World of Darkness World of Darkness: Attrition - Pre-Season Party (Completed)

[Emma L. Carter]

Emma took the card, looking at it questionably. Was he that serious that he needed business cards? "I sure will, Graham. It's been good seeing you." She said, than walked off. She took one last look for her room mate, but on not seeing her Emma decided to call it a night. She began to walk out and away from the party, towards her dorm and what she hoped would be solitude.

[Astra D.]

"Don't panic," he'd said. In the scant few moments that followed, before the man became beast, any number of CSI-worthy scenarios went through Morgan's head in a remarkably macabre parade of images, all flashbulbs and newsprint and yellow tape. Naturally, none of them even came close to reality.

"Ho-ly shit," she whispered in the blue-grey twilight, trying desperately to ignore her initial impulse, the one that all but screamed at her to run, to get away, to fucking flee the scene. Her first reaction was to do the very thing he'd admonished her not to, and it took considerable effort to clamp down on that instinct.

Holy fuck... Sweet fucking zombie Jesus, I just saw that. I really just fucking saw that. The groundskeeper just turned into a god-damned wolf right in front of me.

That line of thought was followed somewhat belatedly by:

Wow. He really didn't get it shot off in Afghanistan.

She didn't know what to say, so she stared, blinking dazedly as if someone had just flashed a burst of light in her eyes. A hundred thoughts tumbled over each other in her head as she stood looking at the large, furry lupine that was sitting perhaps ten feet away and looking right back at her.

Dimly, she realized how very little she actually knew about the world she now inhabited.

"Okay," she began slowly, exhaling a shaky breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "You can either shapeshift, or that's an exceptionally good illusion. I'm not betting on the latter, though, because I would have seen you weave it. Or, at least, I should have. Since I didn't, I can only assume either you're not actually using magic, or you're so far beyond me I wouldn't be able to figure it out."

The moon was nothing more than a small dark blot against the ephemeral blues and violets of Night's veil, but the distant haze of the campus lights and the perpetual glow that surrounded LA lent an otherworldly luminosity to the clearing. A late summer breeze stirred the limbs of the trees into motion, rendering irregular pools of light and shadow across the glade's lone physical inhabitants, both of whom regarded the other quietly.

"What are you?" she finally managed, her whisper scarcely more than that of the wind.

[Owns-The-Night]

Declan whuffed, a short soft laugh in a wolf throat. He was pleased: she had mentioned magic, and weaving, and didn't seem to be overly phased at the concept of shapeshifting, more at how he had done it without her spotting how it was done. She knew something about what he thought of as the other side of the tracks though how, and how much, he had yet to find out.

Standing, he paced towards Morgan and circled her, close enough for her to reach out and touch as he got her scent from the air. She smells pretty damn good on four legs, too. The clove cigarette smoke clinging lightly to her was not too overpowering, though it made his nose tickle. He paced one complete circuit around her and then moved a short distance away, turning to consider her. His silver eyes never left her as he sat back down on the grass and changed again, fur receding and flesh rippling as muscle and bone once more restructured.

"There, now we can talk." The wolf had become a man again, sitting comfortably on the grass, a smile playing around his lips. "And to answer your question, I'm a werewolf. A shapeshifter. And what, Morgan, are you?"

Morgan wasn't sure whether it was better having those eyes staring from a wolf's face or from the face of a stark naked man sitting on the grass 5 feet from her. Well, obviously the man didn't have sharp teeth, BUT....

[Lavinia Foscari]

,,

Originally Posted By: SalmonMax

Doug stared a moment, then fumbled a notepad from his pocket. "All right, why don't you tell me what happened?"

At Antoine's protestation, he nodded absently and said, "Just tell them to keep it down and..." he stopped as Ariel came out of the house and stomped over.

"Oh good, you found him," she said on seeing Antoine.

"Uh, yes. And this young lady is the one who called," Doug replied.

Ari gave Anita a quick clinical once over and nodded. Noticing the pad, she said, "Okay, you take the statement, I'll get the paperwork."

As she headed to the car to get a clipboard with a standard police report form on it, she heard Doug talking. "Antoine, if you want to take off, that's fine. Now, as for you, let me just get your name, then tell me what happened all right?"

That's what I want to know. Felt like my first night again back there. Christ.

Ariel carried the clipboard back to Anita.

Anita waited for Ariel to come back and smiled at her saying, „I’m so glad you came so quickly, officer. I think we had a party crasher here. I’ve never seen her before and to be honest I think she is a hooker.”, Anita went on describing how the crazy woman looked like and pointed at the damaged wall. “I think she was on drugs, officer. Once I threatened to call the police she bailed.”

She was making sure to leave a good impression to the officer and cooperated without hesitation. When she was done with her statement she put on her warmest smile and asked, “Is there anything else you need to know?”

I hope they don’t take me to the Department. Please God, don’t let them take me to the Department. That would be so embarrassing!

[SalmonMax]

Doug takes notes as Anita talks, jotting down a quick breakdown of the events and a description. Meanwhile Ariel takes a snapshot of where the fist and plunged through stucco and drywall all the way to the stud.

She whistles at that. "Even for a PCPer, that's pretty messed up," she remarks.

