[center][i]To the illustrious Thyme,

Let it be known that Argent, son of Aurum, wishes to invite
your household to celebrate the midwinter ball.
Words cannot express how deeply you and your family's
patronage contributed toward the success of the Glyter
line, and we hope to continue that tradition between our
households into the future.

Regrets only,

Argent, son of Aurum, First of his Name.[/i][/center]

"The Bugatti was sold?"

Argent nearly tipped over the inkwell onto the invitation as Adamant, his brother, spoke over the crackling of the fire in their father's study. The elder male stood in the entrance of the room, staring at Argent, a glass of something in his hand. Brandy- a single sniff told him that much. From their father's stock. The male was dressed in jacket and loosened tie, both of which struggling against the mass of muscle underneath their fabric. And if the bulge underneath his jacket shoulder said anything, the male was likely armed.

Now where would he be going, dressed like that yet armed to kill?

Argent knew. He knew in his heart and soul, though he didn't have proof. The wax sealed letters arriving in the mail from Glymera families addressed to Adamant, while Argent's own missives went unanswered. The fact of the matter was, when one shared a roof with a killer, one learned to keep silent on certain things.

"The Bugatti," Adamant said once more, taking a sip of his amber liquid. "[i]My[/i] Bugatti." He took a step forward with each word uttered. "Was. It. Sold."

Standing over Argent, leering down at him, he let the silence hang between them. Forcing Argent to fill that void.

"Yes," Argent whispered. He righted the inkwell and rested the pen within it. "I- we had to. Some years ago, you see-"

"You sold my car? To what, buy bread? Feed your cats?" Adamant chuckled before taking another sip of the alcohol. "The fuck do you think you're talking to, huh? That was my car. MY CAR! The gift from father for MY transition! And you fucking sold it?"

"Th-the Veyron was worth a million dollars, and the household-"

"Little brother, little brother," Adamant said softly, sweetly, in that deceptive tone of familial love. The one that made Argent lean back in his chair ever so slightly. "Our dear father, did he tell you to sell the car? Did he order you to do it?" The male leaned in a little closer, took one last sip of his amber liquid, then tossed its contents into the fireplace. That too handsome face, those lips that were perpetually undecided between smiling and scowling.

"He... he was wrapped up in his work. The necklace for the Queen needed- he wanted more time. Told me to liquidate the rest of our portfolio, but he wouldn't listen to me. It had been sold off years before. We were running on fumes! I had to release Lora and-"

"So that's what happened to Lora? You let Lora go? She was the best looking of all the Dogen! Damn near as radiant as a Chosen!" Adamant snarled, his face coming closer to Argent's. "The fuck is [i]wrong[/i] with you?"

Which was when his tipsy brother finally spied the pile of letters on the desk. All sealed with their late father's signet ring.

"What is this?"

Argent swallowed, lifting the last invitation for his brother's inspection. 

Adamant wasn't having it, though. He tossed the offered parchment into the fireplace, reached across the desk and took hold of their father's letter opener, ripped open the seal on one of the envelopes in the small stack, and read through the thing himself. All while Argent was ready to piss himself in fear that his brother had seized the note destined for the Brotherhood. The world- the universe- seemed to hold its breath while Adamant read the note. Argent expected to feel that letter opener plunging into his heart any moment now.

Until his brother spoke.

"A party?" He laughed. Laughed with the high pitched cackle of a hyena. "Brother- you're throwing a party for the glymera after you sold my car to keep the damned [i]lights[/i] on?"

"It was... in our father's will. He wanted us to do it. To keep the family connections."

"And why the fuck would you care about the will, brother? Pretty soon we'll be selling the bone china and the furniture! The family's done. We can't live off of providing baubles and jewels to the leeches anymore. You were too stupid to learn how to continue that profession. We need to find a new way- before you blow all of our money on cocktails and wine!"

"It's- I'm using my money, brother. I'm not using your share of the inheritance. And it'll be a small thing anyway. Nobody will likely show up. I just wanted to fulfill our obligations to father. And the Scribe Virgin."

Adamant's lip curled, looking down at his brother. The letter was placed in Argent's hand.

"Fair enough. But you should know one thing brother. It's custom for these to be signed with a more personal touch..."

The letter swung quickly, sliding across skin, through muscle and barely missing the vein in Argent's wrist. The male hissed in pain, pulling the wound up to his lips to try and staunch the blood flow with his saliva.

"Make sure that my affairs are in order, brother." Adamant tossed the bloodied instrument onto the desk adjusting his coat and tie while watching his brother squirm in pain beneath heavy-lidded, coal black eyes. "I'd like to make sure I have enough at hand to rebuild this crumbling family..."

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Venus, shellan of Reyd, was expected to do a handful of things within the Glyter household. Reyd handled the cooking and the daily upkeep of the household. She was responsible for managing the social engagements and the finances for the old master. 

A walking rolodex of the vampire glymera, she had also been made privy to certain access channels to the King and his guard- the feared and fearsome Black Dagger Brotherhood. Like all other members of the race, she was certainly not privy to where they made their homes. Anyone who found that information by accident or guile likely found themselves incinerated at dawn. But, with the dawn of modernity, there were other ways to reach them.

She had followed the young master's directions and had left the house to deliver the stack of invitations to the gala, each one now marked by a drop of Argent's blood, bearing his scent. But the last, the one with the upside down seal, she'd opened as instructed. And as she sat in a dingy coffee house downtown, the kind filled with vagrants, beat poets, and baristas with more metal in their noses than had any right being there- she reached into her Louis Vuitton bag, unlocked her phone, and dialed the number listed as "Security" in her phone book.

And when the phone finally did pick up, her fair voice carried over the line with a whisper.

[i]"Hello. May I speak with one of the Brothers to the King?"[/i]