Unjustified Homicide.

[Mircea]

Habren is dead.

The words echoed within his mind. Over and over they screamed in his ears from a hundred directions in a thousand voices. Dead. Such a small word to cause such huge, devastating after-effects. It seemed insignificant when looked upon most of the time, but then something... someone would attach themselves to those four letters and it would grow exponentially until it filled another's life.

Habren is dead.

Why? How? The echoes ringing in his ears were making it hard to think, difficult to remember. Was that a natural condition of what had happened, or was there something wrong with him? Unable to see, it probably made sense that he was hearing so much more, but from where did the voices come when there was only four of them present?

Michael pressed a warm glass into his hands and the smell of blood wafted up, thick and suddenly cloying. Habren had bled, he thought, when she died, when he killed her.

Catherine continued to tend to his wounds, but he could smell, beneath the blood, the salt that betrayed her tears. Who was there, he wondered, to tend to Habren? What did she think? What did they all think, that he was alive and she dead? Did she feel abandoned? Angry that she had bled and suffered in his place? Were Catherine and Michael quietly thinking him a coward that he hadn't done more? Prevented it somehow?

Habren is dead, the voices told him, because you are alive.

Emilian was somewhere close. Mircea could feel him on the end of the rope that bound them, pacing back and forth but remaining close. Nobody spoke, they barely moved. Emilian moved closer, the invisible rope going slack and then winding itself in as an anchor on a ship would. An odd sensation started on his shoulder, a hand that wasn't a hand resting on his shoulder.

"Grigore, I am sorry."

It was perhaps the kindest words that had ever been exchanged between the two and spoke of the depths of Mircea's despair. He didn't answer though. He hadn't spoken a word since he had felt the last moment, felt part of himself die with her. Instead, he sat still and silent, the glass in his hand growing cold as he sank into the silence and darkness inch by inch. He could feel it licking at his soul, chilled tendrils wrapping around him and tugging at him until he finally, finally found himself released from the physical shell, able to see again and there she was, in the wrong place, but in front of him again at last.

"I am so sorry," he said.

[Lofyn (DELETED 481)]

Lofyn had been scrolling through the typical drivel of the forums when she saw the message. Habren was dead, at Ripper's hands. It was enough to set the blonde Killer's muscles into tight coils, and her hands to shaking. She made a short, one-sentence note on the Grigori forum, replying to Mircea's announcement, before she had to get out of the apartment. If she didn't, she would destroy the entire place - maybe even the entire building.

She started running.She didn't have any definitive destination in her mind, but she had a simple goal. Destroy something. Her only instinct was to find and slaughter the ********. It wasn't even that she had a close relationship with either Habren or the leader of the bloodline. It was her bloodline. Her blood. Her family, as it could be stated.

That pissed her off to no end, that someone would make an attack like that on one of her blood.

She stopped when she reached tbe edge of the wilderness, but only for a moment. Only long enough to close her eyes and change her shape into a white tiger with vicious claws and jaws. And she continued running until she found a closely-knotted copse of trees, letting her claws tear through the bark of the trees, roaring her rage for any being, fae, bear, woof, or undead, to hear.

[Habren Ashe]

Here again.

The disembodied voice whispered around her, echoing through her head as if it was naught but an empty shell. Oh, but where was here? She blinked a few times before remembering her eyes weren't exactly there any longer. Not in the corporeal sense.

Habren shuddered as the silky black depths enveloped her, clinging to the form made of pure ethers now, chilling her straight through. But of course they did; there was no flesh left to warm her. Certainly no walls, or fire. Or husband.

Panic shot through her as she tried - tried so hard - to remember what had happened, how she'd gotten there. Tried to remember what had become of Mircea and why - she had to know, had to recall, or the next handful of nights would be hell. They'd done as the city wished - stayed quiet, away, relegated to the relics of the past that so many insisted upon seeing, rather than working toward common ground or learning from the elders' mistakes. And it had been easy enough; they watched the Crownet for signs of trouble or need of their assistance, but spent their time away. Off in the woods, enjoying their own company and getting back to the way things had been. Off on new adventures, exploring corners of the New World that had eluded them whilst they tried to regain their footing in a world that had changed beyond recognition. It had been lovely... so necessary and lovely... and yet, they had returned.

There were new places uncovered within the loud, stinking cityscape, where their kind went to explore and hunt. New faces among their lineage with whom they'd only just, but happily, made acquaintance. Young vampires who wanted to know more about before, about why there were certain rules in place and why their blood fonts believed some of them to be necessary.

