Path of the Vampire forum

Title: Pack Inmates
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Characters: Marisol, Clover, Avigayl

Clover must post first, outlining a story on the following theme (feel free to get creative):

Setting: Trapped in a sewer system
Backstory: The group were all attending the same event (some or all characters).
Occurance: the group are set upon and captured.
Variable: Clover is vomiting blood.

Participants: 3
ARES: no
Speed: very slow
Chapter: no
Minimum Words Per Post: none
Maximum Words Per Post: none

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This thread was generated via the Roleplay Matchmaking System.

Even though trains ran from Swansdale to River Rock, Clo still preferred the sewers. There was something about the shadows that comforted her, called to her, and she gave in and returned to them whenever possible, needing the familiarity. She was learning to walk again, so to speak, so she treasured simplicity. The first time she'd seen a vampire, she'd met them in the sewer, and it seemed fitting that she returned to them. Slowly, she began to expand her small world, and that began with venturing out to see a new friend perform at a club, an unfamiliar club located in River Rock. Hole in the Bottle, such an interesting name for a club, but she'd heard a lot worse, especially during her time in New York. Avigayl had a nice singing voice, and Clo meant to get to know the woman she'd met during the many months she'd given in to wanderlust. Apparently, performers frequented the club, and yet Clo had never been there before, showing the fact that she'd forgotten things about the city. She'd learned enough about the establishment to know that it wasn't somewhere to wear plaid or jeans, which meant actually dressing up, not that she hated it anymore. She'd had years to change her ways, and even though she still preferred jeans and t-shirts, she knew how to dress the part. She chose slim black pants, a white crop top, and a black blazer she'd left open. The open-toe heels, snakeskin in colors of white, grey, and black, wound up her ankles to meet the top of her cropped pants. How long had it been since she'd dressed up?

As she strolled, she reached into her right front pocket and produced a pack of cigarettes. She took one and used her batman lighter to light it. She'd been smoking too much, not that it really mattered. By the time she reached the sewer exit, her cigarette was gone, so she climbed out, replaced the grate, and continued toward the club. She didn't need directions to find the place when the line stretched around the corner. Wrinkling her nose, she fished around for some extra cash, already preparing to bribe the bouncer. When she approached the hulking man, he took one look at her, eyes slipping over her in a way that had her eyes narrowing.

"Name?"

"My name isn't on the list."

"Name?"

"Jesus Christ, man. It's Clover." Clover huffed at him and cut her eyes to the side. Arms crossed over her chest, she waited for him to verify that her name wasn't on the list, but he surprised her by moving the velvet rope and motioning her inside. "Or maybe it is," she mumbled to herself. Taking a few quick glances over her shoulder as she entered the building, Clo quickly lost track of her thoughts.

The whole club was a mixture of pink, purple, and blue. There was a sunken area in between the two bars that contained seating, couches lining the center that was filled with short tables lit with small lights. Drinks littered the tables, and couples and groups dominated most of the seats, so Clo went to the bar on the right and waited to order a mixed drink. She'd almost forgotten that she could eat and drink human food. She couldn't taste what she consumed, but she liked the calming effect. She ordered a pomegranate and lime cocktail with top-shelf vodka. As she sipped her drink, she listened to the music in the background, her thoughts revolving around the fact that her name had been on the list, and that meant she knew someone, or rather, someone knew her.

When she heard the music cut off and groans intermixed with clapping, the responses announced the change in the atmosphere. Her friend had taken the stage, and all eyes were on the woman. Clo left her spot at the bar and moved to an open seat on one of the couches. Maybe the evening would surprise her. She smiled at that thought, though it quickly became a smirk. Returning to Harper Rock hadn't been a mistake after all.

==========AUTOMATED RANDOM EVENTS SYSTEM==========

Clover hears their own name being whispered.

