[color=000000][sub][sub][h3]She Walks Through Beauty, And Bathes In Blood. . .[/h3][/sub][/sub][/color][color=000000][hr][/color][indent][color=7d7d7d][i]W[/i]hen you lived for numerous centuries and experienced many eras, one realized that cities don’t often change. The uniform desolation and method of depravity seemed to fester and ooze through the teeming spires gilded above and eclipsing a yawning sky. Individual shadows only seemed to pool darker and thicker through the masses of smog and debauchery laden within them. Objectives remained just the same, the only difference was the face carrying out the execution and juncture of the intentions embellished on the need and desire for power. Many of which often suffered from betrayal, narcotics, or simply sold themselves to the favour of thick life that came in ruby sins. The latter was the most favourable, lost souls yearning for purpose and prosperity under the unified lust of their superior species, proffering not only their pale throats pulsating with a maddened desire, but their souls also in penance. Slick teeth against sweat deluged skin perfumed with the musk of tangible despair — it made her deadened heart clench in a vice of stone-addled hunger.

Maharet breathed in the euphoric surrendering of her prey, cupping a frigid hand against the sallow cheek of her chosen, bribing them with shimmering pools of steelish-blue that shined a near crystalline persuasion. It was their first time, so she promised to be gentle, soothing any nerves by the simple caress of her nimble fingers over veins and skin, creating a shared chill that made both quiver in unison. Baited on the prospect of feeding and lust, the lady in red sunk fangs in deep, buried into the breadth of burning skin and felt the tremors of a groan take over the individual in her comforting grasp. Palms spread over locks, shoulders, sweeping down the naked curvature of her spine before gripping tight into the velvet chaise the very colour of their essence. A small hiss slipped between skin and teeth as she sunk in further, dwelling deep into the sequence of hunger and her own gluttony that fixated her daily. What felt like hours only crested into minutes, ending much too soon for the parties gathered as Maharet laid her partner down and heat plumed between them both from the sinful fester of her body stained ruby and gleaming in taint. She grinned, fangs bridled through out her bow-shaped lips and seeming much more barbaric compared to the common arsenal bequeathed to a rudimentary Nyctari. She was much more equipped, ancient, and adapted to sheer through her prey with a plethora of sharpened teeth and primary canines being the pinnacle of her denture cutlery. 

[i]“Sleep now, and dream of me.”[/i] She cooed, swathing herself up in pale silk and sweeping the mane of red hair over her pale shoulder. Through her various networks panned through out Santa Somabra, she had gained the knowledge of those whom desired and yearned for a more refined and successful vampire lord, a mistress to cart their dreams and desires through her bite and prowess. Maharet was adamant in seeing to these wishes, personally inviting them into her fold that was beginning to expand beyond the Rouge. Already she had gained significant influence that pursued beyond her original borders, encroaching the concrete groups that had long since found purchase in the red light districts and beyond. However, when rumour of her return circulated through the masses of her — for lack of better term  — [i]allies[/i] and enemies, various members sworn to the Nyctari either pledged themselves to her rise or simply swept off to the sidelines, finding the shadows of secrecy a better comfort than her potential. Not that she could blame them, her name carried currency and many knew the tale of Maman who had sired her entry into the tragic longevity of her kind. The latter’s death was much less known, but many knew that something had been the catalyst of Maharet’s need of retribution to those in Italy whom had betrayed her, slaughtering them in the same way they had slaughtered her kith and kin. Loneliness made the woeful turn mad and crazed and the first, fine webbings of blood lust began to sew carefully across her deduction and purpose, making her despair. 

