[Side Story: Exposed] #BitrMe

[Lincoln King]

They'd formed some strange sort of trio, the three of them pressed up close with Maddison between the two men. It hadn't been the plan, that much was clear, but that was there they found themselves and so Lincoln just went with it, continuing to move to the music like there was no games being played. That was an obvious lie, Maddison was sure as hell playing some games, Robin too in some ways but it seemed more like he was trying to keep ahead of the **** she was pulling for his attention like that wine spill and now dancing up on Lincoln. He didn't really enjoy those who sought attention through negative means, and he wasn't the only one. Kingsely was stirring, his irritation at the scene seemed to be what was keeping Lincoln there, but he was in control enough not to take the kinds of actions that Kingsley would in his place. It was becoming more difficult to focus, to keep his attention on the scene and not drift back into his mind, not let the other man take hold. He could feel his hands at his back, so close, prepared to grasp his shoulders, to draw him back at any moment and step into the light. That was when Maddison seemed to realised what she'd done, that she'd pushed it too far and was no longer comfortable with her choices. Her own fault, really, and he felt little to no sympathy for her plight. He felt a certain weariness over the whole thing, and no interest in following to try and salvage a budding friendship. She didn't seem to like him, no matter how nice he'd been, or welcoming, she was only focused on Robin and while she couldn't entirely blame him he could only assume it was some kind of misguided jealousy that drove her actions that night.

His hands found Robin when the space was between them, pulling him closer with an insistent tug, their near equal heights meant he could easily glance into the baby blues. "She's going to be a ******* handful... And she wants a piece. Maybe you should go after her, before she decides she really hates me for "stealing you" or something." Linc looked in her direction, curious to see where she'd taken herself off to, if she really was going for a drink. The blonde was skipped over, however, in lieu of watching the mask slip free of the man in green's face, seeing Claude in all his glory for the first time. Good, he was hot, Lincoln's suspicions were confirmed and he was quite keen on going over and playing another round of wit with the man. "Come on, Robin, let's go get a drink too. There's a tall glass of something calling my name." In fact, as Lincoln looked around he realised another handsome man had revealed his face, Grey had taken his rockstar boyfriend onto the dance floor, the heavy looking mask of chains removed. Damn, if he wasn't ridiculously pretty too, something delicate about his bone structure even though there was no denying he was a man. He was loving this; admiring the features of those around him and knowing that they were now revealed because he had asked for it, they believed in the brand he was selling and if that didn't boost a guys ego, well... What could? That's what his platform was, in a way, as much as he believed what he said it was still all part of his brand, part of the image that he wanted to present to the world and it was being largely eaten up.

His shoulder nudged to Robin's in a friendly jostle before detaching, separating to go and seek greener pastures, moving through the crowd with renewed purpose and yet a casually confident swagger towards where Claude had found himself. One the staff came out from behind the bar, offering him another of his preferred drinks which he took gratefully, hearing the faint click of the ice as he lifted to his lips and took a long sip of the chilled amber liquid. When he reached Claude he didn't pause in front of him immediately, instead walking a slow, deliberate circle around before stopping at his side, pointedly staring at the dancing figures than at the man's face. "So, you decided to bare it all... Nothing too lose or too pretty to hide, hm? I'm pleased to announce you've not yet managed to turn me into stone, not a Gorgon, that's actually a big relief man." He laughed easily, a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his lips, cheeks dimpling along with it. Yeah, he was feeling good now, better. Kingsley had treated to sulking as Lincoln realised he was totally in his element, the King of the party and able now to just enjoy himself. "You a dancer? Or more interested in watching from the sidelines?"

[Robin Little]

Robin was only just beginning to have fun – the thing he had come here to do to begin with – when Maddison slipped away. Yes, he’d agreed to help Lincoln and would have regardless of what he’d wanted, but he wouldn’t have invited Maddison if this was not a party he had not wanted to enjoy himself, in some form or other. He’d have helped Lincoln, might have stuck around for the speech, and then would have gone home.

