D E A T H / B E C K O N S

Too many possibilities lay in front of him for his panic to cease. He didn't have the ability to go on a run or even leave the house. Harley had forced him to stay on the bed. Therefore, Zane only had one other out. As he closed his eyes, Zane sucked in a deep breath, took hold of his own blood, and began yanking it away from his brain. It didn't take long, as he'd perfected it over the years. Within seconds, he had passed out on the bed, completely unaware of anything else happening in the home.

"If its any consolation—he mostly just sees me at my place of work, sometimes my place, but never really here. I was honestly a little surprised he brought me to your home." Selene said softly as she swirled the wine in her glass thoughtfully.

"I've never seen him out of control before, the dynamic between you both is interesting." She mused, seeing the shifting power between them.

When asked about herself, Selene smiled softly. "Medium-rare please, and what did you want to know? I'm a dancer at the Ghouliard, I live at my brother's hotel—he doesn't charge me rent which is a plus." She chuckled. "I enjoy music, art, dance, magic—as a little girl I wished I'd been born a mermaid." Selene smiled. "But tell me more about you, I confess I've always been curious but never asked. I wasn't sure if that was inappropriate and whether Zane would actually tell me anything." She asked curiously.

"Despite his look of surprise at me being home, he did it on purpose. Wanted to rile me up; that much I'm sure of. Don't think he expected the consequences." Harley mused, feeling just a little proud of himself that he'd, for once, not allowed his boyfriend the upper hand in a situation he had no business having the upper hand in again. "We've been in a bit of a funk, me complaining that he's too busy to fuck me recently; I think he wanted to hurt me by showing me he has time to fuck with others but... His protectiveness of you is something I've seen only a few times in our life together. He cares for you, in one way or another." He spoke, a soft smile on his lips as he looked up at Selene whilst sliding the steak fries into a pan, with just enough oil to cover them.

"It's... a little more toxic than normal lately," Harley said quietly, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he thought about how they'd been in the past couple of months. "I think I'm going to back out of Sinsation because of it. We work together, we live together, we're bound together. It's too much together; every couple needs their time alone, and I need to get my head around the fact that I can stand on my own two feet without him, and give him a chance in his day to actually miss me."

The Ghouliard made sense, considering their connection to Naj; it was one of the few places besides home and work that he'd look for Zane if he needed to find him. "You get on well with your employer?" He asked with a sly smile, uncaring whether it gave away that he knew Najelon. They more than knew him; they had saved him, and had an almost unbreakable bond because of it.

"I can see why he likes you," he chuckled, turning the fries in the pan, "we both like the creative types. When I was younger - because we're deceptively older than we look - I wanted to be a dancer. My favourite color is the color of his eyes, and I've been thinking about scraping enough Kochba together to open my own business. Maybe a tiny little restaurant. My favourite thing to do these days is to cook." Harley was good at it, always had been; reckons if the world wasn't all kinds of fucked up he'd be a chef.

Jasper let out an exasperated sigh. "I don't know. Healing me would take all the fun out of the experience." Unlike most Fae, he didn't mind the repercussions of his actions. Sickness being one of them, when it came to werewolf bites. He hadn't antagonized a wolf in a long time and therefore, had almost forgotten how shitty it made him feel afterwards. "And don't talk to me like I'm stupid. You taught me about healing before you left me the first time. Or do you not remember?" Maybe she didn't.

Aurelia moved to gather some supplies to add to what she already had in her bag; the ones she always carried with her, just in case. "Come outside with me, my darling. It'll be stronger if we have nature underneath us, fuelling the magic." She moved outside, pulling out some ingredients and crushing them in a pestle and mortar - it was a heavy thing to carry around, but you never knew when it would come in useful. Aurelia moved to pick some of the flowers she saw, closing her eyes and drawing on the magic of nature before sitting down on the grass and adding them into her salve.

