Path of the Vampire forum

The moon rose high over the graveyard, a cool breeze acting a guide as those who would follow the map written in the invitation towards the crypt. Upon entering, torches were already lit, illuminating the room. At first glance, it would not seem more than an ordinary crypt. Ivy hung from the walls, cobwebs in the corners. The dirt floor had been recently walked on, footsteps leading towards the long, stone coffin that sat in the middle of two, tall gargoyles. Upon approach, the one on the left would sense the motion. The eyes, originally a stone gray, would flash a deep shade of red as its monstrous appearance was that of a winged demon, muscular and powerful with details carved into stone.

A voice rumbled from within it, deep and masculine as it spoke a riddle:

• Die without me, never thank me. Always watching, never speaking. Always lurking, never seen. What am I?

Beside the large, towering creature, the other stood nearby and listened. As the answer would fall to her ears, large wings would expand and contract, pushing the stone cover aside to reveal a staircase leading down into the earth. At the bottom of the staircase, oil lamps hung from the ceiling and cast a glow. It would only be a short distance further before the steady, upbeat sound of jazz music began to caress the senses. A band stood in full swing, seated with their instruments played away. As one approached the end of the corridor, the final door swung open to reveal the party that had already kicked into movement. A fire contained behind glass burned around the room, illuminating the scene. Vampires, the bold humans, blood thieves were all scattered about the room. Many were dressed in the requested 1920’s attire theme. Gangsters, flappers. Others wore sportier attire, but all were comfortable.

A man stood in the middle of them all on top of a podium with a microphone in hand. Tall and wiry, he had dressed as a newsboy. Boldly, he called out, “Welcome, welcome, to the Roaring 20’s of the New Age. Your host, Dealer, will not be joining this evening, but they give their regards for those that want to bring Harper Rock back to its former glory a new start!” Lifting his fist into the air, a few of those scattered about raised their glasses. The bartender had multiple lists of drinks, both vampire friendly and human friendly, settled on top of each table and the counter top. Tinsel of gold and silver hung strategically to catch the flickering flames to create glistening, dancing strands of light throughout the room.

If one were to try their hand at violence, an unseen force would pull at their senses and force peace among the crowd. Up in the corners of the room, two electromagnetic emitters sent a steady pulse through the room to disable all electronic devices. Dealer, it seemed, was one for theatrics and authenticity, as transactions were written down if needed. A chalkboard sign sat on the counter top where a note read: No card? No problem. A separate banking account was written down, set aside for later transactions. As the newsboy walked off stage, the band picked back up and the sound of steady, smooth jazz echoed through the building once again.

Chance walked quietly as he watched for any more errant zombies that still wandered around the graveyard, the one he had already found was dispatched from a distance to avoid dirtying his party attire. He had hacked his invite after the note he found in the police files had piqued his curiosity, although it took him far longer to find details online than it should have, it had taken him only a moment or two to decide to attend the actual gathering. The additional references made him believe it should be safe enough for his kind so with any luck he may find helpful information. Regardless he at least hoped it would end up being a short diversion at least instead of a complete waste of time.

His pitch black jacket and pants contrasted well against the gleaming white tie and pinstripe vest he wore. He hadn’t bothered with any hat for the occasion but the leather wingtips had a well practiced high shine on them that reflected any light near them as he entered the crypt and listened to the riddle. He pondered the riddle for a few brief moments before he figured out the answer and quietly told the second gargoyle. In answer to his statement, the crypt doors started to swing open to allow him access to the party and made the work finding the invitation so very worth it.

The flickering of the oil lamps and the music that came from below set a wonderful atmosphere for the party as he made his way down. He immediately headed for the bar and bought a drink at the bar, for now he used the small amount of cash he usually carried to pay for information. If needed he would figure out what card he needed but preferred the anonymity of the cash. Unused to having an option of a proper drink that wasn’t contraband, but the idea of having one at such a setting was quite enjoyable.

With drink in hand he dropped a few dollars into the tip jar before he started to survey the crowd and find a nice vantage point. He knew so few people in Harper Rock, he doubted he would know anyone here but that often seemed to an advantage for him. He worked his way to a quiet corner that was raised slightly higher and gave a good view of the party plus it had easy access to the exit. He hoped it wouldn’t be needed and figured it would be a prudent precaution.

