Path of the Vampire forum

EVERYONE is welcome to join, if you can think of a reason why you'd get an invite then awesome. Lincoln was handing them out to business owners, to people of interest, anyone who fit the brand and aesthetic he was going for. No word minimum or maximum but please try to keep it flowing, if someone hasn't replied in 48 hours feel free to skip them. This is a party atmosphere, so shorter and more interactive posts are encouraged but by all means make your entrance grand! Any questions? PM me !

The idea for a party came somewhat belatedly, the app and website had already launched, in fact it was doing really well so in a way Lincoln figured this party was technically more of a celebration of a successful launch than an introduction. It was a good way to reach out, to give people an idea of what could be achieved through meeting new people anonymously and was why he’d decided on a masquerade theme. He’d encouraged people via the invites he’d had printed up and had sent out to think romantic, to embrace the revelry and frivolity of it all. The club they’d hired out was pretty simple but had wide open spaces that could be decorated to his specifications, lots of black, gold and jewel tones of deep shining emerald, and crimson.

His own outfit had been picked out, tailored to his specific measurements in, gold being a predominant focus. He’d considered going for something old fashioned, almost costumey in design but the whole point was this was taking the old and making it new, giving people new ways to form connections and he should represent that. He had to look sharp, opulent and expressive. Lincoln was particularly enamored with the mask he’d had made, a vintage gold look to it with points that gave it the appearance of a crown. Robin had appeared particularly amused by the choice, but Linc knew the man was at least somewhat impressed by his ability to to stay on brand.

The invitations had been sent to prominent businesses, to a variety of acquaintances and people of influence, ensuring that he invited representatives from as many of the varied groups within HR as he could. Humans, vampires and those like himself, the ones who walked the fine line between the norm and the supernatural. It was the kind of event that was exclusive in a way, but also ridiculously accessible. Get on Linc’s good side, make your case and you might just score an invite for the effort. Benevolent, and all that ****, wasn’t that what he’d once said to Robin?

There was little left to do, he paraded around the venue ticking off a mental list, he’d have to get changed soon to make his grand entrance, the outfit sent over earlier in the day and hanging out the back in an area set aside for him to decompress and prepare in. His event staff were already in place, wearing simple black masks with slicked back hair, flecks of gold glitter combed through and the Bitr logo t-shirts. Simple enough to blend in, but giving them a sense of identity. All about that brand.

The gift bags had been put together and were lined up ready to be handed out by the staff that hovered around the table. Inside they had a card with a link to a website where the guests could choose their logo t-shirt size and have it sent to them, a snapback hat with Bitr logo, keyrings, bumper stickers, and even a usb stick all logo’d. An extra special item that had particularly amused him to put in was the small hand towel embroidered with the logo, all stemming from a joke about “lust bibs”, he had another name for it but for modesty’s sake thought it best not to plaster that on his merchandise. Besides, perhaps it could be used to spill up blood drops for those of the feeding persuasion who got a little mess, not just to wipe away expressions of lust and affection. Along with the other items there were jars of vitamin B and vitamin D, another sly suggestion on his part, and jelly beans universally used to boost blood sugar. A code for premium services on the Bitr app and site, getting rid of those pesky ads and opening up new options, was the last item added, the subscription valid for a year.

Finishing touches were dealt with, his slow grin sliding its way across his face, the man looking borderline smug but his youthful enthusiasm managed to get his grin from turning full Cheshire. “Are we ready?” He asked of the staff managers, getting all around nods and encouraging gestures such as thumbs up, everyone checking their little ear pieces were working and those under them were in place. “Fantastic, then I will see you all soon, guests may begin arriving within the next forty five minutes. Remember, gift bags on the way OUT, encourage them to stay and mention the hashtag bitrme, tell them to tag any photos shared with it and the $1,000 cash prize for the best photo shared.” A woman opened her mouth, Linc holding up a hand to pause her. “I understand that you put the instructions in the gift bag, but it is better to reinforce it verbally, remember that not everyone bothers to read through things.” She looked perfectly sheepish, trying her best to hide the chastised expression behind a smile that was a little too large, Lincoln just able to see the flush of pink across her cheekbones beneath the mask. “Thank you, you are doing a fantastic job.”