Doug gives her an annoyed look, then asks Anita, "Did you happen to catch her name? Maybe overheard someone talking to her? Remember any distinguishing characteristics? A mark or a scar or a tattoo."

He reaches out to tap the report form that Ariel gave her. "You can fill this out yourself and either bring it in or mail it in. It's double sided, so if you want to fax it, make sure you send both sides..."

Ariel walks over and finishes what Doug's about to say. "Do you think you're still in danger? Do you want a ride home?"

[William Rose]

Despite every reason to just walk home and take a long cold shower Antoine stayed. What the hell am I doing here? Cops are done with me, I've no reason to stay ... Chalk it up to an antiquated sense of honor or perhaps a level of responsibility for the evenings bizzare turn, but Antoine just kinda hung out nearby while Anita and the cop discussed miss crazy and sexy.

Originally Posted By: SalmonMax

Doug gives her an annoyed look, then asks Anita, "Did you happen to catch her name? Maybe overheard someone talking to her? Remember any distinguishing characteristics? A mark or a scar or a tattoo."

Hesitating for a moment Antoine almost walked away, almost. "Amber. She ... she said her name was Amber. I didn't get a last name." Antoine closed the distance between himself and the cops and Anita. The busted soda still in his hand and still dripping seemed forgotten now. "She was about ... this tall, maybe a buck ten at most," he said describing her as best he could. Ok seriously Antoine, what the hell are you doing? For that matter why? Your night isn't crappy enough? You gotta add a nice little visit with the five-oh on top? ... moron...

[Lavinia Foscari]

Originally Posted By: SalmonMax

Doug takes notes as Anita talks, jotting down a quick breakdown of the events and a description. Meanwhile Ariel takes a snapshot of where the fist and plunged through stucco and drywall all the way to the stud.

She whistles at that. "Even for a PCPer, that's pretty messed up," she remarks.

Doug gives her an annoyed look, then asks Anita, "Did you happen to catch her name? Maybe overheard someone talking to her? Remember any distinguishing characteristics? A mark or a scar or a tattoo."

Anita shook her head at the cops question, “Besides her being a tramp? She was dressed like a slut and I suppose her hand must be broken or severely bruised. It looked like she bled but I’m not sure about that.”

Originally Posted By: SalmonMax

He reaches out to tap the report form that Ariel gave her. "You can fill this out yourself and either bring it in or mail it in. It's double sided, so if you want to fax it, make sure you send both sides..."

She took the report and nodded to the cop. “Thank you, Sir.”

Originally Posted By: SalmonMax

Ariel walks over and finishes what Doug's about to say. "Do you think you're still in danger? Do you want a ride home?"

She smiled at Ariel and shook her head. “I think she ran away. I’m going to drive straight home now, I don’t want to leave my car here but thank you for the offer.”, She looked over to Antoine and sighed again. Then she took of to leave the party. “I shouldn’t have come, Antoine. I’m really sorry.”

[Adrian Moss]

Originally Posted By: Vivi OOC

Reva blinked.

"Um, you want to dance to the Kill Bill theme?"

He gives a shy smile, not knowing the music after all.

Originally Posted By: Vivi OOC

"I'm not really in the mood to dance, but if you're serious, there's definitely better songs out there than that one. Unless, of course, you happen to have about a hundred gallons of blood you want to throw around to make it genuine."

"Not in the mood, huh? How about you give me one dance - you pick he music - and then we do something you want. Anything you come up with, I'll try it, but you have to do it too," he adds with a mischevious grin.

"Pick a song that tells me were you are at right now," Adrian says with a more serious cast. "I've never bothered to listen to the life inside the music before. I want you to show me what its like. Please."
The last is almost a whisper that Reva has to read off his lips in the crowded room.

[SalmonMax]

Ariel and Doug exchanged glances, and Ariel ripped another report form off the stack on her clipboard. She handed it to Antoine as Doug flipped the page on his notepad and started writing again. Ariel handed a card to Anita then.

"If you see her again, or have any more problems, give us a call," she offers. "Odds are she'll wake up tomorrow and not remember a thing, even how her hand got broken. Still, just to be safe."

"Alright," Doug said, stepping smoothly in. "If that's all, then I think we're done here. Enjoy the rest of the party."

Ariel nods. "Remember...better to call and be wrong than not to call and be wrong, alright? Take care."

Farewells concluded, they started back towards the squad car.

[z021]

Oneca had decided she needed another beer, even if it would just be only beer. She'd slipped back inside, avoiding both of the cops, and made for the fridge to get a can instead of a cup from the tap. She headed out to the porch, figuring that since no one was in cuffs yet and most of the undergrads had jumped the back fence, she'd be reasonably alone out there.

The it walked out from the house. She hated when they acted, well, human. Saja did that when other people were around, but when it was just them (like any time at home now...) she-it acted, well, like the freakish thing it was. She'd caught caught her-it, dammit! eating the broom one time; all Saja'd say was that she liked spruce and she'd buy a new broom tomorrow.

This wasn't the first time she'd seen another one of...well, whatever they were, but usually she saw them from far away and could stay far away. This one, that looked like some teenage Pinocchio-ette, brushed right past her on its way out the door. Oneca nearly dropped the cigarette she still hadn't gotten lit and tried to recover before it figured out she'd been staring.

