[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/SpLsh9J.jpg[/img] [hr] [sup]Lessons of Maman: A lady always keeps two masks - one for her friends, and one for her enemies.[/sup][/center] [hr] [i]T[/i]ainted; wrongness; a violation of [i]something[/i]. It permeated the night sky with the rotted tangibility of carrion; seemed to violate what tranquility could be had and gleaned from this venture - much to her displeasure - but with its forced presence was something familiar, and that perplexed her most. Maharet had been awake for some time, and the city was an old companion that had not progressed much with the times in terms of aesthetics but had swelled and populated with more than what could be considered a comfortable capacity and the crime syndicate was even more, well, more. Old memories, edged with a hazy film that was associated with broken dregs, filmed across her mind as the accompanist of a violin rose, impregnated the air with its music and a chill that had nothing to do with her cold, stony body and everything to do with the ominous cold settling in her soul like a stone, immediately send a rigid shock across her bones. She lifted eyes of steel skyward and across that film of black and white memory came Maman's severe expression with her brow concentrated over the unique rarity of amethyst eyes and Maharet knew what she would say, what she would think and it made her mask of impeccable indifference harden just enough to be a scowl. [indent][i]T[/i]hey had heard this before.[/indent] [i]I[/i]t wasn't a typical theme, no, Maharet would never mistake it for any other cadence: it was the sort of depressing, melodic whine that pitched deep inside your soul in a whisper of ache and quickly pelted into a manic sense of desire and ruin. Slim fingers closed over her breast, crushed the fabric of wispy threads and tore through the cotton beneath until the keratin of her nails bit into the pallid, frigid flesh beneath. She wouldn't bleed, it didn't even hurt, Maharet felt the numbness of the cold and something else within the silent drone of her ribs that spoke of more than her depressing eternity. She recalled Maman's face when they first heard this sequence of notes, meant to stir rage, and the brisk and firm objection to them remaining in the city any longer so long as that song continued to reap through the spires of the city. They never spoke of it again, retreating back to Italy and taking succor among the older Nyctarin kin they had there, but Maharet could not so easily banish the haunting lit and now it was here again - just without Maman's silent and firm discomfort. Steelish azure hardened just as the tune receded, only to be replaced by a feral, manic roar that split into a wail of hunger, the sort that boiled and festered away inside someone utterly ravenous. Her throat burned like a terrible inferno of hellish retribution and sallow fingers viced around her flesh until the insatiable flame quieted enough to an ember of aching hunger, but at least she was tamed and Maman’s many lessons blossomed on her lips. [indent][i]“The hunger will make you mad, but so will the lust of feeding. You must find a balance between your two selves.”[/i][/indent] [i]M[/i]aharet crossed slender arms at her breast and reclined against the billboard, oft a perch admits the spires and substitute for her preference of solitude. She had been bred and groomed with the mantra that family was all a vassal of the blood and shadows had, when time faded and the world renewed, they were always there. Maman had been adamant about the Nyctari, but Maharet pondered on why she had come back to Santa Somabra when she had once called the festering place a cesspool of misery and betrayal. She hadn’t been back since the 20's, an era she vaguely remembers when their family had gone up against another to gain foothold, but the exact specifications of events bled into a blurred myriad of shapes. After that, her hands heavy with life and her mouth drunk off the essence of intoxicated blood and veins, she had retreated to her place of slumber, avoiding Maman all over again since they had parted ways so, many, many years before. [indent][i]S[/i]he loved her, as a mother [for they were god in the hearts of children] but she hated her, as her creator.[/indent] [i]T[/i]hough she need not do so, she exhaled, and found the motion relaxing as her petrified lungs deflated and with it came the ear splitting wail of the undead and their victims. Witnessing the riots from her perch, the explosions of flaming carmines and oranges reminded her of sunsets on the horizon over the ocean and the reflecting of the rays, it also reminded her of many other things and how she had seen this all before - it felt interesting. Like a belated welcome to her rousing once more among the living, it felt like old times almost, and if she just canted her head just so and listened - the violin had long departed, along with it’s composer - then she was back in the city with Maman at her side. [indent][i]But.