They seemed pleased enough, content to go back to their work so Lincoln left them to it, seeking out Robin to help him get ready, he’d had the man helping, it was his second official night as Linc’s slave, won at The Necropolis auction, and had been a surprisingly comfortable presence throughout the process. His back was to Lincoln, though the vampire’s senses were no doubt sharp enough to catch him Linc saw no harm in at least TRYING to sneak up on him. The rather tall, and not so subtle, blonde walked with a cocky swagger, keeping his tread light until he was at the man’s back, arms closing with a decisive tug, pulling the ganglier man against his chest. “Doll! It’s time. Let’s get ready… We have a party to get started.”

Modernity is described as the state of being modern. In the humanities and social sciences departments, it designates both a historical period as well as an ensemble of socio-cultural norms, phenomena, attitudes, and practises arriving post-medieval Europe. That constitutes to around 500 years of human development as well as the subjective or existential experience of the conditions these items produce and their on-going impact on human culture, institutions, and politics. Being a modern-day man, however, was far more relative to the previous five years of history than the centuries preceding it. With changing gender roles, the rising social acceptance of the metrosexual image, and differing media depictions of the ideal boyfriend, husband and father, it comes as little surprise that a lot of men feel a sense of identity crisis. Add into that the need to be technologically savvy and be forever online what with the rise of the digital age, and it all gets outrageously complicated and loud.

Claude Lambert was a 29 year old man born in Hamburg, Germany. He was assumed into the gilded echelons of the upper classes and the elite; the industrialists, financiers, high government officials, and large landowners amongst many others. Social class in Germany is not only a matter of training, employment, and income but also a style of life, self-understanding, and self-display. The so-called bildungsbürgertum, or educated bourgeoisie of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, were characterised first and foremost by a particular constellation of artistic and literary tastes, habits, as well as cultural and ethical values. Suffice it to say, his education was stellar, he was attuned to the most highly praised musicians, artists, and literary geniuses, and he was indoctrinated into the ethics and procedures of his family. Claude’s life was to be a repeat of his forefathers, a legacy that ran for eternity as its resources, powers, and knowledge sired the next generation. Claude had not expected his life to be anything different to what he had been taught, and everything he had been taught did not include The Malleus Maleficarum of smart phone technology.

Most recently, the German had been introduced to an application, or app for short, known as Bitr. Modelled after such dating apps as Grindr and Tinder, the app allowed for love to break the boundaries of the living and the undead, allowing for Vampires to seek Mortals and vice versa. As a newly appointed Blood Thief, it was probably something Claude should have held an interest in for business purposes, but he barely had his business cap on when he was introduced to such things. Having been alerted to the technology’s existence by an unknown user known simply as TheMonarch, Claude was certainly more interested in the individual than their product. He was a people person, after all, or at least he was on the surface. The fact of the matter was that Claude was undeniably fake. He always presented himself as a generous, invested party regardless of the subject up for discussion, but very rarely felt inspired. It had never been his job to care, just to buy and to sell.

Socialists will have you convinced that companies do not care about anything other than profit any way, but that’s not always true. Companies are out to make a profit, yes, but they aren’t ran by or staffed with robots. There are people at the core of every brand, every organisation, every manufacturing house and office in the world. Personal opinions, perceptions, and foresights are constantly changing the propositions, missions, and values of each corporation. Hell, most people open their own businesses because they are following their passions, their dreams, and so to dismiss it all as some kind of clinical or mechanical engine to produce money out of exploitation is extremely unfair. Just because Claude failed to be inspired by most people, by their problems or their plans, didn’t make him a representative of all businessmen everywhere. Besides, the reason why Claude didn’t care was because he didn’t want to.