[Astra D.]

You're a werewolf," she breathed. Not a question, a statement. A reiteration, murmured over the thud of her fast-beating heart after witnessing not only Declan's transformation, but the vibrant coruscation of energies that surged around him in her enhanced vision. It was like an electric shock, hardwired directly into her pineal gland that left her breathless and wide-eyed as the 'threads' around him knotted, stretched, and uncoiled into new configurations. The questions roiling around in her brain only multiplied with this confirmation, and the young Enchantress was hard-pressed to restrain herself from hurling them all at him at once.

A fucking werewolf! Oh, my god, that's insane. I mean, it kind of makes sense, this is Crazy Perault, but I guess this makes him not crazy... Holy shit. Werewolf, Morgan. "The jaws that bite, the claws that catch," werewolf. Does it hurt? Can he do it any time? What about the full moon? Silver? Wolfsbane? Does he just change into the wolf, or is the whole wolfman idea real, too? Where do they come from? What the hell do they do? Besides whatever they want... How many are there? Are there more in LA? What do they even eat? Whoo... Okay. Breathe, Morgan. You may not want to know the answer to that one.

"Well," she began, a trifle uncertainly. "I suppose you could call me a will-worker, but most of what I'm able to do right now relies on subtlety. Things people don't actually see. I could try to show you, if you're cool with that...?"

When he didn't laugh at her, or morph into a giant, furry killing machine, she took it as a good sign. Instead he just smiled and nodded his head.

With a tentative step forward, she placed one palm lightly on his cheek, her fingers curling downward to cup his jaw. She felt him press slightly against her hands, his eyes glimmering up at her. It was a strangely intimate gesture, but then, she reminded herself, This goes way beyond intimate.

"Close your eyes," she whispered, and when those moon-silver orbs were finally veiled, she began.

It was a simple task for a Mage to alter their perceptions by utilizing their Arcana, but Morgan had never tried to lend that vision to anyone else. Deftly, and quickly as she dared, she manipulated the ethereal filaments around him with the insurmountable Will of one who wields True Magic- twisting this one, tugging that, brushing this one aside and entwining that one with the first. They hummed softly as she worked them, these intangible threads of destiny, like strings plucked on a harp, and their resonance provided just enough conviction for her to finish weaving her enchantment.

"Done," she said simply, and withdrew her hand. "It's a small thing, but it will let you see as I do for a little while."

He opened his eyes and looked up at her, then opened them wider. A riot of colour and pattern met his eyes. Morgan glowed with a myriad of varicolored strands leading away in different directions, some to him, others fading into the distance. As his mind reeled and tried to digest the flood of sensory information, the nearest comparison he could make was the sense of smell his wolf-shape had, where scents nearly had their own colour.

"What... the hell is this?" he asked. Was he tripping? Did she slip him something? His gaze was a little scared as he looked up at her. "What is a 'will-worker', anyway?"

"A wizard, an enchanter, a... Well, a mage." The corners of her eyes crinkled slightly in a sympathetic smile. "Pretty wild, isn't it? I'm still new to this, though. It's one of the first things I figured out how to do, but I have to admit, I've never tried it on someone else before. I wasn't sure it would work at all. It's temporary, don't worry," she added, not unkindly, at the uncharacteristic nervousness in his expression.

[William Rose]

Originally Posted By: Ashe

She looked over to Antoine and sighed again. Then she took of to leave the party. “I shouldn’t have come, Antoine. I’m really sorry.”

Antoine nodded absently, as he looked over the police report they handed him. “Umm yeah, ok. See you later I guess.” He looked up at the cop and sighed, “No really I’m not in charge here. Hell I don’t even live here; I’m not even part of the fraternity. You need to find Steve, he’s the president. He’s responsible.” Antoine quickly described Steve and suggested that he’d be inside. He handed the paper back to the cop. “Actually I’m headed home, as you can see I’ve had a shitty night and I’m pretty much done with this party”

Antoine tossed the ruptured can into a garbage bin and just stood there looking around. The party had broken up quickly with the arrival of the cops. Even if he had been in the mood to try and find a girl for the night there were slim pickings remaining. Fuck it, I’m tired, I’ve been puked on and had soda explode on me. I’ve dealt with jealous cheerleaders and psycho druggies. I’m done. I’m going home. Fuck it … Resolved at last about something Antoine started toward the campus, it was about a mile and a half to his dorm and he was only wondering one thing as he left; Could this evening get any worse?

[Vivi OOC]

Originally Posted By: Adrian's Empathy Roll

(18:42:55) ChatBot: (Adrian) rolls 1d10 and gets 2.

Reva sighed, and was about to respond to Adrian's strangely intense plea when her back pocket chimed melodically.

"One sec," she grumbled, fishing her cell phone out and flipping it open. The screen glowed bright blue, and as she thumbed the "OK" button, a text message appeared. Adrian easily slipped around to her side, casually studying the back of a CD lifted from a nearby table as he read what was on the screen:

To: REVELATOR
Need 2 run 4 a few
Will be right back
You ok?
From: ^v^MORGAN^v^

Reva stole a furtive glance at the pale young man next to her and tapped out a quick reply.