The vampire vacated one of her many parlours designed for feeding purposes and left the door ajar with curious glances peeking inside before scurrying off after their mistress. Thralls of numerous sizes and fashions dotted the interior of her abode, some heavily donned in velvets, others cinched in lace and some forwent clothing entirely and dressed in glitter and silver chain slunk over hips and their intimate modesty. Each bore a peculiar aura about them, as if not entirely here nor there and basking in her presence as she passed with fleeting touches and lingering eyes. Those of sycophantic qualms eagerly wed to her side, preparing to hang on her every gesture and word, these received dismissive glances and barely their acknowledgment, making them nearly mad and bent on pleasing her. These she preserved for the more ruthless tasks, their manic devotion serving as a fine persuasion to see her desires come to fruition when a more bestial method was needed. Her grin still plastered into place, she directed her glamourous simper into their direction and listened gleefully on their awe-riddled gasps and grappling fingers to receive more of their mistress. But, Maharet digressed on pleasing the lot under her spell and completely disbanded them from her side with an immaculate gesture of dangerously sharpened keratin. Small groans of protest sounded, but none objected openly as she descended down into her own foyer from her spiraling stairwells, the entire building housing living quarters above and connecting her directly to the Rouge housed beneath. Fine tremors laced through the floors, music of a deep, pounding bass gyrating through the building that almost made her purr, for the Rouge [i]never[/i] slept.

Cool eyes pinned directly on the shrill urgency of the foyer telephone summoning her call, the ornate design of the ancient model was polished creme and gold, reflecting her veener as she finally palmed the device and brought it up to her ear. The voice that speared through the line was newly familiar, slightly grated and harsh and bore with it a wealth of intimidation and snark. Her grin blossomed, befitting that of a Chesire as the conformation of her newest order was delivered without fail.

[i]“Your reputation seems well grounded then, monsieur.”[/i] Maharet purred through the device, letting her voice drop in an octave of a murmur as her fellow vampires began filtering into the foyer, awakening from various leagues of slumber. One of her newly [i]purchased[/i] establishments had been targeted by a mass of — she sniffed — Rats that saw fit to test her newly found ownership. The moniker was befitting, at best, a cesspool of wasted youth whom gorged themselves on narcotics and filth, slinking across the undergrowth of trash much like the rodent they garnered such an epitaph from. [i]Mongrels....[/i]

[i]“I trust though that [b]all[/b] of the rodents were put down, I don’t want any survivors remaining, such violence will not be tolerated in one of my establishments.”[/i] She carried on, her usual voice of lazy infliction hardening just so, not quite enough to be perceived as a threat, but just enough to be gleaned with the warning of a vampiress not to be curtailed of her payment towards services. 

She had heard of these Lost Boys through various tales, some that seemed fantastical at best, but bore some evidence in her previous dealings with the city. One of them seemed, vaguely, familiar but seemed uninformed if her existence aside from her original suggestion that they work for her. She had plans for them, plans that she knew required a swift and delicate execution on the surface, but needed their sort of efficient brutality to see her deeds completed without a hitch and didn't [i]directly[/i] connect to her Nyctarium. Another purr rumbled into her throat, one sated and pleased from her earlier feeding and the relay of a job well done.

[i]“No matter, I trust that you’ve completed the job. I’ll send a contingent of my thralls to clean the place up for business to resume as usual. Proceed to the Rouge at your earliest convenience to receive payment and your next objective.”[/i] Her voice carried with it a candied bite, accompanied by the gleam of barbaric fangs still gleaming in scarlet. [i]“Au revoir, monsieur.”[/i] 

Maharet settled the device back to the cradle of the receiver, letting her slender fingers rest on the telephone as she glanced skyward along the stairwells of her home, eyes lingering on the fine painting that detailed the harsh and beautiful likeness of her late mother that was hoisted high above the balcony of the second floor. Sadness gleamed in the eyes of the vampire, suddenly submerged and eclipsed by rage as she spun on her heel, the fiery mane of her hair billowing around her thin shoulders and burning bright against the pale silk draped over her elegant form. Steel-blue bore into the vampires under her service and influence, some flinched whilst others bent to their knees, preparing for her command and desire. Maharet beamed wide at their attention and devotion, she could not ask for better vassals.

[i]“It seems I have need of an old friend my lovelies, would one of you be so kind as to send a missive to Kurtz of Barrow & White for your lady? Tell him it’s rather.. Urgent and the pay will, of course, be much of his [b]pleasure[/b].”[/i] 

With her order sent and a myriad of her vampires immediately seeing to her deed, Maharet released the makeshift slip of pale silk, letting it pool around her frigid ankles before she slid off down a well embellished hall, preparing to receive her anticipated company and to the receive the wanton and dejected souls that always found way to her beloved Rouge.[/color][/indent]