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

The moment she was on the other side of the bar, Nolan interlocked his fingers with hers and tugged her out the door. "I'm in a fucking rush." He practically growled out. After having a small taste of her blood, Nolan could feel himself craving her even more. He lifted her into his arms and without saying a word to her, used his vampiric speed to bring them to his home.

"You hungry?" He asked, even though the last thing he wanted to do was to wait until she'd eaten a proper meal. "I can make you a sandwich. Some soup. A salad." He was trying to remember what all he had in his fridge that wasn't blood.

"We both know that whatever is in your fridge is probably way past its expiry, Nols. And you don't have the patience to make me something and wait for me to eat." Annalise smirked, moving closer to Nolan and smiling up at him. She knew that he was using her for a need he currently felt and would toss her to the side until he needed that again, but she had a plan for that.

"You gonna kiss me or bite me first?"

“Make that two.” Heathcliff instructed the bartender who had moved over to serve them when they took the seats, waiting for a beat until the person moved away to get their order. He did not miss the look the other fae gave to their colleague. It was Heathcliff’s cue to quicken things up. He listened to Leo say his piece and nodded graciously at his words. “Fair. I ask for no more and no less. My search is not meant to bring you trouble.” He knew why Leo had said things the way they were said. Unlike for Leo, it was obvious to Heathcliff that the other was a fae. Saying a lie was impossible and that was exactly why Heathcliff had decided to inquire with him when he’d bumped into him by accident. 

The drawing he’d procured from the inner pocket of his coat and unrolled for Leo to see was done on a yellowed and recycled yet still neat and tear-free parchment. It was a detailed, black ink-drawn lineart, surprisingly life-like and capturing all of the person’s features. It would be easy to match it to a face that is familiar or known. And, perhaps most importantly for Leo, it wasn’t a Davenport. It was truly just a vampire of no particular consequence to the club except that he was frequenting it as a client. Heathcliff faced it towards Leo for a good look.

Perhaps it was too much information, but honestly, so long as it wasn't a Davenport on that drawing, he didn't care. If vampires were getting themselves into trouble and then coming to Bite, they should expect the trouble to follow them.

"Why would you like to find him?" Leo asked directly, a sly smile on his features as he took another sip from his drink.

"Need" had been a load-bearing beam carrying a lot of conceit. She needs to ply his boss for work in the same way she needs to huff whatever steams out of a sewergrate - it's breathing, sure, but likely far from the best option. Maybe that was overselling the man's destable nature; Autumn's known worse. Still, the kind of person who runs this kind of place tends to have people who owe him, and a need for people who can carry messages or warnings or a knife in the dark.

She looks him up and down. One of the workers here, he says, and she nods. Is it worth it to ask him his read on the proprietor? She's still assessing when he continues, selling her un-amusement with his noncommittal answer.

"Appreciate it, if you don't play games" she says over the din of the club.

He couldn't spot the vampire anywhere, so instead he left a note in his office with a description of Autumn. "I've left a note for him, with your description. I couldn't find him, though feel free to look around. Doesn't mean that he's not around here somewhere - just means that he's not in his office."

They weren't usually so good at disappointing each other. Fromidable for loving violence. "Tragic, baby." Jack would have to bury teeth in something else, later.

Beside him, she's less deadly. Even if hands roam him, and tangle in bloodied hair, they're settled on the sands, staring at sea of blue turning red. Even with the magic blood raining down on him, he needs some time to regain strength after self-poisoning. His voice is tired; distant: "Mm. You could give it your all, sugarplum." 'Zagi's teeth were sharp, too. Jakoris had no doubts about that.

He shrugs out of her grasp and lays back against the thickening sand. A bed of blood, and grains that has his mouth wide open and eager. He laps at it as it paints his face in drops, "The skies have it covered; more than human."

