World of Darkness World of Darkness: Attrition - Beast's Laughter, Angel's Tears

[Dave ST]

January 24th, 2009. 1:17am.

The world was hazed in red.

With senses sharper than an natural predator the great white beast leapt over the cemetery's high iron fence. It's rear paws caught the support bar across the top, giving extra momentum as it finished its mad hurtle into the realm of the dead.

The music was turned down, loud enough so those around could hear, but not so much as to draw attention to the authorities, or campus security. LA National Cemetery was huge and those students who came here to party and frolic with the dead had learned how to keep a low profile.

Tonight's gathering seemed to be the local emo scene fooling around with the occult. Melted red wax covered the skull candle holders and several black pieces of cloth covered the surrounding tombstones to dull the reflected light and give the assembled a more suitable atmosphere for the night's activities.

Apparently raising the dead, or communing with the souls of the dead were among the list of festivities this evening as the four young fools danced, smoked, and drank until they had the courage to tamper with things they hardly understood.

They all laughed at the fourth, who was rather stoned, attempting to read passages from a book scribed in Latin, and his translation was horrible.

"Where'd you get that?" One of the girls asked him, a paper-thin high schooler who appeared to be on a hunger strike. "Cuz', really. You suck with it. Have you thought of giving it back?"

The reader replied with a middle finger and a laugh. "Have you thought of sucking this?" He grabbed his package and gave the universal lift to make her the offer.

"Lemme see it ass hat, where did you get it?" Asked the third, a male who, despite his tight jeans and hair in his eyes, seemed rather intelligent.

"Swiped from that occult store on the campus." He tossed the book to the third and a few of the pages were torn as the receiver stumbled to catch it.

"Christ dude, I said lemme see it, no fuckin wizz it at my goddamn head." He looked it over, straightening the pages as best he could. "It's latin."

"Can you read it?" The fourth, another girl that seemed to round out the paired couples here this evening.

"Kinda. Can't do any worse than him." He thumbed towards the first who'd collapsed to the grass near his date laughing. "It's got stuff about reaching out to ghosts an shit in here..."

"So read that shit, then." His friend broke away from making out with Twig-Girl long enough to say at least that much.

Three cleared his throat and held the book aloft as if about to perform Shakespeare. "Klatu! Verata!" he shouted as his friends burst into laughter. "Neck tie? Nickel?"

"You have to say the words exactly!" His girlfriend tried to say while laughing. "Please tell me you said them exactly!"

"Kinda." He closed the book with a crisp pop of the pages. "Maybe I didn't say every little syllable, but basically, I said em, yeah!"

"Fool!" The first guy said. "You have doomed us all!"

"Oh, bullshit." He grinned. "Toss me a beer."

His date tossed a beer up to him and he spasmed slightly as it bounced off his head. The massive white head that stood over him clamping its jaws down on his shoulder was so out of place and sudden that his date's mind didn't even register it as awkward or horrifying for a few moments. As blood spurted from his mouth as his lungs were crushed she let out a shriek that could have awoken the dead in that hallowed place.

Rapidly from side to side the great ten foot tall beast rent the poor boys body, the furious jerking tore the shoulder from the body is a grisly display while they looked on. The lager portion of their friend's corpse flew off in one direction, while the massive white wolf-man spewed the arm and shoulder to the soft earth.

Still lying on her back the victims girlfriend pushed herself along with her feet and hands, 'walking' backwards on all fours. With a roar the beast only a few hasty steps, scooping her up by the ankles and flailing her in an arc over its head and smashing her face first into an upright tombstone. The force of the impact shattered her skull and sent a spray of explosive blood and brain matter everywhere in a fine red mist.

Twig-Girl was already hauling ass, and seriously, not even God would have blamed her at this point. Her boyfriend however, brave as he was, barely noticed her retreat as he scoured the area for the book his dead friend dropped to the grass before all the chaos had begun. His logic was solid enough, a book of spells... a few kids screwing with forced beyond their ken... read the book... send this monster back.

That shit only works in the movies.

A blur passed his field of vision as he sat up on his knees, book in hand, to banish the abomination. He never felt a thing until his chest opened up in four places and his entrails spilled out before him with a spongy sound into his lap. Panic struck him but it hardly had time to sink in before a second swipe removed his head, splattering it wickedly against a mausoleum wall in a crimson paste.

She ran as the chill of the cemetery fog clung her her and dried her lungs threatening to steal her breath. In shock and driven by panic the thin girl ran as far and as fast as her legs would carry her. It was close, she could hear it snorting as it chased her down and every time she made it close to an exit it seemed right in front of her.

It was toying with her, enjoying her fear and pain, but it could not belay the dreaded rage that boiled in its breast. She dashed through a row a tombstones and was brutally tackled to the soft earth. She barely got a scream to her voice before the massive jaws locked down on her neck and tore her throat out.

A howl rose up across the Los Angeles night and carried for miles. For those attuned to such things it screamed out for death and cried out for blood. Rage, mingled with pain, despair, confusion, and sorrow shattered thin glass and cracked several windshields across the landscape.

For a moment everyone in L.A. looked around for the monster causing such a horrid, pain filled, howl while every supernatural with heightened senses felt the searing pain of a thousand regrets and the weight of ten thousand tears smash their spiritual souls and rend their ephemeral hearts.

Click to reveal..

Every Werewolf, Vampire, Mage, Changeling, or any fraction there of (meaning you Oneca), have been slammed by a Soul Cry. A spiritual plea so potent that it rips reality asunder and bores into the hearts and minds of any enlightened (meaning, Supernaturals). The last recorded Soul Cry was August 11th, 1721.

All the above are immediately stricken with 3 Bashing Wounds. These wounds may not be regenerated by any means, they must fade at the normal rate of mortal healing. This includes Vampires spending Vitae (this is a temporary exception to the rule on healing, a Vampire will heal this damage naturally w/out expending vitae).

The pain is intense, like the power of migraine while someone pushes your eyes back into your sockets with their thumbs. Vision is blurred and balance is pretty much lost while the victim clutches their head and prays to anyone that will listen to either end the pain, or put them out of their misery. Empatically your character feels pain, sorrow, regret, rage, anger, and everything nasty and vile. The source is not made clear, nor is the identity of the Crier.

Those playing mortals are not affected save for being creeped out.

Post your reactions below. Participation is not mandatory, but I'm keeping track. Mortals are encouraged to post as well.

[Owns-The-Night]

He had just finished his initial patrol around the perimeter of the campus and was trotting past Morgan's dorm building when the cry of anguish untold rang out it's knell on the landscape. Own's-The-Night flinched and dropped to his belly as the grief and regret stole every ounce of vitality from his body, a whimper of pain and horror escaping his clenched jaws as he tried to cover his ears with paws ill-suited to the work.