Yeah, sure
Creepy guy here atm
Can deal tho

She pressed the "Send" button and tucked the phone securely back into her pocket.

"So, um... You find a song you like yet?" the golden-skinned drummer-girl asked, some of the awkwardness she felt evident as she clapped her hands together. "Y'know, music's kind of a personal thing, so, what works for me might not work for you. We usually play a mix of hard rock and go-ooooooooh shit."

Reva's dark eyes flew wide open, and with a speed and urgency surprising for such a petite girl, she grabbed Adrian by the front of his jacket and spun him around.

"Just pretend you're dancing," she hissed, darting a glance over his shoulder as she whipped out her cell phone again and entered a message so quickly that her thumbs were all but a blur- proof positive that she spent far too much time doing precisely that.

The source of her anxiety, curiously, seemed to be nothing more than a young man garbed in a black trenchcoat with black lace at the cuffs and long, dark hair partially obscured by a snakeskin western-style hat. He moved through the room, glancing once at Adrian before heading outside.

"Shit, shit, shit," Reva muttered, and just before she transmitted the message, Adrian got one glimpse at the screen:

TRENT INC!
Pull?

[Adrian Moss]

He couldn't decide if her reply made him angry or sad. Neither emotion was strong because the Beast in him didn't care what this girl thought, only were she was in relation to a hunting area.

The human shade was hurt and for just a moment he really felt something, pain ... right before he decided he didn't really care for this game anymore. It was easier to leave the human shade as the unanswered whisper. This was really still about food after all.

So, it was something of a surprise when she grabbed hold of him and made him dance. There was the barest hint of resistance, but it passed away with the human hurt. He danced and danced well, giving enough of a distraction for Reva to spy adequately. He kidded himself that he almost belonged with her. It was a hollow jest.

Once the subject of the distraction had passed, he whispered,

"Well, my ten minutes are up. Anything else I can do for you?" without a hint of bitterness. Predators didn't feel that way anyway.

[Vivi OOC]

"You're a lifesaver," she whispered enthusiastically, completely unaware of the irony in that statement. Leaning up on her tiptoes, Reva quickly gave him a grateful peck on the cheek.

"Listen," she continued, absently tearing off part of a party flyer on fluorescent green paper. She fished a slim pencil out of her bootstraps, and scrawled something in black eyeliner on the makeshift note. "If you're looking to figure out what your song is, pretty boy, here are a couple of places to start. Live bands play at either of 'em all the time, but the Taste has definitely got more variety. Maybe you'll find what you're looking for there."

[Adrian Moss]

"Fair trade," he lied, taking the paper. "What's the dress code like? Oh, nevermind. I'll figure it out."

Honestly, he planned to add the clubs to his list of hunting spots on a trial basis. They might prove useful, if they were dark enough.

He gave her a smile that didn't know how to reach his eyes.

"Take care," then his grin broadened,"and have a stress free night."

Maybe I'll find you again when you are more receptive, or more confused.

He spotted a group of girls in the hallway. One on the periphery was looking alone and left out as guys were making moves on the prettier ones. Adrian made his move. The hunt continued.

[Owns-The-Night]

He calmed down, taking a couple of deep breaths to do so. It wasn't so bad... After the trauma of his First Change, this was relatively peaceful. Weird as fuck, but peaceful. He glanced around himself, then back up at her with a smile, finding himself enjoying the way the strands faded and swapped out as though some ethereal force was constantly changing them. He wondered what meaning was attached to that, but mentally shrugged: it was probably technical, and as far beyond him as rocket science was.

"So..." he said with a grin and a playful tilt of his head. "What're your thoughts on what we were talkin' about before? Y'know: you bein' able to handle my strangeness and all." He gathered his feet underneath him and rose in one smooth motion, standing before her in the dim light.

[Astra D.]

Resolutely keeping her eyes leveled at some place above his shoulders, despite all her inclinations to do otherwise, she responded with a quiet laugh that held equal measures of surprise and pleasure.

"Well, for a guy who's currently observing the weavings of Fate, you're pretty calm. I suppose we're about even in-"

The chirp of a cell phone, still clutched tightly in her hand, interrupted her mid-sentence. With a sharp, impatient exhalation and a brief glance skyward, she flipped it open and absently pressed a button as she scanned the name and number on the screen.

"Just Reva," she added absently, then grinned back up at him before checking the message itself. "Anyway, I was saying I guess between shapeshifting and magic, we're probably about even in terms of strangeness. At the moment, I think the biggest difference between us is that I'm still wear... ing..."

Her voice trailed off ominously, and if possible, her alabaster skin paled even further.

To: ^v^MORGAN^v^

TRENT INC!

Pull?

From: REVELATOR

Trent? Oh, fuck. she swore mentally.

With practiced ease, she responded in a flurry of button-pressing:

No. ROOT.

Zoning ASAP.

The phone clicked shut, and Morgan turned to peer back through the shadow-shrouded trees, back in the direction of the frat house and what remained of the party.

"I'm sorry, I've... I've really got to go."

