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[color=FF4D4D][b]Time: [/b][/color]Dusk
[color=FF4D4D][b]Location: [/b][/color]Beach
[color=FF4D4D][b]Interaction: [/b][/color][@Kkushmar] - Boris[/center]
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[color=FF4D4D]"What a wonderful tune."[/color]

The sweet, feminine voice with a strong french accent spoke out from behind him a good fifteen feet away. Her snowy white hair blew gently with the ocean breeze, nearly matching the pale-pink color of her skin. She wore a black dress tailored to her slender form, decorated with lace and adorned by a silver-like necklace with a single, brilliant ruby gem. Helene had only arrived in Ember grove a couple hours ago and was staying in a motel until more she could acquire better accommodations, after all money was not an issue for her. Pinkish-red eyes that shined in the growing moonlight looked out towards the folding waves of the ocean as she slowly took steps towards him. She had only seen the ocean twice in her long lifetime and its mystery was still captivating and awe-inspiring.

A gentle smile creased her lips as she reached his side, standing just out of reach with her hands clasped in front of her [color=FF4D4D]"I hope I am not disturbing you, I simply find the ocean so...beautiful."[/color] The toes of her feet dug into the soft, cold sand turning her gaze down towards the man besides her. It did not take much observation to know he was not okay, though she had no idea of how to help.   Did he even want her company? Helene hoped so. It had been so long since she had met someone new so she selfishly invaded his space. What was his name? Where did he come from? What food did he like? Did he like music? Her head were filled with so many questions it was difficult to keep from blurting them all out at once. He was hurting, and all she wanted to do was get acquainted.

She had spent so many years practicing her speeches and learning the nuances of other languages, but she couldn't come up with a way to carry the conversation further. Besides her isolation, there has never been a time in her life where she felt great pain or sadness...just a longing for the outside world. What was that feeling like? To feel such pain, such anguish? This man was suffering yet she couldn't help but wonder what made him feel like this in a strangely envious way. She pivoted slowly in the sand and faced him [color=FF4D4D]"Pardon my manners, my name is Helene. May I have yours?"[/color] She asked hopefully, a glint of cheer in her eyes and smile. Whatever darkness enveloped his heart, sharing a view such as this together is surely better than being alone.

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[color=CDBD2B][b]Time: [/b][/color]Dusk
[color=CDBD2B][b]Location: [/b][/color]The Witches Brew
[color=CDBD2B][b]Interaction: [/b][/color][/center]
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Lucius sat in the corner of the cafe with the best amount of lighting, a black leather-bound journal in front of him and hot cup of earl grey tea to the side. A pen gripped firmly in his right hand moved at brisk pace across the cream colored pages, filling it up entirely with Latin characters and a couple side-notes. This journal was the newest addition to his massive collection, each written during his time with one organization or another. Each was sealed with a powerful spell to prevent any curious eyes from seeing their contents. Writing being one of few hobbies he had, he enjoyed this quaint little shop and writing down his thoughts, what's he's done so far, and what his plans are.

Yesterday, he dragged a young vampire into the lands of one of the local werewolf clans and butchered him, making a detailed autopsy report in the previous page of this journal. His time with the Children of the Black Moon, while brief, has keep him entertained so far as has his  role as a mentor for some of the younger witches. Slowly he has been sowing the seeds of distrust and malice between the Children of the Black Moon and the Le Coven Éclairé. With time they will sprout given careful nurturing, bearing the fruits of destruction. For now, he will keep parading around as a loyal member of the coven while investigating ways to foster animosity between the supernatural races here beyond the two covens.

He paused his writing for a moment to look at the other clientele of the cafe. A truly pitiful lot. Each one of them were soft and underdeveloped, cushioned by a society that would rather hide in the gutter than face their faults. It was impossible for him not to view the entire lot of them as nothing but children, wallowing in uncertainty without a sense of direction or purpose. That is why it was his duty to provide them with such, to expose them to hardships that will unlock their deepest potential. It was only a matter of time, and he had all the patience in the world. His tired eyes glanced out the window at the descending nightfall. Night, as Ember Grove knows, belongs to supernatural.