While Claude had moved away from his homeland, rejected his parents, the family business, and their fortune, he had not completely walked away from tradition. Claude was reminded of his great uncle, Hugo Lambert, who had become a legend for all the wrong reasons. The man’s fault, his Kryptonite, his Achilles’ heel, was his monumental heart. He was the Anti-Grinch. He cared too much about every little thing, which invariably led him to be over-worked, conflicted, and stressed. Hugh Lambert died at the age of 45 from a pulmonary embolism brought on by heart disease. Nobody questioned the idea that the man had done this to himself. He tried to fix everyone’s problem and in doing so, had shortened his own life as though every effort had taken a physical chunk out of him. Claude took the moral of the story as a means to stop caring about people, particularly so when the love of his life as well as his future chances of bearing children had been torn away from him.

2010 had been a traumatic year. Not only had the German learned that he was unable to sire children and carry on the Lambert name, but it was also the year his wife was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. After many months of suffering with inexplicable abdominal pain, the relief that they finally had an answer for her symptoms had died on the fires of the truth, that the mortality rate for her condition was 94%. Despite the gut-wrenching prognosis, the couple remained hopeful. Lydia was an active, young and otherwise healthy woman, she was a fighter, and the Lambert family were invested in seeking out and utilising every specialist and treatment available to them. Just 8 months following the diagnosis, and despite her initial positive response to chemotherapy and drugs, Lydia Lambert ultimately lost her battle with cancer.

They say that time heals all wounds, but, forgetting is quicker. Claude poured himself into a glass and filled it to the neck with alcohol. There was no reason to go on sober in his mind, no need to press on with the futility of his life. He let the wind take him, pick him up and drop him off in destinations conceived from the last workings of the fates. It brought him to Harper Rock. It had made him a victim of opportunity, and it had thusly saved him. Claude couldn’t recall the details, didn’t even remember the pain of imbibing that much poison. He couldn’t remember the change, but he was living with the consequences, feeling as though he’d been turned into a venomous snake. Still, he sought escape from responsibility, from existence. It was why he found those people on the Harper Rock community forum, how he’d invited himself to TheMonarch’s party, and why he was stood before a mirror addressing his attire before he left.

The Masquerade theme was fairly ironic considering the circumstances which had championed the Bitr app’s success. The cat was out of the bag now. The citizens of Harper Rock knew the truth, that there were supernatural beings living amongst them and had been for many, many years. The Vampire’s Masquerade had fallen, their masks torn from their faces. With the illusion of secrecy removed, there was no telling how the ball would go now. Would drinks be spilled? Would fights break out? Would friends and family find themselves at odds to know that they have been fooled? Or would they toast to new opportunities, to the disposal of secrets and shadows and daggers, to embrace a new age where the possibilities were – in actual fact – completely endless?

Claude wasn’t expecting any particular outcome, he hadn’t placed a bet one way or the other, and was perfectly blasé about watching it all unfold. The entertainment factor was what had Claude remaining in his seat. He was a fan of the theatre, and watching real-life stories play out before his eyes was even better – the suspense, the anxiety, not knowing whose life will be forfeit in the end – it was as stimulating as lightning bolts running in the veins. Likewise, he was looking forward to this Bitr ball. Going to a party where he knew no one at all was an opportunity to make new acquaintances, learn a few things, and watch any drama unfurl as lavishly as the wine. He was definitely looking forward to the wine.

The 6’1” German male arrived mere moments after the party had commenced. The host had mentioned that he would be easy to find as he would be wearing an outfit that was as dazzling as his golden hair. TheMonarch had also described himself as dashing, which caused Claude to arch a brow with genuine appeal; he did so enjoy the company of boastful persons. In turn, Claude had confessed that he was fond of the colour green, which was expressed in the emerald satin of his blazer tonight. The most important piece of a masquerade costume, the mask, was chosen specifically to reflect the green-eyed monster of fables too – the snake. The handcrafted, Venetian leather mask was antiqued with gold to bring out the beautiful serpentine designs. The male Medusa wasted no time passing through the threshold and into the main hall of the nightclub – his entranced overshadowed by a seductress in a scarlet dress. Of course he did not mind and he veered off to the side, where helpful and equally sultry figures greeted him with champagne.