It was the steady beat of the music that had Marisol only remaining semi interested in the conversations around her. She had been texting Charlie random updates throughout the evening. Hole in the Bottle had only grown in the entertainment industry as so many had fled during the quarantine, but she supposed highly trained staff and the clientele that were either militant or law enforcement allowed those to remain safe as zombies didn’t go shuffling into the venue. Which, unless they had spread over the year she spent time in between Harper Rock and New York City, that was highly unlikely due to the location. Honey brown eyes moved over the patrons, their dancing bodies and laughter hovering just beneath the steady bass that came from the DJ booth. They had a live singer that evening, some woman named Avigayl whom had reached out - always willing to give someone a shot, Marisol had merely offered mild support in their meeting before she’d put in an order at the bar.

Nursing the old fashioned in her hand, the allurist looked back to the device in hand.

Ysmir was being difficult again.

Raegan was asking for reasons not to kill him.

She closed her eyes and shook her head, tucking it into her purse as she lifted the drink back to her lips only to feel a brief tap at her shoulder. The bartender, Tommy, looked weary in disturbing her, but as she turned her head, he frowned. “You asked previously to alert you anytime someone on the list checked in?” His gaze moved past her, his head nodding in the direction of the door where Marisol followed his attention before surprise traced over her features. “She used the name Clover, but I thought you said-.” She lifted a hand to cut him off. “Anything ordered by her is covered by the club. That hasn’t changed. Blood or alcohol.” She spoke, the British drawl in her voice still remaining despite her attempts to suppress it. As she spoke, Marisol got to her feet and pulled the hem of her dress lower over her thighs. Her heels clicked as she walked, a steady strut that was neither too fast nor too slow, but it got her to where she needed to go.

“Well, you are certainly one of the last I expected to see here.”

She folded her arms in front of her chest. Marisol didn’t recall Logan mentioning that Clover had known the club. It wasn’t something that she’d ever really ever disclosed, although she supposed she should change it. Hole in the Bottle was neutral ground. Even the soldiers knew very well that her patrons were off limits to their treatment of vampire kind, and if they wanted to continue to have their fund, they abided by a three block radius rule. In response to their decision to set up a checkpoint, she’d allowed management to open up a sewer entrance in the basement to keep their vampire clientele comfortable and unchipped.

“Your drinks are on the house. Logan’s decision before his death.”

Short and to the point, Marisol had never been one to be less than direct. There was a burn at the back of her throat, an inch that came to place with the mention of her former master. Taking a drink of her old fashioned, Marisol hoped that it would sooth the itch. It didn't.

“What brings you to my humble abode?"

Humble. The venue was anything but.

Avigayl was no stranger to Hole in the Bottle, it was a hot spot, even despite the quarantine and everything that came with it. Luckily, the woman was able to get in a spot as part of the entertainment, a last-ditch effort to make money before she started working for Clover at her crematorium. Having just recently being laid-off at the nearby Mexican restaurant that had up until now been helping her make ends meet. A new job she wasn't looking forward to (who wanted to put make-up on dead bodies?), but a job that would continue to pay for her now-online classes and her roof above her head. Never being in one place for long helped her anxiety with these things, the world pandemic only making her worry about the older and the sickly. For Avi, she was used to bouncing around, stability nowhere close her normal. Though she could live without all the panic, and all the loss.

--


A few minutes before her performance, she paces around, her cellphone in hand with no pending notifications. In her experience, all artists have their own way of warming up. She had already done her warm up techniques, gargled her warm water, paced in a circle and almost thrown up all over herself and her simple black dress. But those nerves in her belly, and that huge smile on her face made her feel alive. If anything, she lived for the applause, for the attention, for the stage, an artist in more ways than just this one.


"May I introduce -- the beautiful, the lovely- Avigayl!" the introduction finally came, and tossing her phone aside, the bass of the house band ringing in her ears, she makes her way from behind the curtain and onto the spot-light covered stage. A home away from home, one of the only constants in her life as she reaches that standing microphone that her hand itches for. Standing so confidently in the middle of the stage, in front of the band, but also in front of the crowd, she's sandwiched between energy that she feeds off of. Her mouth opening, and her voice ringing out all across the Hole in the Bottle commanding admiration and attention with every note her mouth made. And tonight, in light of all the sorrow around them in the real world, the Hispanic woman with legs that never-end sang about loss.