And hadn't Habren only just said, the past week, that the Fade was not a place she wished to see again anytime soon? Hadn't she just explained to several of the newest progeny what it meant to be Grigori, no matter one's other lineage? Independent, but somehow, the blood always drew them back in when one of their number was in need, no matter personal opinions or differing points of view.

Habren hadn't guessed, couldn't know, that a quiet evening spent hunting and chasing her husband through the Caverns would end with the both of them needing their blood, more than ever. Her phantom jaw clenched tight at the thought that she'd done nothing - absolutely nothing to provoke the slime that had dared to attack Mircea whilst they slumbered. But Ripper had failed. Failed, and signed his own death warrant with one stupid, poorly-made judgement. Because then, he dared to turn his frustrations upon her - for once, blameless - and send her straight back to the realm that had held them for far too long. And all over the wounded pride of one who refused to learn a lesson or to let certain conflicts stay buried. She felt the growl that wanted to rise in her ghostly throat, her eyes slipping closed as she finally dragged her thoughts back around to the event that had brought her back here in the first place.

But then there was that shimmer, that slight tingle that told her she wasn't alone, that she had been joined by none other than the other half of her soul. His words had a soft smile curving her lips, relief flooding her that the same fate hadn't befallen him as her eyes finally opened to take in his silvery form.

"Mircea," she whispered softly, a ghostly hand reaching for one of his own. "Safe... you are safe..."

It was all she needed to know, for now, and that alone would help her through.

[Pi dArtois]

Habren had been sent to the fade. Mkvenner was apparently a Grigori.

Two facts that had revealed themselves, two disconnected, yet glaringly obvious connections.

Pi rarely frequented the Grigori Crow. She barely frequented her own with d’Artois, so the lack of reciprocal activity on the other was hardly a surprise but the figurative death of one of their leaders brought her attention to a glaring full stop.

People could say that nothing much happened on the Grigori board and they would be right. But she wasn’t one of the people who believed a lack of activity on one, meant lack of activity at all, because that wasn’t true, not of Grigori and certainly not of d’Artois. She wasn’t much one for Crow at the best of times, even less if it was a Crow open to the rest of the city vampires, but she knew, even if a Crow was empty of activity, lives were still being lived somewhere. Vampires, like people had things they did, people they loved, businesses they took care of and it was only in times when they needed to pull together that places like the Crow would kick start, activity blooming as a call was sent out, messages received and urgency identified and acknowledged. Like now. With Habren.

And Pi knew, despite the fact it had been quiet on the Crow, that she should, and would help if they needed and wanted her. It is what you did, it is how you acknowledged your relationship to others, just like you.

She just wished, that the call for Habren didn’t come hand in hand with the knowledge their head bloodfont also boasted the presence of someone she wanted to shoot in the head and knew Elliot may shoot in the head once he was aware of what was brewing under the surface of Mkvenner falsely humourous façade.

He seemed overly giddy for a man who purports to be a blackmailing, motorcycle gang leader. Not that she had any experience with those of his sort (outside of what she’d seen in the bar that one night) but the lot of them seemed a little giddy for men and women who seemed to encompass a largely criminal (and tattooed) element of the city. Maybe that’s how Canadian’s bred motorcycle gangs, a bit fluffy and happy. Happy gangs, there was an irony there, surely? Except this happy gang with its members who liked to post messages onto clan Crow boards as if they were teenagers on a social media site eating up the narcissistic attention with each clever constructed message to the masses.

Pi smiled at her analogy, even as she ignored the messages Mkvenner sent her way. Another reason Elliot would give to ignore the Grigori board, when she finally told the man about Mkvenner’s blackmail and of the apparent connection (however tenuous – and she didn’t even know what that connection was, nor was she inclined to ask.. yet) to the font bloodline.

So she left her message for Mircea to see, and made a note to walk the fade if he needed her to, to help Habren if there was need there as well. And closed down the computer she sat in front of.

The presence of the male on the Grigori Crow meant whatever happened next would mean some interaction there, but she would deal with that later if needed. For now, her only concern was to let Mircea know she was present if he needed and would keep her phone close, in case the call came to do something… about Ripper.

[Azraeth]

The lands of greyscale shadow and pervasive darkness engulfed him as if he had filled his pockets with stones and waded out into the heart of the ocean. In that place of spirits, Azraeth, unlike so many of his kind, was in his element. That was easily attributed to the ethereal nature of his very being. One could not separate the spiritual aspect of the man from the flesh, not really. He was a soul. Before he was vampire. Before he was flesh, or ash, or dust. He existed as intelligence and energy, and so he chased death into its home.