He stood at the edge of the crowd and listened as the newsboy started his speech but watched the reaction of the crowd more than the speaker. He halfheartedly raised his glass with the other party goers but wondered who this Dealer pretended to be and that bothered him just a little. He carefully adjusted his jacket as he made sure his pistol was tucked securely away before he allowed himself to enjoy the party. He sipped the drink in his hands as the music started again and quickly found his own foot tapping to the beat of the music.

The midnight breeze did nothing to soothe her nerves as she made her way towards the crypt, the sound of her heels echoing off the cobblestone path with every step she took. At her side was a man, notepad in hand, and brows pinched together in that familiar - and ever annoying - look of concern. “There is no reason for you to be here tonight, you know. You could have stayed home, or maybe gone to the bar. I suggest the bar. You need to get laid. Seriously.” As always, he ignored her, tip of his pen clenched between too-white teeth as his gaze swept across the chicken scrawl he tried to convince her were his notes. More like an insight to the fucked up mind of Caligrace Summers, addict extraordinaire, she mused, slender fingers lifting to sweep a loose fire curl from her forehead. The movement seemed to catch his attention, a soft ‘hm’ escaping his throat as he finally focused on her and snapped the notepad closed, tucking it into the pocket of his jacket.

“Is that an offer, Miss Summers?”

The monotoned question was enough to give the allurist pause, and she came to a stop mid-step, eyes narrowing on the man. The mere thought made her skin crawl, and she wrinkled her nose. “I wish you’d find the highest bridge and toss yourself off of it. In fact, that is something I’d love to help you with, Chadwick,” she replied, her voice as sweet as honey as she flashed him a dazzling smile. The only response she received was another bored hum as he tapped his fingers against his chin and stared at her, head cocked to the side, as if she were nothing more than an experiment that he was forced to study. Finally, he clicked his tongue, as if coming to some conclusion, before deciding she was worthy enough of his words. “Dr. Setzer, Miss Summers, and I assure you, if I’m tossing myself off of any bridge, I’m taking you with me.”

It was the twitch of his lips into a halfhearted smile - more than the words he spoke - that had her scoffing, though she didn’t bother with a response as she made her way inside. For one, she knew there wasn’t a point in it - the more she responded, the more he wrote, and the more he wrote, the more she had to endure his lectures at the end of the day. The second reason was the one statue that chose to move while another spoke, its monstrous voice causing her to chuckle as she tapped her nails against her lower lip. With the riddle delivered, it took her a solid second to come up with the answer, and as she slipped through the entrance, she gave the stone a light pat. “Give a girl a bit of a challenge next time, sugar,” she teased, and she swore she heard the human trailing her cough to cover a laugh.

Just as he moved to follow her through, however, she stumbled, her bag falling from her hand to land just outside of the door. Without a thought, the good doctor moved to grab it for her - leaving him locked out when the stone closed behind her. “Sorry, Doctor, but I need a moment to myself,” she laughed, hands smoothing down the front of the emerald flappers dress she’d chosen for the evening. It brought out the amber of her eyes and the red of her hair, the look finished up with a splash of crimson painted across her lips. Weaving her way through the crowd after she descended the stairs, she flashed a smile to everyone she passed, her movements as fluid and graceful as a feline as she made her way to the bar, gloved fingers instantly curving about a glass filled with something that smelled absolutely delicious. The bartender tried to tell her what was in it, but was drowned out by the band, and she simply waved him off with a wink. The contents didn’t matter tonight. Oh, no. Tonight was about fun.

When Kira went out one night to do a little bit of breaking and entering for some items she needed, she wasn't expecting to find a party invite. She had walked by one of the guard posts and there it was. It caught her attention. The 1920s? She wondered if her wraith knew anything of that time frame...wait no, they were in the shadow realm a really long time. They hadn't been out of that place until she called them forth. Though she was sure that Tessa would be more than happy to help her with her look for the party.

It had been a long time since she had been out to a party. She returned home and as expected Tessa was more than excited about this project.

First on the list was finding the right dress. Stirring from the more common flapper dresses, Kira wore longer dress and styled her hair. She had to look up makeup looks but seemed the smokey eye look was popular and red lipstick on the brighter side.

"Can I come? This might be fun to check out." her wraith asked.