Clover.

Clover heard whispers of her name, so she turned her head so her left ear was in the direction of the whispers. She'd thought they would be a problem, but the whispers circled around the fact that she'd easily bypassed the line, which suddenly made her seem more important than she actually was, though that brought her back to the question of the hour. How had she made it through the line? How had her name made the list? She missed some of the words and notes of the song, so she shifted her attention back to Avigayl, pushing everything else to the back of her mind. Avi was a wonderful singer, despite the fact that her up-and-coming status had remained up-and-coming for too long, in Clo's opinion. She smelled something unusual in the air. Most men and women wore spicy fragrances, but she smelled almond and -- Clo inhaled deeply -- sandalwood. The scent grew stronger, though it wasn't unpleasant. When Marisol came to a stop in front of the table, arms crossed over her chest, Clo inhaled again and narrowed the scent down to the other Fforde.

Clo hadn't expected to see the woman, but Sol didn't look out of place in the club. She wore a nice white dress that Clover easily admitted was gorgeous, but Sol had been a fashionista, so it wasn't a surprise. Biting her lower lip, Clo eventually scooted over to make room for Sol to sit down. She motioned with the drink she had in her hand.

"My friend is singing tonight, so I showed up for support. She's actually a really good singer. I'm surprised she got into this place though. The name doesn't do this place justice," Clo said, shrugging. She smelled the pomegranate and lime, even if she couldn't taste the drink.

The name Logan had her freezing, but only for a moment. She recovered quickly, eyes moving to Sol before returning to Avi on the stage. Lips pursed, she waited for the familiar anger to resurface, but it never came. Maybe she'd left it in New York; maybe she'd left it in the shadow realm. She didn't hate Sol anymore, and she knew she'd hated the woman because hating her, wanting to hurt her, covered up the fact that she missed Logan. Anger was easier than sadness, and she knew it, had learned it, given the time and space.

"So it was his place," Clo mumbled, words lost under the music. She took a long drink and then licked her lips. "And now it's your place." Clo smiled, one corner of her lips tilted upwards. "Like I mentioned, I'm a glorified cheerleader tonight. This place is nice. I can see myself coming back here. I didn't think it'd be this nice. I haven't been in the city in a while, and I never knew about it."

Avigayl hit such a good note that Clo couldn't help but smile, proud of her new friend. Clo couldn't resist inhaling the smell of almond and sandalwood. She'd never admit it, but she liked that smell a lot. "You must be the one who gave Avigayl a chance then. I'm sure she appreciates it." Clo didn't want to ask what Sol had been up to, not when they were supposed to be enjoying the music, but she did want to say something. "Your perfume smells good. Almond and sandalwood?" So she had admitted it after all.

Friend singing - ah, Avigayl. How did Avigayl know Clover? Marisol lifted an eyebrow at the mention of the one she’d given a chance to. The girl wasn’t exactly whom Marisol would expect the violent, dark haired woman to hang out with. Then again, perhaps it was only a handful of people that the woman was unpleasant with - the allurist in particular.

Typically, Marisol wouldn’t sit near Clover.

But, she was in her own club.

She had bouncers only a shout away.

“It was one of Mariah’s social projects. I met them here briefly, before the ownership was complete - he enjoyed the name. Something about quirkiness and unexpected findings.”

Marisol’s eyes rolled, to show she’d never quite understand the meaning of it all. She’d just been naive and wanting to dance. It had been the club that had begun to roll her down the path that she’d taken, becoming enthralled with one of Harper Rock’s various serial killers. Before she’d followed down that narrow trip. “Thank you.” She added, although the words towards Clover felt foreign on her lips. Stiff. She wasn’t sure what to expect and took a swig from her glass as she took the offered seat.

