[b]September 9th, 2016. Friday night.[/b]

[color=c8b189]Despite the steady drizzle of rain the humidity wasn’t letting up. It seemed to crawl into lungs and press against them; an attempt to strangle from within that failed in an undead chest. The night twisted a coaxing finger, dark winds flitting across the sky; whispering something oppressive. A mild, yet permeating heat licked across a midnight skyline, clouds devouring stars. The clouds were in turn sliced and blurred by the lightning that darted above the city. It would die down to pitch darkness only to streak once again and reveal the proximity of a towering church spire and the grim faces of buildings and their faux light, false promise and security. There was something primal about the lightning rolling about the clouds, threatening those below with such a fierce beauty you almost wanted to let it take you.

[i]And as above, so below.[/i] 

The night raged on with all the promise friday brings. People filtered in and out of bars, homes, theaters and restaurants. They dwelled upon themselves with a blinding narcissism; oblivious to those that prowled about them, with them. They were giddy, intoxicated, lonely, sad, hunting. It wasn’t just the vampires scouting for prey. Observation gave way to all forms of monsters, mostly human through and through; but there were none so ferocious as her ilk; tucked within the masses. The demons, the vampires, the undead that sustained themselves on the buzzing life of this city; shaping and contouring a refined dish on which they feed their vices. 

The music and chattering populace would have faded away at this vantage point, had she been human. Alas, the noise still chased and caressed her senses. She waited on the out perch of the building, watching a specific car; waiting on a specific someone.

She hadn’t been out long, two hours or so. She was trying to escape them, but was only feeding their urges within herself. Out here she had to hunt harder, smarter, crueler. Fear was something crisp and tangible and electric; she could feel it vibrate within herself as the lightning teased the sky. Charcoal lined eyes peered out from messy blonde hair, over the edge of the building, a slack forming as her lower jaw began to snap free of the human binds.

Then her phone rang shattering the image. Her eyes rolled from something primal to something irritated. She cracked her neck and popped her jaw back in with a sharp crunch as the bones rubbed and refitted, they were still grating as she answered the phone, “Yes?” Her eyes continued to flutter as if in her annoyance she was barely able to hold it together. She detested the whimpering whine of her thrall, even through the phone. Thankfully she trained them to be concise. “Tell them I’ll be there.” She slipped the phone back into her jacket pocket and started heading towards The Yowling Hide, a ‘punk rock’ bar where she was something of a regular. It’s owners and clientele were human, predominantly. If someone was looking for her there it wasn’t her sire or baron. They had better means of tracking her down than slumming it in a human bar. It’s why she liked the place.

Fifteen minutes later she was pushing the heavy metal door with ease and stepping into the blur of chaos and debauchery contained in this badly lit and terribly aerated basement. She caught the flinching gaze of her thrall and offered her a smirk that edged the line of a snarl as she made her way to the girl. She had to crack her neck and pause to center herself. She was hungry and Calorian was, as always, letting waves of fear drip from her like honey. Fiona raised her shoulders in a ‘what-the-fuck’ shrug and Calorian pointed towards the rest rooms and tried to shout over the music something that appeared on her lips as ‘Waiting over in the coroner.’

Fio canted her head towards the rest rooms and sniffed at the air with little luck. The plethora of human excrements, combined with the molding beer lines and smoke made it difficult to pinpoint anyone; another reason she liked this place. She glanced back at Calorian, she seemed no more nervous than usual. The girl wouldn’t be stupid enough to send her into a trap; Fio convinced herself as she was walking towards the corner by the rest rooms.

It wasn’t difficult to locate the woman in question. She was staring directly at Fiona and looked ridiculous in a club like this. Fiona’s leather jacket, torn denim jeans and combat boots allowed her some anonymity, but this woman looked like she should be at the Catalina Wine Mixer. As Fiona got closer she narrowed her eyes and produced her signature scowl. Surprisingly, the woman just appeared bored. “Fiona Engel?” Fiona quirked an eyebrow in response. The woman wasted no time thrusting an envelope into Fiona’s hand and then she disappeared into the crowd.