Smiling, he tilts his head back towards her. Amusement sparks in the dark of his iris'. "Worried about me, cupcake? You shouldn't be." A wink, delivered like a promise. Jakoris tucks an arm behind his head; a pillow between the sand and his hair. "I didn't know demons had such caring hearts." a beat, to look back at the crimson gift of a sky, "Your vulnerabilities are showing too, 'Zagi."

There's no hiding his, given her blood. But there's versions where she never offers to human hunt for him, or stroke hot fingers through his hair, and touch cold skin.

"When you're back to full strength, let me know. It's no fun when you're in such a weakened state." Azagi smirked, eyes still on the vampire as they lay there. It was an open space - vulnerable -, but neither of them was that, especially not tonight. With her teeth, her real teeth, she could break through easily. Her mind reeled as she fantasised about how he tasted, fighting it back. "Unless you're feeling all caught up in the moment and want to see what it feels like with a demon's teeth in ya, baby."

She swallowed thickly at his words, her expression stilling as she attempted her best to not give him a reaction. She couldn't foresee much harm in Jakoris knowing he was a vulnerability for her, but it was still possible he would manage to use it against her in the future. "I don't think caring is the correct word; we're a little bit more complicated than that." The 'we' referred to demons, but it could also apply to their relationship.

"Even I can't burn at full heat one-hundred percent of the time, Jack. And you were willing to risk poison for just a taste of me. Maybe yours are, too." She paused for a moment, letting the walls fall just a fraction before speaking again. "Seeing as we're talking vulnerabilities... You know, if you or your family need me, you have me. It's you over all of them, Jakoris. Even my kin. Well, unless Malcolm hurts the woman I protect, but he seems to be a puppy dog when it comes to her." She wouldn't argue with more protection for Freyja, and a Davenport would be someone she trusted with her.

Freyja gasped as his fangs punctured her skin, a pin prick of pain slicing over her skin and then -- warmth. Her body hummed with it, similarly to how it felt when her magic intensified. Instead of being fearful, though, Freyja found herself wanting more. She leaned forward, her eyelids drooping as a tightness wound in her stomach like yarn, twisting and creating friction underneath her skin.

Warmth pooled downward, in between her thighs, and an ache took over as he practically yanked her closer. Freyja whimpered, her fingers gripping his shirt, tugging at the fabric as she pressed her body closer to his. Then, his mouth was gone and cool air rushed to meet the wet skin on her neck.

Dizzily, Freyja shook her head back and forth. For the first time in her life, she wanted a new scar. One that, at the very least, reminded her of the first time she chose something for herself. "I wanna keep it." She said as she smiled up at him. Not only that, but she wanted more. She ran her tongue over her lips as her eyes dropped from his eyes down to his lips. "Do I taste good?"

A dangerous question that had his eyes darkening and lowering to the blood dripping down Freyja's neck. It made him want to go back for more, but he didn't want to take more than he should. "You taste divine." He chuckled, leaning down to lick the trickles from her neck. "Did I feel good?"

How many times did he has to say, and prove, to his boyfriend that he wasn't leaving him? That out of everyone in the whole fucking world, Harley was the one he loved? "Just because we aren't having sex as much doesn't fucking mean I'm leaving you." Again, Zane felt as if this conversation was fucking ridiculous.

He wanted to shout at his boyfriend. To grab ahold of the blood coursing through his veins and force him to stay in place. To tell him that no, he wasn't fucking leaving. Not until he stopped acting like Zane didn't actually care. But what would that accomplish? Would it make it worse?

Fuck work. Zane wasn't going anymore. He needed a break from everything.

"Great. Go get a coffee." He said as he turned and grabbed a nearby shirt. He tugged it over his head and pulled it on. "I'll see you later tonight." Maybe. Who the fuck knows.

He grabbed his keys and wallet, shrugged on a jacket, and glanced at Zane again. A last chance for him to stop Harley from walking out the door, but he knew that if he didn't go first, his boyfriend would.

But it wasn’t just her own safety that mattered, Malcolm’s loss was really troubling him, and if there was anything Mireia could relate to, it was the pain of losing loved ones.

