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Re: Taking Initiative [Fforde]
Posted: 05 Jul 2018, 15:14
by Beckett
Property? A dark eyebrow rose in question as Renard continued after the comment, therefore not seeing the expression on his face. It wasn’t uncommon for the other man to ensure he laid a claim to Beckett in the face of any stranger, to put forth his blatantly obvious possessiveness (not the Beck wasn’t possessive, he was just much better at hiding it). If it wasn’t announced verbally, then it was in his mannerisms. The less than subtle touches that spoke to exactly the kind of relationship they had. Forget the fact Beckett had greeted the man with a kiss. There was no room for misunderstandings. It needed to be explicit. And only when his lover finished with an afterthought that made the Necromancer grin did he glance at Ursula with a small nod and words directed at Ren, even without looking at him. ”That’s me. The asshole whose last name he took, so if anyone gets to be property in this little scenario, it’s him. But, that’s a story for another day, isn’t it?” His eyes shifted to the man at his side, that eyebrow still perfectly poised before once again returning his attention to the woman. ”Assuming you can handle his complete lack of social skills, he’ll grow on you. Like a weed that you can never seem to get rid of.”
The last part came with a small, but warm smile, which immediately dispelled any potential hostility or maliciousness that might have come from the words themselves. Despite their endless bickering and “adorable” (according to Marisol) displays, Ren provided the very necessary roots that kept Beckett anchored to reality and they both knew it. Still, that was another story for another day.
At that, he took a step out of Renard’s hold for the sake of dropping onto a stool beside Sol, glancing past her shoulder to the men at the other side. He’d previously ignored his partner’s attempts at getting the men to talk, but now, his attention was solely focused on them and their obvious unease. In an expression that was far too much like Ren’s own, a slow and devilish smirk rose to his lips. ”Gentleman, you look nervous. You’d think you’d never encountered the more...mm...civilized undead.” The distinction was purposeful, as the topic of conversation was centered around those that were..less than. Their very natures dictated that they need to possess some ability to blend with their human counterparts, whereas the zombies outside the door of Serpentine were not held to the same standard. That didn’t change the fact that their little gathering was far more dangerous than the shambling corpses, so many the soldiers had a reason to be anxious. Plus the fact that Jesse’s presence alone seemed to be enough to throw the poor things into overdrive, the blood in hand only serving as the final nail in the coffin. No pun intended.
Settling on the fact that the men weren’t worth his time, Beckett shifted on his stool so that he was angled toward the group of Fforde, elbows resting against the ledge of the bartop. ”I’m in, wager or not. I’m too restless to be stuck inside all night…” he sighed, leaning his head back until he was looking up at the ceiling. A progressive disease that eventually hindered one from moving at all of their own free will tended to do that to a person, he supposed. Not that he knew for sure if said disease would even continue to progress. That was almost as bad as not knowing if he had it in the first place.
Realizing on then that he had a strange angle to catch the top half of Jesse’s head from behind the bar, Beckett righting himself and swung around until he could meet the man’s gaze, but he didn’t say anything. There was no indication that he was really attempting any wordless communication, either, so much as simply acknowledging his presence as both the head of their little lineage and his...co-sire? That seemed to be a job the man and Sol split between themselves, each of them offering what they could in place of...a man that didn’t even deserve the title of sire in the first place. Not in his case, anyway. Either way, the two had earned his respect, in more ways than one.
Only after a silent moment did he look back at Sol, shoulders lifting in a shrug. “Alright, so...whoever brings back the most ears. Any specific rules to this little game?”
Re: Taking Initiative [Fforde]
Posted: 09 Jul 2018, 14:02
by Jesse Fforde
The roll of the eyes was not missed, and Jesse’s not-so-subtle wink assured Marisol that he thought the world of his mere ‘unsettling aura’ and, in fact, did not think it was ‘mere’ at all. Some might consider it a curse, to have humans want to run from them at the closest opportunity. Jesse fed on the fear, though, and loved every moment of it. Marisol proceeded, then, to offer up a prize for the amount of zombie ears collected, and Jesse, though he remained quiet, wondered if there wasn’t something he could throw into the pot. A tattoo, maybe – though that he’d give free to any family member regardless. Surely he had something at home of value that someone might like?