"Roll up your pant leg for me, love. It won't work miracles, but with the potion you already made for yourself, it should speed things up for you." She applied the salve slowly and carefully, glancing up at her son every now and then. "So, aside from getting yourself mauled, how have you been, 'Sper?"

Fuck. He knew that face. He had seen it a hundred times over the centuries; be it by means of her lineage, her abduction, or her recent return to the Council. Aurelia Dalton, was it? Finding his manners, he forced his composure, blinking away the hungry veins that crept across the whites of his eyes. Unless he had a death wish, she was royally off limits. That wasn't to say she might let him have a taste under the right circumstances, though. But he doubted it. She seemed the virtuous type.

As her magic brushed the dirt away, Olin watched silently, thankful, but perplexed why she'd even entertain the idea of helping him in the first place.

"On the contrary," he replied at last, turning to peer up at her. "I'm here on business."

The details of which didn't need to concern her. He knew Fae had a tendency to be greedy, and he intended to keep the reward money from this little treasure hunt all to himself.

His gaze dropped back to the grave vault at his feet, tapping it lightly with the sole of his shoe. It was solid. Bronze, by the look and sound of it. Far too durable for a worn pickaxe to cut through.

His lips pressed together briefly before glancing up at her again, only half-joking as he asked:

"Business, hm? I wouldn't imagine there's much business in graverobbing, but mostly because I'd imagine they'd all been long robbed by now." She teases, eyes going back to the dulled bronze, but it still has somewhat of a shine. Not enough to distract her, but enough to have her wonder what's inside.

Selene considered those words very carefully, knowing a demon would likely twist anything she said unless it was spoken with untwistable plainness. "Make sure Elian Maxwell doesn't die." She finally spoke, the implication clear—she didn't need him to win, she just wanted him alive. Selene knew trying to barter for anything more would be complicated and costly.

"A life for a life." It was a simple trade, the blood Selene would procure would save Azagi's cherished one, and in turn, Elian wouldn't lose his life in this ridiculous tournament. "And just so we're both clear—if you cross me I'll make sure you regret it every bit as much as you'd make me in the reverse. Being allies with our skills is far more beneficial than making enemies of one another."

"Elian Maxwell will live." The demon confirmed, holding out her hand to offer a handshake, a deal agreed upon. She smirked at the threat from the witch, looking her over, "Honey, our deal is mutually beneficial, I wouldn't betray you. That, and I like your attitude." A beat as she looked to the line up again, trying to determine how long it would be until Elian fought.

"I'm almost certain that, if you can be fast with your magic, I can get the blood where I need it and get back in time to save his life - if he needs saving, that is. Maybe he'll instead show you that all you need is a little faith."

When she mentioned his mother, Greyson's expression remained a cold mask, unflinching and giving nothing away of his thoughts on the matter. Negotiations weren't within his power, that was all down to Saylor. When it came to the strategy of battle and a fight, that was Greyson's area of expertise. "If you want to have a conversation about the conflict between our species then you should be trying to talk to the Queen." He answered with a mild shrug to his shoulder.

At the mention of a truth spell on both of them, the Prince shook his head. He wasn't about to open himself up to unfiltered answers from himself when he guarded their military might. "We can have any conversation you want Azagi—that's what drinking's for. Save the truth spells for conversations with my sister, unless you're angling for me to sit the throne." Greyson chuckled.

"Fine, no truth spells. How about I tell you what I know, and you help me fill in the blanks, see where our story ends up?" She finishes her drink and orders another, ordering another for Greyson for when he was ready. "If my memory serves, your mother was found dead in some sort of trap, a game someone had set up. As far as I'm aware, she had been safe in The Forgotten before that, and you know how saltwater effects us demons. Of course, your mother was powerful enough to do what she wanted and go where she wanted, with guards like yourself and your sister have, but here's the thing: I don't remember any dead or missing guards, unless your lot hid that? For transparency purposes, back then there was a demon in these parts that was capable of... Well, just about anything. The only person I've ever been afraid of," she admits, swallowing thickly as she glanced down to her drink, "but he would have boasted. Wanted the credit, to show people his power."

