Béatrix awoke to the solemn chiming of her mobile phone. She might be in her sixth century, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t keep up with the times. Trixy glided out of her bed like a shadow, letting the moonlight spill into her room when she opened the curtains. Her little nook of Skye Manor was designed to represent her, an eclectic mix of new and old. A lot of the furniture and fabrics echoed the favored Victorian and Renaissance times of her past, but the art and accent pieces were all modern.

A familiar burning made itself at home in the back of Trixy’s throat -- she was thirsty and ready to go hunting. That being said, she sauntered over to her ornate gothic armoire to find a killer outfit to paint the town in. [i]Let the streets run red.[/i] she thought with a hungry smile, she would never deny her nature. Her vampirism was a blessing from Francis, she would cherish it as humans cherished their religions. Trixy paired a black lace corset with dark-wash skinny jeans and knee-high leather boots. New and old, just like her room. Always cautious, as one had to be when your list of supernatural enemies was as long as hers, Béatrix fastened her dual glocks on hip holsters that sat just above her buttocks. She polished the look off with her long leather duster that covered up the weaponry.

After touching up her simple hair and makeup routine, Trixy moved on to the most important way to start every night – chartreuse. She always kept a bottle of the potion-like green liqueur chilled on ice in her room. Chartreuse was as potent as it was illegal in the states, but she wasn’t ever one to follow rules and deny her fine, French palate. She filled up her flask, etched with a black rose, and headed down to the lounge to see who else was up and looking to go for a romp.

The cliché décor of the vampire lounge always gave Trixy a chuckle. As she stepped in the doorway, Béatrix took a swig from her flask and liquid burned down like friendly fire. Food and drink did little for vampires, but the strong alcohol sometimes quelled the underlying thirst for blood. Her ever-watchful eyes scanned the room and found Ali, bring a smile to her lips. “Bonsoir, chieftan.” She said in her thick old-french accent, bowing with the otherworldly grace that all vampires possessed if they cared enough to be proper. She wondered what his plans were for the night, perhaps he had a mission for her? Whatever it was, she hoped it wouldn’t interrupt her plan to go hunting.