there's a bad moon on the rise.

[baedalites.livejournal.com]

Who: Pascal Roland, Deacon Frost, John Mitchell.
What: Pascal and five or six of his employees get paid a visit.
Where: The docklands.
When: Late at night, Newdi.
Notes: :D
Warnings: Death, violence, vampires.

Since taking over for his recently deceased father, young Pascal (freshly twenty-eight, and baby-faced to boot) has started dressing more sharply, taking his responsibilities in the organization more seriously. He's played around a lot, but recent events have shown him that he needs to prioritize, and thus, along with five of his recent book-keeping hires, is sorting out the next collective attempt at stelanmancy. They have some interesting things they'd like to bring through the fog. Big things. He's an ambitious guy, though not as high-ranking as he'd like to be. Not yet.

The warehouse in which he presently resides is quiet, and out one plexiglass window toward the left of his corner office, he watches his employees mill around in the halls. It's not glamorous, but prestige only attracts attention. This doesn't stop Pascal from wearing a suit, mind you. He likes a good suit, he's found, and Dad would approve.

Above his head, the lights flicker all down the length of the warehouse, and he thinks they've really got to do something about that wiring.

( i am at one with a sea of sensations, glitter, silk, skin, eyes, mouths, desire )

[rhinemaid]

Who: Ilde Decima, Jules Grumley, Hasi Ozcelik
What: Girls Night Out
Where: Hasi's apartment, then Gutters.
When: The same evening as this and this.
Notes: part of an episodic story arc! Also, OUTFIT REFERENCE, because you all care as much as we do.
Warnings: Incidental violence, frank discussion of sexual situations. Ding me if I've missed something.

Ilde leaves Ivan's flat shortly after texting Jules, leaving a note behind (out for the evening, call you later) and heading back to the villa to change into something that doesn't say 'I sat around my boyfriend's apartment painting my toenails all evening'. (Is it really necessary to leave her perfume on everything he owns? Likely not.) It's a while before she's expecting Jules, which leaves her time for all the parts of evening preparation that she isn't going to handle with illusion (cuts her make up budget by about two thirds, that); large parts of this involve pushing Orion off the end of her bed before he can sit on the dress she just took off and trying not to speculate about exactly what's going on with Hasi and Mitchell.

She's aware (has long been aware) that she's not exactly ideal to be anyone else's sounding board or anything like emotional support, but at least she can provide alcohol, diversions and in at least the figurative sense a sympathetic ear. Maybe if it's like gifts, the thought that counts, it'll be something just that she tries. The sentiment feels too Disney to solidify and she discards it along with something feather-trimmed and probably too much for clubbing; they'll have a few drinks and do something stupid (there are tunnels deeper into Gutters that she hasn't seen the inside of and would like to) and it'll be fine.

Jules, who she gives a quick opportunity to pick through her shoe collection before they leave for Hasi's, is probably right to be slightly concerned. All things considered.

a little sincerity is a dangerous thing; a great deal of it is absolutely fatal

[amourpropre]

Who: Lucius Malfoy (Sr) and "Vanessza Bernát"
What: A second appointment.
Where: Syriac Well.
When: Newdie afternoon.

He Apparates silently out front her apartment building, likely startling anyone who happens to be crowding the sidewalk - but that is also one of the small, pettier pleasures of living in Baedal. Good to remember when home sickness, or something like it and perhaps with more dignity, draws its bow across his nerves like the world's tiniest violin. It's coming down with sleet, a little bit London about its damp Christmas weather and urban angles, and he allows a glance around before leaving it behind. He carries specks of the quick-melting ice water on his coat, one that is the approximate same colour as the grey streets he leaves behind, his clothing plainly Muggle in cut and sensibilities for all that long, scraggling tendrils of platinum-grey hair and affected addition of a cane is less so.

But there are all kinds, out here.

The end of that length of elm is used to knock against "Vanessza's" door when he arrives at it, drawing up his posture as if he has to remember to do so, a small twitch at his mouth at the twinge to his arm at the movement. A glance down at shoes, reflexive if belated, to see that they are suitably clean, for all the good it would do him.