"How did I fair?" Jasper reached down and pulled up the bottom of his pants, showing the discoloring of his ankle. Not only that, but he was much paler than normal -- which was saying something, considering pale was his norm. His eyes were slightly sunken in with dark circles around them. "Look with those special eyes of yours, Aurelia. What do you think?"

Aurelia looks at her son, really looks at him and her brow creases into worry instantly as she tries not to wince at him using her name. She should be used to that by now, instead of hearing the word mom come from his lips. "Will you let me try and speed up your healing? Light has more success with that than the dark." She offers, though she is almost sure that Jasper will deny her request. "Is that the bite of a wolf?"

"As I, as I!" She chirps. "Mousemelon's so cute, hm? Cucamelon, psh. Cute too, but who doesn't love a little mouse?" She takes her things that she's traded for, turning a set of tools over - one old, one not so old. Her eyes fixed on one whose shine seems to sit just beneath an aged patina. It will be scrubbed and scoured to a glittering polish before it sees use, and that alone will be its own small reward. "I do so love market days... and what a clever assortment of things." She motions to the table, deciding to linger a while.

"Mostly they're just things, things that people donate so I can trade them for important supplies. I'm sure they have stories, but it seems by the time they reach my stall the stories are finished and the owners are ready to part ways. Some are just trinkets I find along the way and have no desire to keep for myself." He explains with a soft smile, watching as she fiddles with her new items.

In his eyes if the owner of this event let a human win all it did was shame him, his competition and everyone who competed.

"Humans can be resourceful, but I'd argue the only reason they have survived in this world is because they are needed. Like cattle. Their advantage comes from pre planned attack and setting a situation up for their favour—in a straight 1v1, they are weak and disadvantaged." Obi shrugged his shoulder dismissively. The arrogance of power and age was rooted deeply in the sorcerer.

"Dumb luck is all that has saved her this far."

"With power comes arrogance - anyone the human beats here tonight, it will be because of that, and her taking advantage of it." Oleander shrugged, sipping at his drink as he looked up to see how the State of Play had changed.

"You... you met him?" Watery eyes jerked upwards to meet his gaze. "He-- yeah. It is. But they... they don't... expect that. From me." Not like the other Demons who's preference was lust. Around Baekyong, she felt comfortable. He allowed her to.

"No one knows what they want all the time. It's okay to not know, and to change your mind. If you were fine with him being there at first, but changed your mind, that's allowed." He pauses, smiling at her softly. "Is he still staying there with you? I can make him get his own room, or get him to leave, if that's what you want. Now, what I want," Malcolm hooks a finger under her chin, gently making her look at him, "is for you to stop apologising. It is your life, Freyja, and I won't be a vampire in your life judging your for spending time with demons. I'm a good example for knowing that not all from a species are as inherently bad as the rest."

Callum is leaned against the wall near the back of the Ring, arms loosely crossed, the bruises across his knuckles gone yellow at the edges beneath fresh gauze. There is sand coming in by the bag, glasses being polished, bottles lined up by kind and proof, all of it moving around him with that particular pre-event panic. 

He hears Nolan say his name and the Sight flickers. Like bad static at the edge of his skull, like a moth battering itself against a lamp. This is Nolan. This is not Nolan. Something stains the corner of Callum eye, dark and smeared, and it refuses to settle into sense. For one brief, stupid second Cal considers pushing into the Sight and just suffering the cost - migraine or exhaustion or a twelve-hour blackout or whatever the going rate is for knowing too much too quickly.

But he does not. Instead, the list comes easily. Child’s play. Callum once reconstructed a library from sense memory and magic; he can remember inventory.

“All of it's there and the Pixie’s all accounted for.” His gaze moves briefly over Nolan’s face. “Which does bring me to my follow-up question: are you sampling the merchandise, or is this just the face we’re doing tonight?”