Kira shrugged, "Only certain people can see you so why not.." she replied, not like she could stop them. She left the house after distracting the pets with treats so she could get outside. She made her way to the location, graveyard. Taking place in a crypt? She bought one not too long ago, Lexy had one nearby as well. She been meaning to do something with it. It would be the better music studio, no one would be able to hear any music.

She raised an eyebrow at the words. "I hate riddles." she muttered. She thought on it for awhile before deciding on an answer and spoke it. Granted access, she headed down to the party.

She tilted her head, the dealer? Who the hell was this dealer? Which time frame was Harper Rock would be the former glory? She eyed the drink list, deciding on one and taking a sip. She looked around. She was pretty sure her wraith was in the midst of everything, listening to the gossip. She noticed the drinks had something no matter if you were human or vampire. So this was a mix. They sure needed more mixed events to show that vampires weren't all that bad.

She closed her eyes, listening to the music. It was relaxing and upbeat.

Luca Alexander König was the sort of man that never did anything halfway. Call it his heritage. Call it his blessing, or call it his curse. It didn’t matter much to him what people thought of it. What mattered was that, at the end of the day, he could look at his work, look at his time spent and what he had done with it, and he was satisfied. Tonight wasn’t any different, and anyone that knew the first thing about him knew that, too. He lifted his arm and pulled back the navy sleeve of his jacket to check his watch as he approached the crypt. It was nearing an hour after he was supposed to have arrived now and, nodding to himself, he followed the instructions he had been given and approached the setup within the crypt, a stone sarcophagus guarded over by twin beasts of stone, as a man he didn’t know was leaving, muttering darkly under his breath as he shoved past the RCMP officer and out towards the mouth of the crypt.

A dark brow lifted as he watched the man, notepad under one arm and a woman’s bag in the other. The scene was strange, as the man moved to hurry along without the bag’s apparent owner anywhere in sight, and Luca committed the man’s face to memory before he vanished from the entrance of the crypt with an angry exhale into the night. The stone creatures rumbling to life as he approached were an unexpected touch, although, after just a little bit of time in this town, the unexpected would have been sorely missed in this scenario. He swept his matching fedora hat, traditional headwear for a man of his profession in the time of the theme of this soirée, from his head and set it against his chest, the silver pinstripes of the hat tailored from the same cloth as his jacket and pants blending as he leaned forward to listen to the rumbling voice.

His gaze moved to the second figure that had stood silent as the first spoke its riddle and, with a knit of his brows, he leaned closer to the, until then lifeless figure, and muttered his answer to the first beast’s query. As the creature’s wings swept aside to grant him access, he replaced his hat and gave the thing a nod. “Vielen dank, Freunde,” he murmured as he passed, hand lifted to pat at the grainy shoulder of the silent creature as he passed to descend the short stair and followed the glow of lamps and the snappy beat of good 20’s jazz. As the stone ground back into place behind him, he moved on, and through the door to the party proper. As he entered, a single familiar face stood out like a sore thumb, her scarlet hair easy to pick out, as he always told her it did. It didn’t help that she was standing by the focus of his interest in the room, and he moved into position at her side by the bar.

“Fancy running into you at a party,” he muttered as he lifted a finger to the bartender, peeling back his lip to reveal fangs to the man to make his preference clear, before turning to Caligrace with a quirk of his brow. When the man set his glass down, he set a handful of notes on the bartop and slid them his way before sliding his wallet back into his jacket. “Vergelt’s Gott,” he offered to the man as he took his glass. “Did she tell you to come, too? She didn’t tell me to expect you, so I’m sure you realize this is a surprise.” He knew that the woman next to him would know exactly who he meant; there weren’t very many people in the world that could tell her what to do.

Without further goading for conversation, he lifted his glass and took a short, quick sip from the blood that had been offered, unsure of where the organizer of the event may have pilfered it from, and made a note to himself to check into the supplier for the evening's less widely consumed cuisine.

