[ open ] left you with nothing, but they want some more

[greydawn]

Who: Nuray and OPEN
What: Nuray is the worst vampire.
Where: Anywhere in the city; Mafaton, Mog Hill and the Vault are specifically mentioned
When: Late Ceidary through early Shadri, any time between sunset and sunrise
Notes: If you want a specific threadstarter shout at me and I will make one! Also here are some outfits.
Warnings: Whampires are involved, so gore is likely.

The first thing Nuray does is take the cash and leave the Inn. She won't live anywhere that exposed, somewhere she doesn't trust, when she is more vulnerable than most while she sleeps. It's easy enough to find somewhere else to stay — it's not her preference, but beauty is a kind of tool. She needs more clothes, also.

The idea of getting a job is novel enough to be interesting, so she takes it seriously. She considers the options given to her during her consultation, but ultimately deigns to wander the city and see if anything catches her fancy. She talks to everyone she can on these little rambles of hers, asking many questions. Who they are, what their lives are like. What do they do, do they like it, how did they get started in it. She learns a lot of things this way, people tend to reveal more than they intend in the face of such good-natured curiosity — and her slightly alien nature which makes her feel a bit like every day is her first day among people. It's not, but neither is that entirely inaccurate.

Mafaton fascinates her. She does not for a second believe anyone here is naive enough to think the majority of the 'cruorvores' — a clumsy name, but less pretentious than 'kindred', really — get their sustenance from synthetics and volunteers. She also is not naive enough, herself, to assume she is the only one to have reached this conclusion. The fact that people are willing to overlook the monstrous nature of their citizens, knowing what they are doing and largely ignoring it, is — interesting. Hilarious, although she's not capable of that depth of amusement. The Camarilla were wrong, apparently. How precious they seem, in retrospect, to underestimate the depth of human apathy.

She spends a lot of time in Mafaton, accordingly, they do all seem to drift here whether intentionally or not, and her presence is noted. Nuray lets people come to certain conclusions about her species, because to hide such a thing is pointless. She does not deny it if asked, but neither does she announce it; she does not tell anyone what kind, or how old. She does not go to bars like Gutters. She does go to Bloody Sunday, which she is instantly charmed by; several nights a week she can be found there, trying different things she never had even while alive. She likes the "milkshakes".

In Mog Hill, she wanders into a store she knows nothing about and where she can't buy anything, chats with the owner for two hours, and somehow ends up coming behind the counter to try her hand at working there. She comes back the next night, as requested, and somehow this turns into a job. It pleases her. She gets to wear an apron — hers is shaped like a heart — and talk to all kinds of interesting people who are awake so late at night. A donut shop isn't a place she would dream of setting foot into back home, but here, she can and does.

Other times, she can be found often on the arm of a wealthy older socialite, an established and respected Baedalite citizen with a known thing for vampires. Sometimes, they go to the Vault.

Comments

[rhinemaid]

Strictly speaking, if you leave the house six hours before your appointment, you aren't actually leaving for your appointment, but for whatever it is that's going to occupy you in the six hours before you have to be there. While aware of this, Ilde is ignoring it as inconvenient; she's just making sure, extremely thoroughly, that she's not going to be late. She walks a while, illusions rendering her effectively invisible to the naked eye, until it's late-early enough that she can pretend she came out for a very early breakfast and not because the dream that doesn't fit her usual narrative made her feel alien and uncomfortable and she didn't want to still be sitting up awake with it in Ivan's apartment when he got back.

Leaning her purse against the counter, her extremely eloquent opening line: “Um, which of these don't have cream in them?”

[burnmythoughts]

Jean is exploring. She figures that's the best thing to do - get to know this place before she makes any solid decisions.

It's definitely different than other cities she's visited. It's not just the eclectic blend of architecture, or the silence on the streets, or the dense fog drifting in from the borders.

People don't have to pass for human here.

She's witnessed some sour looks, some rude comments, and it made her blood boil sure enough - but people still felt secure enough to be themselves. They didn't have to hide.

She ends up wandering late into the night, and only realises she's famished when she passes a donut shop.

Okay, so maybe it isn't the healthiest meal ever, but she's just been kidnapped by a magic city. She can indulge.

She smiles as she walks through the door, but she almost freezes at the sight of the woman at the counter.

Jean shakes her head, determined not to blurt out something like "wow, you're pretty" as she approaches. Since when did she turn into Bobby?

[incaptivity]

Hal is, as always, a creature of habit. Settling into new habits in Baedal has been a process, however, particularly since he's taken up a position as Martel's butler. He works as consistent a schedule as he can reasonably manage--go to work at particular time, down a particular path, work for a certain number of hours, and walk back to the Inn at the same time every day--which is not always as consistent as he would like. There are things that need doing, sometimes, and that's fine, he's fine, and anyway isn't it better to deal with a little stress and keep this job, versus the alternative?

And so he's running a little late today, which would have been fine had he not also run out of tea the preceding evening and needed to stop at the store as well. He hasn't the time now to go that far off his route (there is a particular store, a particular tea) and still make SMB2's seven o'clock broadcast. Not that he's particularly desperate to brush up on local politics, but his life is a kind of balancing act and that's a full hour to fill. Instead, he sees the sign for the donut shop around the corner and decides to stop in.

He gets just through the threshold before he realizes who it is at the counter.

Oh. Well.

It would be rude to turn right back around, although he would if he thought he needed to, but--fine, what's the harm in a brief transaction? She hadn't seemed so bad when last they spoke, and he does want that tea. His pace slows for a second, but he keeps on toward the counter.

"Hello again."