It is casual enough. A stone skipped across water instead of thrown through a window just as Lis rounds the corner and sidles up to their little band of three musketeers (which is generous, considering Callum doesn’t remember enlisting and the musketeers had better interpersonal skills.) Anyway, Lis is doing that thing where she throws herself at Nolan and Nolan is doing that thing where he pretends to give her the time of day and Cal is doing that thing where he knows they’ve been fucking for forever, even without the clairvoyance.

But something Lis says catches. Jittery. All jittery and full of energy. Callum looks back to Nolan - Nolan can be many things. Volatile. Obnoxious. Sentimental in ways he would deny under oath. But there is a texture to him Callum knows, a familiar pressure. Jittery is not one of them.

You wanna watch or something, honey?

Callum’s eyebrows lift a little at the jab. Not much. Enough to count as generous.

“Watch? Nah. Call me when you want me to join.” He pushes himself off the wall, slow and loose, and rolls his shoulder. What's he even doing here? He's supposed to be cleaning up his image, he's the Speaker now. But Nolan is wrong around the edges, and Callum does not have enough proof yet, and there are only so many ways he can stall before he’s handed something more substantial. “Are you fighting tonight?” he asks Lis.

Fucking idiot. Stupid fucking witch. Nolan sucked in a deep breath and then let it out slowly. Compose yourself. Play the part. "If all goes well tonight, I'll ensure you get triple. You are helping me, like old times, after all."

As the human approached, Nolan turned his attention to her and watched closely. They'd seen this done many times before -- a seductive dance that some did. A way to fawn and show interest. Nolan forced himself to keep a straight face as she practically fell over him. The Vampire stood still, at first. Not moving an inch as her skin pressed warmly against his.

Nolan wanted to shove her the fuck away.

The real Nolan, however, wouldn't do such a thing.

So, once again, they played along and wrapped an arm around the human's waist. "I appreciate the offer, darling, but I am not in need of that form of help, currently." His fingers tapped against her hip. "I am in need of Callum's help, though. Which is exactly why he's here." He gave her hip a squeeze before he released her and unraveled himself from her body.

"I don't remember telling you to meet me here." His voice was a mix between harsh and playful as he turned his attention to Annalise. "Assuming things about me again, love?"

"No, no, I'm not fighting. Got nothing I want bad enough as a prize to risk this pretty face for, and I'm already too well-versed in death wishes." Arm wraps around her waist and she smiles, leaning into Nolan even more, though her expression falters for a moment. Darling? Love? When did Nolan ever call her pet names, aside from sometimes babe and baby when he wanted something from her?

Annalise stammers, him putting her on the spot regarding her lack of invite, falling over her words to try and find a reason for him to keep her there, "I know this place like the back of my hand by now, and you know my skills behind the bar are pretty unmatched. Figured I could maybe take one of your worries away so your focuses can be on the more important parts of the event."

She pulls herself away from Nolan, and moves towards the bar, "I can help Cal here distribute the Pixie to wherever you're wanting it and in return, he can help me ensure the bar is fully stocked to my standards," Lis turns to face him again, "because I can already see they've slacked on half your prep work, and I just bet some of the bottles are near empty and barrels needs changing."

He should be above this. Grave robbing. Or at the very least, he should have someone else do the dirty work. But a job like this couldn't be entrusted to just anyone; and if you wanted something done right - well, you just might find yourself waist-deep in an unmarked grave some idle Saturday night, with no direction, no instructions, just a shovel, a pickaxe, and a client's vague request to disinter an old family heirloom.

Problem was, this client had no idea where the adorning body was buried, only that it was 'over a hundred years ago, somewhere near the Boneyard.' Olin would have told her to fuck off had it not been for the generous deposit she'd pressed into his hand. 'Half now, half later.'

——Clink!