"Don't be petty, Robin." Lincoln's eyes rolled, his nose wrinkling in distaste as he looked the man over. "I'm gorgeous, and you're just afraid of how very into my manly musk you are. I'm hot, it's ok, you can say it man. I won't bite... That's YOUR gig." His tongue poked out, Linc biting it between his teeth as his brows raised, a goofy smugness colouring his tone. He was enjoying himself immensely already, and Robin seemed intent on riling him up but it wasn't going to work. The guy probably knew that, it made it safe, Lincoln could handle a good teasing and give one in return. "Besides, you have to help me get pretty, I demand you come coo over me and help me button my jacket or whatever, Doll face." His fingers gripped gently at the lapel of Robin's jacket, drawing him against him as he backed through the doorway that lead to the changing room. "You know I hate that bow tie, don't you? You DEFINITELY did that on purpose. Are you trying to make me the kind of Master who punishes a slave with spankings? Jesus, Robin, don't be so ludicrously predictable. If you really want me to tap that ***, you just have to ask. Of course, i'm obligated to say no and make you work it, but hey... No isn't never, my friend."

Getting ready wasn't overly difficult, Lincoln did go and wash up, ensuring no dirt was on his hands that could mark his suit, running fingers through his dark blonde hair and arranging the strands to ensure they sat just right. Robin's jokes about scent made him laugh, for Lincoln King was meticulous about smelling good, it was his personal belief that how he smelled was vitally important to other's perception of him. Scent could invoke strong feelings, it was a trigger for many memories and could leave a lasting impression. Many of Lincoln's memories were attached to scent, the clean mixture of bleach, lime and eucalyptus in his pristine household growing up, the scent always lingering around his OCD father or the faint burnt sugar smell, the smoke of tobacco covered by gardenia and floral perfumes that made him think of his grandmother's house. There was a near precise amount of much fragrance to wear,and it was a skill Lincoln had mastered. You wanted it to speak of you, not for you. Just enough to have people leaning closer, catching a hint of it as you strode passed and made them want to breathe in, take another sniff. He liked to smell clean, a fragrance that was youthful and yet masculine, strong. It was a deliberate series of choices that had lead to him having a specific wardrobe of fragrances, set aside for individual occasions.

Meetings had a scent, business deals that needed a certain level of confidence and commitment. Dates, seduction and nights out dancing were something else again, muskier and warmer than his daytime choice. Tonight he'd gone for one of his staples, it complimented his skin and had yet to steer him wrong; YSL's L'Homme, a light spritz before he applied the finishing touches to his outfit. His mask was the last thing to be put in place, having gotten Robin to help him secure it before shooing him out to the party. Guests were arriving, Lincoln watching the first few faces fill the room, only deciding to slip into the main area of the club as the noise began to grow.

People were chattering, giggling behind their masks, some coming in groups or pairs who hovered together around the bar and looking at the decorations, one eyeballing the throne style chair that sat among normal seating in a roped off area. The King's escape, his own little area where he could watch and wait, let people come sit, discuss and play guessing games as to names and persuasions. For now, however, he found himself looking to the door, following the eyes of a few curious party goers. A blonde in red had made her entrance, the pretty eyes behind the mask looking around eagerly for someone. Lincoln drifted in that direction, a beacon of gold that received it's own appreciative glances. His smile was benevolent, greeting those he came across as he passed, welcoming them and gesturing towards the bar. A woman came by with a tray of champagne, and sparkling rose toned wine, Lincoln collecting a glass of the latter to sip. It was sweet without being sickly, a faint taste of strawberries teasing at his taste buds.

