[@Dusksong]Orion awoke to what could only be described as a retrofitted dungeon. It was modernized with electronic locks and surveillance, but it was a dungeon all the same. In a way, he felt a sense of relief. At least he knew what to expect from such a place. Anything was better than that wooden chair and checkered floor. This floor was grey and cold. It felt nice on his face as he lay on his side. 

His body was clean and bandaged. It seemed someone had tended him in his unconscious state. What kind of people would do such a thing only to imprison him? Why would they keep him alive? That had to mean they wanted something from him, just like the others. In a sudden burst of terror, he jumped up and went to a darker corner of his cell. There was nowhere else to hide. His fear was eclipsed only by the unbearable knot in his stomach. The wrenching gastrointestinal pain of a ghoul's hunger had set in. 

He gripped his abdomen with one hand, using the other to catch himself as he fell to the ground again. He wanted to shout for help, but he knew none would listen. 

****

Desmond Lloyd was tall and lean, but his build didn't match his ability as a Moroi. He was strong for his race, especially in his gift of fire. Despite these, however his true strength lay in politics. The Vampire was not accustom to playing games. He was straight forward and blunt. Apparently the queen liked that in him. He figured she must have liked his complete disregard for rules he deemed pointless too because he hadn't gotten in trouble yet.

Des entered the chancellor's office with a graceful, long-legged stride. Hands straightened his black, velvet suit jacket and removed blackened, John Lennon sunglasses. His pale, milky-red eyes gazed vacantly at nothing as he addressed the woman before him with a friendly, yet mischievous smirk. He slipped the glasses into his inside jacket pocket, tilting his head down toward the action. The movement allowed some of his thick, unruly, jet black hair to fall in front of his useless eyes. He liked to turn his head toward actions like he did because it made those who knew him subconsciously more comfortable. Those who didn't know him would have trouble discerning the visual defect he had been born with. 

"Madam chancellor." He greeted, flashing a toothy, fanged grin. Hiding this feature was not something he bothered with since such appearances were irrelevant to him. "I hear you have a... what did they call it? 'A Fallen One' in your holding cell. Since the reports your guardians made, the queen has tasked me with helping... deal with it." He drew a hand-rolled, clove cigarette, lit it with a snap of his fingers and drew, awaiting a response. He hoped his reputation had preceded him.