OOC - This post acts for both Claude Lambert and Myk

The silhouette of the skyline pierced through the cool glow of the horizon like a jagged mountain ridge, yet a million jewel-lights caused the dense mass of skyscrapers to glisten like a galaxy. Despite the time of night, the hustle and bustle never quite came to a halt in Harper Rock. The city's residents were off for a movie, to chill out in a smoky jazz bar downtown, or to seek their thrills in a club of choice - though, those were just the mentionable activities of the humbly mortal persuasion. Life had carried on as if the threat of imminent death did not haunt their shadows or linger in the doorways of their family homes and love nests. What had happened to the people living around Wickbridge, River Rock, and Redwood was no real concern of theirs as they tucked their children in for the night or savoured their expensive lattes. Besides, the government was taking care of the problem now, weren’t they.

Claude could have chosen such a life once, but those paths had closed a long time ago and he could hardly pretend to blend in amongst those people now. There had been points in his journey when the roads before him had branched out beyond a multitude of choices and he had taken the one less travelled by - an effort to separate himself from the herd. There had also been points in his journey when the roads before him had crumbled beneath his feet, forcing him down avenues that revealed unexpected treasures and challenges. And all of those roads had converged at this juncture; bringing him to a quiet cemetery and to a crypt where a pair of sentient gargoyles guarded empty secrets.

Perhaps he should have appreciated the downtime and company for the rare gifts that they were meant to be. After all, he had painted them as such when he’d convinced the Telepath to join him for tonight’s festivities. While he hadn’t shared his ulterior motives with the Vampire beside him - or even a whiff of any kind of a plan beyond drinking and having a good time tonight - those pewter eyes had regarded him suspiciously nevertheless. Myk had also adopted a standoffish attitude: rejecting any kind of physical contact, turning his nose up at suggestions that would have otherwise made him grin from ear to perfect ear, and outright criticising any gesture of romantic behaviour. Although there might have been many other reasons behind the white-haired man’s sour mood, a guilty conscience channelled the German’s thoughts down a single avenue. The only solution would be to continue to play pretend: be amicable, do not cause a fuss, and keep the Telepath as pleased as punch.

“Well, you do look incredible once again,” Claude said quietly, ardently, as he leant in toward his lover’s arm.

The Telepath leered at him, those pewter eyes made a short circuit from the Blood Thief’s toes to his head, and then returned to looking at the scenery. Claude managed to restrain a sigh, albeit barely. Of course Myk looked incredible in Claude's eyes. The Vampire had taken the mandatory 1920s theme and twisted it into something macabre and sensual. For most men, it would be easy enough to don a pinstripe suit or a tuxedo, pick out a fancy dress shirt and a necktie, perhaps squeeze into a set of suspenders, and pull on a pair of shiny brogues. And since Peaky Blinders and Boardwalk Empire had become phenomenons of success not too long ago, there would obviously be no shortage of gangster-inspired outfits. If Claude had to compare the Telepath to anyone on the silver screen, he might consider Robert Redford or Mia Farrow in The Great Gatsby (1974), but only because they each wore white in the 1920s fashion. After that, the similarities were as estranged as sand dunes and ice fishing.

Once again, the Telepath straddled the line between genders with his ensemble, hair, and make-up. He wore a floral-lace shirt which was tucked neatly into an embroidered corset and tapered trousers, along with a pair of laced high-heeled boots and an assortment of accessories. Myk was hardly going for subtle as even his hair - which had been braided into a thick knot and hung down his left shoulder to his stomach like an homage to Frozen’s Elsa - was bejewelled with pearls and crystals. His shirt had extravagant pearl embellishments along its tight collars and crystal-clear sequins traced the contours of its ballooning sleeves. Even his trousers were glistening with pearls that had been appliqued to a sheer, iridescent voile in a crosshatch pattern. And of course his earrings, hand jewellery, and rings were encrusted with pearls and diamonds too. So, not only did the Telepath sparkle as he moved, but he jingled a little as well.

Claude’s outfit wasn’t quite as ostentatious as his companion’s, but he had made the effort. The Blood Thief had taken one of his favourite navy suits from Carlo Pignatelli’s 2019 Cerimonia range, dusted it off, and slipped comfortably inside its viscose skin. It had been tailored precisely to his measurements and despite the many, many months that it had sat - forlorn - in his enviable wardrobe, he hadn’t outgrown the piece. To accompany the three piece suit with its white shirt and silver blazer and tie, Claude wore a pair of personalised cufflinks, a crystal brooch, and a pair of black leather wingtip Oxfords. His hair had been brushed back into a chestnut wave, creating a smart and clean appearance all around. Despite the sharp, crisp lines of his attire, Claude felt comfortable and confident - as relaxed as one might feel donning their underwear at home.