His conscious mind recoiling from the agonising and negativity, the large dark-furred wolf responded on instinct, giving tongue in his own lesser howl of suffering and sorrow: high-pitched and heart-rending. He cared nothing for where he was, cared nothing for the nearness of the Human dwelling. Momentarily driven mad, Declan cried as wolves cry: without reserve.

[Adrian Moss]

Adrian was laying down on the sofa going over some of his homework. Gwen walked by, fresh out of the shower in her white terri cloth robe and matching towel around her head. She smiled down at Adrian as he nudged her butt with his toe.

"I have to get to bed, you ..." and she doubled over, falling to the ground. Adrian might have caught her himself if he wasn't feeling the soul wretching terror, pain, and cosmic confusion racing through his being. There was a full-body ache in the awful aftermath of whatever in the hell had happened.

Doubling up in pain had caused his books to tumble to the floor. In a panic, he beast at his throat warring between the desire to flee some unknown attack and the desire to strike back at a tormentor. Gwen feebly reached out for him.

"Adrian, what was ... that?"

She didn't have the words. Adrian couldn't match that level of loss and sorrow either.

"I don't know, but you felt it too so ..."

So what? Adrian had no clue. Could it be an attack on his bloodline? Could this be something by the Hunters? That was a fearful thought - that kind of mystic power married to their impressive militaristic skills.

Adrian rolled off the sofa and onto the floor.

"Gwen, stay down. I'm getting the lights."

He willed some vitae into the worst of the hurt based around his unbeating heart. Nothing happened.

Oh, this isn't good.

He crawled over to the light switch and snaked an arm up to cut off the lights in the living room. He then ran bent-over to the bedroom and cut them off too.

Now what?

He looked over to his computer. He could go to the chatroom and see if anyone was there, but then what? They couldn't offer him much in the way in an unsecured room. He reached into his pockets and looked at his phone. Who was he going to call? Robert would know about a supernatural angel, but would he dump the Mekhet if hunters were around?

The Order? Not their business if he lived or died. Maybe he was even a case study for someone else.

Declan? Why not. There was no one else.

Adrian hit the speed dial.

"Declan, this is Adrian."

And he got voice mail ...

"Ummm ... okay. I just felt something that ... we, oh, never mind. Something weird happened to me. We'll talk about it later. Thanks."

He still couldn't tell any of his friends about Gwen. Damn, but that complicated things.

Adrian crawled back over to Gwen.

"How are you feeling, Gwen?"

"I feel like someone stomped on my soul and rammed it back in my chest. That's how I feel. What was that?"

He looked into her eyes. Even in this paniced state that hungry mind of hers was alway burning. He cupped her chin.

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out."

The young vampire looked around. He crawled over and started putting his socks on.

"You lock up after me and get to bed. I'll handle this and be back before sunrise."

She looked as if she was going to protest, but she could see he was less frightened and more assertive. Adrian was getting his feet back under him.

He was also getting dressed for going out. He was hungry now and needing blood. He hoped that Declan wouldn't call too soon. He also hoped he would hear from him before the night was ended. Why was he suddenly so worried about the Were Alpha?

Adrian went out the door, waited for Gwen to lock the door and made his way to his car.

[Frank White]

For the most part Frank's evening was going pretty well. He had spent some time on the CalNet chatting it up with some of the students and staff. He and Dec didn't even get into it really. The real surprise had been when Amber logged on. His conversation with her, hadn't gone well and she had avoided his questions like a pro. Did that mean it was her? and if it was what did it matter?

These thoughts followed him as he drifted off to sleep, only to awakened by a howling noise louder than anything he had heard. his mind drifted back to that night only a few short months ago when he had encountered a man-wolf. The cry shook him to his very core. That night had been one of the very few times he had been truly scared for his life, and now here he was feeling that same way once again. The only comfort he could take was that no one was around to see him shivering in fear. Fear of what he had only thought of as fairy tales, but somehow some way was now a reality.

[Astra D.]

Laughing, Loki narrowly managed to avoid the black boot that jabbed playfully at his shin; Morgan grinned, regaining her balance just in time to pick up the bass line again. Even without Hunt singing for them, there was very little the group of friends enjoyed more than filling the basement with loud music and laughter, and tonight was no exception. Plastic cups littered the tables and equipment, and everyone was enjoying themselves. They'd been at it for hours already, and were currently taking turns belting out the lyrics to The Offspring's "Bad Habit."

Midway through the song, however, Mal frowned and removed his headset. Something sounded strange... It might've been feedback, but over the noise of Reva's drumming, it was hard to tell.

"Hey, guys," he began, turning to look at the group. Just then, a discordant twang interrupted him, followed by a crash as Morgan fell limply to the concrete floor and her instrument clattered to the ground. "Shit!" he swore, leaping up from the console as everyone dropped what they were doing and ran over. "Hey! Morgan, you okay? Morgan!"

The enchantress lay there, still and silent despite the efforts of her friends to rouse her, as a thin rivulet of blood dripped from her nose and Reva made a frantic call for an ambulance.

[SalmonMax]

No one was with Ariel when she was ripped out of a dream in the middle of the night. The howl was quiet, distant...but only to her ears; the least important senses that it impacted. In her soul it echoed and boomed like a jet engine, searing her and wringing an answering scream from her lips. She wasn't even aware when she shifted Dalu and the scream became an answering howl, shredding her pajamas as she beat at her head to try to stop the maddening tide of anguish that assaulted her. Somehow through the agony, she managed to crawl...pushing herself mostly with her legs as she gripped her head between her hands and arms...from the bedroom into the bathroom. What she meant to do was unclear. Vaguely she had an idea to get some Advil...but even that tiny hope faded as she lost her grip completely and could do nothing but curl into an oversized fetal position under the sink, sobbing into her arms.

[Sarah Dead-Wolf]

Hundred of miles to the north, three young Uratha and their ill-fated Dead Wolf mentor howled out their sorrows to the slim crescent moon, none one of them with any idea why beyond the simple need to do so.

[Graham Johnson]

Graham's eyes snap open and widen in terror as the soul-wrenching agony tears at the very core of his being. His hands shoot up, and clench at his pillow, trying to stifle the sound by pulling it over his ears, but the pillow does not making any difference. All over his body, his hair stands on end.

He looks around for the source, but as he turns his head, the sound makes even that action feel painful. Graham screams out his fear and rage to the crisp air-conditioned basement that was his apartment. His sorrow filling his eyes to the brim with tears, and his hatred filling his heart with pain. He screams until blessed silence and darkness overtake his troubled and clearly addled mind.