She didn’t miss the way that Clover had needed to recover after the mention of Marisol’s former master. A thrall. A human minion. What had the woman called her? There were many things, really. As Avigayl continued to sing, Marisol gave the woman a polite smile and nodded to encourage her. She’d sincerely had hope for her. Performing arts weren’t easy, nor was the circuit that she herself was familiar with. If someone didn’t give a chance, who would? “Fitting, given the lazy ******** never did the work anyway. He was a face to the name whereas I did the difficult portion of it all.”

She had loved him.

She’d trusted him.

The bitterness was washed away with the hint of cherry as she reached the bottom of her glass and lifted it, a waitress sweeping in almost instantaneously. Marisol prided herself on hospitality, speed. She enjoyed that humans weren’t always the brightest when it came to danger, as they risked themselves to it frequently. “Well, it’s been here. You and the family are on the entry list, but, you’ve learned that.” She gestured towards the bouncers. “I try. It’s a neutral ground. Physical altercations are thrown out, a fine is given if they refuse a ban.”

She supposed she needed to make an announcement in Fforde.

The CrowNet had been quiet for some time, with everyone scattering to the ends of the earth. Keeping to themselves.

“She has potential, she deserved it. She’s the one who earned it in the audition. How do you two know each other?” She inquired quietly, as if not to interrupt the music. Her gaze drifted from the stage to Clover briefly and back, slightly confused by the compliment before she gave a nod. “And dianthus.” Marisol frowned, unsure of the direction the conversation had begun to fall. Where was the bite, the hostility she’d known? “I take it you’re back. Are you going to actively converse with others, or is this going to be a one off, Clover?”

Before she could continue any further, there was a rough bump at her shoulder. She felt something pour against her skin, causing the woman to stand up angrily as she made a noise of disgust mixed with anguish and look at the offending individual. A man, taller than herself in the heels that she wore, looking both sheepish and as if he'd had one too many. “You have five seconds to apologize before I throw you out onto your face." She snarled, her fangs baring.

Sorry Avigayl.

“Do you know how much this dress cost?"

Jager. Coke. She could smell them both, feel the stickiness of the thick conconction sinking into her clothing, the way it clung to her skin and missed her hair. Marisol hated jagermeister. After it was spilled down the shoulder of her white dress, there was absolutely no way in hell that it would be sold there again. Marisol was a priss. She knew it, but really?

==========AUTOMATED RANDOM EVENTS SYSTEM==========

Somebody bumps rudely into Marisol. Perhaps it was an accident, but...

The beams were radiating down on Avi, and it was hot, putting her in the spotlight where she loves to be. But as she sings, a bluesy song, of all things, coming from the deepest part of her stomach, so far down it almost reaches the very tips her toes. It comes out from her mouth, with a longing, and a age that almost seemed too far from her reach. Yet, there it was coming from the microphone she holds tightly in her small hands, from the speakers surrounding the area so everyone can hear her. And as she sings, everything is okay again, she's in another world. One without suffering, or a world pandemic that's taking so much from everyone. The ability to see their family, their lively hoods. Money in their pocket. Money to feed their family's. There's even a shortage of groceries, and of toliet paper of all things, even. As Avigayl sings she translates that longing into a song about love, and a longing of love, a song everyone can relate to. Because deep down, we all want to be loved, one way or another..

Everyone felt that sudden commotion, Marisol with her commanding voice, unparalleled by her authority in the place. The band paused, even, but not Avi, her song was almost over and if there was anyone in the crowd to recognize her talent. She wouldn't let them say she was unprofessional, everyone was trying to make their way in the world and if this was hers, she wouldn't let anyone take it from her. Even if she felt bad, and even if Marisol was the first to give her a shot on the stage. Knowing the woman could deal with her own, she continues, finishing her set with a deep bow, one that brought applause despite the commotion and the other beautiful woman covered in Jager. But who wouldn't want to see Marosol in a wet t-shirt contest? Avigayl knew her very little, but even that thought was amusing to her.

The moment her head raises, she spots her. Clover. Smiling, she waves, covered in that thin layer of performance sweat. But no one could smell her, and no one could get close enough if she had a say over it. And she did. She has every say. Returning the mic to it's stand, she blows the band of boys a thank-you kiss, and proceeds her way off of the stage and makes a bee-line towards the commotion itself. Marisol, and her friend Clover, who she was more than happy to see.