Beyond the pretty blonde was a man in a striking ensemble, a mask that covered most of his face but the outfit he wore flattered his frame, a rich emerald tone to the jacket and silken look that made Lincoln want to reach out and stroked his fingers down the lapel. That would be poor form, surely, to accost someone as they just arrived. He gave the man a wistful look, raising his own glass in a silent salute of greeting. The young King made a mental note to find and introduce himself to the guy in green later, he was already but a few steps from the blonde. There was music playing, a mixture of club tunes, local artists and popular modern songs that complimented the mood without making it impossible to speak. Lincoln only had to raise his voice slightly and lean forward to be heard over it, the later he would have done regardless, in his experience it was always easier to charm your way through greetings when you created that subtle sense of intimacy and closeness. "Welcome to my party, i'm Lincoln King, CEO of Bitr and Monarch Media." His grin was luminous, offering a casual hand to her. "You are looking for someone, maybe I can help? The masks make it more difficult, but I assure you i'm brilliant at hide and seek."

Sal stood in front of the mirror in the men's bathroom, fumbling with his cuff links. A novice to all things grand and expensive, he felt awkward wearing an expensive suit, when he didn't even know or remember what half the things were called that went with a suit ensemble. "Cuppy Cake..." Sal looked over to his Spicey Sage in earnest protest as he held up both wrists and whimpered a little. Sage came to his rescue, as always and set Salvador straight so that the coat could finally be put on.

A box on the corner of the sink was grabbed as Sal's heart did a flip flop in his chest. Why he was so nervous was beyond him. Was it the suit? Or the out of sorts atmosphere? People like him didn't typically belong in places or parties like this. An occasionally crash at a house in the ghetto for some cheap, nasty beer was more his type and style, so Salvador was completely out of his league tonight. However, he owed it to Lincoln King to show up; after all this was a party for the very place Salvador was employed at. So, no matter how much of a fish out of water he felt, Salvador would go, even if for the teeny, tiny of moments.

The box was opened to reveal a mask that was probably more expensive than the suit he was wearing, now that Salvador thought about it, his hands trembling before they were possessed by the one of only two people in this world that knew Salvador inside and out. With the box in the male's hands, the mask was free for the taking, so Salvador took it and nestled it on his face. It would soon rest securely on most his facial features thanks to a little help from his sweet stuff, before Salvador would leave the shelter and head to the club via taxi.

Once there, he would sit in the taxi, watching the undetermined people enter the club with or without a date. A thought to have dressed cheaper entered his mind, that way Sage could have accompanied him tonight, but too little too late. With the invitation in hand, Salvador exited the taxi and headed for the doors of the club. All it took was a showing of the invitation and he was in. Consumed by all the decor, and dress of men and women alike, Salvador stood in the doorway for a few seconds longer than necessary, getting brushed against by passing shoulders and elbows as he stood there with his mouth slightly agape. After a few more pushes, the invitation found a place tucked away under the suit as Salvador made his way inside and went for the first free drink he saw for the night. This was a party after all, wasn't it?

Kira owned two business and each one ended up getting an invite to some kind of party. She took the invite home to do research on it, her wraith hovering close because it was a party. Which meant they would help Kira get dressed up which was at least Tessa’s favorite thing to do. After learning it was some kind of app that allowed vampires and humans to meet, like some kind of find friends or dating app, Marcus was the one to speak first.

“Could this be some kind of trap? To kill off as many vampires as they can?” He asked, the male part of her wraith was right. What if?

“Think there’s enough powerful humans to do that?” Kira asked, she heard the talk on the streets. Many humans wanted vampires gone, which frankly couldn’t blame them. “On the other hand..” she said, studying the app. “There are people who believe vampires and humans can live together...so this may be an attempt at that to bring us together. Which I would support.”

“Guess you can always flee if something goes down.” Marcus replied, “Tessa is in complete glee right now. I better let her take over.”

Kira shook her head, hearing the female side of her wraith shout of excitement.

“Okay to the closet!” Tessa said, her voice becoming softer as the wraith disappeared upstairs. The animals were a bit annoyed at the high pitch noises.

Kira made her way up to her room, “Keep in mind, I don’t want to stand out.” she said, unlike the parties she had thrown where her outfits stood out quite a bit, she didn’t want to in this case if this was a trap.

“You’re an Allurist my dear, you’re going to stand out anyway even with a mask.” Tessa replied with a giggle.