[Lucien Hunt]

1:18am

A quiet breath coupled a sensual moan. Beneath the silvery sheets in Lucien's bed he and his 'dinner guest' were in the beginning stages of dishing dessert to one another. She sat up, straddling his hips and arching her back to show off not just her flexibility but her perfectly sculpted silicone body.

They'd just begun, and she was already treating it like they were making love for the first time and the passion and magic of this night would secure their relationship forever. Lucien was treating like it was: sex. His libido was carrying on full tilt twenty-four seven since he'd been with Sarah, the one woman it seemed he could never have.

Funny how it works he mused to himself as his eyes stayed shut and he slowly buried himself further inside her. The jokes about Lucien's manhood were hardly exaggerated, although no one really bothered to learn the truth (and a few had him on their 'to do' list).

"Ohh!" she brightened right up and giggled playfully as he hit a spot that hadn't seemed tickled in awhile which only caused her gyrate a bit more. With an ecstatic moan and a bite of her bottom lip the 'natural' blond tossed her head back and put on a show for her date.

The shock of the frightful and the millionaire playboy almost swallowed his tongue as his muscles contracted. His hands gripped tightly and his manicured nails dug painfully into her perfect hips. The Mastigo's mind was completely open and the empathic young mage was barraged by a blast of pure malice heaped upon a tsunami of forsaken innocence.

His body convulsed and thrashed about screaming in agony as the psychic assault grippe deach hemisphere of his brain and threatened to tear it in half. Tears streamed down the sides of his head onto the pillows below and they would not stop. Suddenly all he wanted was for someone, anyone, to kill him and end the misery of his existence.

And as suddenly as it came, it was gone. His body shattered by the assault, Lucien lay there dowsed in his own sweat, his breathing swift to match his racing heart as he slipped into a coma.

"Lucien?" she tapped his chest a few times. "Luey? Baby...?"

He was out. Short of Divine Intervention there was little to be done that could shake the man from his pain induced slumber.

1:19am

"You've got to be fucking kidding me..." She collapsed on top of him with a sigh that told a sorrowful tale of severe disappointment. "Was it good for you? ...asshole."

[Owns-The-Night]

Declan 'Owns-The-Night' Perault, Uratha, Rahu and Blood Talon was, in the words of his drill sergeant in Boot and Julio of the Cliffs-By-The-Sea pack, "A tough son of a bitch."

He always had been. Pain and fatigue to his warrior soul were friends to welcome, reminders that he was still alive, could still feel and fight. He had suffered and survived recovery from injuries that made even other Uratha wince, and most of that was due to a core of molten steel deep in the Full Moon's heart. It was his inner strength, his secret weapon, a source of pride.

And right now, with blissful oblivion escaping his grasp no matter how much he wanted to yield to it, it was a curse. Growling and whimpering, he staggered to his feet, ears flat against his large canine head. He tried to think, tried to focus.

Hurts! Fuck! Who...? What... the... HELL? A fresh wave of agony sent the Uratha staggering sideways before he caught himself. Got to... get somewhere... safe. Have to... It was too much. The large dark wolf threw back his head and bayed, a song of rage and pain that caused mortals woken by the first great cry to huddle even deeper in their beds. The anger pushed the pain away somewhat, but Declan knew he couldn't keep this up. He smelled blood, realising his ears and nose were bleeding. Hemorrhaging. Something attacked my mind... Wait. Lucien. He'll know what to do. FUCK this hurts. Can't make it... home. Hunt's place...

He set off across the grounds, moving as fast as his throbbing head would let him. The fraternity house that was Lucien Hunt's on-campus manse was not too far away, and Owns-The-Night didn't dawdle. He didn't know what the attack was, but it could come again. He wasn't sure he would survive that, Uratha or not. His mind locked onto it's goal, driving him on step after whimpering step as he trotted on.

* * * * * *

All was quiet around the Hunt place, though lights were starting to come on in the kitchen at the back of the house as Rosalind, Lucien's housekeeper and Lou, his bodyguard, had been woken from their slumber by the hideous howling, and the lesser howls that had followed had served to make returning to almost-certainly nightmare haunted sleep less than desirable. Or even possible.

Owns-The-Night ghosted up to the rear door adjoining the kitchen, his sensitive ears hearing the two voices speaking quietly inside: Roz's rich contralto and Lou's rumbling baritone both hushed as they discussed what they had heard that had woken them. He smelled hot chocolate, soap and Rosalind's heady scent mingled with Lou's, both sleep-warmed. The wolf crouched at the door and concentrated, ignoring the stabbing pain in his head. Fur flowed into flesh, bones lengthened, paws became hands in a soft whisper of organic noise, and Declan fell forward on his hands and knees, biting back a sob of pain. Sorry to leave ya some explainin' to do, Hunt, but this is an emergency. he thought silently as he crawled to the door and, reaching up, knocked hard three times.

The sight that met the two humans' eyes when Lou opened the door with Roz peeking over his shoulder, both of them carrying heavy kitchenware, was less than reassuring. Sprawled against the doorframe, half sitting and half laying, was the naked muscular form of Declan 'Crazy' Perault, the UCLA groundskeeper who, for some reason, their boss had an interest in. He looked a mess, his strange silver eyes blurry and red-rimmed, the blood trickling from his nose and ears matting his hair and beard. The eerie tableau stood for a long moment: him laying still, them standing over him with pots and pans raised. Then he spoke in a low, pained growl.

"Get... Hunt. Need... help. No doctors!" He said with urgency. "Just Hunt!"

He closed his eyes and, believing help at hand, allowed himself to doze.

[Adrian Moss]

There was the unmistakable undercurrent of panic in the herd tonight. The hunters had a frantic air about them, as they hurried to make up for lost blood and futilely tried to heal the hurts than only time could manage – a very non-kindred concept. Where the hunters were desperate for their next fix of vitae the humans were sensing that desperation and acting in sympathy to it. Everyone felt alone and somehow vulnerable tonight. An aching fear of the unknown warred with a desire to not be alone on a night like this. This caused for a variety of late night hook-ups as well as sudden disappointments as fear got the upper hand and twisted people’s minds in odd and different directions.

It was a unique night – an uncertain night.

Adrian made his way through the nightlife sensing the confusion and distress amongst his own kind. The furtive looks and the unwillingness to make eye contact spoke volumes about their weakness in this soul-tearing night. No one knew what was happening. Everyone was assuming some kind of attack. The enemy of the Kindred were many, and their powers largely unknown. There were even rumors that one faction, or another, had done this; reports that this had happened in Sand Diego, San Francisco, and Las Vegas. Everyone had heard something, though the stories rarely added up. All that was familiar was that there was this aching agony that drug their blood-stained claws back to their embraces and the agony of gaining a new life – without the promise of the Night. Hopelessness and rage were the tattered fragments of the nightmare experience. It was too close to the kindred experience to be anything but a stab directly at their collective hearts.