[Owns-The-Night]

The Wolf growled in his soul *Fear...* The air was suddenly tinged with it. This close to a Change, (and this close to Morgan) Declan's nose had the habit of retaining a small portion of it's sensitivity. This wasn't so much bowel-loosening terror as normal mundane fear, and a reluctance to face whatever *Not whatever: whoever...* was back at the party. Humans didn't realise how much they smelled of fear in their everyday lives: evidently that went for enchanters (or mages, whatever) too. Declan didn't bother asking questions though: here and now probably wasn't the time.

"I'm guessin' someone's showed up." Was all he said as he stepped over to his clothing, stooping down to pick up his jeans and pulling them on (he seldom bothered with underwear). He kept his eyes on her, their glimmer shifting in the lights as he tucked his t-shirt into his waistband, deciding to leave it off in the warm summer night. His mouth twisted in a wry smile as he considered her pallor. "I understand, kiddo. You better get goin' first: call it intuition, but I'm thinkin' whoever it is that's got you spooked won't like to see you comin' back into the party with me."

Someone you're actually scared of, girl? That doesn't scan: you watched a man strip naked and change into a wolf just now, and while that sure shocked and scared you, you stuck it out. Who's got you so submissive? His silver eyes narrowed a little as he watched her. Someone I should meet he decided. As he did so, he noticed threads shifting again in the loaned Mage Sight, new strands attaching to him and her from elsewhere, and the ones already connecting them changing somehow. Damned if he knew what that meant.

"Go on." He smiled a little more. "I'll be a 20-count behind you."

[Graham Johnson]

Graham sighs and walks around the party, then he returns to the poolside, and smiles as he shifts his focus to various people at the party. He shakes his head at all the making out and public drunkenness. He gets a sly smile on his face and quickly walks out of the house and to his pickup truck. Graham reaches in and pulls out a small CD wallet. As he makes his way back to the party, he begins looking for a specific CD. When he finds it he pulls it out and walks to the stereo with a look of determination on his face. He stops the music that had been playing for a while, and puts in another CD. As the first strains of the first song come on, he begins bobbing his head and chuckling. He heads out to the pool again, and sits against a tree relaxing.

((OOC: The CD is I Get Wet, by Andrew W.K. The First song is, "Time to Party" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QwmO3TXEm3c))

[Astra D.]

There was a moment's hesitation, a certain coltish agitation as Morgan took a few halting steps toward the tree-line, and then turned to glance back in his direction at the sound of his voice.

"Thanks," she mumbled, casting a shaky smile over her shoulder and darting off through the trees without stealth or preamble. Underbrush rustled and cracked beneath the thick soles of her boots; at some point during her brief flight, the black mesh of her stockings snagged on a bramble, but she didn't bother stopping to check.

Fuck it, she thought suddenly, angrily, as fine, stinging lines of crimson slowly welled up along her calves. Ripped tights are still a fashion statement, right?

Of all the goddamned times for him to show up, Morgan fumed silently, slowing to a jog and, as she crossed the street, a slightly breathless walk. Raking a hand back through her hair, she licked her lips. I just hope Declan stays out of this. For the love of all that's holy, please, don't let Trent think he's with me. This last was a silent prayer, complete with the requisite heavenward glance, as the gate swung shut behind her and she rejoined the party.

Abruptly, the music blared out across the yard in a raucous explosion of hard, guitar-driven sound that fairly screamed for people to get up and move. Many of them did just that, laughing as they jumped and bounced with arms held aloft like participants in some obscure pagan rite of summer, but Morgan barely heard it. As much as the idea of dancing appealed to her, as much as a part of her very being exulted in the rhythm and the atmosphere, she had more pressing concerns.

It didn't take long for her to find him, leaning against the porch railing as Reva (Bless her, Morgan thought) held him paralyzed by an endless stream of pop culture factoids and news bites he hadn't the mental acuity to debate just then.

"Hey," she murmured, closing the distance. Somehow, he heard her over the din and pushed off the railing, his face lost in shadow beneath the brim of his favorite 'rock-star' hat.

"Hey, yourself," Trent replied, his voice low and coolly seductive. His head tipped down, not to kiss her, but simply to draw very, very near. Down her cheek his fingers trailed, and he drew in a long, slow breath which Declan could recognize, even at this distance, as inhaling her scent. Morgan knew instinctively what the gesture meant, and inwardly, she trembled: would he notice anything unusual?

"Let's go," he said finally, no louder than before. Whether he was angry, or simply bored, she couldn't say.

"Hey!" Reva protested angrily. "She's supposed to be taking me-"

"Mal can come and get you."

"But, Trent-"

"Reva, it's cool," Morgan cut in, her nonchalant shrug and hollow voice utterly at odds with the playful, curious young woman she'd been only a short while before. Just let it go, she willed silently, hoping her friend would take the hint.

"Yeeeaaah. Sure. I'll... just go call Mal. Guess I'll see you guys at rehearsal." The expression on her face was plain: she was not at all happy about being ditched, nor did she seem too thrilled about Trent's sudden appearance. Even so, she pulled out her phone, and with another pointed glance at Morgan, began walking away.

There was a long, awkward silence, but just as Morgan opened her mouth to speak, Trent grasped her wrists and tugged her against his chest.

"Missed you," he mouthed against her forehead, his nose brushing her hair. "Come on. I've got something for you." He held one wrist tightly, releasing the other, and began leading her away from the group.