OOC - This post acts for both Myk and Claude Lambert

While those golden eyes had certainly taken a fancy to the white-haired enigma, he couldn’t be blamed for his attention drifting. Or maybe he could, but he would have persisted regardless. One of the gargoyles had spoken, its eyes smouldering scarlet as it declared a riddle of sorts and expected a response. The answer would be their key to the event, it seemed. Claude’s brows pinched together as he considered the riddle once more. It occurred to him to be a strange task for a Pro-Vampire event to ask such specific questions and it did have his mind tripping but for a few moments. As far as he was aware, there were few elements of this world that a Vampire required in order to remain alive, and so as he chewed on the latter statements more and more, he rejected the relation to Vampirism altogether and focused on the very basic premise of life. In that, he suspected that the true answer was...

“...Air?”

There was a rumbling sound and the second gargoyle’s wings began to move in response, peeling away to reveal an entrance to a dark crypt and a staircase leading down into the earth.

“Well, that was easy,” Claude said, smiling victoriously.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” Myk replied with a grousing smirk - his accent reminiscent of Eastern Europeans. “We wouldn’t want you getting stuck in the doorway now, would we.”

The Telepath went on ahead and his moonlight presence became engulfed by shadow.

“I trust you to think of some way to pull me out,” he remarked before following the man’s lead. “You’re very creative at most things. Particularly when it comes to deflating things - moods, egos - just as an example.”

A single, elegant shoulder lifted and sank before Myk concluded, “it’s a matter of practice.”

Claude hummed a dull note, but failed to comment any further. The pair followed the staircase down to where a hellish glow and the funk of jazz music awaited. Through pairs of swinging doors, the light, heat, and music grew more intense and it wasn’t long before they found their final destination. At last, Claude watched as Myk’s temperament brightened. The Vampire sauntered into the room as if he were the Belle of the Ball, his short heels clicking across the dancefloor despite the rancour of saxophones and cymbals. Rainbow light sprayed into the room from all angles, refracting off the colourful decor and the rhinestone-covered outfits of party-goers who’d made the effort to dress well for the occasion. Claude couldn’t determine who in the room was Vampire or mortal - only that there were a lot of people around them - and even so, the pearlescent creature remained the centre of his focus.

Once Myk had gotten halfway across the room, toward the announcer’s podium, he turned, his eyes glistening like molten lead as he sought out his companion lingering near the entrance. Even though the skinny man on the stage spoke about a mysterious dealer and welcomed them to this person’s party, implying that they were here to enjoy a time when Harper Rock was apparently at its most prosperous, the Telepath wasn’t the least bit interested. Neither did he recognise the familiar faces of Chance or Caligrace or Kira in the room amongst the many dozens of strangers. No. The white-haired man devoted the entirety of his attention to the German.

“Get over here," Myk summoned telepathically - his voice was purring and Parisian once more.

Claude smiled, dipped his head, and crossed the distance between them. Pewter eyes regarded that warm smile on the man’s face fondly, and marvelled at how those lips parted ever so slightly. It was an invitation in Myk’s mind. He coiled his arms around the taller man’s neck and felt hot hands tether themselves to his hips. They swayed, their leisurely movements directly contradicting the rhythm of the music until Myk canted his head and lightly grazed the bridge of his nose against his lover’s, loosening a happy sigh from the Blood Thief.

“You’re already breaking your rules,” Myk murmured, resting his cheek against Claude’s. “Public displays of affection around my kind… Very dangerous, mon cher…”

“Hmm,” the German considered. “Should the worst come to the worst, you know how to disappear.”

Myk threw his head back and laughed - this scathing, wretched sound that made the cries of crows seem pleasant in comparison. He marvelled at the ceiling for a moment, pewter eyes sparkling, but even as there were warm lips pressing on his jaw line, mischievous ideas were dominating his soul. And when he had decided just what he would do, in a blink, he was gone. The glistening statuette that Claude had been slowly dancing with had been replaced with air. The Blood Thief stood alone on the dancefloor, his arms fell to his sides as anchors and stern amber eyes focused on the crowd for the face of his lover. Of course, Myk hadn’t left the party, but he was determined to stalk the German from a distance as he reappeared at the edge of the crowd - an elbow’s distance from Chance.