With a deep breath, her shoulders dropped, as did her gaze. She took a step back, almost melting into the nearest shadow. The next time she spoke, her voice sounded lower, almost distorted, hidden. Her instincts tried to protect her by securing an escape route that a vampire couldn’t access if it were necessary.

“So she was someone truly important to you.” Her icy eyes shone in the dark as they met Malcolm’s once more. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated, her own grief spilling once more to meet his. “How did she die?”

She wasn’t sure that question would help him, maybe it would trigger even more suffering. But talking about it was the only thing that truly helped her in the past, after so much denial and escapism.

"The details are lacking in the letter," Malcolm eventually replied through gritted teeth, "but I can imagine a member of an opposing clan took her out." He wondered which one, fantasised about going back and ripping their hearts from their chest himself, but he wasn't part of that anymore. It wasn't his move to make, and he could only hope that those who took over from Nsilo as their leader would ensure that her murderer was brought to justice. Perhaps they already had been, perhaps Nsilo took them down with her. He didn't know, and he wasn't sure he wanted to.

She had known Jessie, seemingly well enough to know the mind of his sire, well enough to know that he would be welcomed back once the necessary changes had been made. "She wasn't a Davenport, and she wasn't a Deveraux, but she was family." When was the last time he had spoken his old name aloud? He couldn't remember. It didn't feel like his anymore. Malcolm Deveraux had lived longer than he should have, long past the time that his heart had stopped, but now Davenport was all that remained.

Lis let out a grunt as her abdomen collided with the unforgiving wood of the bar, but she knew better than to argue with him when he had that look in his eyes. "Then I guess I'd better clock out." She told the other bartender that she had to go; she would make it up on another shift. It wasn't like she had long left, and they weren't swamped. Grabbing her stuff, she headed out from behind the bar.

"Gonna sweep me off my feet, baby, or are you not in that kinda rush?"

"Don't think I missed that. You at a bar?" Malcolm questioned, though his tone was teasing more than concern or judgment. He hadn't taken her for the type of person to go to a bar, but he supposed most people did at least once in their lives.

"You gonna bite me again when it kicks in? You know, so I can compare and see if it really does make you feel things better." Leo reasoned, a smirk on his lips after swallowing the pixie down, eyes meeting Jasper's again.

“There’s another rather pressing matter,” she added once he finished talking, only giving a slow nod to his reassurances. This one was a more delicate topic, especially for the rest of them. Still, hands busy and safety scissors straining to cut a single stem, she continued.

“My presence. It continues to cause commotion and high levels of alertness, affecting the personnel’s performance.”Perhaps, Jack felt his heart clench a little, or his body go stiff. She would’ve expected so much from anyone who was close to her, whether they remained so or not. Yet Ophelia remained impassive, even when the one who used to make her heart race was mentioned. “And particularly, that of Second in Command Halstead.”

They both knew perfectly well how Warden was taking her current disposition.

“I believe action must be taken to improve the sense of safety and maintain the general morale.”

"Your presence is a benefit they're too scared to realise just yet. You can look at things with true impartiality, evaluate what is actually best for us, and not just what people want to hear. You can be helpful with the difficult decisions by looking at things from a purely efficient and, honestly, militant mindset. Whilst I miss who you used to be, Ophelia - and I always will - people need to realise what kind of asset we have now." There were pros and cons to everything, and not knowing what she was truly capable of was a risk, but they would be foolish not to see the advantages.

Warden was clouded by his feelings, which was completely understandable. Jack was, too, and perhaps that's what kept him fighting so hard for her to be allowed to stay, but at least he could function around her.

"I'm at a loss for what to do about Halstead. I'm not sure there's much we can do until he accepts the facts. Again, I can discuss this with the Commander, perhaps limit the contact between you both... Or maybe more contact is what he needs, to realise you're no longer the woman you were." A knife to the chest, but he thought he masked it well. He could still do his job, regardless of whatever emotions came up when he was in Ophelia's presence; could the same be said for the Second?

