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The lights flashed, circling the board before flashing once more between two messages the first being "SOLD!" the second message being "$60,000!"

Amaranthia smiled at Claude and Lily, and with a flourish signed her name at the bottom of the contract, in her own blood then asking for the man's hand she let fall a droplet of blood to seal the contract. The ring dissolved, leaving behind only the tattooed image in a beautiful flourished design. It would reform and return to the ring (removable this time) once the contract was completed.

"Congratulations Lily, this auction has been won at a steal of 60,000! Please send me the balance due to the Foundation."

The Bible describes the Devil as a once exceedingly beautiful angel; the signet of perfection, whose body was a compilation of the world’s most precious jewels. God made him as a being of impeccable beauty, wisdom, and faithfulness. And before his fall, Lucifer was considered one of the highest of all angels; an anointed cherub, and the most beautiful of all of God's creations. While all angels were endowed a certain degree of free-will upon creation, it was that ability to choose his own fate that ultimately led to the Angel’s betrayal and his fall. For Lucifer had apparently become so impressed with his own splendour, intelligence, power, and position – that which had been gifted to him – that he had begun to desire for himself the honour and glory that belonged to one alone.

The sin that corrupted Lucifer was that of pride, but it wasn’t entirely his fault.

The time for the German’s devout Catholicism had been and gone, and now Claude found himself comparing himself quite empathetically with the Devil – if not merely because of that singular plight humanity shared under the judgement of an obscure being who moulded their kind one way and then despised them for it. As a matter of fact, the more Claude thought about religion, the more he loathed the very notion of it. The subservience of man toward a creature which was merely famed to be superior was a questionable idea in and of itself. And this idea’s resonance in the city of Harper Rock, with supernatural beings of varying calibre clawing their way to the top of the pile, made quite the living replica of and for his continued brooding.

With Claude’s apparent distain for being set in the submissive role – that of the compliant servant – it was perhaps a wonder as to why he had even volunteered himself as a prize for the auction tonight. Yet, he did not see this opportunity as a canvas of blacks and whites and absolutes. This was a trade, not a sale, and for his bidder’s cash, Claude wholeheartedly believed that they would receive an experience unlike any other. Of course he had submitted his willingness to perform to whatever tasks his owner could request, but he had been careful to include a clause which relinquished him from completing tasks that were simply outside of his ability. The people had to be reasonable and he had merely to answer honestly to questions asked – no more.

As it happened, perhaps Claude had more in common with the pride-filled devil than he was willing to admit.

Claude was sure he would capture the interest of at least one bidder. Claude was also sure that it would be because he brought his own brand of mystery with him wherever he went. This characteristic was most likely the result of his carefully-woven and contradictory nature, where he would frequently 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 appear on the surface, Claude was the flighty sort; 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 for as long as he could. Claude had spent his entire life as a figurehead for his family, attempting to fill a role that had been designed for him and even 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. And now that he only had himself to take care of, the German understood that he had to lend his talents as and where he could make the most of them in the effort of his continued survival, to endure and thrive each and every day that was gifted to him. The funds that he had earned for simply standing there and presenting his pre-determined worth for a crowd of strangers to judge would likely set him up for weeks at a time – if he decided to be sensible.

Claude had signed the contract by offering his hand to the owner of the establishment, who without further ado, drew a droplet of his blood to spark the ritualistic binding of his service to the lady who had introduced herself simply as Lily. His eyes, like vibrant discs of bronze, were soon set on her as if she was the only person left in the whole of the world. He held out his hand to her – the one now harbouring a fanciful henna-like marking – and bowed his head respectfully.

“A pleasure to meet you,” the German said, his voice unfurling with a pensive, refined quality. “You can call me Claude. Would you like to find somewhere a bit more private to discuss the terms of our arrangement?”

It had been just over a year ago that she had come to this crazy city. Since then, the sorceress had essentially secluded herself from all others. Instead, she relied on her hacking skills to get her the latest tidbits of juicy news paired with whatever she conversations she overheard while working on her fighting skills. It was a rather lonely existence; that was just an unfortunate effect of the mission she had been sent to achieve.

The red-head wasn't really a warrior despite her martial arts training. She knew more than enough to protect herself within the city, at least from most. Her refusal to wield a firearm was a personal choice that meant she wouldn't be able to compete with the most dedicated fighters or enemies. Given she really didn't go looking for fights with humanoids, that was fine by her.