Even now, Lincoln had bigger fish to fry. He was the main event, and he had other morsels that he wanted to taste, to explore. First the man suggested that Robin go after Maddison, but then invited him to come along for a drink of his own. And yet, Robin didn’t particularly feel like being the third wheel in Lincoln’s little flirting party. He’d been there before, he’d done that. And besides which, as useless as Robin could be, he still had some decency. A man doesn’t invite a woman – friend, childe, or otherwise – to a party only to leave her on her own.

Fingers trailing over Lincoln’s shoulders, he leaned in to speak into the man’s ear.

”I better go see what’s up. Nice speech, great party – I’ll see you soon,” he said by way of goodbye. The fun might have been over for Robin, but he wouldn’t drag Lincoln into any of the drama. The guy deserved to enjoy his party. Robin then weaved through the crowd, getting a few odd looks from the other party-goers that he continued to ignore. He made sure to watch where he was going, to avoid dresses and feet and stray glasses of alcohol. It wasn’t hard to find Maddison at the bar, tracking the red dress. He slid in beside the blonde.

”I could be imagining it,” he said, shaking his head as the tender silently questioned whether Robin wanted a drink. ”But I feel like there’s something wrong. You gonna tell me what it is?” he asked. Lincoln had suggested that Maddison wanted a piece – Robin was oblivious, and the man’s words were promptly forgotten. He did not think that anyone could be jealous of him. Maybe he had bitten off more than he could chew, but he would try to handle it as best he could.

[Claude Lambert (DELETED 8569)]

The art of catching butterflies is just that – an art. One had to acquire the patience and the perceptions to lure such a sweet and delicate creature into their nets. After all, that was the premise of the capture. It wasn’t as plain or as brutish as swishing a net around in the air and happening upon a catch. That kind of piggishness would be certain to damage the insect’s fragile wings and destroy their beauty. To guarantee the butterfly’s health and retain its splendour, one had to wait until the creature was comfortable in its environment before approaching as cautiously as possible. The butterfly could not assume you were a threat at any moment; startling a butterfly would invariably make it harder to catch. However, there was something to be said about the value of boldness in this situation. As Claude remained in his space of observation, smiling to the purple nymph who had waved to him, he spied the approach of the mauve stallion again. Unmasked, the beautiful man – who proved to be no less exotic in facial composition as he was in voice and stature – had stolen Claude’s catch right from under him. The German laughed quietly to himself as Salvador engaged with the blonde quite provocatively, but before Claude could intervene and produce yet another questionable threesome of the evening, the familiar swagger of a young man in gold waltzed by his amber vision and caused him to pause.

Yet, Lincoln hadn’t stopped to say hello in the traditional sense. As a matter of fact, the man’s decision to circle Claude as if analysing the value of him appeared to be common place for Lincoln’s greetings. The golden man was quick to bare a drink in his hand, only this particular beverage was not made of bubbles and celebrations. Typically, the tawny spirits were reserved for moments of quiet reflection and perhaps that was the reason why those gems had not met with Claude’s eyes immediately. While the man had stood at Claude’s side, his attentions were very much set on the crowd. The German was not overly envious of the fact; Lincoln deserved a moment to relish in what he had built tonight. He deserved to feel the pride swell in his heart, his evening was a success, and Claude could tell – from a mere glance of the room – that more than fifty per cent of the attendees had followed the host’s instructions to bare all. While Lincoln was happy that Claude had counted himself amongst those who had shed their masks, he was apparently more relieved that the male Medusa lacked the power to actually turn him to stone. This much both amused and challenged the German to offer a retort, one that was as scandalous as their interactions had come to demand.

“Oh, but I wouldn’t declare yourself safe just yet, Mr King,” Claude announced, keeping his amber gaze on the sculptured features of his companion. “I have other tricks, other skills, ones that would make you melt rather than turn you to stone, I dare say.”

But then the question about dancing came about and Claude bowed his head slightly, hiding a soft smile that made his already youthful visage seem more innocent, and maybe a touch naïve. He couldn’t compare his dancing skills to those already expressed by the Golden Monarch, and it was probably best to bow out of the fight rather than embarrass himself. Still, he wasn’t about to pull out too quickly without making his presence felt.

