(contains adult language) If you live long enough, you go insane eventually. We all do. That was one of the few forboading elements of wisdom his father had given him ages ago. God only knew how long Gabriel had been around. The old vampire was so psychotic that he had gone 360 degrees and was almost sounding rational again. Mithas had of course denied the statement for years, centuries even. It wasn't the idealized future he had envisioned for himself, yet the very possibility of it plagued him like a curse, bending him into a cycle of questioning and self doubt that ironically would drive him insane, and he knew it. What a bitch. But perhaps that condemming future was getting closer than he realized. For countless generations, he had watched his human family line, never able to interact with them directly without risking devastating consequences, only ever to admire and protect from afar, torn by need to be what he is and desire to live as they do. Eventually enough time went by and enough branches had splintered off that even he couldn't tell to whome he was blood-related anymore, that is, if his blood was at all remotely still human. He had to let them go. His love for humanity dragged on for a time after that, but it too began to fade over such lengths of time. A pride lingered, yet eventually he was faced with nothing but his own immortal reflection, the only thing that was lasting as humans came and went in their cycle of life. Only he alone never changed, never aged, never flirted with the girls, and never died. He wasn't human anymore. He wasn't a member of the many leaves in the wind, destined to fall with the change of season and pass away into dust, forgotten. He was something more akin to an element of nature, eternal, a god, and it was an interest in other gods now that took the attention of Mithias Varomere. It was he that kept his finger on the pulse of the city, the ebb and flow of other supernatural beings who came near to his present home, in Louisiana. He knew of the formation of the younger generation of vampires into factions, or in other words, modern covens, and he knew of the brewing war with the scattered wolves that came south to explore and claim these territories. It was stupid, what they were all doing. In a way he felt above it, probably how his maker had felt for a long time, yet Mithias didn't have as much power to back up his claim to independence. Nonetheless, he still sought it. Without getting involved, he would remain free. Yet, without interacting with the world, he would remain lifeless, pointless, and as good as dead. He jumped off the rooftop and into a dark ally. ---------- A knock comes at the door and she sighs, "Who is it?" The door didn't immediately open, and for a vampire with enhanced perception of time, a strike in the predictable timing of things was like a bomb going off in the room. Elle's senses triggered and she suddenly became keenly aware of every sound, every scent, and every shift in the movement of molecules in the air around her. It was oddly quiet out there, even for an office. ... What the living fuck was going on? Just as her mind began to supress the first thought of panic that began to rise up her spine, the doorknob began to turn. Fucking Farren was probably just being passive-aggressive again. Surely he deserved a swift reminder of his place, shovenistic twerp that he was. As the wheels turned in her mind, converting alarm to rationale and denying the possibility that there was any significant danger, a face that she didn't recognize was revealed behind the opening door. Long black hair draped over broad shoulders from either side of a soft black hat. Cool white skin and reddened lips caught the artificial light in the room as the edge of the hat lifted above black brows to reveal a piercing, animalistic gaze in vivid gold. The eyes were wild like a creature that had never known captivity, yet too well defined to belong to a werewolf. A fear shot through her as she realized she did not know this vampire how now stared at her like prey. Everything she though had been protecting her had failed, every alarm, every member of the office staff, every camera... Farren's body lie on the floor in the backround, blood on his neck, and the warm scent of fresh blood wafted into the room. Two sharp swords slept under eigher side of his long jacket as he straightened himself in gentlemanly fashion. Sharp white points could be seen behind his lightly parted lips. Was he that fucking brazen? Who did this asshole think he was? Did he seriously come alone?! Fear and anger melded into an empowering blur. How dare he... like this asshat has any rank... he was tall and intimidating, with an aura like an unknown king, yet how could she admit it? She could sense something about him, that he had a spirit like a cross between a wild creature and a knight, yet she could not read his mind. It was like a slate of black, hidden from her. What a horror to be just standing there, not knowing what this intruder intended. Would he dare kill her? Mithias stared at her. "Miss Woodson." He said, and he thought about how her blood would taste. Chances were he was just going to kill her and cut down on the newblood vampire scum in these parts. The last thing he wanted was a assembled angry pack of werewolves raiding near his residence. He glanced at the recently fed upon human girl behind her. He really felt nothing for her. The werewolves were really so much more valuable, given their longevity and kindred spirits. Nature had nobility, something imparted to those who lived under her rules, such as werewolves. Mithias had always been intirgued by them and didn't want them necessarily getting discovered by humans, or wiped out by vampires. "You really are a right cunt, aren't you?" He said softly.