It was the loneliness that had brought Lily to the auction tonight despite the happenings within the city. She wasn't particularly fond of crowds, but currently, a well-attended party was unlikely to be a target. Arriving at the venue this evening had confirmed that suspicion as she had seen, and felt, the security measures in place.

She had planned to just mingle without bidding. That idea had flown out the proverbial window the moment her blue eyes had met his bronze ones. It had been fleeting; a simple moment in time. She wasn't even sure he was aware of it, but something there had drawn her in much like a moth to a flame. It was enough to bring her to peruse his card from across the staging area. What was written there had driven her to bid on this mysterious one and even the question of if he was her boyfriend couldn't put her off her course.

Lily had been pleasantly delighted when she had been declared the winner of the male. Payment was quickly arranged before she witnessed the ritual binding the pair to the contract. It was a lovely touch, in her mind, to ensure each followed through. She couldn't help but smile as his attention turned to her to introduce himself. As she took the offered hand, she smiled, "Pleased to meet you, Claude." It was a genuine greeting as she looked forward to getting to know him, "I'm Lily, though, I suppose you heard that earlier." She paused as she looked around the room before answering his question, "I would love to, yes. Would you prefer to find a quiet booth here or would you be more comfortable in a different establishment?"

Leaders are only leaders if people choose to follow them.

Claude Lambert was a natural born, and subsequently, perfectly pruned leader. He had been taught all the trademarks of what it was to lead and to lead well. He had learned to listen more than he spoke and when he did speak, it was with the kind of even-paced certainty that people found themselves compelled to listen to. He was rarely quick to make a judgement, always considered every angle, and he was, above all, perceived to be compassionate in his ways. It was often because people had every confidence in him, believed that he had their best interests at heart, that they would follow him. Additionally, with every ally and every supporter that sheltered under his wing, another two would follow suit – convinced by herd mentality that this wolf was the good kind because he hadn’t been seen to rip the throats out of their companions so far.

All Claude had been, and all Claude had learned to be, now represented the knowledge and evidence for further indoctrination of his right to rule. It became instinctive to him to assess situations and people, to know how a measured word, a change in his posture or tone of voice, could sway an audience. Yet, regardless of these first impressions and gut instincts regarding how he should behave around certain personalities, Claude found that he was becoming increasingly more comfortable with simply taking the lead regardless of whether people would allow it. He approached all things with an assertive attitude, an unapologetic swagger of confidence regarding who he was and what he wanted. The young Blood Thief had never expected that this event, hosted by the elite and for the pleasure of equally poised figures, would prove to be an exception to the rule he told himself existed.

Fortunately, or otherwise, the swan-like beauty before him had demonstrated that despite her recognised authority over him, for having been the one to purchase his company, she appeared to be quite happy for him to take the lead here too. It did not matter to him if she was just being polite – those that bowed their heads out of humility, still bowed their heads to a ruler. Claude smiled brightly at her, the kind of smile so brazen and gold that any surrounding Vampires might have been at risk from sunburn. He closed his hand around hers, noting silently the pleasant temperature of her velvet skin, before changing a very professional handshake into an intimate greeting. Deftly, his wrist turned and then very tenaciously, he rested a tender kiss upon the brow of her knuckles. He was old fashioned charm, but as ever-present and treasured as a bottle of Chateau Lafite.

“Enchanté mon cheri, Lily,” he offered, not to repeat himself so much but more to cement the sentiment – and maybe a little to show off his effusive linguistic mastery. Without letting her hand slip his grasp, he turned his body toward the booths and stepped inward slightly, as if performing a basic jive step. “If you’re happy, we can take a seat here.” Claude paused, but merely for dramatized compassion, as in his mind she had already confirmed to him that she was happy to go with his choice having put the choice of where to sit with him. “Right this way.”

There is, of course, a line to be drawn between confidence and arrogance, but Claude did not concern himself with these distinguishing labels. Instead, he devoted his attention to escorting Lily toward a booth that was prime real estate in terms of proximity to the electric atmosphere enough to absorb its energy, yet far enough away as to not become overloaded by it. After all, they had important matters to discuss and he was curious to hear what intentions had drawn her here and to him. Once they had approached the table, he stood aside and gestured with his hand for her to take a seat. Just moments before, Claude had adopted French mannerisms, the accent, and the language as effortlessly as a native simply in order to greet her, but now he invited her to be seated before he himself would sit with all the hallmarks of an English gentleman; he even folded his hands into his lap as they maintained eye contact across the table.

“This should do quite nicely,” he commented with a softer smile. “Should I order us something to drink before we start?” Ever the fabulous host, he just had to ask.