“I’m a dancer when the occasion calls for it,” Claude said promptly and it appeared that while his confidence did not dim in the slightest, it had changed character into something more underhanded than being merely brash and glittering. “Those occasions were banquets, however. And I’m not sure that the waltz or even the salsa would gel so easily with this evening’s music. They’re old fashioned gambols at any rate, and, well. You’re trying something rather new, aren’t you.”

Claude's tone was accusing, and he had set his eyes on the golden man to await his response. Of course Lincoln had made a speech of his intentions tonight, Claude still hoped to steal an intimate glimpse into the man’s soul. What was truly lurking in there? That was a question that kept those amber eyes watching with unashamed anticipation.

[Maddison (DELETED 8452)]

The blonde was in mid-drink when Robin slid in next to her. She controlled the urge to roll her eyes. Maddison wasn't in the mood anymore to be at the party. It hadn't been fun. She had spent half the night watching Robin change his clothes. Needless to say the woman was ready to head home. She didn't want to watch Robin flirt anymore with Lincoln. Or vice versa. She was done.

The blonde finished off her drink and then sat down the glass on the bar top. She fished some dollars from her purse and set them under the glass. "Nothing is wrong. I'm perfectly fine." The blonde muttered at the male. He wasn't much taller than her and in her heels they were about the same height. "I'm tired and ready to go home. You go have your fun with Lincoln and I'll see you tomorrow." The blonde patted his shoulder and then slipped towards the door.

She was going to have to grab her coat. So the woman headed in that direction. She hadn't meant to be rude to Robin, she was just ready to leave for the night. It wasn't her thing. They hadn't came together, so why would they need to leave together? Maddison smiled to the coat check person, took her coat, and then slipped out the doors into the crisp cool night.

Here, she shook out her hair and took a deep breath.

Robin was going to be her undoing.

[Robin Little]

Robin just frowned as Maddison walked away. It was a classic female move – to tell him that everything was fine but somehow, instinctively, he knew everything was not. Searching back through the evening, through his memories of inviting Maddison, of meeting her, of everything that had passed between seeing her and now, he could think of nothing that he done wrong. Nothing beyond ordering a frilly drink, and surely that wasn’t enough to put him in the doghouse, right?

Doghouse. What was he thinking? Doghouses were reserved for those in relationships, weren’t they? He and Maddison were sire and childe. They were nothing more, at the moment, beyond friends. At least, he assumed they were friends. So then why did he keep feeling like he was in the doghouse?

Even after he had lost sight of the blonde Robin stared off into the distance, eyes glazed as he tried to figure it out. He knew that Lincoln would not miss him; the man might notice the lack of Robin’s presence but that didn’t mean he would be missed. The speech was done and the rest of the night was reserved for fun and revelry. Robin wasn’t required anymore, and Lincoln would have his fun. Lincoln was currently flirting with his new flavour of the night and Robin still was not interested in becoming a part of some sordid… whatever. If that’s where it was heading.

Not exactly knowing what Maddison’s tone meant, Robin didn’t know what to do. In the end he decided to stay – but though he tried to regain his good mood and though he tried to have fun, it wasn’t working. He kept remembering the way Maddison had just walked away. It can’t have been more than twenty minutes before Robin wandered into the back room to collect the clothes he’d left behind and to slip out of the venue like a shadow in the night. To go home, he supposed. To go back to the condo. To, no doubt, slip in and try to avoid any kind of confrontation.

Robin didn’t like confrontation.

[Lincoln King]

Make him melt? Well, well that was quite the interesting suggestion and the retort that accompanied it making him focus solely on the man who spoke it. Was that the intention? Intention or not he'd succeeded in capturing his attention, Lincoln's brows raising along with the corners of his lips in an expression that had him looking somewhere between amused and impressed. He couldn't deny that he was intrigued about just what these tricks and skills were that he thought he possessed, skills that apparently had potential to turn him into a veritable puddle of a man beneath Claude's feet. There was an impressive array of possibilities fluttering like butterflies through his mind, anyone beautiful enough to be pinned down for display in his book of approved acts. Of course this was all well and good, not to mention distracting, but the seemingly shy smile the man gave when he was asked to dance was almost more satisfying.