[Using Warren Foster and Mason]

Riddles...weren't really her thing. Mason didn't tend to dip her mind into wordplay or puzzles like that. She could do those mazes just fine, but she just wasn't the type to get through a riddle very easily. It had taken her a good long while to figure it out, and she didn't even get it until her enthralled wraith, Warren Foster, helped out. She couldn't see him, which bothered her sometimes. But she could hear him, and he never seemed to talk like a normal person. Ever. He was riddling, or rhyming, or rambling. And you just couldn't predict which one he felt like doing that day.

She also didn’t really fit with the idea of a 1920’s woman. She more often gave off the impression of a biker. Leather jacket, pants, boots, a particularly non frilly vibe. The only thing she had made especially attention grabbing normally was that she was practically covered in tattoos short of her head itself. She also didn’t like that the vast majority of what she did find were one piece dresses and had a remarkable amount of threads or shiny things. She ultimately just accepted the fact that she was not going to like whatever she ended up with. It was a red dress, with some gold designs and ends to it, sleeveless, and definitely more delicate than leather. Which frustrated her to no end. And she had nowhere to hide or put anything. At least that was worthwhile to fight with. Let alone the lack of anywhere to put money. Which meant a purse was necessary. She wasn’t...fond of those either. She had a tendency to wear coats to avoid that problem. But a coat for this meant even more money that she just didn’t want to spend.

She chose to ask Warren to come with her, which he was all too pleased by. At least, she thought he was. ". An invitation? To where? There. Wherever there is. Or then. It really doesn't matter why does it? I'll be there and then as well either way." It was...hard to tell when it was basically a floating voice. She was tempted to ask him how he was turned, and how old he was...but somehow it seemed like if she asked her answer was likely to be even more confusing than just leaving it alone.

The entrance to the place was...strange. Such a weird way to enter something themed 1920's. Didn't matter though, this was Harper Rock, nothing was really normal here was it? As she did enter, purse in hand, and inside the purse a pistol, covered by a number of other items. She glanced around the place, she probably didn't fit in well given the sheer volume of tattoos on her. And she hoped Warren didn't talk to her too much in here. He might attract attention, she chose to speak to him telepathically, telling him he could roam where he wished to but tell her if he found something especially important to her. She heard a weird noise, which she took for glee, and then nothing. Must have gone ahead and done it.

Someone went onto the speaker, saying that 'The Dealer' wouldn't be joining them. Oh, that was a shame. But there wasn't much she was going to do about it. Not like she knew the person anyway. Just now...visit she guessed. Maybe make some friends? If that was a possibility. She was a vampire now, humans might fear her. And she wasn't the most fond of the idea of vampires being the only friends she could have. But maybe people were more accepting than she was as a paladin. Warren however...he was probably going to entertain himself. She just hoped he didn't drive somebody bonkers.

Lizzie sat at her desk at the Gallery of Solace though most of the city knew it as MAG for sort for Modern Art Gallery. Since she had come to this city ten years ago, she had worked hard to bring art and culture to the city. She even opened a theatre for stage performances but it wasn't enough as she had worked towards the unity of humans and vampires even as she ran the church of Solace. Each night had been filled with meetings and planning sessions and many of those nights had been with her new friend, Antonio Segreti. She was excited for the opportunity to try and help the city and hopefully help order be reestablished.

As a knock upon her office echoed through her office, she pulled from her thoughts and looked up as an intern entered. The young girl placed a pile of mail upon the desk, Lizzie gave her a polite nod of her head and thanked the girl. After the girl left, she began to leaf through the mail and stopped at a strange envelope that looked like an invitation but there was no address and no return to sender address. Perking her brow as she put the mail down except for the invitation, she flipped it over and opened it up. It was an elegant design and the calligraphy was perfect. Reading over the information and then looking at the map that accompanied the invitation. Thinking a moment as she tapped her finger on the invitation. This might have been the break that she needed because she had been working so hard lately and no one knew of her return to the city. She had friends she needed to reach out to but with her being gone for so long, a couple months wouldn't have been that much, she just hoped that they wouldn't be upset that she didn't say anything to them sooner. This was the time to let them know she was back or so she hoped.