Adrian found a willing victim easy enough. He didn’t feel alone in all of this. He was sure that this more than a Kindred phenomena. He had become too familiar with those outside their mystic circles – the werewolves had their own spirituality, humans had strange and unique powers, and then there were mages. He didn’t bring this up. The last thing he wanted was some jumbled out-of-their-mind kindred attacking some Were in the city because they blamed them. That would end up with more dead and greater hatred and misunderstanding, so he kept his opinions to himself.

Declan hadn’t called yet which was odd. He wondered about his friend, but before he could figure out what to do about it, he got a call from Francesca.

“Adrian, I need you to come and help me with something.” Her voice sounded frayed and throaty, like she had been breathing a lot, which wasn’t possible. That sounded bad.

“Okay. I’m on my way.”

[Lucien Hunt]

For the span of ten minutes or so, the Hunt household was in a complete panic. It took them several minutes to wake him up and as he walked down the steps he entered the kitchen to retrieve an ice pack, still naked as a jay bird. Nudity in Lucien's house was as common a thongs in a strip club.

"I'm fine, really." His hand was pressed to his forehead, as if pressure would do some good. "Would you to relax?"

"Lu, your fucking eyes were black." Lou shouted, stomping down the steps behind him. "Black Lucien! Peoples eyes do not go black! We need to get you to the E.R.! So start explaining!"

"I can't. I have no idea what you two are talking about." Padding into the kitchen, his million dollar member happily enjoying its brisk constitutional, Lucien rummaged in the freezer for an ice pack. "We made love and I passed out."

"I didn't mean that," Lou pointed to Declan, still lying on the floor, naked with Ros over him pretending not to look... at either of them. "I meant that. What the fuck is a naked gardner, who seems to know you pretty well, doing on our porch at one AM! Did I mention he was naked!?"

Lucien angled his head back from th efreezer, peeking out with half his head and a single curious eye. What followed next was what happened when Lucien lost control of a situation. He hadn't planned on a naked Declan in his kitchen, nor for having to possibly explain supernatural phenomena to his two sleeper employees. The normally quick witted and tactlessly honest Lucien suddenly found that contorting the truth, or word play would not get him out of this situation. He had a Seussian moment as a tumult of possible 'outs' filled his aching mind.

As he stood in the kitchen, member so thick, Lucien thought up a lie and thought it up quick.

"He's my uh... could you get me some ice please?" He asked Lou, trying to stall while he walked from the freezer over by Dec. "My, uh... my gay lover!"

Oh crap...

"The fuck?" Lou shot back looking at the young man. "Then who's the floozy I booted out tonight?"

"Obviously my non-gay lover..." His eyes darted about to the two, looking for a sign they were buy his bullshit. "Could I get some ice please?"

"Your father is gon' shit a brick Lucien!"

"Declan's gay?" Rosalind asked with an expression that screamed 'say it's not so!'.

Couldn't stop now. See, that's the trouble with lies, once you start them they have a tendency to roll out of control... "Affraid so, Cosmo quizzes and all."

A pound into the side of Lucien's head with an ice pack didn't do much to subvert his aching brain. "I see you found it," he grumbled. "Thanks."

"Bi... I don't fuckin believe this shit..." Lou shook his head and mumbled something about his heart as he cracked a beer.

As Declan slowly opened his eyes he saw Rosalind hovering over him in short, white, satin lingerie and a half robe, suddenly being pulled and tied shut. "I think he's coming to."

[Owns-The-Night]

If Declan had been briefed on the lie, he might have agreed to the charade. Or he might not have. He might even have laughed at the idea. But seeing as he had been out cold when Lucien had desperately grabbed at the untruth, Declan had no clue that he was about to tumble a house of cards. It might be said that there are worse sights to see for a red-blooded male than Rosalind in her night wear, and those who say it are correct. Even with the mother of all migraines and the taste of his own blood in his mouth, the sight was sufficient to conjure a smile and a wink from the prone werewolf.

"Lookin' good, Roz." came the low, growly voice from the floor, full of pain but still strong as one corner of his mouth crooked up in an appreciative grin. He slowly tried to get his feet under him and stand, managing it on the second try. He gave the housekeeper an appreciative glance. "Sight for sore eyes, and bel've me, my eyes are fuckin' sore right now. It's good to see ya."

"S'rry 'bout this." He said as squinted at the grumbling man drinking a beer, then Rosalind, then finally focused his attention on Lucien. "Didn't know where else t'go. Got hammered by somethin', Hunt. Damn near knocked my head off. Any more of that ice?" He blinked and did a double take at the Underwear King. "What happened to you? Your eyes look like mine feel."

The whole time, he didn't seem any more conscious of his nudity than Lucien. Indeed, it seemed to be a natural way for him to be to the others present, as if the clothing he had previously worn had been a disguise.

[Lucien Hunt]

Rosalind shot Lucien a look that demanded he explain everything... now.

When the second bag soared through the air and ended up slamming to the floor as Declan's attempted at a catch was a bit premature considering his battered depth perception.

"Dec. Basement. Now." Was all Lucien said, before he dug an even deeper hole for himself. He walked past the naked gardener, hand held high on his head, and padded his way down the steps, Declan slowly stomping behind him.

"Lucien!" Rosalind yelled for him. "Wait a sec..."

"Leave em be," Lou added. "Give the queers their moment."

*****

He cut to the chase. "You to?"

[Owns-The-Night]

"Yeah." Declan grunted back, holding the retrieved bag of ice to his head. He looked the younger man in the eye. "It was a howl, Lucien. Full of pain and sorrow and rage. And it echoed in the spirit realms." He wiped at the blood trickling from his nose. "This flow shoulda stopped. Hell, I shouldn't even be hurting no more. But I do. Whatever it was... It was nasty as hell. And sad, too." He looked thoughtful. "Right after it hit, all I could do was cry my fuckin' heart out like a girl with a skinned knee."

"I thought you might know somethin', or be able to do somethin'. Hell, mind stuff is your bag, right?"

[Lucien Hunt]

"It wasn't just the mind Declan." He collapsed into an overstuffed leather chair. Apparently this was his 'man cave' room of the house complete with bar, big screen plasma, the works. Declan wasn't really surprised, this kid seemed to have a plasma in every room in the house, but since he hadn't used the bathroom yet while visiting, continued to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"As for why you're not healing, I can't say." Ice rattled as he relocate the bag. "I've never felt such sorrow before. It was a howl... maybe that's a lead."

