with concern. "Poor girl, she really is doing the best she can but after the drugs and the abusive pimps... but a person can only take so much before something inside us just, snaps. I'm glad that she's been able to find her direction and purpose in her Satanism. Not the religion I would have chose, but we have seek our salvation where we can, right? No judgements. She's brave though, so brave. A hero. Just don't ever make eye contact, she'll see you as a threat." His tone shifted to a more up beat one and he smiled. "But, aside from that, this place is a lot of fun to work, or so everyone says. So this book," he changed the subject. A part of him seriously wanted to compel her to remember everything he just like it was fact, but no matter how hard he tried, that damn curse prevented him from solidifying her point of view to his personal brand of anarchy. Still, he never ceased in his personal vendetta to ruin people's lives for no good reason at all. "Tell me about it, but please don't tell me it's about vampires and werewolves and their teenage high school angst... my god I don't think I could sit through another one of those series."
  6. Age is sort of sacred to TVD vampires, they rarely, if ever, lie about it (though they do avoid bragging about it, which is strange for vampires). Now, were these WoD vamps, yes, I'd be inclined to agree with assuming they were BSing. In TVD, though, it's not likely they're lying.
  7. Dude! You told the witches our age! LOLZ. Well, at least they know now and anyone with any measure of supernatural lore should know how insanely powerful, and dangerous, a 500 year old vampire is.
  8. "I was born in Italy," he said to her in Norwegian. In his centuries of life he'd picked up nearly every language on the planet, but had lost a lot of them through a lack of use. Now he would hardly consider himself fluent in any of them, but from time to time he could cook up the odd phrase or two from memory. It was hardly a perfect pronunciation, but his accent was correct, in fact, a little too correct and almost 'old' compared to today's speakers. "I've traveled all over, used to be for business, now it's mostly on a whim." His language went back to good old English, although the transition from one language to another did bring about a small hint of his old Italian accent for a few syllables before he got it under control. He tapped the bar to get the tender's attention as they were busy with a other customers. He waited patiently as he continued his conversation. "So, Erica, born in Scandinavia, schooled in Iceland, and now trying to get a job in a bar in New Orleans? What's the story there?"
  9. "That a fact?" He smiled coyly. "He walked away from you, to handle something back there?" He pointed to the back office. "That's insane, because I just met you and I can't think of anywhere in the world I'd rather be but right here getting to know you." "The guy who runs this place, Darrik, he and I are pretty tight, I'll put in a good word for ya. The bartender? Dom, she's got a fire to her but don't let her intimidate you. Be firm, stand you're ground and... oh, knock. She's big into people knocking, not sure why." He waved up a hand dismissively like there was no possible reason as to why he should ever have to knock to begin with. "Your accent, I have to know. I've been all over Europe in one fashion or another and I admit, you've stumped me, I can't quite place it and it's killing me." He turned on the mojo and just like that he was no longer irritated as he calmed down and let himself indulge in his baser hobbies.