Lizzie placed the invitation down on her desk and stood up to make her way to the spiral stair case that lead to her home above. She had to have something in her closet for such an affair. Shifting through the dresses in her walk-in closet, the once princess smiled as she laid her hands on the perfect dress that fit the theme of the party. Finding the corresponding shawl that looked light and would drape around her shoulders. Letting her fingers dance across the fabric before she pulled it from the closet and began to get dressed. Smiling as she fixed her hair and let her hair remain down as she wore a silk cap that was fitting for the time period. Slipping her foot into her heels, she made her way back to her office to grab the invitation and map and sent a telepathic message to the one and only Antonio Segreti.

'Antonio dear, if you feel that you need a break, there is a party this evening. 1920's gangster might be fitting for you. Up to you. Have a wonderful evening.' Lizzie used her powers to share the map and invitation with Antonio by sharing it upon his mind as she sent him the message. She wasn't telling him to come but she wouldn't be disappointed if he did attend though she did understand if he chose to work.

The map lead to a cemetery, thinking on the location as she pictured it in her mind and soon, she teleported to the place indicated on the map. Lizzie's eyes drifted around and it looked exactly like a cemetery. Looking down at the map once more before turning her eyes to path before her. Carefully she followed it to the indicated crypt. Shrugging it off as she stepped inside to give it a chance that she hadn't been fooled. Looking at each gargoyle, she smiled at the beautiful design before the one on the left spoke. A riddle? Interesting but it seemed easy enough. Thinking over each phrase and as the beast finished, she gave it a polite nod.

"I believe that the answer is..." She spoke the word with confidence.

The other gargoyle moved and revealed the entrance to a space below. Carefully taking the staircase, she was in awe at the design. She would have to look into who the designer was to help her make a wonderful crypt for her and her family. Soon she stepped into a large open spaced room and her eyes shined as if she stepped into a party straight out of 'The Great Gatsby'. If she could breathe, her breath would be taken away. She took everything in as she studied the room before taking the last few steps into the room. It was absolutely glorious. Finding a waiter to grab a drink that was safe for her, she gave her account information and took in her surroundings.

Fleur rarely interacted with people of her own kind. She likened her behavior to gliding along, content to go wherever life took her. She had an apartment to call home, her plants, her tomes -- she had things required to keep her going, things other functioning people needed or wanted, but she was just as content letting all things go. The last time she'd really had face-to-face contact with another vampire, she'd spoken with Robin, and she hadn't seen him or heard from him since. She took frequent trips to the shadow realm, staying as long as she dared, and then roamed. Her life was simple, but it was peaceful, and after everything she had been through, she relished in it. She ventured out to the library and her favorite spot by the river, where she frequently fed stray ducklings and geese. Fleur liked getting out because she knew staying indoors would only add to her slipping mental state, and she knew quite well that it was a problem. Dorothy had pointed it out several times just in the past week, always emphasizing that Fleur saw and spoke to dead people who insisted on being the next great plague. The line between the living and the dead wasn't much of a line anymore. Sometimes, she couldn't distinguish between the two, and Dorothy, the ten-year-old little snot, never helped her.

Fleur stood next to the river and threw small pieces of bread to the ducks gathered on the grass, but something caught her eye, situated on the grass next to the trash can. A single crumpled letter, or what appeared to be a letter, had been left on the ground, as if the person hadn't cared enough to drop it directly into the trash can. Fleur took a look into her paper bag, where she saw several more pieces of bread, then she tipped the bag and emptied the contents onto the grass. She carried the empty bag to the bin and then bent down to collect the letter, which had a piece of chewed gum on the front. Grape, if her sense of smell was correct. Fleur slid the paper from within the envelope and tossed the envelope into the trash. It wasn't a letter, not at all. She'd found an invitation to a 20s style event.

"Well someone isn't going to the party, huh?" Dorothy laughed. When Fleur didn't respond, Dorothy snapped her fingers in front of Fleur's face. "Right, Fleur? Flower? Hey! Don't ignore me!" Dorothy pouted at her and Fleur flicked her nose, the gesture lost on the ghost. "I think we should go! You wear old clothes anyway, which is weird. I guess it's cool now though."