[Owns-The-Night]

"Yeah." Declan likewise slumped into a chair across from Lucien. "Could well be a lead. But it wasn't someone I know, so it must be a strange ur..ath..a..." His voice trailed off and his eyes went unfocused. A terrible thought occured to him.

"Tell me, Lucien." he started, his voice sounding distant. "Did ya ever talk to that Swara-Ann chick like I asked?"

[Lucien Hunt]

"No, you ran off to, wherever, I had classes, the Holidays..." He sighed. "It kinda got all lost in the shuffle, why? Still think she's single?"

[Owns-The-Night]

"I think I fucked up leavin' her alone to deal with her issues while I dealt with mine." Declan said with his usual succinctness. "I need to check something out. There a back way out of this cellar?" He set the ice pack aside with reluctance, looking around.

[Dave ST]

Steam filled the dark tiled alcove. Crimson saturated water flowed easily down the central drain, as the water of several showers sprayed heavily down on a lone shadowy figure huddled as far into a corner as she could.

Her body heaved as she sobbed, and even heavier as she tried to speak through the fear and tears. Flesh still seemed lodged beneath her finger and toe nails and a the vomit close to the drain washed away regurgitated bits of raw human flesh.

It appeared this night's events had happened before as the grate of the drain was removed and lying beside it. Angrily and with a panicked scuffle she charged forward, scurrying on the wet tiles, and frantically pushed all that she could into the drain. For her sake it seemed, none of the bits were very large.

She collapsed onto her side and cried more, letting the water spray away the blood that seemed to cover ever inch of her body. As the water cleansed her she wept still while cupping her hands together. "Lord Jesus," she began, falling into a fit of tears as her conscious struggled against what she had done, and to whom she now turned. "I suffer and cry tonight. Give me repose, Lord, a pause from my burdens. Let there be just one moment where I can have peace, not of man but of angels. Love me, Lord, because others cannot. Hear my prayers... please..."

Her forehead pressed gently against the tile floor with her face buried in her hands completely consumed by the weight of her sins her tears flowed out of control. She rocked slowly repeating "please" to herself over and over...

[Lucien Hunt]

"No," he replied honestly. "You'll have to go up through the house again. Need a ride? Some clothes? Maybe care to fill me in?"

He stood up motioning to the stairs and for Dec to go first.

[Owns-The-Night]

"Sure." Declan said as he stood up. "You can even tag along if you want. I might need your help. I'll take the clothes too. Somethin' loose that you don't mind maybe gettin' torn." He sighed, rubbing his head. The bleeding seemed to have stopped, at least. "A wash would be good too. Need to get the blood out of my nose and ears."

"Short version: Swara had issues. She seemed to spend time in what we call Kuruth, Death Rage. If she was running around like that, it's only a matter of time before she..." He looked sick. "Did somethin' bad. And that's me sayin' that." He shuddered as he remembered the howl from earlier. "That howl, Lucien. It was the sound of ultimate sufferin'. It was a soul tearing itself apart. If a sweet girl stuck with somethin' she didn't understand did... what I think she could have done... Well, she'd certainly be hurtin'."

He started up the stairs, then stopped and looked at the Mastigos, his silver eyes glittering. "Now I ain't certain that it was her. I don't know. But I'm gonna find out. And Luna forgive me if I'm right, because I coulda helped her before and didn't. Maybe I can help her now."

[Lucien Hunt]

"Wait, Swara?!" Lucien was positively stunned. She seemed to (stupid) sweet to be a homocidal devourer of souls.

"So let me get this right," Lucien and Declan passed up Ros and Lou in the kitchen. Casually the two very naked men just strolled right by having a conversation. "She's flying into this Kuruth, pardon my pronunciation, I'm short on phlegm, and is wreaking terror across the Gauntlet."

He noticed the way Declan just had to shoot Ros a look, sliding a coffee over to Lou.

"What's a Kuluth?" Ros asked Lou as the two men had left the room.

"Homo safe word." Lou shrugged. "Maybe the sound the hairy one makes when he's choking on-"

"Lou! Lou..." she held up a hand. "I get it, thanks so much."

*****

"Yes, they're real." Lucien answered Declan's unspoken questions. "No, she's not wearing underwear..."

The warrior looked over his shoulder and gave Lucien a glare that could stopped his heart.

"Yes, I'm getting out of your head now..." He sighed and complained aloud. "Not my fault you think so loud. Straight ahead, last room in the hall. Shower is to your left, I'll get you some clothes."

[Owns-The-Night]

Dec grumbled sotto voce about goddamn mind readers as he stepped into the surprisingly large shower cubicle and started to wash. He didn't take his time, and was out again and vigorously towelling off by the time Lucien returned bearing a small pile of clothing. Taking a pair of sweatpants, Declan clambered into them then pulled on the accompanying shirt, not bothering with underwear, socks or shoes.

"Yeah." he said, continuing the previous conversation. "Swara's doin' that. Or might be. Only way to check is to track her down and find out. We might need more help, too. Maybe Morgan and a couple of oth-" His silver eyes widened. "Fuck! Morgan! If you got tagged, so did she! Oh shit!" He looked at Lucien near-frantically. "Where's ya phone?"

Wordlessly, Lucien pointed to the sleek-looking handset in one corner. Damn, a phone in the bathroom. Declan thought to himself even as he picked up and started dialling Morgan's mobile.

"Come on, come on, come ON!" He near-chanted, oblivious to Lucien's presence in his fear for her safety. "Pick up, Little Red." he pleaded to the sound of a phone ringing on the other end of the line.

[z021]

Alex was woken up out a sound sleep by the screams echoing throughout the Chantry. Bolting up out of bed, he stumbled into the hallway. The screams were coming from a nearby room, Remy's. Alex bolted for the room to find Remy holding Oneca as she screamed, tears running down her face and blood running down her nose.

Remy was in panic and when he registered Alex in the room, he barked, "Get Yolanda!"

Several other people had woken up, whispering worriedly to each other in the hallways now about the strange feelings that had disturbed them. Alex ran into the empath before reaching her room; she clutching at her head and waving him off before he'd said a word.

"I-I can't, Alex. I've got to...to shut it off. I've got to..." She collapsed to the floor; Alex motioned some of the others to get her back to her room and made a beeline for the Chantry master's study. There was a phone list there, the one for dangerous emergencies and not for casual member consumption. It was a short list, and recently added to. He started from the bottom up.

The first number rang until it switched over to a machine. He left a suscinct message, "My name is Alex. I'm a friend of Oneca's. Please call me back at 770-889-0786." He knew not to call an ambulance for these numbers. These people wanted their privacy.