[/i][/indent] [i]S[/i]he was dead, how that was possible, Maharet didn’t know, she had been even older than she, her time one of stone and beasts, but the capsule of fine powder she had resting upon the lip of the window and scattered through the soil of her window box was testament enough to something had occurred to make Maman petrify and waste away. A part of her determined that the return of this chaos had something to do with, maybe she had known, her intuition was nearly like foresight and the threat of some returned disgrace had ailed her enough into passing. Maharet didn’t like these theories, but it made it even more of an enigma when the Nyctari had found her tomb deep within the ruins of Italy and uttered that they had no choice. It left a plethora of why’s and almost betrayal, how Maman had known where she had chosen to sleep made her fingers cinch tight in uncharacteristic anger, but she had been the one to create her, so perhaps she had always known. That would explain why Maman had not uttered a single complaint or noise of refusal when her daughter rebelled, she had others, Maharet had assumed she would just be tossed out of a favour and another would take anchor by her. [indent][i]S[/i]uch was not the case, apparently, if her sudden inheritance was anything to gather.[/indent] [i]H[/i]er head was cradled by the board as she tore her eyes away from the rioting going on down below, she tried to cast it off as nothing new, she had seen this before, knew that name uttered my Maman’s curse, and attempted to banish it. Maharet did not have lingering ties with her family [not in Santa Somabra], the Nyctari had told her she was nearly obligated to help them, strengthen their leagues and she had responded with a dismissive agreement that she would: “consider it.” Appalled, almost, her kith and kin had resorted to using Maman’s name and grace, she was demanded by the mistress to be awoken and that could only mean she was meant to take her place. The details of station hadn’t been revealed to her, but the current leader - what was his name?- had been elusive to its purpose as well and it had caused an itch that had nothing to do with the era’s current wardrobe. [i]S[/i]teel blue narrowed in contemplation and the wide softness of her lips drew down into a moderate frown. The Nyte Kings, an interesting moniker, had contacted her as well and with their flash and obvious intent, had made various offers to gain her favour - even proffering coffers of Dust and that had made Maharet laugh. She had accepted it, of course, nothing wrong with adding that to her various wears, the Fey had such interesting intricacies of their lore and the penchant of altering the mind and hearts of mortals had always been entertainment. Her thoughts digressed. The faction still paid her visits, along with the family, and Maharet welcomed them because manners and a lady accepted company of her kin no matter how she may of felt about them. She would never say, personally, but the fact that she had not sworn loyalty to either was enough of an admission. A part of her, one of hubris, felt mildly offended - did they not have better things to do? - and now with this accumulation of rioting undead, she was anticipating their missives and continuous attempts of persuasion. [i]M[/i]aharet smiled, one of a slow, almost fond simper as her legs crossed one over the other and tabling her elbow atop her knee, she settled her chin into her palm and regarded the scenery once more. Though erratic, their methods of destruction seemed all purposely and with intent, chaotic and rather sloppy she deducted, but attraction was the obvious purpose. Tresses of red pulled away from their waves and curls, stirring her to brush the threads away as the aroma of life perfumed the night air, awakening the ember inside her throat into a burning coal as lips parted and her gums ached. Bloodlust was a problem she was familiar with, all too well, blood drunk and starved were two extremes she knew too, Maharet tosses her eyes to the billboard [some lounge advertisement on the Boulevard] and drops down from her perch, a blur of red and white as night swallows her whole just as an undead gorges upon the remains of his impromptu meal. [hr] [i]M[/i]r. Hammerfell - that's what the soul had whispered to her. A lingering taste of alcohol had blurred his vision and tainted his blood, and she basked in that euphoria as her slender arms embraced his form and with her bite, she implanted the foggy memory of her face. No more than a whisper, no more than a smudge of her countenance for him to dream upon later. Her vanity had perfected this manipulation and Maharet regarded it without a twitch as every pulse of his heart began to still and smooth out in a well-known timbre, she swelled with her sin and her bow-shaped mouth perched on the precipice of his vein and sunk deep into the richness. It wasn't the best, the purity, her sense of taste had been muddled since she had torn open the throats of her kin, but gradually did it burn and feel like it did before her wake. Like ash on the palette of her tongue though, that could not be forgotten as she relinquished her prey and settled him back against the brick face of the opposite wall. An alley way was not the most splendorous of feeding arrangements, but Maharet couldn't risk taking him back to her place - the glint of a ring caught her gaze - but with the Nyctari and Nyte Kings scoping out her abode, freedom and leisure was hard pressed. Though memory served that arrangements had been made to various banks or storage, the need to hide and the desire to be known often rivaled between her family, but taking security into blood reliability had been smart. But there was no satisfaction in that, she mused quietly, swiping fingers against the dark, slick wetness of his neck. [i]H[/i]andsome, sure, in the frailty of man, but weak. Maharet observed him and silently berated herself for not taking caution and heed to feeding out here, but the previous hunger had been almost maddening and she felt just a bit twinge of sickness