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MORI, ayuka ◦ Hebigumo Foundation Representative ◦ #804080

She had felt him before she ever set eyes upon him. His had been this primal energy which cut through the crowd like a blade of pure darkness. She had felt his approach, and his intention. She had felt him when he observed her. She had felt him when he went to end her. And when he had failed. She knew him before she peered into his eyes and before his hand engulfed hers as easily as a bear squeezing Goldilocks. It was perhaps instinct that left her between him and Ainsley. As his thumb pressed against her thumb nail and he seemingly took his tactile fill of who Ayuka was. She waited until his hand pulled away before she reached out, and let her fingers gently squeeze once more into the other human’s arm. As if to say ‘You will be safe.’, ‘You have nothing to fear from this man.’, ‘I will let no harm come to you.’. Those words went unsaid, but Ms. Mori could say a lot with a touch.

“It seems, good sir, that you are hinting subtly at some discontent.” And then she chuckled. Because what else was she meant to do in that situation? It was clearly some sort of ploy. He was either attempting to intimidate or enrage her. In either case, the measure was ineffective or insufficient. There was part of her that wanted to tell him that he should take a lesson on forming more concise sentences, and that it would be less of a waste of both of their energies if he were to just condense the casual racism, sexism, etc into one neat package. Just call her a ‘Jap *****’ and be done with it. Equally effective, with less breath expended.

“Though I do appreciate your attention to my nails. Getting those little details right can be a chore.” And with that, she was about to slip off in the direction of the sitting room which had been set up for the taking of pictures, when a flash of movement caught her eye. She paused, and watched the display put together by the woman she had taken note of earlier in the evening. The dance seemed elaborate, though that may very well have been a trick of motion to make it seem more complex than it truly was. Whatever the case, Ayuka was a creature that understood the value of illusion and showmanship. And she knew when a performance was put on entirely for her.

In a way, it was like the opposite of the one the behemoth had given. Where his had been a gesture of words, this was an expression of movement and communication which went beyond verbal.

And then the woman’s (she soon learned her name was Zodiac, an obvious pseudonym) silence, or her reason for it rather, was crystallized in a few short moments. Ayuka understood a few different varieties of sign language. American was close to French, and both were pretty popular in Canada. She was one of those parents who had insisted on teaching her daughter the hand gestures before she could speak, so as to be able to communicate with her.

Was this the ultimate good cop, bad cop technique?

Her own hands were moving before the card ever came out. Blessings to you and yours. The greeting was returned in like kind. And then she took the gift in hand. Of course, she considered the entire display part of the package and so she, before reading the words, clapped for Zodiac. Only then did she scan over the words, and offer a nod, before signing once more. You have my gratitude, Mistress Zodiac. Expect me to darken your doorstep soon.

“Nais tuke.” She said to the woman with the black and violet nails. It was a small gesture. Perhaps she was wrong. Maybe the woman was not Romani and would not understand. If that was the case, then at least the effort had been made. “I must depart soon as well, but before you go.” And that was when her gaze shifted between both Zodiac and Mordechai. “Perhaps some will remember this night poorly, but it is certainly a memory worth having. If either of you would like to join me for a picture, consider yourselves welcome.”

Finally she turned to Ainsley, her expression somewhat apologetic, the way one might have been if they had kept someone waiting. “The sitting room is over this way.” She said, nodding in the correct direction before beginning there herself. She opened her clutch to place the card inside, and pulled free the ‘Rudolf’ mask she’d nabbed earlier in the night.

There was something to be said for the Canadian winter night. It gave the rolling beast beneath Esli Barnes control a reason to cough and rock front to back with the random intersections that didn’t give the right of way. While it sat guzzling gas that was a struggle to afford waiting for the go ahead from the lights above he glanced back in the city bus size rearview mirror. Numerous bodies packed in the space were dressed in their chosen festive or not attire. It was a fine sight to see. Shared opinions, beliefs or not there was a collective cause and mission that had them together on this night heading to the Ball.