The pickaxe struck metal. Olin straightened slowly, exhaling as he dragged a dirt smeared hand through his hair, pushing back damp strands from his face as triumph curved his mouth into a smile. Finally, after what felt like hours of digging through earth, stone, and clay, he had found something. Just as the vampire lowered to inspect further, the crack of a branch froze him mid-action. Not out of fear, but of predator instinct. His head tilted as eyes and ears searched for the source. Listening. Waiting. Hunting.

It wasn't worrying to know he wasn't alone. In fact, he was almost entertained by the prospect of company. All that digging worked up quite the appetite.

"They say curiosity kills, y'know," he taunted out into the ether, gaze sliding patiently across the shadows. Whether they exposed themselves or remained hidden made no difference to him. In truth, he hoped they didn't come out. He was in the mood for a good chase.

Aurelia wasn't sure what took her to the Boneyard, but considering the reason for her absence from the State she imagined she felt peace when close to death, now. She had found herself close to it more times than she would like to count, and brought people prematurely to their deaths in a more significant measure. They deserved it, that was for sure.

The peacefulness of the night was disturbed by sounds of digging, followed by a metallic clink, and Aurelia instinctively made her way towards the source. She cared little for if the gravedigger heard her, she had no qualms with what he was doing and could only assume he had his reasons.

"Hm, you're right, it can. But I'm just out for a stroll in the fresh night air. You're the one gravedigging; I would assume you're the one whose curiosity has be better of him." The Fae smiles at him, her fingers gliding through the air as the Earth seemingly moves itself from the metal he had mostly unearthed. "Shame I didn't wonder on in a half hour ago, but I'd say finding it yourself gave you a good sense of satisfaction."

A slight arch of Heathcliff’s left eyebrow was the only answer he’d given to the warning, which felt more like a command than anything else. That alone was enough to raise spite in the fae on top of being so easily underestimated. Not that he minded the latter that much. In his experience it was always better to be underestimated than to be perceived for exactly what you are - a monster in its own right, not easy to contend with even if one was a demon or a vampire. No false modesty here. Heathcliff could back these claims up should he choose to. It was just that this vampire did not know it yet. In his defense, Heathcliff did not know yet that he was dealing with a Davenport either. “Best than both in the latter, I say.” Heathcliff drawled lazily as he gave the other a very pointed stare, already looking bored with the conversation. He’d dropped his glamoured and illusioned invisibility only for a moment and this was the moment the vampire decided to catch him in. Just proof enough that there was no such thing as being too careful. He could only deadpan at being called desperate and dumb. It was most certainly neither. It was confidence but Heathcliff wasn’t about to argue that with a stranger. As mentioned above, the vampire was better off underestimating him. He just took a step ahead, ready to leave without so much as an explanation or a comment. Time was money and the other was wasting his. However, the vampire just did not seem to know how to let go. A warning was quickly turning into what Heathcliff was perceiving as a threat and he did not like it, not one bit. His head tilted slightly as he looked back to the vampire, dark eyes eerily calm. “Oh? Is that why you pester me? For my blood?” Figures. A vampire will always be a greedy leech. They just cannot help themselves, can they? Heathcliff paused where he stood, not moving further except to fully face the other man with fingers neatly intertwined in front of him, posture casual, glamoured face impassive. Not that his glamour served any purpose anymore - the other had already listened to his heartbeat, smelled the blood running through Heathcliff’s veins. The curse the fae had used to mask it all for this trip to the vampire world had run out, just as his purpose for the visit had come to an end. There was no longer any reason to hide but Heathcliff would still not reveal the other his true appearance. Who was he to see the real him anyway? “I reject the options given and propose a peaceful parting. You keep your life and I keep mine. Fair?” An offer reasonable enough but if the other thought all Heathcliff could do was reason, then he would be sorely mistaken. “What say you?”