A wince flickered briefly across her face as his hand encircled hers, and she wondered with no small degree of surprise as he pulled her easily along behind him, When the hell did Trent get this strong?

[Owns-The-Night]

He followed her uncharacteristically clumsy retreat, his own footfalls quiet, near silent by comparison. The night breeze was cool on his bare torso; a counterpoint to the jealous flame flickering to life somewhere in his gut. Someone had come, someone she was afraid of displeasing. A man. It had to be a man. He fought down a rumble of anger, his rational mind telling him that he and Morgan had flirted: nothing more. But his other mind, the part that was not human and had never been, snarled dissent.

*She did not seem timid and frightened of me. She was not unhappy, or clumsy with fear when we spoke. This other male... he is bad for her. Wrong. She should not be with someone that makes her feel like that.* growled the Wolf. Oh, and I suppose she should be with "Crazy Perault"? he asked himself caustically. The Wolf-side answered very simply.

*Yes*

Feeling a little crazier as he told himself to shut up, Declan plunged back into the party, trailing Morgan. He saw her walk up to the tall man in the hat and drifted closer to the railing on the lawn side, staying with the crowd, ignoring the wild antics of the partygoers as he leaned up against the porch and listened.

The conversation was wrong... strained. All the life seemed to be pressed out of Morgan, all the playful vivacity he had liked was gone. Slowly Declan felt the flame of jealousy fan brighter, fuelled by his ever-present rage.

Quote:

"Come on. I've got something for you." He held one wrist tightly, releasing the other, and began leading her away from the group.

Something was wrong with that statement. Something about Declan's borrowed perception of Fate twanged discordantly at Trent's voice. A knot of uneasiness was added to the anger he was experiencing, and with predatory intentness he stalked after the two as Trent led Morgan around the side of the porch and into the sparsely-peopled back yard, keeping away from the few partygoers that were present.

[Astra D.]

Something in Trent’s smile sent an icy frisson racing down her spine; it wasn’t loving, per se, but almost tender. Through years of experience, Morgan had learned that such a smile inevitably led to suffering. It was an expression specific to those men who could wilfully hurt a woman- breaking her wrist, perhaps, or beating her so expertly that not a single bruise would surface- and then convince her that it was for own good, that it must be done because he cared about her, and she had to be made to understand that whatever she had done had wounded him tremendously.

That was the smile he wore now, running his fingers along her jaw and gently brushing her hair back from her forehead.

Trent wasn’t, in fact, the most abusive or violent man she’d ever dated. Had it been unbearable, beyond what she could tolerate, she almost certainly would have been gone long ago. No, unfortunately, he was just cruel enough, just manipulative and angry enough to make her, in her rather skewed perspective, feel important. They had a peculiar understanding, a strangely parasitic relationship in which each, in their own way, tried to hurt the other as much as possible and thereby relieve some of their own aggressions, their own bitterness, even as they suffered the backlash.

No one else could fill that role, for either of them, and so no matter where they might go, or with whom, they inevitably found themselves pulled together again by the sheer gravity of their own failings and addictions.

Of course, none of this was ever spoken aloud, even among the friends they shared. Why bother?

This last is what was running through Morgan’s mind as she shivered at her sometime lover’s caress, and he reached into his coat pocket.

Instinctively, she flinched, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy unscrewing the top of a small brown glass bottle and lowering a small eyedropper inside. A few droplets of clear, red liquid hung in the slim plastic tubing, and when she saw what it was, she shook her head, frowning.

“Trent, if that’s what I think it is-“

“Oh, it is,” he said calmly, squeezing the small black bulb until the liquid neared the tip. “And not easy to come by. But,” he added, his grin spreading lazily, “I know some people.”

Quickly, she looked around to see if anyone was nearby, praying that Declan hadn’t noticed, or wouldn’t recognize it for what it was.

“Crimson?” she hissed softly. “Trent, that shit is killing people. Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Serious as a heart attack, baby. Come on. All the cool kids are doing it,” he quipped dryly, tipping her chin upwards. “It will blow. Your. Mind. Promise. It’s better than heroin.”

“Look, Trent, I really don’t want-” she began uncertainly, but he tucked the bottle away and pressed a finger to her lips.

“Shhh. It’s cool. I’ve done it, and I’m right here. Trust me. It’s not going to kill you. It’ll make you feel… Alive. More alive than you’ve ever felt before.” He gripped her chin in his hand and squeezed. It was just painful enough to make her whimper, but not enough to cry out, and he nudged the dropper against her lips. “Just a drop or two under your tongue, and you’ll be begging for more before-“

Crack.

An angry red handprint, livid against Trent’s fair skin, fairly glowed across his cheek as he turned his head. Instead of yelling, swearing, or hitting her back, he did something even more unsettling.

He laughed.

Full-throated, “I-just-heard-the-funniest-joke-in-the-world” laughter erupted from his throat, and as Morgan stared at him incredulously, he seized her hair in his free hand, wrapping it around his wrist and yanking her head back. She stumbled, trying desperately not to fall, and grabbed desperately at his coat, at anything, for support.