  10. "Wards, businesses, property, spells?" He smirked at Dominique. She had fire, he had to give her that, but she was just someone he'd met before. See, when you'd been around as long as Marko had you eventually met every type personality, heard every voice, every accent, and even seen ever sort of way genes could put a face together, he'd met her before, or someone like her once upon a time. "You think simply because you have these things you can demand respect from people? From me? By the very virtue of my years, child you should be on one knee begging me to share what I've seen, what I know. You want respect from me? You will earn it. By deed, by blood, by loyalty. So stay in your bar if you cherish this respect you feel you so rightly deserve. I will be in the shadows outside, where your respect doesn't reach, and my dear, I have an eternity. And before you retort with some 'door swings both ways' bullshit, please understand that I don't want your respect. I don't need it. You're not worthy of my noticing you." Cara rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration. Here he was, her brother... bringing people together, yet again. His tone was cold, there was no pity or remorse to be heard in his chill voice. He wasn't threatening anyone, just being real honest in saying that if the bar was where they had the power, then the bar would not be where he chose to strike at them, and blood was so much more sweeter when the adrenaline of the anticipation of death lingered in it. Wrath hung about him like a mantle of sickly sweet red. Pride followed suit next. Marko was never one to ask for help outside of his sister. He was too strong for it, he was too hardened into a machine of malice and misery in equal parts. "I don't need your help, witch. I can break this curse myself. I'll find this Mother Walters, and her pain will be legendary and when this curse is lifted and I am restored to my full strength again the streets will run red with my vengeance against all of you enchanters, hexers, alchemists, fuck, I'll even kill the hippies that make the weird smelling soaps." And in his boasting, he let slip the name of his tormentor. She expected a man so fueled by rage to be red, or even have a vein popping from his forehead but... nothing. Marko wasn't angry, in fact, the scary part was... he was being honest. Pure one hundred percent honest and that was more terrifying than anything. He would murder everyone and not bat an eyelash. Dominique knew hexes, curses and by proxy, human behavior. To pull a string, one must know where it led first, lest you end up with tragedy. This was no curse that made him this hateful. No. Someone pulled the wrong string a long time ago and this was the result: a broken man filled with a soul so corrupt he only wanted to make his misery manifest in the world. Marko was broken. Thankfully, there was a currently a curse in place that kept him in check, and it held his next volley of curses and actions at bay, forcing him to relax and calm himself, to see the situation from all sides involved. He'd not admit it, but the curse yanked his chain and pulled him back before he could make it off the porch to bite anyone. He breathed in and exhaled. "I'm leaving. I need to go calm down or there's going to be a homicide." He turned and walked out of the office, almost steam rolling Darrik in the process. "I meant what I said," he stopped and faced everyone. They were all prepared for another tirade. "You really do have amazing eyes. Very exotic." Without another word, he left the office and made his way towards the exit. On his way, and after a few deep exhales, he passed by someone and his feet stopped dead in their tracks. His irritation for the witches and, truth be told, his owl in ability to keep his shit together, subsided a little bit as he gazed on the lovely young woman waiting patiently near the bar, bobbing her head over the crowd to see what was going on in the back office and failing miserably. With a smile he approached. "There's nothing back there, hun." He said with confidence. "What's really worth seeing is out here, trust me. Name's Cain. Marko Cain. You know, if you want the grand tour, I happen to know the owners and proprietors. We're pretty tight." And he was at it again... like he suffered from compulsive douchery...
  11. Marko turned at the sound of the new voice and jumped slightly, like Darrik spooked him. "Ugh, Effeminate Little Man, I remember you." He recollected then looked at how Darrik was standing, arms crossed in a typical position of authority. "Better uncross those arms, little man, last thing you want is to square up on me. You think I care about neutral ground, kid? I've razed churches, burned orphanages and flooded cities and did it all just hear the whimpers. Do not step to me like you're noteworthy. You're not." With that he turned to his sister. "Cara, no. I'm not helping the witches unless it's adding wood to their pyres. They refused to help me and you expect me to take the high road with them? Hell no. Colby is a problem, yes. His 'boss' is a bigger problem, sure, I'll concede that, but let them handle the witch a werewolf infestation this city has first. Then we can take it from there." He took in a deep breath, doing all in his power to not lose his ever loving mind (or what was left of it). "Why get involved with the affairs of our food?"
  12. Marko didn't pay the mortal much mind, there was no need. He didn't play with his food. This was neutral territory, owner or not she couldn't do much to him but talk. That's all humans were was talk. He knew enough of this curse to know how manipulate it somewhat, like he couldn't hurt anyone or anything... unless they assaulted him first and goading people into fights was his specialty. All he needed from her, or security, was a reason and he'd bathe the walls of this place with the entrails of low life, poor life decisions. Shame too, Dominique was smoking hot, he kinda wanted to smash, but liches before bitches, so he had an obligation to the undead community first and foremost... namely him and his sister. "Why are you even showing this stuff to them, Cara? Something is coming to this place, and it's between the witches and the werewolves, not us. We're not getting involved in their mess. It's not like their jumping through hoops to help me with our problem, don't get in involved with theirs. Leave them to die, more of the city for us when they're gone."
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