Much of which was responsible for this gathering was represented in the wall to wall packing of gifts. A frame of boxes and shapes shimmered and sparkled beneath the city street lights as the monster machine floated through. Under the wrapping, raffia, ribbons and bows were suitable worthy gifts that would serve a greater purpose in the children’s lives once the batteries not included were never bought, the novelty of flashing lights and the sounds of whistles wore out. The gifts in the decades old Winnebago sleigh would be treasures that were found in generations to come. Handmade blankets, scarves and knitted mittens. Handcrafted wood toboggans, rocking horses, cribs and wagons fresh from the Canadian woods. Bibles for young and old, poor and rich alike.

The ride was filled with the chatter between those intending to make an appearance, to deliver a message when they did. As soon as the final stop delivered them to the valet drive up Esli cut the engine and unfastened his seat belt. He did the duty of any mobile host and made the way to the side door and opened it to greet the uniformed valet looking dashing in his attire. Towering over the multiple steps to get out of the RV he finally hopped down and landed.

“Our group will be taking this when we leave so don’t get too fond of it.” He glanced around and found a few helpful elves lacking anything better to do than have a smoke break by the wall. He whistled and artificial spiked ears bobbed to attention as gray plumes of curling smoke ceased. “File in and lend a hand or two for a good cause.”

The paladin’s voice carried enthusiasm as it announced a call of duty. It was answered and soon the elves were hauling in the collected and donated bounty and walking it into the party and community tree one by one. Once that was a task completed he leaned back in and grinned at those that decided the community caravan made more sense than arriving separately.

“Let’s go celebrate. God is good.” He pushed off the door frame and caught sight of the valet elf waiting. “Be gentle with her. She has had a hard year.” Esli dangled the keys between them and delivered a look as they dropped in the gloved hand. "I have cameras watching and a live feed to my phone. No raiding the fridge or throwing a party in the back room if you know what I mean."

It was a relief to Az, to an extent, that Amalea was so accepting of his relationship with Flynn. While Azraeth was a bit of a social butterfly, in that he loved to both make friends, and be a good friend, there were only a small handful of people in the world whose opinion he really cared about. Oh, he wasn’t the sort of man to reject the advice and heeding of those he loved, but at the end of the day (or night in this case), when he was left with nothing but his own thoughts, there were only a few voices in his head, which spoke to him in tones he knew all too well. Amalea’s was one of those voices. And when he went to make a move, she was one of the people he considered. He would think to himself ‘If I do this, how do I explain it to her?’. Nikolae was another of those. Flynn. There were others which were still present, but which grew softer like the concentric rings of rippling water, the more distant they got.

“Let me know when you’re free. I would love to invite myself into that particular love fest, but I don’t want to be thought of as rude.” His comment was to Lea. He had taken note that Doc, Liza, and Amalea all seemed to be getting closer. He had been meaning to ask about it, but the opportunity had not presented itself, and he was not the sort of person to ask about truly personal things at such a public event. When Eve spoke, Az nearly frowned, though he schooled his features. He was unsure if she was essentially alone for the holidays by choice, and that bothered him. He glanced towards Lea for a moment, his brows lifting as if trying to communicate with her non-verbally. He didn’t send her a mental message though. There were some bits of information that people could just read on the features of those they knew well. “We will be there. I would love to see the top of the mountains at this time of year.” Normally, the Mystic would have invited his boyfriend along for the ride (whether he liked it or not), but they were going to be getting Liam for part of the Holiday. And. Well. Az had made a very silent promise to himself that he would be keeping Flynn’s younger brother as far away from anything related to vampires as possible.

Even having association with them could be dangerous, as Amalea knew all too well.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust either of the women. He just had a young, and an innocent soul to think of. Besides. The kid spent most of his time with Flynn’s mother, and he doubted she would appreciate even a passing hint at exposure to danger.

That was the problem with living in Harper Rock. It wasn’t safe. It would never be safe.

But that was life, wasn’t it?