He’s finally lost it, she thought in horror, as he forced her to look up at him. His sharp, handsome features were a mask of mirth, of genuine amusement, and the silky whisper in her ear was almost frightening, almost sensuous enough to free the scream lodged in her throat.

“And here I was planning on saving the foreplay until we got back to your room. ...Now. Fucking. Drink it, and we can get started.”

[Owns-The-Night]

Quote:

Quickly, she looked around to see if anyone was nearby, praying that Declan hadn’t noticed, or wouldn’t recognize it for what it was.

Declan wasn't the most street-smart man in Cali, but he knew a drug when he saw one. He growled low under his breath and started to move forwards. She's into that shit? And here's me thinking she was diff- Hmm, hang on.

Morgan didn't seem to be welcoming of or impressed by Trent's party favor. She looked around, failing to spot Declan in her panic, as he was in the shadow of the frat house, but she was clearly disturbed by the substance. Then Trent possessively grabbed Morgan's chin, trying to force the droplets of red liquid into her mouth. Declan started moving forward again as Morgan's hand came up and round in a blistering slap that went off like a pistol shot in the back yard. He was still moving as the long-haired singer grabbed Morgan by her beautiful dark hair and bent her head backwards, hissing something to her in a tone that spoke of madness and sadism. Declan wasn't hearing words, but emotions in sound form right now.

The Wolf was raging up in his gut, trying to break free, snarling in it's eagerness to tear the rival's throat out in a justified display of glorious red-frothed carnage and howl it's triumph to the skies. Not here... Not now... But I can do THIS.

A growl of primordial rage was the only warning Trent had as Declan's rough hand grabbed one shoulder and spun the poseur round to face him. Quick as the move was, some craven instinct of Trent's was quick enough to respond, and he swung the girl in his grip between him and the enraged man with the moon-silver eyes that spoke of imminent pain. Morgan's eyes widened as she saw Declan's face, the fury that was not entirely Human blazing from within. Trent's grip on her shoulders was firm; she closed her eyes and braced herself for the inevitable. Oh, fuck! she mentally screamed in what she was sure would be her last thoughts.

Trent wasn't quite fast enough to duck behind his impromptu shield, however.

*smack*

Declan's fist didn't land exactly as planned. He had been forced at the last moment to curve his punch to the left, so rather than connecting solidly with Trent's narrow jaw in a way that would leave the young man unable to sing, talk, or chew solid food for a nice long while, the blow simply snapped his head back, sparks going off behind his eyes. Acting on the same craven instinct that had led him to hide behind the woman he had been abusing, he shoved Morgan hard at Declan and clumsily hopped backwards, trying to get his bearings. Morgan cried out as she felt herself thrust forward, throwing her arms out to catch herself as her eyes opened wide.

Declan stepped into her, the solid frame absorbing the impact of her body, her head coming to rest against his chest, his arms going round her in a gesture that was strangely gentle. This close, she could hear a low growl rumbling in Declan's ribs as he locked his silver gaze on Trent's eyes.

The artiste was taken aback. Despite the drugs in his system, despite the sensation of invincibility they conveyed, there was something chilling about that gaze. Civilised men were creatures of compromise, of law and social mores, even the most vicious of whom usually hesitated before employing violence, for fear of possible consequences. The eyes looking into his contained none of that civilisation, no compromise, no mercy, and no fear. You are Prey the silver eyes told his hind-brain, and Trent unconsciously took another step back.

[Graham Johnson]

Graham's attention is drawn to the sound of the flesh on flesh contact. He sees Trent grab Morgan by the hair and pull her head back. As he watches, Declan goes after Trent, knocking him away from Morgan. Graham smiles a bit evilly, and concentrates on the nearest wall outlet, trying to connect the wall outlet to Trent's feet through the ground. As he finishes completing the spell, he opens his eyes and stares at Trent.

Trent's hair begins to stand on end and he begins to twitch slightly as the charge builds up. When it discharges, Trent twitches more. Smoke begins to rise from his shoe soles, and his eyes roll back in his head, slightly. The hair on both Morgan's and Declan's arms begins to stand on end as the current passes close by.

Graham then casts the spell again to shut off the current after Trent is hit for a few seconds. Trent falls over, his muscles twitching slightly. After a few seconds, Trent stands up, more the worse for wear, but not out of it by a long shot.

[Astra D.]

The crackle of magic, electric as it snaked through the earth and the air, flared brilliantly in Morgan's enhanced perception. It sizzled and pulsed with the flow of mana, arcing through the night like a beacon that whipped her head around, instinctively seeking out the source even as it seared through her boyfriend's body.

What the...?! she thought wildly, and then she saw him. The guy from the pool, the one with the strong, expressive hands, was wreathed in a faint and shimmering aura that left her speechless. Even if she hadn't seen that much, his grin said it all: "Yeah, I did that," in a typically male expression of self-satisfaction.

Another will-worker? Holy shit. How the hell did he do that? A werewolf, and a mage in one night. This has got to be some kind of record.

All of that was forgotten as Trent fell, and she immediately turned toward the dull thud of his body hitting the earth.

"Shit," she muttered, tearing herself away from the comforting press of Declan's arms to stumble toward the fallen singer. "Trent!" she called out desperately, her face a mask of worry and fear. It was almost incomprehensible how quickly her emotions and demeanor changed, but despite everything that'd just transpired, she was obviously terrified for his well-being.