“Now, now. I was getting to it. Some small talk never hurt anyone and I am a polite gentleman. After all, I am inconveniencing you with this little request of mine. Least I could do is offer a pleasant conversation and a drink or two on my account.” Heathcliff kept weaving his little web, keeping up with the pretenses lest he raised any suspicions. But hearing the other say that he’d love to help was music to his ears. Perhaps further buttering up would not be as necessary as Heath had thought.  “I have something even better. A drawing.” Heathcliff announced as they reach the bar, arm removed from Leo’s shoulders and directing with an elegant, sweeping motion for the other fae to take a free seat in front of them. Once Leo hopefully did, Heathcliff would seat himself too on the barstool right beside. “What are we drinking tonight?” He asks then, hand pushing into the coat he wore to find an inner pocket there to rummage through. He was out of his usual, easily recognized attire, which mostly consisted of long, flowing robes Mireia had sewn for him, and had opted to put on a disguise outfit too. Something more unassuming and nondescript. Worn enough to not be an indicator of any status and preferring mobility, a loose shirt underneath a dark coat and dark pants close to skin, tucked into knee-high comfortable leather boots that were trusty and leak-free but had seen better days. Needless to say, his wings were completely gone, no additional appendages in sight. Green was gone from his eyes, now two dark pits swallowing all light. Even his hair had been glamoured shorter than he’d actually let it grow. For all intents and purposes, he could pass as any random vampire Joe that frequented the club, albeit some elementary facial features were kept to not make the glamour too complicated and therefore too taxing.

The talk of a drawing raised his brow - it wasn't every day that someone came into Bite looking for someone specific, much less with a drawing ready to go to help identify their target. He contemplated his options for a moment, knowing it could get difficult to get around the wording of his answers if untruths were needed, but though he was young, Oleander was good at talking around a subject; you had to be in a place like this.

"Tequila over ice, if you're insisting." He smiled, glancing towards his colleague behind the bar before his eyes settled back on the man in front of him. Something really did seem familiar, but he was sure that he had never seen this man before in his life. It was a strange sensation, but perhaps against his better judgment, he let the matter go. "Before we start, you have to understand that there are certain people I cannot speak on or for, working in a place like this. If I can help you, I will. If I can't, then you'll be met with silence." It had to be that way, to protect his livelihood and his life. Leo wasn't about to fuck around with a Davenport's business and have himself wind up dead. As a Fae, he was more expendable than a human in the vampire's eyes. It was human blood they needed to survive; his was just like indulging in illicit substances.

Whether it's the threat of some random person or the idea of disturbing the master of the house, the vampire latched onto him seems to take it to heart, and Autumn needs only tug lightly and shove them gently back into the throng of revelers.

"He isn't," she says. "I'm looking for him. Need to know if he has work."

Everybody needs something in this blighted county, she's finding. Jack seems the sort to need something vile.

She's not about to give her real name out though - though the options for something recognizable are limited in a way that makes her face wrinkle in disgust - she's not about to tell somebody that Pumpkin is looking for Jack.

"It's fine," she says. "I'll find him."

And like that, she's about to turn away, but then she stops, tethered to the moment by something she can't quite understand. "You come here a lot? Know about this place?"

He's about to tell her to wait, but she stops and continues the conversation of his own accord. "I work here, so yes, I'm pretty familiar with the ins and outs." Oleander chuckled softly, looking the woman over again.

"I can go and look for him, give him your description if he's here. The ball can be in his court as to whether he comes out to see you or not. Or I won't find him, and you'll have to figure out where he is." The fae offered. Something about the woman in front of him told him that she was certainly someone Jakoris would have dealings with. He was no witch, but it was almost like an aura that exuded from her - she was dark enough inside that she could do what the Davenport asked of her, and likely barter for what she needed in return.