Béatrix ducked her head down like a cat when the piercing roar ripped through the surrounding area. Sometimes having super-sensitive hearing wasn’t a good thing. Trixy followed after Alistair in curiosity, her ears still buzzing low, as if she was losing the ability to hear that exact frequency ever again. A frustrated huff passed her lips, if this was more Kingston shenanigans in any way, she just might tear someone’s head off in frustration.

Alistair immediately went over to the two star-crossed lovers, who were obviously being antagonized by the prideful vampire she [i]thought[/i] they had just rid themselves of. “Ah, I should have known…” Trixy muttered under her breath and practically rolled her eyes. What was it he called her, “French whore”… she much preferred the term ‘courtesan’ when she ran her brothel in France many moons ago.

Rather than get involved in any more political drama, Trixy took a seat at the bar and made herself a bloody mary using actual blood from the unconscious bartender. She drew her sharpened fingernail along the tender’s neck and sliced a thin line, draining enough blood to fill her cup, then quickly sealing the wound with a flick of her tongue. He would awaken none-the-wiser… no exposure or compulsion necessary.

Trixy sipped her cocktail in silence and watched the couple with scrutiny. It was no secret that she had a bitter heart, thinking love was foolish. It was the only emotion capable of destroying a vampire. When you are promised a literal eternity of bliss with someone, there are no words for the feeling of loss when it is taken away. The festering wound left in the chest after that kind of loss can and will change a person… even driving them to kill. Never again would she love again, nor would she find joy in the love others shared…