The message on CrowNet had been brief. He had read over it just moments before from the terminal he kept at his apartment, and had immediately decided he wanted to be of some sort of assistance. There was mixed history there, between the Dragomir and Grigori – some of it good and some of it bad. But he didn’t want to act as a Dragomir helping a member of another bloodline. What he wanted was to reach out to someone in the way he would have liked if he had been in that position. He knew very much what it was like to walk in the dark places, and though he suspected Habren would have her share of people to aid her – that didn’t erase the instinct he felt in his chest to do something.

He didn’t wait to get ahold of Mircea, didn’t talk to anyone in that family. One moment he had been staring at a computer screen and the next he had been blanketed in thick shadows.

The most difficult part had been in finding Habren.

Since having returned from the Fade himself, he had done away with some of the strict structure that had defined his personality in the past. Oh. It was still very much there, but he found that when he was searching for omens, that they presented themselves like wild magic. Chaos was a necessary component of his divination and craft. Maybe that was Chad’s fault, anarchist that he was. Maybe it was some sort of divine joke that Azraeth had to give himself up to his insecurities in order to really see the results he wanted.

Whatever the case, he arrived near them almost by chance. There was Habren and Mircea – he had passed them time and again in the Caverns when he went gem hunting. He’d been recently working to bolster his personal bank account. A large portion of his cash had gone into the pocket of the Daughters of Destiny fund, and he hadn’t had the heart to ask for it back. A gift given with the expectation of return was not a gift. Not in his mind. And there were a multitude of things he needed to purchase for the convenience of his newly turned. So he recognized them almost immediately despite the obvious difference in state of being and location.

He considered letting them have their time together, but finally decided to make his presence known. “I hope you two don’t mind a little company.” He offered up conversationally, a greeting really. Like the three of them regularly talked to each other, and they should have expected his presence there. Much as they likely didn’t.

He smiled then, and began to draw spirits to their location, his magic working like a current in the cold dark.

[Mircea]

The Fade was a strange place at the best of times; a vague reflection of the world it was latched onto it leeched the life from everything it touched. It was not, however, the best of times and it seemed so much more oppressive, knowing that it wasn't a visit for a purpose, but one out of necessity. It wasn't helped, either, by the knowledge that he would be all too soon hauled back by the anchor his physical form provided, limiting his time there with her, but he was determined to make of it what they could.

"I am safe, love," he rumbled, his voice slightly flatter than normal. It didn't matter to him that he was safe when she was so far from so, but he knew that the knowledge would give her some slight comfort while she regained the strength needed to return through the veil. "Catherine, Michael and the baby are safe, also, and the blood are aware." It was all the things she would be checking had the roles been reversed: The pets to safety from wherever they were, the bloodline alerted to the potential danger and rallied to the cause as needed and then to step from that world into this to be with one another as best they could. His fingers flexed and curled in the act of holding hers. It wasn't a true, physical touch, but it was what they could do and it helped... In its own small, vital way it was a marvellous help.

How long they stayed like that he didn't know, making the most of being in one another's presence as they were able and blessed by Nox to be. The Fade was notoriously difficult to navigate and they had been so often separated in their two centuries there that both were reluctant to seek to move around lest they be pulled apart again. That was probably how Azraeth was so able to happen upon them, dragging Mircea's attention away from his wife and towards the new source of sound and movement and then... There was magic and his hackles briefly raised at the potential threat.

But... No. Not a threat. Aid. His head tilted slightly and he watched as spirits came from all directions to converge upon their position. Spirits, not the more dangerous wraiths that could often fight back and damage the delicate fabric that held them together, but the weaker ones, already well taken by the fade that could lend strength and sustenance to those who wandered but were not yet lost. From the spirits, his attention returned to the man who brought them to heel and he tried to get a grasp on what magic worked to make it so. Perhaps he might be able to do something similar, but how? He had been able to summon Emilian from the fade, and bind such spirits to physical shells within the living world, so perhaps this was similar to those things only... Less and more together.

"Blessed Night, help me," he murmured, stretching up a ghostly hand to brush the backs of his fingers against Habren's cheek and then he... Pulled. Or called. Or asked. He couldn't quite explain what it was he did, but he stretched out the senses that let him find and bind spirits to his will - that created zombies and captured wraiths - and he pulled on it, as if winding in a fishing line. It took a few moments to get the feel of it and find the tension, but before too long Azraeth's spirits began to be joined by those of his own summoning.