That concern shifted rapidly to shock as the tall, dark-clad man stirred, painfully hauling himself back up to his feet. Tiny wisps of smoke still coiled about his clothing, and his angular, attractive features were twisted into a rictus of pain and rage.

Trent wasn't sure where the sudden electrical current had come from, but his own experiences told him it definitely wasn't some freak accident involving faulty wiring. Balefully, still gasping in long, ragged breaths, he glared at Morgan's erstwhile protector. A glimmer of recognition sparked to life in his dark eyes as he gazed at Declan, and something like a grin worked its way across his bloodied lips.

As he waved Morgan away with a quick gesture, he picked up his hat from where it had fallen, dusting it off and replacing it on his head. The tip of his tongue darted out, as he caught Declan's eyes, deliberately tasting the evidence of the solid blow he'd suffered. It was a calculated display, full of masculine pride and not a little masochism, and the glitter of madness in his eyes was more than evident to both of the men standing nearby.

Morgan, however, seemed oblivious, and only Declan's hand on her arm kept her from darting over to Trent when those dark eyes settled on her, and his pained expression intensified. It was a tangible reminder, even if only dimly, that prodded her to think about why they were in this situation to begin with, and she hesitated.

Trent nodded slightly at her, wincing visibly as his smile dropped, softened, and began walking away. Discretion was, after all, the better part of valor, and the latter was in short supply. He shoved his way through the small crowd of onlookers that was beginning, too late, to gather near the rear of the yard, stiff-arming one inebriated soul into the fence as he passed. Within a few moments, he was making his way through the gate and away from the party.

Morgan watched him go, vacillating between being worried about him, and angry at what he'd done, what he'd gotten himself into. Party-loving as they were, they had standards, damnit, and he'd gone well over the line.

After leveling a sharp, measuring look at Graham, Morgan glanced up at Declan and managed a shaky smile.

"Thanks," she murmured. "I... It was really..." She sighed, running a hand back through her hair. "Thanks. I guess I'll see you around, yeah?"

[Owns-The-Night]

The smell of ozone and the snap of electrical discharge made Declan flinch, and he had seen the shimmering aura around the solidly-built younger man at the same time Morgan did. Another one? Damn, this night is getting wilder.

The other 'willworker', or mage or whatever they called themselves, could wait for now. He watched Trent leave, not oblivious to the malice in the man's stare, and then glanced down at Morgan.

"Wait." He softened his grip on her arm, but let it remain as a reassuring presence. "Do you want walkin' home? I wouldn't put it past that guy to hang around and get even with you when you're alone." The ferocious, savage look had gone from his eyes: what was left was no less primal, but gentler. *No harm to you. Not while I breath.* that gaze said in words older than speech.

She murmured her assent after a long moment, and Declan trailed along behind her as she went into the house to collect her bag. As they passed the young mage with the craftsman's hands Declan gave him a long stare accompanied by a slight smile, then a sly wink that spoke volumes of his approval.

He stayed by Morgan's side as she retrieved her bag, shadowing her through the crowd that had belatedly gathered to watch. The look in his eye and the set of his shoulders dissuaded questions from the partygoers, and it wasn't long before they emerged out in the front street.

They set off for Morgan's dorm, Declan casting sideways glances at her profile in between scanning the darkness for trouble. He felt better as they passed into the wooded area of the campus. If that fucker tries anything here, they'll never find the body. was his silent resolution, and a part of him hoped with dreadful eagerness for Trent to put in another appearance. Funny thing was he couldn't tell if it was the Wolf or the Man part, not that he cared.

Continued in "Walkies"

[z021]

Fuck this. Underwear-boy isn't coming back and everyone's bailing. Oneca made her way down the street and back to her car, burning off some of her irritation and fear as she pealed out of the street. Somewhere there was another party going on, or a pool game, or even just a place to get plastered and forget for a while. LA never really slowed down, it just moved around.

Oneca went hunting.

[Graham Johnson]

Graham begins to sigh happily, then he sees Declan staring at him. When Declan winks, he lets out the breath he had unconsciously been holding. He smiles wanly, and shakes his head, noting what Declan and Morgan look like. After they leave, Graham slowly makes his way to the stereo and grabs his CD from the player. He puts it in the pocket for it in his CD wallet. As he makes for the door, he takes one last look around the frat party, and heads out the door. He climbs into the cab of his pickup truck and starts the engine. As he drives off, he passes the two that he had seen earlier looking at him. Graham turns the truck westward and heads for home.

[Adrian Moss]

The party had more life in it, but Adrian was done. He was tired of playing the Living Dead Boy game for the evening. He didn't want to pretend that he didn't fit in, because he didn't. He didn't want anymore girls looking at him with those 'go away' eyes. No, he didn't.

He had scored two victims here this evening and he felt quenched. His beast wasn't bitching at him and that was always a plus.

The fear frenzy had marred his earlier accomplishments, for sure, but the female kindred had left first, so Adrian must not have been intruding. No apology was needed.

Still, he was a creep. That little bit of light hurt.

Adrian wandered out to his car, started it up and headed home. There was a case to solve and homework to do ... and he was still creep.