"Everything okay here, ladies?" Avigayl asks, those perfect 'brows of hers pinching in concern, as her eyes flick from Clo, Marisol and the drunktard who she wasn't scared of. Despite her tiny frame. More so than the next girl, Avi wasn't scared to unhook her earrings.

Clover closed her eyes for a moment, trying to decide how to broach the subject of her relationship with Avigayl. Their relationship was complex, but not unlike her. She knew she and Marisol had the worst start imaginable, and there was nothing she could do to erase the past, nothing she could do to wipe their memories and start over with a clean slate. It had been years since Clo had been forced to explain herself, and she suddenly felt like a child trying to explain transgressions. Opening her eyes, she briefly turned her gaze to Avigayl, then took a long drink of her pomegranate and lime drink, easily polishing off the glass. She licked her lips, as if she could savor the taste. The innocent question still lingered between them, so she shrugged a shoulder.

"It's complicated," she answered honestly. With no drink to hide behind, Clo shifted her attention to Sol. She decided to be unapologetic then, because there had always been honesty, appreciated or not. "I planned on killing her. She's beautiful. Doesn't she sing well? I spent some time stalking her, and now," Clo paused, pursing her lips, "now I'm not so sure. I don't let my prey go, so who knows."

Marisol was incredibly intelligent. Clo knew she didn't need to explain herself. The third of three options, letting Avi go, had been removed from the table, had been removed without hesitation. She'd let more than one person go, and she still regretted it -- she would always regret it -- so she chose not to make another mistake. She had a feeling that if anyone would understand her point of view, Sol would, considering the woman had put up with Logan. Still thinking about her two choices, to kill Avigayl or to turn Avigayl, Clo almost missed Sol's next question.

Was she going to stay?

Would she stay?

Her decision to come back had been sealed for her. She'd explored New York, she'd tried to salvage her relationship, and she'd wandered the shadow realm. She had tired of that world. She thought she had tired of both worlds. But that wasn't the truth. If that were true, she wouldn't have tried grasping at loose threads in some attempt to recreate a life for herself. She could have stayed gone, could have run away for good, could have been Jesse, but she just didn't have that drive. She'd been so lonely, and in a way she hadn't known in a long time.

"I'm talking to you," Clo smirked, deciding to be cheeky. After a second, she answered honestly. "I don't intend to abandon ship. There isn't much beyond this city for me, if I'm being honest. And that's not to say this is my only option or that it's most convenient. I'm staying because I would want someone to stay for me. This line is what I know. It's in my blood. I think I owe it to myself to try and strengthen ties, because my world can't revolve around one person. That's how worlds burn."

Clover didn't have much more to say, and she'd surprised herself with her lengthy response. The club wasn't the place for a serious discussion, but Sol had brought up the subject, and Clo felt the woman deserved an explanation if they were to finally get along, or at least to remain civil with one another. Clo opened her mouth to ask about Sol, but she saw a man getting dangerously close to Sol. She managed to say the woman's name, but it was too late. The idiotic man had dumped his drink on Sol's pristine white dress, and Clo winced at the fact that it would be an absolute ***** to get out. When Sol blew up, she didn't envy the man. Sol was a ******* firecracker.

The man stuttered out an apology, and his eyes drifted to Clo, so she gave him a wave and smirked. The music had ended by then and Clo shifted her attention to Avigayl, the brunette arriving at the right time to see the man trying to salvage his ***.

"Peachy. This man was going to take out his wallet and give the lady all the money inside of it, weren't you, sir?"

"Huh? Oh! Uh." The man hurried to get his wallet out and began grabbing creased bills to extend to Marisol. Clo held out her hand and he began dropping bills there too.

Clo tipped her head to the side. The guy wasn't drunk enough to misunderstand a threat, which was unusual, because he'd seemed absolutely wasted seconds before. Alcohol affected judgment. Had he intentionally knocked into Marisol? Was that how men flirted now? What the ****.