"Thank you," he said to the Dragomir with something that might have been half a smile and a slightly breathless note to his already strange sounding voice. It wasn't the same sort of effort that the other abilities demanded, but it was definitely an effort nonetheless, albeit one well worth the taking.

For her, he would feed his very soul if it meant her survival.

[Lilianne]

Habren is dead.

Looking out at nothing, Lilianne wondered why it was that she found herself to be so agreeable and willing to follow rules. It never had been her calling and now that it involved not making an attempt to destroy guilty parties, she was certain that it was a terrible idea. True, she would be useless in her current infant vampire state, but every bit of power and control had to be leashed and caged in order to keep herself and everyone else in one piece.
Death was no stranger to her… in fact, the reaper and his scythe had become a companion of hers over the years. Whatever responsibility she had held over the losses and however they had weighed… Lilianne never thought that she would touch this sort of grief- especially after her own death.

The message of her sire’s death was soul stilling… passing had never been accompanied with grief before- guilt, certainly, but not this- and though she knew herself capable of feeling it, this was the first time she had to look upon its face and feel instead of react. She expected emptiness, but it was all consuming and took her in waves even though she knew that this death was not permanent, it seemed more impacting than those met with the doubtless finality.

She could have stood there and watched the world for days, but the longer she remained idle, the more aggravated she became. Calls had been made to both check on Mircea and to reach out to her most unusual friend, Sebastian. The calls had resulted in voicemails and a wait that, while it was only moments, felt like centuries had passed.
“Oh, this will not do…” the girl grumbled to herself before drawing the conclusion that keeping a busy schedule would help save her sanity and keep things in order. She had found that the walls of Habren’s shop were the least suffocating to be surrounded by- but even that had changed as of late. This place, as a city, was becoming home to her and the confines of familiar spaces gave her more comfort than they did a measure of claustrophobic anxiety. It was a lovely realization for her to have as she unlocked the shop doors and tucked herself inside.

[Solene]

“What a complete **** hill.”
She had done her screaming… her throwing things and cussing up a blue storm, but apparently there was more to say about the weasel. Belle had been a full saint, completely deserving of recognition and a plaque, but there were things that she couldn’t disclose even to her. That was the single most trying part of their relationship… the secrets.

The blonde pulled her hood up as she ventured further away from her home and closer to a place where she could safely vanish. Once she was sure there were only plucky chickens and the occasional wolf to witness, she dropped into the Fade and made her way toward Habren.
It was a comfortable place for Solene- she was made for it, after all, but she didn’t like that Habren was being subject to its terrors. It wasn’t fair that she should be stuck, even with company- especially when the attack had been unprovoked.

Normally Solene would wander the fade in silence. She had learned that even though she loved ghosts and spirits and could finally see them all, they had a tendency to be disoriented… to be frightening or easily spooked depending upon their nature. They also had provided solid proof of being stage five clingers, so really, the silence served everyone. Once she saw Habren, though, she knew she’d have to risk the noise.

In her human life, which wasn’t really that long ago, when she got scared or too lonely, she would always jump out of bed and sprint to her father’s office. More often than not, socks combined with a slippery floor made it difficult not to fly past his door and into even darker corners of the house, but she eventually mastered it… and he learned quickly that a story and something warm to drink would send her back to slumberland for the night. Solene knew that the warm beverage wasn’t an option, but stories, she could provide… if only to fill the silence.

The girl couldn’t heal the wounds there, so she called a spirit and took a seat next to the woman.
“Habren… You just let me know if you want me to shut up, ok? I’ll tell you stories until I have to leave otherwise…”

[Asia Rae]

There was something about the Grigori that made it seem like the family had all but died completely off. Maybe it was because everyone was so quiet and nothing really happened on the forum. Asia had learned that she could go months without checking the Grigori CrowNet and find that nothing had changed. To her...no news was good news but today...the forum was lit up like a brand new traffic light. Bold and blinding. Her curiosity peaked and she clicked the needed buttons to let her enter the place where family spoke to one another when they weren't in each others companies.

A post made by Mircea in attacks. A frown set upon her face as she clicked open the message. Asia hadn't been close to her great-grands and that was probably because she was on the other side of the long love feud that always seemed to be going on but with both Leiren and Amara gone, she was able to actually sit and look at the family objectively. She wanted to get to know Mircea and Habren and maybe this was a small blessing. One to show that not all of the family had left and still cared about the others especially when the time arose for them all to gather and show that they were still a strong family.