Arauchia piped up – questions that Jesse would not answer, though he did nod to her as she greeted him. With his drink in hand he was leaning on the counter from the server’s side; he shouldn’t have been. He should have circled back around to join the group so as not to completely dissuade the humans from buying anything. But the space the establishment occupied was huge now that the garage was gone. This was not the only bar from which drinks could be bought. There was another one on the other side. The customers could go there.
He was leaning nearest to Ursula, who was quiet. This didn’t strike Jesse as odd. She wasn’t shy, by any means. She’d talk plenty if she felt comfortable, but he was aware that she’d been gone a while, and the faces had changed. Jesse might have agreed that he missed things that had passed but that would be unfair. Truth was, the current group, those gathered in the bar now, were more loyal than any former family member. Back then there’d been so much drama, so much upheaval. Now? Everything was settled, calm. Content. Everyone seemed to get along. Ursula would settle, too. It would just take time.
Introductions might have been in order, too, but Jesse didn’t want to interrupt. There’d be time, soon enough.
Time. They didn’t have to wait long. After Renard had sufficiently irked the soldiers by poking at their ego and sense of righteousness, he turned on Ursula; the introduction was blunt and to the point and amusing in the Renard way. He and Jesse had a lot in common, but where Jesse rarely spoke when in group settings, preferring to watch and listen, Renard… well, was Renard. Renard talking about property, referring to Beckett, and Beckett rebutting with a perfectly decent counterattack. It had Jesse glancing toward the door; it was at that moment that he might have slung an arm around Clover’s waist and press a kiss to her temple, but she wasn’t there. Of course she wasn’t.
When he turned back, it was to stare directly into Beckett's near-intense gaze. Jesse arched a curious brow, before he slowly nodded his acknowledgment, his thankful greeting. It was amazing how just a gathering of Fforde creatures could calm the Necromancer so much.
It was strange, too, to be able to drink blood so openly in front of a group of soldiers; to be ‘out of the coffin’, as it were, and to suffer no consequence. Jesse had, by now, sufficiently waylaid and shimmied his way out of any recognisable database so they didn’t shoot him on sight much anymore. Which was a bonus. It meant he could smirk at them as they sat in his pub. They’d never leave. Oh no. They’d never want to look like cowards.
Beckett repeated the same kind of question that Arauchia had asked, and Jesse, too, turned to Marisol for the answers. She was the ringmaster. All decisions were on her shoulders. He took a quiet sip of his blood and just enjoyed being surrounded by his kin.
Re: Taking Initiative [Fforde]
Posted: 28 Jul 2018, 07:26
by Marisol
In the past, Marisol had been one to plan events.
She'd planned events for friends - baby showers, engagement parties, bachelorette) parties. They had always been extravagant and uplifting, a total one-hundred and eighty degrees than the ones that she'd begun to plan since she'd met any one of the Fforde family. With Logan, she'd planned events to create alibis. There was no celebration there, only a cover. She’d enjoyed herself, nonetheless, but there had been no objective past covering his ***. A charming smile and his arm going around a pretty brunette had always been good enough of a cover that they didn't have to question further. She'd once planned an event for Halloween - it hadn't been a flop, but it hadn't been spectacular. The model still planned some for her businesses from time to time, although for the most part, she chose to stick to what she could control more often.
Hacking, breaking and entering.
Improving herself as a fighter, rather than more passive.
However, as Marisol stood by the other Fforde members, listening to their chatter, she realized it was a part of her that she missed. There was a structure that running two businesses couldn’t allow her to build between, to flourish in ways where dealing with clients left off. Questions were asked that she was quick in her mind to formulate. Was there a time limit? What were the rules? They were simple enough. The suggestion to ask the soldiers what their quota was had Marisol nearly rolling her eyes. She didn’t have much faith in the men as they were drinking away their miseries. ”As capable as they are, I don’t think any of you are incapable of surpassing their quota without the element of a quota.” Her light brown eyes moved to the table of men who seemed to pointedly ignore the gathering of vampires.