Kira sighed, she had a point. She opened her closet, looking through what she had there.

“I do hope no one thinks you’re there for a human lover or something.” Tessa said, wishing she could touch things so she could show Kira what dress to wear. “Here, the purple one with the sheer sections.” she said, since Kira had a lot of purple.

Kira wiggled her engagement ring. “I would hope they would get the hint.” she replied. She took out the purple dress and set it aside.

“Well that doesn't mean anything.” Tessa replied as she watched Kira look through the different masks she had in a trunk.

“Yes, Marcus the little manwhore when he had a body.” Kira said with a roll of her eyes as she tossed a mask with had a butterfly for half of it onto the bed.

“Well what can I say, we were hot and a baron. Can’t help to be popular.” Tessa said, “Then we ended up becoming a vampire and we were so damn alluring.”

Kira knew of their story, how his family tried to kill him for his split personality. Back then it could only be the work of demons or some other nonsense. But it was his whoring ways that got him killed as a vampire. “You want to come along? Keep an eye out for anything bad and gain information.” she asked, changing the subject.

“A wonderful idea my dear. I adore parties.” Tessa said, circling the room.

“I know.” Kira said with a smirk.

---

The night of the party, Kira wished she had Dru here to help her with hair and makeup but she had to do the best she could on her own. She pulled her curled hair up and gathered at the side, putting a butterfly comb where her hair was gathered. As soon as she was ready, she made her way downstairs and gave the animals some extra food.

“Not taking Reggie along?” Tessa asked.

Kira shook her head. “He’s so busy training and if someone gives me the wrong kind of look, might lead to trouble.” she said. She did leave a note that she was going out and that she would be back later. “Alright Tessa, meet me there.” she said. She disappeared and reappeared a short ways from the venue.

She headed into the club, looking around. There were a lot of people here. Maybe it was just as it said it was, a social gathering app. Though it seemed some might only be here for the booze as some were already clearly drunk and she thought this thing just started. She wondered if there was anyone here she knew but with the masks, the only way she would be able to tell would be their scent and no one so far reminded her of anyone she knew.

As Claude stood at the bar, letting his amber eyes pick at the ballroom’s decor like a small-eater at an Emperor’s banquet, he was reminded how much he enjoyed parties – particularly when he wasn’t the host. There was no responsibility for him to guarantee that the canapés and drinks were flowing like Niagara, no weight on his shoulders to ensure that every single guest was as giddy as a prom queen. It took a lot of discipline, organisation, and a fanciful touch to be able to not only orchestrate a show as ostentatious and risky as this, but to pull it off too. Claude took a particular fancy to the consistency of their brand image. It was important to him, as a former tycoon, that a company’s image was as unswerving as a mountainside. Of course there was a lot of fun to be had for a business as sociable as Bitr was, but every successful business needed to smile with their lips and bite with their teeth. They had to be friendly and inviting of course, but a formidable force at the same time; one that would make the opposition think twice about stepping into their domain. Claude felt almost a pang of pride in his heart that the host for this evening had done such an exceptional job.

The addition of the masks was a bold yet inquisitive move. While users of the app were clearly confident enough to express their tastes, reveal themselves as drinkers or feeders to the indeterminate audience of the internet, were they apparently only happy to do so under the guise of anonymity? For the German, it was not for shyness that caused him to choose a mask which covered his entire face, but because he didn’t want to spoil the fun. In his eyes, the masks provided a lavish sense of fantasy, allowing everyone the chance to be whomever they chose for the night. The Blood Thief had described himself as a venomous snake, and so it seemed fitting to dress as though he were Medusa’s male equivalent. The fable of the Gorgon was not unlike the bitterly tragic tale that Claude had been living recently – artistic licence was probably required to understand that line in its totality. While everyone understood Medusa to be the snake-haired monster that turned men to stone with a look, they seldom knew more than that.