"Well, colour me intrigued. Disappointed perhaps that this occasion is not considered one where you will honour me with a dance but the reasoning is sound. Besides, you've given me more to consider with that melting comment. Quite confident, aren't we?" Like he was one to talk, most of the night he'd been a cocky son of a gun and yet Claude had stayed so he couldn't have put him off his evening too much with his behaviour. Some of that slipped at the query and accompanying look, like he were trying to gently pry open his mind and take a peek at the inner workings, or perhaps just to see through bravado to the core of what it was he was doing. "New..." He laughed shakily, shoulders hunching forward so he could lean in, creating the illusion of privacy between them. "If i'm being honest i'm partially petrified it will fall through, that people won't respond well to ideas, new or otherwise. I don't want to be limited based on matters of circumstance and i'm sure others feel the same, many didn't just to be what they now are and work hard on controlling their natures it seems. Look, i'm no peace loving, let's all be friends parade thrower; I saw a market and I intend to tap into it... It helps that I do believe in the ideas we are representing." His mouth closed with finality, an uncertain smile quickly abandoned in preference of sipping at his drink.

The glass was approaching empty and rather than gulp it indelicately he lowered it, allowing the last few sips to remain chilled and waiting to be required if Claude's reply was less than approving. "This may be my party, but i'm talking too much. Please, do tell me more about yourself and your hot ways." The out was offered, not his most subtle of transitions but he figured Claude was not a man to simply go along with it regardless of what he had said. If he wanted to ask a question, or more to the point wanted a specific type of answer, then he would find a way to get it and Lincoln felt content enough to be at his mercy for now.

[Claude Lambert (DELETED 8569)]

In the grand scheme of things, revolutions were not new. Revolutions were as antique and traditional as those rigid ideals they were attempting to replace. Life was circular as it happened; things go around and come around repeatedly, only appearing new to those who had not lived it before. Change filtered into stagnancy and when it did, it fostered another change. A glance back at history would reveal that that much was true. What Lincoln was offering tonight was something that had been offered to the world before, that is, if boiled down to the bare bones of it. They were talking about the freedom of expression after all, the freedom to be who you were without feeling victimised. Their revolution here tonight was promoting the ideal for people to stand up for those who were cast out, those of the minority, to stand up for those who possibly had no choice but to be who they were. Claude’s experiences concreted the notion that what Lincoln was fighting for was a noble cause – as it had been in generations past when similar minorities had had their rights stolen. Yet, Claude also understood that people did not fight for causes so whole-heartedly on account of it being simply the right thing to do. Those who fought the hardest did so from the corner of experience, understanding, empathy. This much told the German that the reason this cause meant so much to Lincoln, the reason it petrified him, was because he was one amongst the minority, or was at least personally involved with somebody else who was.

The golden businessman could make the case that he was doing this for profit – and while Claude did see the potential in exploiting this kind of ideal for its future marketing return – he knew that it provided far too much risk to be a venture worth seeking so thoroughly in the current climate. The Bitr application had a market in Harper Rock, but, what of its influence outside of the city? The population circa 2011 was 357,832, and with no mass immigration efforts had been made beyond that date, the population could not have realistically exceeded far past 400,000. Also, seeing as how Vampirism had been such a taboo subject up until a few weeks ago, and was by now a source of contention, Lincoln’s target market could only have been a handful percentage of that overall population figure. It would honestly surprise the German to learn if the list of active customers on their books exceeded 5,000, which begged the question as to what sort of return he was making on their use of the product. It also underscored the purpose of this party, to shed light onto the plight of those hiding in the shadows and behind masks. If anything, the marketing and PR campaign was running backward – normally one creates a product because it’s right for the market conditions, they do not force the market to change their opinions so completely. In saying that, Claude had little understanding in regards to Lincoln’s business – what he chose to charge customers, what his intentions were, and how he was making a profit – but he suspected that the reason Bitr was a business at all was birthed upon a passion, rather than being a strictly money-making scheme.