For the most part, they didn’t bother her as long as they didn’t shoot at her. Typically when that happened, a broken neck and evidence hacks were in order. She surpassed evidence records and deleted them, choosing to manipulate others in favor of those she considered family. ”With that being said, why not make it whoever gathers the most tonight. Mariah will help watch so that I can make sure bags are empty.” Her gaze moved over the others, not that she’d think any of them to cheat. ”Thralls are not allowed. Nothing hunted outside of this evening counts - so if you have a number already, put them in a separate location.”
There was a point system in her mind, the allurist considering them further. ”It’ll be two points per zombie ear. Ingredients from a feral vampire or mooncalf will be five points each. We’ll tally back in here.”
Re: Taking Initiative [Fforde]
Posted: 01 Aug 2018, 03:26
by Arauchia
Chia listened closely to what Marisol was saying, though she couldn't help but laugh at her portrayal of the soldiers. based on her experience with the "law," they were usually a bunch of good for nothings that were terribly inefficient at what they were being paid to do. Perhaps that was why assassins came to be anyways. People couldn't trust that the authorities to actually prosecute the criminals, so enterprising individuals like her ancestors sought to fill that void.
Her eyes glanced back and forth over the gathered family, seeming o assess who might pose the most competition to herself. Renard for sure due to his violent tendencies. Jesse too if he decided to play as well because he was far more experienced then any of them. Chia remembered Beckett was not too shabby either from their time exploring the labyrinth together. It would certainly be a close match for sure, but she was up for the challenge.
Chia's fingers reached to open her backpack, quickly checking to make sure she had no ears hiding in there. There were a few hiding in the bottom underneath a few of the noise makers that she carried to help distract guards when she was liberating other people of their belongings. She took them out and placed them on the counter next to Mari, then flashed her a **** eating grin. "I'll get these later." The she looked back to the rest of crew. "Last one out is a shambling fleshbag." She teased before turning and heading out the way she came to go wreck some critters.
Re: Taking Initiative [Fforde]
Posted: 16 Aug 2018, 03:21
by Ursula Wolfe
A voice called to her. Or rather, called her out. Despite ones description, Ursula turned her icy blue eyes onto the male that seemed more out there than most. Had he seen her around? Perhaps. Since she had returned to the city she had a habit of wandering around Serpintine when she wasn't in limbo. As he offered his hand to her, she lifted her hand and placed it in his. Her grip was firm and her touch seemed darker as if it could kill. It could. He was a social one, she had been at one time, now it seemed she was better seen not heard. Though as she kept to herself, that 'seen' part was questionable as well. Ursa's eyes shifted to the other male when he was pointed out but soon returned to Renard. It was then that she spotted the one he called Becket coming their way.
Ursula offered a smile that seemed equal parts out of place and yet completely natural to her face. "It is nice to meet you both. I'm Ursula, though as family you are welcome to call me Ursa without fear of bodily harm." She then glanced to her feet for a moment, had she been on dirt then weeds would not just be growing on her, but around her as well. She then lifted her eyes to the men again and smirked. This time there was not only the hint of danger in her eyes, but a joy there, as if she felt pleasure in torment and torture. "I am used to weeds, I handle them well." Killed them well too. Her tongue slid along her ruby red lips and then her sinister smile faded and she took on a rested ***** face.
The men turned their attention onto the soldiers and she glanced towards Jesse for a moment. For now, he was her only connection to the past, to her sisters - gone, seemingly for good. These newer people were close to each other, she was the outsider. There was the social butterfly in her that wanted her to change that, to at least attempt to get close to others in the family, but then there was this new part of her. Dark. Down. Depressed. Alone. Evil. It had grown since she had been gone. It left her, haunted.