"I guess it is," Fleur mumbled. She looked down at her bare feet and wiggled her toes, blades of yellowed grass tickling her feet. "When was the last time we spent time with another vampire?"

"I dunno. A long time. You know people seem to leave you. I'm never leaving though! Friends stick together -- wait!" Fleur used her tome to return to her apartment, leaving Dorothy to follow the connection the two shared.

Fleur liked tutus and shirt dresses, simple things, flashy things, anything to take the attention from the mask covering the lower portion of her face. She'd stitched her face recently, but she crossed the apartment and went to her bathroom to have a look at her face. Her double greeted her with a growl, pacing back and forth, the growling turning to fierce snarling. She had to take the stitches out without looking. She'd forgotten. It was something for last then. She went to her bedroom and began rooting through her large wardrobe, pushing 50s dresses, tutus, and shirt dresses aside, until she found her 20s flapper dresses. She chose a pure white one, off-white, actually, the dress decorated with embroidery, the bottom flowing extensions of a line of embroidery. Somewhere she had long white gloves.

"They're in the dresser, buried under your undergarments. A very good place for them. Did you really have to leave me in the park?" Dorothy had settled on the end of Fleur's bed and watched Fleur move about the room.

"You talk too much. It makes my head hurt." Fleur found the gloves right where Dorothy had said they were and turned to flash the girl a hidden smile. "It isn't like you can't find me again. I'm stuck with you, silly girl."

"You aren't going to apologize?"

"Never." Fleur dressed herself in the classy clothing and topped it off with her white gloves. She paced the room though, looking for something she couldn't quite remember. What had she been looking for? Maybe she hadn't been looking.

"Your hat is in the wardrobe in the back." Dorothy swung her legs, arm lifted so she could point to the wardrobe. Sure enough, the off-white cloche hat with its strip of black satin, accented with a small bow, was right where the girl had said.

"I like it when you're useful."

"I'm always useful!"

Fleur had to fashion her hair just right, since she didn't have a bob, which meant pinning her hair up. The hat left little room, so she had to layer and pin. And then came her face. She had to carefully snip and remove the stitches, then try to use makeup to take away the bloody look of the wound, the slash from cheek to cheek that split her mouth. With a gold mask that began halfway up her nose and extended down to hang over the rest of her face, she looked as normal as she ever would. The mask was nothing but gold rhinestones hanging like a tiny, twinkling curtain to aid in concealing her injury. She presented herself to Dorothy and the girl eyed her for a moment before giving two thumbs up.

The invitation directed her to the graveyard, so she smiled at Dorothy and used the fadeportal, the girl's comical squawk the last thing she heard. At the graveyard, Fleur passed two men standing outside of the crypt, both of them deep in conversation. By the time Dorothy caught up to her, Fleur stood before two gargoyles. She hated riddles. She really hated riddles.

"Why's this so damn hard?"

"Language."

"I'm totally old enough to curse!"

"No, you aren't, now let me concentrate before I banish you." Dorothy closed her mouth and exhaled loudly through her nose. Fleur, looking between the two gargoyles went through the options in her head. "Water vapor." Maybe it was the answer and maybe it wasn't, but it was an answer and it worked. "Let's go. Stay with me. There could be someone here who can see you."

"Yes ma'am!" Dorothy flashed her a goofy grin and the two went to join the party.

The place had too many people, the first thing that Fleur noticed, and though the lights were dim, she avoided the light at all costs, since it still hurt her. Someone had just finished an announcement, as she saw a newsboy heading off in the crowd. Fleur went to the bar to grab a drink, pointedly ordering a rum and coke to make herself seem less like a reanimated corpse. The first thing she noticed was blonde hair, and she'd the woman more than once in the abandoned sewers. Her name, Kira, never surfaced. She didn't know the woman, not personally. What did people do to start a conversation? Fleur wrinkled her nose and watched out of the corner of her eye as Dorothy climbed onto the bar and made a show of squinting at the crowd.

"Just say hello. Don't be weird!"

"I like your hair. It reminds me of wheat." Fleur stared at the woman without blinking, knowing that people made eye contact when they spoke. How much eye contact was too much eye contact? Dorothy hissed at her to blink, so she did.

"Gosh, you failed. Please don't stalk her. I hate when you do that. It's creepy."