In a late version of the Medusa myth, related by the Roman poet Ovid, Medusa was originally a ravishingly beautiful maiden. She was a priestess of Athena and devoted to a life of celibacy. However, after being raped by Poseidon in the Hunting Goddess’ temple, Medusa was punished in a most terrible manner. Blaming the victim was perfectly acceptable back then. Each wavy lock of Medusa’s beautiful hair was changed into a living serpent; her once gentle, love-inspiring eyes became blood-shot, furious orbs; and her former roseate hue and milk-white skin assumed a loathsome greenish tinge. With the curse of Athena upon her, Medusa was cast away a monster, until deliverance came to her in the shape of death, when the hero Perseus took her head. Interestingly enough, the Gorgon’s power to turn people to stone did not perish with her body. The latent power of Medusa’s head later inspired the Gorgoneion – a cultist mask used to scare the owner away from doing something wrong.

It was fitting in more ways than one that Claude had chosen to hide his boyish good looks behind a mask of revulsion. It was sure to raise questions, give the German an opportunity to converse with complete strangers. Not that he often needed such a thing, but, it was reassuring to have one. Perhaps the Gorgoneion would scare him away from doing something wrong or stupid too, though the chances of that were slim. The enigmatic German was in a gilded room surrounded by mythical creatures, the drinks were crisp with strawberry sweetness, and the atmosphere was electric – pulsing vibrant tunes through porous souls. His eyes drifted between points of interest like a pair of golden butterflies leaping from flower to flower, to beautiful women and gorgeous men, until he chanced upon a purple butterfly in the doorway. Something made him stop and stare, forget himself. Perhaps it was the stark contrast of the fragile insect against the gilt forest, or something otherwise more subtle; the way her eyes lingered, it suggested she was looking for someone. Everyone seemed to be here looking for somebody else, how fitting.

As curious as Claude was about her date, he was quickly distracted from the purple butterfly to the mauve-coated stallion. Dressed in silver blinders, the steed made his way directly to the nearest watering hole, and Claude certainly didn’t mind that he happened to be standing in the handsome one’s path. Behind the mask, Claude wore a smile verging on devilry which made his eyes shine bronze. As far as the relationship between snakes and horses are concerned, Claude should not have liked his chances at engaging with the other man. Still, he was not the type of serpent that sat quietly in the reeds hoping to go unnoticed. He was not the cobra or the rattlesnake that warded off a threat with an intimidating display either. As a matter of fact, Claude was not all that snake-like in nature. While snakes prefer to avoid Humans and generally distinguish things into three categories: things they can eat, things that can eat them, and rocks – Claude was interested in people for several reasons. Most of all, he was interested in their stories and he wondered what had made the tall, magnificent man standing to his right duck his head and charge toward the bar.

The best way to uncover a mystery is of course to personally investigate. Claude approached the man as he would any nervous stallion, which meant ensuring that he didn’t sneak up on him and remained in his line of sight. As the German drew closer, he watched the light trace the solid contours of that eminent suit and thought how much it would be like stroking his hand down the flanks of a horse to touch. In the outlying areas and surrounding towns and villages of Hamburg, horses are reared and ridden as if Germany were not in fact the home of the world’s greatest automobiles. Horses are a big sport there, and Claude’s family owned at least twenty farms and paddocks, so he was very much used to handling creatures larger, wilier, and more powerful than himself. Approaching with confidence was the key, but too much would cause the horse to bolt or rear up in attack. Claude placed his hand on the counter when he sidled up along the man in the silver mask – a comfortable distance remaining between them. The champagne glass had only a quarter of the effervescent liquid remaining, so when it was placed on the counter in hand, a waiting server quickly topped it up. Claude nodded in thanks, unable to pass a smile, and then returned his fully attention to the other male.

“Wise choice in attire,” Claude said as if passing a compliment to a fellow colleague when they had done their job to the letter. “The silver and mauve stand out very well against the surrounding décor. Are you… perhaps looking to stand out to anyone in particular?”

Now, of course there was no guarantee that the stallion would not bolt or rear up regardless. Wild animals are not labelled wild on account of their predictable, civilised natures. The male Medusa waited patiently, his eyes intrigued but not intensely so – he wouldn’t risk turning the man into a statue.