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Merry had felt the urge to seek out her sisters, those who understood where she had come from and who may understand who she was becoming. There was a sense of longing to find a place, to bond with those around here and yet she also felt the pull of the shadows, the comforting darkness trying to wrap it's tendrils about her throat and drag her into it's depths. It would be so easy to succumb, to spread her arms and fall backwards, to let the shadows swallow her. Perhaps they'd drag her right to Perry, right into his arms, right into sleep. No, she wasn't ready for that it was too much like defeat and she'd gotten glimmers of hope from those around her.

Maybe it was about reaching out, reaching beyond the lineage and make friends once more. There was the Doctor who seemed to want to be her friend, she considered that it might be worth calling him, after all he had helped her lick her wounds after injury. The dark haired woman had heard whispers of the Dragomir's and friends spending time in the Dungeon of the Necropolis, she had missed the large party Enzo had planned with his company simply not feeling up to facing so many of her kind.

Walking down the stairs she was surprised to hear speaking, only for it to stop, to pause for an extended period of time. She walked in to find Enzo looking expectant, the room staring as he watching Mortll. Her sister. And then the answer was given, to a question Merry quickly deduced had been that of marriage. It felt like she'd been punched in the stomach, beaten fiercely until the breath left her. Enzo and Mortll were engaged, and Enzo had not thought to perhaps ask her sisters, to warn them of this. Noelle was there, reaching for Merry as she turned to leave, to run from the scene.

Her hands sought to soothe, but Merry was not wanting it, not wanting to be given comfort by her. Did she know? Was she a part of this? So many Dragomir, even ones she recognised only by their eyes, watched on and here she stood knowing not a thing. She felt foolish, an outsider invading a private moment, one she had no business watching. How could she think it was so easy to return? To find a place? Quickly she muttered a congratulations in her native tongue, not bothering to try and translate the Romanian before turning on her heel and bolting blindly out of the Dungeon, out into the club and towards the exit.

Fresh air and darkness, she wanted fresh air and darkness to clear her head or hide inside.

Another gathering hosted by the Dragons. Trahir had attended several of late. He enjoyed the quiet conversations at the Voodoo hosted in the basement away from the prying eyes of mortals. This one though, there were mortals. He could smell them, hear their breathing, their complex internal systems pumping fluids, digesting food, held in by a fragile fleshy sack of flesh waiting to be ruptured, made able to stand by a skeletal system that cried out, begging the Killer to break it. He'd not been impressed. At least they had chosen to entertain their food away from the meeting area Trahir normally frequented, even if only right next door.

He watched Mortll, and Enzo as the latter proposed. There was a hesitation, a dead lull in the air as she paused. He'd heard doubt-filled whispers beginning to fill the silence and then she had accepted. His attention though focused on a young vampiress who was seemingly having a panic attack.He watched her push away from the usually-reserved and quite Noelle and flee out into the night.

Her flight combined with Trahir's already clawing thirst, the proximity of food and his overall mood contribute to his instinctive reaction. As Merry flees up the steps, the vampire turns and follows, his eyes flashing reptilian briefly with the thirst raging. The one glass of blood he'd have since arriving having done nothing to sate it. Lately it seemed he had to drink more and more to keep his thirst in check. Either that or...

His actions clicked in his mind. He understood exactly what the Darkness within him was seeking as he emerged into the night air after the woman. The revelation was shocking to him and threw him out of his instinctive hunting mode. And there she was, now ten feet ahead of him outside. Trahir cleared his throat, a gesture nearly alien to him in these modern nights but one easily recognized by the younger vampires. He runs through a checklist in his head. Human motions and movements, "unconscious gestures" they make. Things he needs to mimic.

"Not wanting to sneak up on her (anymore) the vampire speaks as he approaches, his voice soft but confident. "Is the party not to your liking?"

He gives a smile, as alien to him as clearing his throat while his eyes flit over her, resting briefly on her throat before moving toward her face.