Her attention turned on the first woman. She and the other seemed as close to each other as she and Renee used to be and inside she felt her heart clench despite the fact it no longer beat. She lowered her gaze and just listened as the girl made up the rules. Fairly easy, to the point. Something she could appreciate. She did, she just didn't quite know how to show it now. Ursa turned her thoughts to what she carried on herself. She would have to return home and add the ears she knew were currently on her to her lockbox. Then she could and would start counting. That was a good thing about where she lived. The entire building seemed to be the epicenter of the zombie outbreak, so she could just kick back and kill zombies with relative ease. That is, when she wasn't killing the wandering zombies.
She was pulled from her thoughts by the one lady, the one with the clear Latin accent, was tossing ears over the bar and vanishing from the store. It caused Ursa to stand there in a stupor for a mement. Then her gaze turned to Jesse in question, she seemed... lost.
Re: Taking Initiative [Fforde]
Posted: 24 Aug 2018, 17:12
by Renard
You asshole. The reaction was basically instantaneous, and though Renard did not say it, he thought it VERY LOUDLY. And the way his gaze narrowed on his long term boyfriend certainly indicated that he was thinking something. And why exactly was Beckett an asshole? Because Renard totally had not taken on the name Sutton for him. It had actually been for his parents, who were quite possibly the best people in the entire world. Renard hated the name ‘Croft’, because he associated it with Beatrice, Hillstrom and Isengrim. His parents were both professors of medieval literature. Beatrice suffered from fairly classic narcissism and had literally tried to **** her way through Renard’s (small group of) friends in High School. And she was the least awful of the bunch. Which was to say that they were pretty much the most fucked up people Ren had ever met. And they were his biological family.
Whereas the Suttons were just very kind, normal people. After the Croft clan had booted Renard from their ranks (for fear of bringing humiliation to the family or something), Ren had been adopted by the Suttons. Literally. On paper, her was Beckett’s adoptive brother - though they had been dating prior to that whole...thing. It had ultimately been a protective measure - because Renard had been a minor at the time. A way to make sure that the Croft family didn’t have the power to **** with his life. Getting them to give up parental rights hadn’t even required a court battle. After all. They had their one golden son, Isengrim, and were more than happy to be rid of a trouble-making little psychopath. Up until his art career began to take off. But that was another story entirely.
The thing was, Renard didn’t correct Beckett because he wasn’t going to launch into that particular explanation. It was a long story that he didn’t really want to tell. He might have relayed it to Marisol or Jesse, but he didn’t really know the sea witch. So boundaries and ****. And Beck knew that Ren wasn’t about to correct him. So he could basically get away with saying whatever he wanted.
Even though SOMEONE has not asked me to marry him yet. ASSHOLE!
Okay. So Ren and Beck would probably never actually tie that particular knot. They weren’t...that kind of couple. But Renard was annoyed, and when he was annoyed, he had a habit of sort of saying things he didn’t really mean, just because he thought they might be effective in the moment. Except he wasn’t saying them. Just. Thinking them VERY LOUDLY. At Beckett.
“I am at least the second or third best kind of weed.” He said instead, still glaring at Beckett as if he could will the other man’s clothing to LIGHT ON FIRE. Though soon after, the whole greeting phase had ended. Beck wandered off to sit with Marisol, and then the rules were being laid out. Points for ears, preferably zombie. Points for parts from other dead things. Yeah. He could do that. He always carried a rather large knife on him just for that purpose.
“Is it any more points for those one mooncalfs? The smart ones?” he asked, just in time for Chia (who he called Ch-ch-chia! in his head) to begin towards the door. Renard glanced towards Jesse as if to ask if he could go and join the fun. He was pretty sure he wanted to stab somebody because of SOMEONE saying things. But he was also technically on the clock and he didn’t want to make any assumptions. What he did do was slip closer to Beckett so he could slide his fingers into the short sleeve of a shirt and just kinda...yank firmly enough to one side that about half the buttons went flying and the seam holding the sleeve on tore.
“Oops, classic Sutton accident magnet!” And then he pressed a kiss to his lover’s jaw.