Sure, Fio could have followed her, but the girl was obviously a thrall; the bored demeanor, the complete lack of reaction. Fio was more interested in the envelope. She flipped it over in her hands a few times, feeling a demanding crack of her knuckles as she twisted her fingers, reading the outer inscription. She tapped it against her palm a couple of times, considering. The finger seemed extended, as if a third joint was appearing. She scanned the club, brushing blonde hair out of dark lined eyes with an unphased finger, trying to be casual. She felt no one out of place, though she did sense Calorian tense behind her; the targeted fear was like a lover was brushing her skin. She felt a few more knuckles crack and elongate. Her entire night had been thrown off, there was nothing else she could do. She quickly made her way out and headed home. She was hungry and it was tickling her stomach like a molotov cocktail.

By the time she got home her fingers were barely human, elongated twitching kin to what they had once been. She traced them along the cement walls that lined the basement, nails dragging and then clicking along the celled doors as she passed them. She sniffed the air until she turned towards a specific individual, if you could even call them that anymore. It whimpered and added the sharp smell of urine to the already intoxicating scent of fear. She breathed in heavily and her already demented facade trembled. The screams were muffled to the outside world but reverberated amongst the cells. The strength ran through her like the lightning in the sky and she let it take her into something primal.[/color]


[b]September 10th, 2016. Saturday night.[/b]

[color=c8b189]She was sitting in her room on James Island, flipping the envelope in her hand. She scratched nervously at the back of her neck; trust had never been a strong suit with her kind. She had looked into the seal a little more just before dawn. There was a library here, most older vampires had them, and luckily Jezebel didn’t think the underlings could get powerful through books, so it was lightly guarded. It seemed simple, a seal of silence regarding what was in the note. She bit the tip of her finger, traced it across the envelope and pulled out the card inside; really, what did she have to lose?

She stepped out into a warm breeze. The sky was muted and filled with grayish clouds reflecting the light of the city. A creepy calm curled through the dense southern air. As she approached the docks the reflection of the city was doubled in the clouds and the deep shipping waters ahead. The water lulled as it lapped against the shore and the buildings that jutted into it’s depths. As she headed away from land and into the warehouses that pressed their weight into the sea floor she found DOCK 15 in large spray painted yellow. There was a flood light outside, casting down across 20 feet of dock before glinting across the steadily arching water. 

There was fluorescent light in what looked like a main office just to the right of the yellow DOCK locator. She could make out the dull thrall from the bar and another man in the same Catalina Wine Mixer chique; boat shoes, polo and khakis. She took a brief moment to question why she was here, but ended up repeating to herself the same mantra that had followed her morning. 'You have nothing to lose and so much to gain.'

She opened the door and stepped confidently into the room. “Welcome, have a seat,” the man stated very cheerfully, unsurprisingly the female drone did nothing. The man continued,“We are waiting on a few others and then we will get started.”

A few others? Her eyes traced the completely empty room and she sat down in one of many seats separated by a conference table; 3 exits, 7 windows. If this was a trap they had chosen a terrible place. She looked at the two drones and couldn’t help but roll her eyes. ‘They’ also would need better contenders. She leaned back in the traditional office rolley chair and propped up her elbows on the arm rests. She cracked her knuckles and stared directly at the chipper man, daring him to show fear. He didn’t seem to notice. He seemed to be watching the door with anticipation.[/color]


[center][sub]--------------------------------------------------------------------------[/sub]

[b]SUMMARY[/b]

[sup]--------------------------------------------------------------------------[/sup][/center]
September 9th, 2016. Friday Night. A thrall locates you and gives you an envelope. She seems monotone and dull, but well taken care of. She has no other information to offer other than the envelope.

The envelope is sealed and requires a blood pact to open. The magic is tricky, but not difficult to come across if you know the right people. Instructions for opening are written across the envelope, “A drop of blood will seal your lips to the information contained within as surely as it is revealed.” Only the blood of the vampire addressed will open the envelope.

Inside is a card containing the following: “Saturday September 10th, 2016. Midnight. Charleston Harbor. Dock 15 Warehouse. For those seeking advancement.” Vague, to be sure.