Quickly typing out a reply, Asia had hoped that there was a way that Michael could relay the message to Mircea. She could have sent an email and hope that he could read it but that would only slow her down. There was the matter of business and employees to take care of first. Stopping into each one, she apologized greatly to the staff that they would not be receiving their paychecks in the morning as there was a family emergency but because of the inconvenience over the holiday, she would return quickly and give each one a healthy holiday bonus as well as the holidays off to enjoy with their family. Each understood as they were aware that "family emergencies" happen often in this city. Not from her, thankfully but from when they sit around with their friends and gossip about the strange events that happen. Vampires, ghosts, humans being controlled...it was as if everyone had a subscription to the Enquirer and sat around talking about what they heard as if they saw Bat Boy himself.

Rushing off to her crypt, she knew that she would be left alone and if anyone thought to enter...they would see that it was empty with her bunny having plenty of food and water to care for itself. Twenty-four hours...she wasn't sure if that would be enough to help but even though she could escape the Shadow Realm on her own and even without a door...she would not leave her great-grands until she knew that all the help she could do was done. No the whole twenty-four hours was needed and spirits would be provided to help. Slipping out of her clothes, throwing them in the dirty clothes hamper so she didn't leave any odd appearance of dropped clothes as she always had a clean home. Checking the Grigori CrowNet once more, Mircea had responded, letting her know that Habren was good on spirits. Perhaps but she would check to make sure and if she was, she would simply give the woman some company as Asia knew how lonely such a place could be. She knew all to well for her liking.

Sitting on the bed, she focused her energies on the dark void between worlds until her body slipped through. Opening her eyes, she blinked a few times as she took the time to adjust. Finding them would be difficult but she would not give up until she did. Mircea and Habren needed to know that they had family support even from those that were quiet. Passing each ghostly form, she reached out as if to see if it was those of her blood but nothing was familiar. Searching and searching, all of the faceless beings drawn to her but none were who she was looking for. Wishing she was a telepath, she would reach out to Habren that way to make the search easier but that was an impossibility so a silent game of Marco Polo was played as she was sure that Habren would probably think that some crazy group of kids were playing a sick game in the realm instead of looking for her.

Finally, her search came to a halt when she stumbled upon a couple of spirits lingering. Stopping a moment before she said anything to see if she could, if at all sense they were of the same blood, she nearly jumped out of her non-existent boots with joy. "Habren! Are you okay? Do you need anymore spirits? Mircea said you didn't but I just want to make sure..." She looked at the other faceless ghost that floated there. "Hello, I'm Asia."

[Hamlet]

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Twenty-four hours had passed and Hamlet's chest hadn't stopped seizing and trying to suffocate him--as if he could possibly die from the lack of air; not again. Twenty-four, long, torturous hours had passed and not a single move had been made so far as he was aware, Habren and Mircea were still 'missing in action', for lack of a better explanation to his brain--a still very human brain, human ideals and metaphors.

Almost three years had come and gone and a big part of Jameson Hamlet clung feverishly to the shreds of humanity that had been practically beat out of him, left in the splattered blood that painted dirty concrete, but every death--permanent or otherwise--drove him that much farther from a young man huddled in a ball in some stranger's bathroom, crying and screaming about how his gums hurt.

Across the cabin, Mick stood at the window with her arms crossed. She watched stupid little snowflakes fall as helpless as the two of them were; it made them both angry, angry that they were so easily compared to a little, pointless snowflake--frozen ******* water, directed here and there by the wind and gravity. They melted when they touched the ground.

Mick said nothing when the slurping sounds Hamlet made got louder; she said nothing when Tiffany gritted her teeth and told Hamlet that he was hurting, when she asked him to stop, when she pleaded that she didn't want to die and Mick said nothing when Hamlet shoved Tiffany so hard, that she toppled over on the floor, quickly followed by the loud snap shut of his laptop. Carelessly, he tossed it on the wooden coffee table; he didn't care if it broke.

"It's not like she's actually dead," Hamlet said, as if he was the one trying to reassure Mick. "I know," he quickly replied to himself. He stood up fast enough to make Tiffany flinch, but he just stepped over her like she was a speed bump in his path to where Mick stood.

"I didn't come back for this," he told Mick when he stood close enough to feel the press of her backside into his crotch.

"Then what did you come back for," Mick snapped, making it clear that she hadn't been the one to cut their vacation short.

Instead of outright answering her, or telling her things that he knew she didn't want to hear, he cupped her biceps and leaned down to kiss from just below her earlobe to her collarbone. Every kiss that brought his mouth and head further down, made his arms and hands slide higher or in closer towards her breasts. "**** me," he pleaded between kisses. Outside, the snowflakes got bigger and fell faster.

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