He watches, for a moment, and despite the fact that this one can clearly take care of themselves considering he's still alive, Thad's intuition tells him that trouble, directly at the least, isn't why he's in the Darklands. The Davenport mulls over his offer, and simply nods, "I can accept your terms; you seem... well-rounded. Ballsy. I like that, the type of people that deserve to live at least a while longer. But..." He trails off, eyes sticking to the stranger Fae like he might just disappear right in front of him. "I do have to ask for an answer about my Fae question. Need to know if trouble is coming to my family's business, and if so, get him to deal with it. After all, free will is a glorious thing and that little one has it in droves."

For a brief moment she let her eyes fall away from the demon before her and to those around her, there were a few humans here and there—whether they were staff from one establishment or another, or wherever else they'd come from, she could pull blood from them.

At the mention of her soul, Selene's gaze returned to Azagi and she shook her head. "My soul isn't on offer, collateral or not. I'm not that desperate for your help." She said plainly. "But I'm also not interested in betraying you over a little blood." She shrugged. It left the cards of whether or not to trust her in Azagi's hands, Selene was certainly not just a pretty face though she often let others believe she was.

"You can watch me get you the blood if you're that worried about me tampering with it—but in return for me helping someone you, then you have to help someone for me." Selene offered, both of them looking to make a temporary ally not in their own interest.

"Fine," Azagi growled, "But if you do betray me, I will make you wish you had sold your soul away." She wondered who was so important to the little witch that she would risk any sort of deal with a demon, but she didn't much care. The wrathbearer would do what was needed for the few she cared for.

"Who do you need me to help, and how do you want me to help?" Azagi's version of help, and another person's version of it, could be so very different. Making sure this person is not sad anymore would lead to death - they could feel no sadness, if they were dead, or void of a soul.

The bar they entered meant little to the Commander, he'd frequented many across the state over the centuries, less so since taking up his position—but he knew as long as drinks were served, it was good enough.

He ordered a simple vodka soda, watching the bartender pour their drinks before turning his gaze to Azagi when she spoke. "Hardly a rumour." Greyson shrugged, picking up his drink and taking a sip when it was set in front of him. The Prince had never tried to hide his rebellious past nor was he particularly ashamed of it.

"Alike huh? So you were a big party girl before getting the stick of responsibility up your ass too?" Greyson smirked, his words lighthearted for now—if the demon wasn't too easily offended.

"I don't know who murdered your mother, little prince." Azagi paused, wondering if he would understand what she was saying. "I'm not saying I know everything, or even that I know all the demons' motivations and pasts, but my kind are... similar to one another. I would expect that if I knew the demon that did it, I would know who did it. Doesn't that trouble you? Isn't it strange? In all this time, we've been fighting one another, but we haven't had an actual conversation about it."

Azagi drinks again, "Are you open to that conversation, Greyson? If you can't trust what I say, I'll happily find a witch to cast a truth spell on both of us."

"Oh." She muttered softly and then nodded. "Yeah. Yes. He... ah-- isn't like the others. He's never really hurt me. He was... one of the only ones that were actually nice to me when I was living in the Compound." He'd bring her gifts -- treats, really. And maybe it was just so she would comply, but Freyja had enjoyed most of her time with Baekyong. "He wasn't invited, though. He found me. I tried to get him to leave but he wouldn't." Maybe she should have tried harder. Maybe she should have told Malcolm, who could have helped her.

"You're safe, that's all that matters. But if someone comes again and you don't want them there, regardless of if they're nice to you, you just need to come and tell me, and I'll have them removed. I--" Her words had the cogs in his mind turning, the demon with a mix of sulfur and familiarity in his scent back at Firelight; he should have known then that the familiarity was Freyja.

"I think I met him. He was wandering my halls in nothing but a sheet, which he then removed. A little thing of a demon whose sin is clearly lust?" He asked, but now that he had placed the scent, he didn't really need the confirmation.

"I wouldn't insist on anything; it's your life, Freyja. But if you had wanted him out, I'd have gotten him out. If you had wanted him to stay and me to stay out of it, I'd have stayed out of it."