As he rang the second number the sounds of suffering in Chantry were dying down. He hoped that meant that they were recovering. Someone on the other end of the line finally picked up and Alex wasted no time. "Hello, my name is Alex. I'm a friend of Oneca and Remy. Something has happened here and I was given your phone number to call in case of a major emergency."

[Adrian Moss]

Adrian picked his phone out of his pocket. He had just walked out of Gwen's appartment and was heading to his car.

"Hello," and he was overrun.

When the voice finished and the person had calmed down a bit, Adrian got some words in.

"Listen Alex," was this The Alex, "I have something ... I need to take care of. I think I know why you've called, but its going to take me an hour and a half/two hours to get to you, but I will. Hang in there."

Alex definitely sounded like he had other things to do, so he said, "Bye," and the phone went dead.

[Astra D.]

"'m fine," the green-eyed girl grumbled wearily, batting away Reva's hands as she tried to tilt Morgan's head back. "Okay?" She wasn't sure which was worse; that sound, passing out, hitting the concrete, or being subjected to Reva with a Mother-Hen syndrome.

"No, not okay. Morgan, there could be something seriously wrong with you. What if it's a... a-a-a, a tumor, or something? You need to go to the emergency room!" With her arms folded resolutely over her chest, Reva sighed and shook her head. Worry etched deep lines into her forehead and around her mouth as Morgan laid her head against Gabe's shoulder.

There was a long moment of tense quiet as Reva prepared another appeal to reason, Mal and Loki shuffled about the living room nervously, and Gabe ran his hand reassuringly through Morgan's dark, dark hair.

The best things in life are free/But you can keep them for the birds and bees/Give me money/That's what I want... suddenly echoed shrilly through the silent house.

As one, they all started, glancing in the direction of the ubiquitous messenger bag.

"It's Hunt," Morgan offered quietly, and Mal retrieved the phone for her.

"Hey, Hunt," she began. Her voice was slightly husky, and wavered threateningly as she leaned back into the couch cushions. The room had finally stopped spinning, but she wasn't going to be training for the Ironman any time soon. "Kinda late for you, isn't it?"

[z021]

Alex let out his breath very carefully. Intellectually he knew that the people on this list were different even from the people in the Chantry. They had their own lives and their own concerns. He wasn't being very intellectual at the moment. He was halfway through the next number when one of the other apprentices slipped into the room. "Alex? She's stopped crying and she's not bleeding as much any more. Micah called the rest of the Chantry. They're heading over."

He nodded and set the phone down. "Thanks, Tricia. Think you can get some hot chocolate and tea made up for everyone? I have a feeling this is going to be a bit of night."

Twenty minutes later the Chantry was assembled in the front room, with Oneca sitting at the center of attention on one of the loveseats. She tried to explain what had happened, what had woken her up and hurt so badly, but it was vague and there weren't enough words for it. Only Yolanda seemed to really grasp it and she was trying quite hard not to. Everyone was pouring over books, watching the real-time yahoo news blogs, and quietly trying to piece it all together; Alex had quietly told Remy that he had called the last two numbers on the emergency list and that the one named Adrian might be over at some point and the one named Declan might call.

And so they waited.

[Owns-The-Night]

Originally Posted By: M. Westbrook

"Hey, Hunt," she began. Her voice was slightly husky, and wavered threateningly as she leaned back into the couch cushions. The room had finally stopped spinning, but she wasn't going to be training for the Ironman any time soon. "Kinda late for you, isn't it?"

The voice on the other end of the line wasn't possessed of the smooth, cultured tones of Lucien Hunt, Warlock and underwear model. It was rougher, deeper, and contained growling elements that, on other nights, would have sent a pleasant chill down Morgan's spine. Right now, however, it sounded both relieved and concerned.

"Thank Luna." the voice said. "You okay, Morgan?"

The girl hesitated for a moment, and when she spoke the confusion in her voice was evident. "You're not Lucien. Who- Declan? Um... Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." She tried to play off how she felt both for his benefit and for the benefit of her friends, who seemed to be leaning in to listen whilst trying not to be obvious. "I just had a little fall. Why?"

Naturally, Declan wasn't fooled. Nor were her friends, come to that. Reva scowled at Morgan, folding her arms and tapping one foot.

"This fall... Wouldn't have anythin' to do with a godawful feelin' and a nasty headache, would it?" His voice paused for a second, then went on. "Cos it weren't just you."

"Mm..." She paused, trying to collect what had happened in those last few moments of consciousness. "I'm not sure, honestly. We were playing down here, and there was this noise, like feedback on the equipment or something, but weird." She took a breath, collecting her thoughts. "Don't know how to describe it, but for a second I thought my head was going to split open. Next thing I know, I've got an EMT standing over me, cleaning blood off my face and shining a light in my eyes." What's this about? she wondered.

"Sounds about right." Declan's voice was all business. "I'm at Hunt's place. He got it too. It hit me while I was on patrol." She heard the wince in his voice as he remembered. "It was a howl, Morgan. A howl that tore my head in two and made me cry like a puppy. I've still got the headache, though the bleedin's stopped." Another pause. "Listen, the phone's not the best place to have this conversation, but I think I know what's happenin'. Someone we know needs help. Bad. Can you get here, to Hunt's place?"

What the hell? But... Yeah, if there was something freaky going on...

"Yeah. Yeah, sure." She sighed and started to sit up, waving away Reva's protests that she should stay still as well as biting back the groan as her head tried to split again. "I'll have one of the guys drive me over, as soon as I can talk them into it, and you can tell me then." And this better be good. "'Kay? See you in a bit."

"Thanks, Little Red." A pause, as though he wanted to say more, but then he simply said "See you soon." and hung up. His tone was different on the farewell, having more warmth in it, same as when she had picked up. Heh. Big Bad Wolf my ass. Morgan though with a wry smile before girding herself to argue with her friends.


* * * * * * *

Declan stared at the phone for a long moment, then turned to look at Lucien who, dressed himself, was regarding the Rahu with a steady gaze as though measuring him inside and out. Dec met that gaze for a long moment. If you're readin' this: Yeah, I care about her. A lot. Go figure, right? he thought challengingly. But he simply said:

"She's on her way. We got any food around here? I'd better make some more calls."

With that, he turned back to the phone and started tapping out numbers.

Click to reveal.. (Notes)

((OOC: Okay peoples. Dec is calling up Ariel, Amber if she's in on this fic (she might be busy healing up, and who'd blame her), Adrian and Oneca. He's pretty much giving them the same lowdown: something bad has happened to someone, he has a suspicion who, and he needs all the help he can get to make things right. If Ariel or Amber suggest calling on No-Moss (and Rorx wants in) then Dec will agree and ask one of them to make the call. He will only be checking up on Oneca, Remy and Co, to see if anyone there got tagged. On hearing that only Oneca did, he will ask that she attend alone.