towards herself for being so impulsed by watching the rioting filth. Exasperated and suddenly tired, she flicked her wrist and decided it best to banish all remembrance of herself from his mind, the twitch of his brow indicated the invasion, but she didn't relent and swiped her tongue against the punctures to ensure a full heal. Though she had been known to leave a mark, pale silver circles as it were, she could not risk such a calling card when there were whispers among her own kind, it was like being pursued back during the elders' awakenings. Though tempered, she recalled and brushed palms against her thighs and aligned Mr. Hammerfell in such a way that he would only be assumed as another drunken man. They were far away from the dangers, or enough to ensure he wouldn't be caught up in it and such it didn't bother her [not that it would have, originally] when she left him alone and made way towards her home. [indent][i]T[/i]his time, she walked.[/indent] [hr] [i]T[/i]wo clubs, and a brothel. Combined with a few domiciles of some lesser kin, that was the only damage they sustained. Maharet coolly observed the wreckage and crunched splinters and glass beneath her boot as she tightened the long length of her fur-lined coat around her, meant for the coldness of the highlands, but she sported it in the heat of the city, much to the vampires' amusement. A small, almost delicate woman perched on the remains of what she assumed a bar and hissed vehemently when Maharet prodded at remains and seemed so - bored. [i]"Y[/i]ou know, if you had been around last night, this could have been avoided." She accused without evidence. [i]"I[/i] don't fancy courting around with undead," Maharet intoned, breathing against the silver-black fur of her collar, the action was reflexive, calming though false. She didn't owe them protection or whichever difference they thought she could make, dispatching the dead wasn't something difficult after all, unless their mad, ravenous hunger had been difficult to war against - she could only speculate. She bent at the waist to pluck at scraps of clothing dotted with the darkest hues of red and pondered on what occured. [i]"F[/i]ew of the guys got caught up in a scuffle with 'em. They were... different." Her observer supplied. Maharet hummed, wondering how old she really was and turned steel-blue eyes in her direction. [i]"W[/i]here are they now?" She inquired. "Did they see.." Maharet paused, considered her next words. "Was anything else - anyone else- around?" [i]T[/i]he vampire child considered this, her nude lips tinted scarlet [all of her dolled up appearance was haggard] pursing in thought as she regarded the destroyed remains of the establishment - couldn't even tell it had once been one of the better strips. However, she hadn't seen anyone of recognition, just the hoards of mad-dog zombie trash coming through like a pack of frothing beasts. [i]"I[/i] don't remember... I've never seen this before. I mean, we have enemies, but this is just, excessive. Those against us usually target the banks or the smaller place, trying to make a mark. Some fucks have been trying to push in on our hold, but not enough to make a real impression." Her brow fell and her eyes of a cool, spring jade darkened to emerald. "Do you know who could have done this? Ever since they woke you up and that one lady died, everything has been going to shit." [i]M[/i]aharet pondered that theory and speculated her, almost sighing in exasperation at her thinly veiled distaste. She had only heard of the places being destroyed and she had embarked from her home on a curious browse. The girl with her, a Nyctari whelp really, had followed after muttering about how Maharet's lack of swearing to the family was causing enough to ensure some tension and thus effected security and reaction to the riots. Her company from the Nyte Kings had only left a small note, too busy to see her personally, but expressing that she come by - to survey damage. Like a consultant, she mused, or something far more or lesser, but they deemed her important enough to see what had happened. Maharet assumed though it had to do with her knowledge and time rather than a personal issue, she wasn't terribly popular among either of the groups from her lack of loyalty - as if they knew the wealth of that term, really. [i]"I[/i]s that really anything new?" Brushing away her vehemence with a roll of her shoulder and tossing her hair over it like a veil, it was a mute action but effective in that the girl had remained silence to her response. Reconstruction of the place was already being considered, a chance to make it better someone else had uttered when more began to filter in, mindful of the sun due to their clothing and fashion. It was interesting to see as Maharet lifted the fur rimmed hood of her coat and left through a back, shattered exit. Coming out onto the small spaces between the buildings, with her little jade-eyed follower in tow, she glanced to and from either side before rounding upon her, steel-blue piercing into green. [i]"I[/i] wish to speak to these that came across the undead, whatever they encountered, smell, sight, all of it could lead to something. Everything needs to be accounted for, I don't doubt that this will happen, and everyone needs to be informed of what they're capable of." A hardened lit slipped into her tone, making the smaller girl tense up before she nodded mutely, gesturing to another door that Maharet led them to before they disappeared behind its' wood and tread into the building's shadows.