One had to latch onto the happiness and the happy moments when they happened or risk losing them forever.

“Do you wanna build a snow man?” He asked, his voice going sing-song for a moment. Before he cleared his throat. That totally hadn’t just happened. Totally. He exchanged a look with Flynn. “Consider it done. We will make the corn-cob-pipiest snowman in existence.” He insisted, before Amalea was excusing herself and had to depart to get some allergy medications.

Which was right around the point Tiamat totally called him on not having remembered their meeting. His eyes widened a fraction, and he was abashed enough to look sheepish. He lifted his hand to massage lightly into the back of his own neck, as if to ensure it wasn’t once again warming. “Oh my gosh. I am so sorry. I recently suffered a few really damaging head wounds. Three shots right into the noggin courtesy of the redhead you just saw. That’s the only thing I can think of to account for my lapse in memory.” He commented, offering up a tiny bit of humility in the form of nervous laughter against his partner’s shoulder.

His thoughts turned though, from his own embarrassment to his sibling. As a general rule, Az attempted to think very little about Azariel. He had briefly talked with Flynn about the man in the past. The one who wore his original face. Az hadn’t heard from his twin in years. He had no clue if his brother was alive. Dead. Time had forced them down some very separate roads. It was difficult because there had been a point in his life when Azraeth would have given anything to his sibling. He probably still would have. At the drop of a hat. How many times had the hunters come for Azariel and Azraeth had opened his home to the man who barely spoke to him and said ‘Come with me. I will give you shelter’?

Theirs was a bond that was difficult to qualify with words. They had come from the same womb. They had been born holding onto each other. They had grown up together. For much of his life. The majority of it, the mystic had just assumed that they would be part of each other forever. And in a way, they still were. But that part of him which was still connected to the Killer was this withered thing.

Azraeth knew that he would never forgive his brother for not caring about the things that he did. For not loving the people he did. For not loving him with the same intensity that Az loved Azariel.

He knew that he was also powerless against his instinct to protect the other man. Always and forever. It was messy and it was painful. It hurt him in ways he could not describe, to know that his brother was alive and well, and able to write with Every. But that the schism between them was such that he did not warrant the same. It relieved him in ways he could not describe to know the same. At least Azariel was okay. Somewhere in the world.

Because much the way as Amalea was one of the voices in his mind. So too was his twin. The oldest voice. The boldest voice. ‘Stop being a fuckwit. Of course I’m fine. I can take care of myself’. They no longer shared blood. Nor appearance. There were more differences between them than there were similarities. But the Mermaid would always, always be his twin. And he was okay.

Christmas a day early.

I hate you, you ******* asshole.

“Thank you for your kind words.” He said to Every, the terms ambiguous as the vampire clutched imperceptibly closer to his partner. Most would not have noticed, though Flynn certainly had no choice but to.

And then things began to grow a little tense. He could nearly feel it. Tiamat and Every had history of some kind, and not very good history it seemed. The vampire glanced over to his boyfriend, his lips pulling into an ‘uh oh’ expression. But before he had a chance to try and crack a joke to diffuse the situation, Lea returned. “I’m in!” He said, pulling away from Flynn just a little to tug at the man’s arm by the bicep. And then the redhead was gone again, to gather people together for those shots. Every departed.

Which left Az and Flynn with Tiamat.

“Again, a pleasure to meet you...again. If you’d like to join us for a picture, I would love that.” And then a thoughtful pause. “I don’t know what your past is with Eve, but she’s a good woman. I can’t say I’ve always agreed with her choices, but I think she could say the same of me. I know her as the sort of person who will always do what she thinks is right, even if it’s not popular, and even if she gets flak for it. I don’t know if you care about that sort of thing, but that’s part of who she is to me.” Take it or leave it. He didn’t expect anyone to listen to him in that way. He was not an authority on the soul or soullessness of the undead. He offered her a smile then, and nodded in the direction of the sitting room so he could pull Flynn along with him that way.