He'll also be impressing a sense of urgency on the matter. Time's a tickin', and all that.))

[Astra D.]

"...or I can walk," Morgan finished stubbornly.

"No!" Reva almost shouted. "You're not going-"

"I'll take her," came the quiet interjection, and the young Acanthus flashed Mal a grateful, if slightly weary, smile. He shrugged, and gave her an answering grin. "You know I can't tell you 'No.' C'mon. Get your stuff and we'll get out of here. Besides, Hunt's probably got a doctor on-staff or something."

There was no reason for them to know that someone else had been using Lucien's phone, or that anything remotely strange was going on, and although Morgan regretted keeping secrets from her friends, there was no way around it.

Moments later, the ancient van was rumbling across campus toward Chateau de Hunt.

*************

"And you're sure you'll be okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. I may just crash here tonight," she murmured, massaging the bridge of her nose with her free hand. The canvas strap of her messenger bag was wound around the other, and as they pulled into Lucien's driveway she hauled it into her lap.

"Oh, really?" Mal grinned mischievously. "Going to ask the fabulous Mr. Hunt to pose naked again?"

"It's 'nude,' not 'naked,'" she chided him. "And, maybe." It definitely wouldn't be a hardship. "Thanks for the ride, Mal. Love ya." She winced only slightly as she leaned over and gave him a quick hug, the pain behind her eyes throbbing dully.

"Yeah, yeah. Love you, too," he laughed. "Now go on, before Reva calls and I change my mind."

As usual, the passenger door refused to cooperate, and Morgan groaned. Grasping the door handle in one hand, and shoving her booted foot against the door itself, she simultaneously pulled back on the handle and kicked, nearly rolling out of the van in the process.

"Y'know, we'll get that fixed one day," Mal called out teasingly as she stumbled out onto the driveway. Her answer was a lopsided grin, a raised finger, and another kick to the door that sent it crashing shut.

Okay, Morgan. Let's see what flavor of trouble we're getting into tonight, hm?

Looping her bag over her shoulder, she sighed and knocked on Hunt's front door, rocking on her feet as she waited.

[Lucien Hunt]

Everyone was dressed now, much to Rosalind's dismay. But as the beautiful Columbian woman, now in her own late night sweats and t-shirt, still sat at the breakfast table sipping coffee and staring over to Lou who was reading the news paper at 2am with a Glock sitting beside his cup and saucer.

"Hey, uh, Ros" Lucien entered the kitchen and had his 'I'm bout to ask you to work' look on his face and in his voice. "We have company coming over. We're going to need a lot of sandwiches."

"You're kidding, me. Right Lucien?" Her own mind was still struggling to grasp what exactly was going on this evening. "Sandwiches?"

"Some of these people can eat, trust me."

"Hold it," she got up from her chair and strolled over to the threshold between the kitchen and living room where her boss was leaning against the door way. "Lucien, Declan shows up naked on the kitchen floor, you had us some bullshit story about being lovers, now you're having a party and need sandwiches? What the hell is going on?"

Lou just casually turned the page of the paper.

"Ros," her skin trmbled slightly as he placed on hand low on her hip to be considered grounds for sexual harassment, while the backs of his fingers brushed her cheek. "I'm a Warlock of considerable skill and magical beast is threatening our territory. As we speak werewolves and vampires are meeting me here along with the areas sorcerers to see how we can deal with the problem."

She Columbian goddess cocked an eyebrow. "You were better off with the gay story, but I'm getting overtime."

And the truth shall set you free. He mused to himself. Funny how it works, give people exactly what they want to hear sometimes, and they'll never believe it.

*****

As Morgan entered the house she Ros shared their typical pleasant smile. Ros liked her, and appreciated that Lucien had at least one friend willing to stay up late and talk with her for hours.

Lou's news paper found a home on the table as the dark haired vision of beauty made her way towards the basement doors. His brow arched as he took in her frame wrapped in leather pants tight enough to be ruled a second skin. "Well, hol-y shit. Look who stopped by. C'mere doll, give Pappa Lou a hug, eh?"

Lou and Morgan made good pair. Each could drink til the sun came up and never seemed to tire of telling people their opinions, either politely or in a variety of colorful and vulgar terms.

Click to reveal..

Everyone will meet in the basement, assume Ros shows you there if you've never been to Lucien's home before (if your PC would like to meet the NPCs, we can set something up, later). Declan and Lucien are already waiting down stairs for people to arrive.

[Astra D.]

"Hey, Lou," she grinned, strolling over to give the older man a hug and plant a lipsticked kiss atop his bald head. "You guys are up late." Green eyes took in the pair of Lucien's "employees" curiously, watching them over the rim of the bodyguard's coffee mug. Yep. Bourbon, she thought with a faint quirk of her lips as she took a long sip and replaced it on the table.

"Eh," Lou shrugged, opening his paper again. "You know how it is. Lucien's got some weird gay-thing goin' on downstairs. Now he wants to have a party. I dunno."

"Gay?" Morgan blinked. "Oh-kay. Well, I guess the potential was always there. Lemme go see if I can save him from himself, eh?"

"Good luck, doll," the older man chuckled. "And don't let me see none o' this stuff on that You-Tube thing, got it?"

"Got it."

With a playful wave, and a bounce in her step she really didn't feel, Morgan hitched up the low-rise pants and headed downstairs. As soon as she closed the basement door behind her, she paused, holding on to the railing for support as the stairs swam in and out of focus.

Okay. Whatever that noise was, I so do not want to hear it again. Ever.

She could hear the sound of conversation, and her boots thudded softly, slowly down the stairs. It was a relatively cautious few steps, but she'd already taken a crack on the head once tonight; she wasn't going to push her luck on getting a broken ankle. When Morgan finally stepped down, out of the stairwell, she caught sight of two of her favorite men on campus, and offered them a wavering smile.

The enchantress looked much the same as she had before the holidays: long, dark hair framing bright green eyes and a slightly crooked grin. She wasn't quite so pale, however, and though still enviably flawless, her skin had a distinctly sun-kissed glow. Soft, black leather pants hung low on her hips, and a matching cotton turtleneck looked strangely casual on her.

"Hey," was all she said by way of greeting, before tossing her bag onto a nearby chair.

[z021]

Oneca followed the directions Declan had given her, her hands still a bit shakey on the steering wheel. Remy hadn't liked letting her go alone but Oneca pointed out that he was much better at organizing the Chantry than she was. He could keep everyone calm and focused on finding out what anything helpful that they could. She had her cell on her, and he was just going to have to live with it for now.