Intrigue spiced the air between Claude and Lincoln, as pungent and sultry as cinnamon and musk. While the German was very much fascinated by his companion dressed in gold, he understood that his companion was likely as equally curious about him. Claude was sure he brought his own brand of mystery with him wherever he went, most likely because he would reveal a conflicting set of details concerning his personality, his history, and his current career. He would also appear approachable, and then disappear as if upon a breeze to pastures new – likely never to return. Bold and flirtatious as he may be on the surface, Claude was the flighty sort after all; unwilling to anchor himself for too long even if the dregs of familiarity could be a burden to withstand. It was part defence-mechanism and part outright defiance to waste another moment of his life performing to the desires of others. Claude had spent his entire life as a figurehead for his family, attempting to fill a role that had been designed for him and his future children pre-conception. Not once had he been allowed to make his own choices, follow his own whims, and so the German felt it his right to finally make up for all that lost time. All this occurred when he came to the realisation that not everything or everyone behaved as instructed, not all things followed the commands of his family or even those of God. But most of all, Claude understood how terribly fragile the body was, how brittle was the heart, and how crumbly was the mind.

He placed a hand on Lincoln’s arm when the other had moved closer as if daring to share a secret with the German. The flat of his palm cushioned the point where a shoulder dropped into an arm, and Claude felt the resilience of muscle pushing back through the silk of the other man’s suit as though the flesh that waited beneath had been carved, not merely formed. The German was not one to be repulsed by physical contact – quite the opposite in fact – so he indulged in it as frequently as he could. With bodies so close, Claude had then smiled in that scandalous way he did whilst thinking about something improper, only that smile was now visible and revealed the curling of a wry grin that cut the side of his face like a sickle. His amber gaze had lowered meanwhile, flickering over a chest that was hunched toward him and regarded the retreating shapes of the rest of the man’s body shortly after. He did not raise his gaze to meet Lincoln’s until the male had finished his alluding tale and those soft pink lips had sealed together again. There was a pause then, and while the Golden Monarch took a moment to regard his glass, Claude took the moment to study the contours of the other’s handsome face. He barely had enough time to consider how elegant the other’s bone structure was, how bright and peachy his skin was, and how those eyes beheld the depth of a thousand jungles before there were words pricking at his ears. Quickly, a question came and it was at that point, when encouraged to reveal more about his burning nature, that the German chuckled.

“Do not worry,” he said quietly, yet with all the subtleties of venom threading through veins. “The secret of your secret shall be safe with me. I’m very respectful regarding such matters.”

And while that much was true and did reveal something about his own nature, it was certainly understandable that Claude’s words would have appeared to have come completely from the blue. But he was adamant regarding his assumptions, that his companion held a deeply-seated interest in the social adoption of all things weird and supernatural. It was possible that the man standing before him was a Vampire hiding his true nature; Claude wouldn’t know automatically simply because he was familiar with their kind. Even so, it appeared clear to the German that his friend for the evening understood a very distinct aspect of their natures: that not all who had been turned, had been turned willingly. This was not only the case for Vampires, however. Claude himself had not volunteered to be a Blood Thief, regardless of what that crazy couple had assumed when they had fetched him from the fangs of a Vampire. The couple had regarded Claude as suicidal, you see, and theorised that a soul who had chosen death might as well be put to better use as their guineapig. Claude had assumed that those two degenerates playing Doctor, Nurse, and Mad Scientist Duo, had selected many unwilling victims in their time too. Thus, it was possible that he was standing in a room full of people who had been forced into what they were now, and that theory could be expanded outward to cover the whole city. Claude was sympathetic toward them all.

“But it appears that you are almost finished with your drink,” Claude added and he removed his hand from the other’s arm quite abruptly. “I did promise to fetch you one. So please, allow me.” He held out that hand for the tumbler, his eyes fixed onto Lincoln’s as if those bronze discs had been painted onto those unrealistically beautiful features. “Though, I confess it feels a little cheap to fetch you a drink from your own bar… What would you like?” And just in case his golden company would refuse, demanding to have his question answered before Claude waltzed off to the bar or prepared this ruse to run away, the German decided to offer a pre-emptive compromise. “I shall tell you whatever it is you’d like to know once we acquire a drink and some place comfortable to speak in. I think you can manage to find us somewhere secluded to indulge ourselves. As you said, it is your party.”