She pulled up to the address, blinking at the quality and neighborhood of the house. I guess they pay the janitors pretty well. Or maybe being a lycanthrope has its advantages.

She parked the car and made her way to the front door, where a woman answered her knock and directed her downstairs. Heh, at least I'm not the only one with a Bat Cave. She made her way down the stairwell, calling out before she actually hit the bottom, "Um, hello? Declan?"

[Adrian Moss]

He left the long, dark beauty in the shadowy corner, slumping slightly and breathless. Adrian had really put the bit on her and she would definitely be feeling this in the morning, and the morning after that too.

The phone rang and Adrian's mind turned to the serious problem at hand. It was Declan and he stayed quiet and listened. Before Declan hung up,

"I've been in contact with The Chantry. I'll see if I can bring the Two with me. I'll stop by there first and see what's what. I'll hurry."

The phone went dead and Adrian marched with a purpose out of the club. Eyes were on him, because when confusion abounds, beware a man with a purpose - he knows something. Too bad they were only half right.

Adrian sprinted across the street and jumped into his car. Once he had pulled out into traffic, he got on his phone like any other good Californian.

"Hey," he spoke to the person answering the phone, "I need to talk to Remy, Oneca, or Alex."

He got Alex and a quick explaination that she had gone to meet someone named Declan. God, the boy was panicked. Adrian hung up and turned his car around as fast as he could. He too was off to Stately Hunt Manor and was about to meet the BatMan himself. As he got there he made sure to cloak his pistols and comb his hair. This would be different.

Click to reveal..

Touch of Shadows on his pistols: (16:50:46) ChatBot: (Adrian) rolls 7d10 and gets 3,8,6,7,3,3,5 = 1 success

[Owns-The-Night]

As soon as he heard Morgan's voice upstairs, Lucien could fancy Dec's ears pricking up and saw the internal struggle as the werewolf had to fight every sinew and nerve in his body not to go bounding up from the cellar. Cool. Be cool. Hunt's here, his staff are upstairs. This ain't the time for Mr Waggy-Wolf. You'll just embarrass her. And you.

Patience won the first round, but not the second. As Morgan emerged from the steps into the cellar-proper and dropped her bag onto the chair, she found herself confronted with a pair of silver eyes (albeit red-rimmed from pain) so suddenly that it looked as though their owner had teleported across the intervening ten feet.

Easy. Easy! Human-ish biology. No pouncing or rough 'n' tumble. Not with that headache she's bound to have. The months with the wolf-pack had widened the exuberant, expressive streak in the Rahu that, appropriately enough, this woman had been responsible for kindling in the first place. But this wasn't the right time or place for horseplay, or for kissing the lipstick off that charming grin, or a thousand and one other scenarios that Dec had pictured while curled up against the Montana cold, and so the enchanting Enchantress simply found herself enveloped in a hug, a warm bearded cheek pressed to her smooth tanned one. Dec breathed in her scent for a long moment, then drew back to look into her eyes with a smile. "Glad you're okay, Little Red." Silver and green eyes met, and the moment stretched...

Originally Posted By: Oneca

"Um, hello? Declan?"

...And broke as Oneca came down the steps. Declan looked over Morgan's shoulder at the pyrokinetic young woman and gave her a smile of greeting before gently stepping away from the Enchantress, aware of her nearness, trying to make it a reassurance rather than a distraction for him.

"Oneca. Glad you could make it, girl." The werewolf grinned. "There's some more folks comin' too, I'm hopin'. This here's Morgan, and that... Well, you remember THE Lucien Hunt. He's our kindly host for this pow-wow."

As the delectable Ros showed Adrian down the steps and the slim, quiet young Mekhet emerged into the cellar, Dec was back in his seat on the couch. "Glad you could make it, kid. Looks like everyone hauled ass to get here." He smiled at them. "Thanks for that." We'll wait on a couple more for a few, then I'll crack on with the brief." He looked over at his host, showing polite deference to the owner of the 'den'. "Sound good to you, Lucien?"

[z021]

Oneca's eyes widened just a bit as she took in the occupants of the room but she recovered quickly. She slid gratefully into one of the plush seats, her curiosity about the other occupants here and her headache warring for her attention.

She wondered if everyone else here was a werewolf, or maybe a vampire since Adrian was here too, but...she was pretty sure he had day classes. Her mind played a reel of Lucien the Furry Underwear God and she giggled before she could stop herself.

[Lucien Hunt]

Lucien would have greeted Morgan with a hug, and perhaps a kiss on the cheek, however Declan was by far faster than he gave him credit for and was already doing everything but peeing on her leg. He skipped the greeting, offering her a nod once they managed to make eye contact (finally) around Declan's massive frame.

"Sounds fine," he replied calmly, rubbing his temple a bit still. "I know why Morgan's here, but who is she?"

I remembered dancing with Oneca at the party several months ago. He also remembered the list of places he planned on letting his tongue travel too after the afore mentioned dance. What he didn't know, is that she was apparently part of the Super's Club. "I don't believe we've been properly intorduced, I'm Hunt, Lucien Hunt."

Even with a jackhammer playing cymballs in his head Lucien never turned off the charm, or the opportunity to meet (re-meet) a gorgeous woman.

[z021]

Oneca swallowed her giggles and smiled politely to the young millionaire. "Oneca Bahaar. We met at the pre-season party, but I'm not sure we ever got around to introductions, proper or otherwise."

Her eyes flicked over to Declan and back to Hunt, curiosity finally winning out over headache, "So, you're friends with Declan? And Adrian?"

[Adrian Moss]

Adrian hovered uncomfortably around the edges of the room, keeping his left arm bent at the elbow and shield his midsection. He was acting cautious and hurt. He did give a weak smile and a nod to people around the room. Being missed by Lucien didn't worry him so much. There were pretty ladies around and the playboy's reputation preceeded him.

Tonight, he vowed to keep his mouth as quiet as possible. He was meeting people, like Hunt, he didn't know, or people like Morgan and Oneca, who he didn't know well. Besides standing as proof that kindred were also part of this event, he wasn't sure what he could put toward the resolution of this problem ... before sunrise.

[Lucien Hunt]

"You're so right, and I apologize. It's certainly a pleasure to meet you again for the first time, Oneca." He smiled. "Declan I know, yes. However I don't think I know this, 'Adrian'."

He gave Dec a look that sounded like 'do I know Adrian?'

The easily distracted Lucien looked to the lovely Oneca once more. "Oneca, lovely name by the way. Very unique. Latin, is it not?"