𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖌𝖎𝖗𝖑.

"Have you been here long enough to see whether anyone's been thrown off the bull yet? I had a friend who was asking about it earlier." Vyvyan was free from her shift at the particular moment — however, she hadn't really bothered to change dress, the old-style corset hugging her waist in an embrace so tight that she almost neglected to breathe, now and then. It was a more vintage take on the theme, but it was the burlesque house that she was coming from. Leaning up against one of the posts when she had sniffed out her friend, she smiled at the detective, the sound of grunting from farm animals worming its way into her eardrums.

A day's worth — if not a month's worth, to her alone — of being loquacious with spur-wearing, brimmed hat clad individuals had burned through her battery faster than a car rocketing at a hundred miles per hour down the freeway. Vyvyan's hands scoped the weathered wood of the fence that she was clinging onto, receding to her mum agreeability beside the detective until she truly thought of something worth asking. "You don't think that this event is all... another way to pretend that none of the bad things happening around us don't exist, do you? I want to believe that spring will bring good blessings, but..."

still,  he  looks  down  at  vyvyan  with  a  little  smirk,  nodding  his  head.  “a  couple  people,  yeah,”  he  says  with  a  slight  chuckle.  no  use  in  bringing  her  down  with  his  own  morbid  thoughts.  and  maybe,  just  maybe,  hanging  with  her  will  help  him  chase  them  away.

but  then  she  brings  up  what's  been  happening  –  and  it  all  comes  rushing  back.  shit.

“you  know,  i  wouldn't  be  surprised  but…  i  could  use  the  distraction,  if  i'm  bein'  honest.”

it's  true,  too.  he  really  could.

and  when  she  says  she  wants  to  give  the  bull  a  try,  he  cannot  help  but  let  out  a  hearty  laugh.  “really?  you  sure?” he  says,  not  in  a  condescending  way  or  anything,  he's  just  shocked.  “i  mean,  yeah,  why  not.  c'mon,”  with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  he's  then  moving  through  the  crowd.

"Aw, I was kinda thinkin' you'd dress up the part a lil' more and play it up to score." The punk quirked his mouth in a crooked smile, suggesting that he was jesting around with the fellow musician as he sauntered right up to him, taking stock of the cowboy hat with little other embellishments to suggest that Adonis was on theme for the eve. "Not gonna take the stage at the Dollhouse and croon out a country love song, neither? Disappointin'. I would tip to see that." Hell, he'd probably tip extra, seeing as he had gone out for a belated celebration to his anniversary, after all.

Cocking his head to the side, he figured now was as good of an opportunity as any to pick his brain about the brand-new rivals of pop punk that had been conspiring all over the city — Cosmix was currently the Vain Rogues' newest challenge to pick up their tempo, and he admired Adonis's talent plenty from the jam sessions they'd gotten together for. "What d'you think of that new act? I've seen a couple of the ladies 'round the rodeo tonight, haven't had a chance to introduce myself any. They were real good when I caught them at the Dead Man's Fingers the other weekend."

it  was  all  just  jokes,  though.  he  doesn't  have  the  voice  for  something  like  country.  while  he  may  not  like  it,  he  can  respect  that  it  takes  a  certain  kind  of  talent  to  pull  that  off.

“oh  cosmix?”  he  says,  now  starting  to  stroll  around  the  venue  with  cyrek  at  his  side.  “they're  pretty  damn  good,  i  can't  lie.  even  approached  me  about  being  on  one  of  their  upcoming  tracks,  and  from  what  i  heard,  it  sounds  pretty  good  so  far.  a  little  different  from  my  usual  sound,  but  i  can  make  it  work…  i  think,  at  least.”

the  place  is  absolutely  packed  and  honestly,  he  loves  to  see  it.  it's  nice  to  get  a  night  out  like  this…  he  just  hopes  it  isn't  somehow  ruined.  things  in  vegas  had  been  weird  lately,  so  he  wouldn't  be  surprised  if  some  fuck  shit  went  down.  he  just  hoped  it  didn't.

when  cyrek  begins  speaking  of  a  collab,  the  smile  on  his  features  grows.  he  nods  his  head  along  with  what  the  other  is  saying,  now  full  on  grinning.  “hell  yeah  i'm  down!”  he  exclaims.  “what  festivals,  by  the  way?  that  sounds  sick.”

He wasn't exactly invited. Dominic needed a getaway driver, and the party just happened to be loading up. Despite his size, he managed to squeeze himself into the middle seat and remain quiet long enough that no one seemed to notice. Well, no one but the guy next to him.

Speaking seemed like a good way to get himself caught. Given he was likely still being tracked down, he wasn't particularly interested in getting kicked out quite yet. So, despite his desire to tell his new friend to shut the fuck up, he settled for raising a brow. He really couldn't tell if this guy was overly friendly or hitting on him. Either way, it wasn't welcome.

As a finger pointed in his direction, the air in his lungs leaving in a huff. Here we go. His neighbor started cursing, and Dominic started sifting through his options. Left door or right. It was harder to think with the yapping that continued at him. How was this guy not catching on? He didn't get to decide before the car kicked into gear. That complicated things a little, but more than that, confused him. Why the fuck would they want to drive off with him?

The finger wasn't pointed at him, though; it was targeted behind him. With caution, he turned to look. Naturally, his mind began to run through his long list of enemies. He didn't get far, though, before opportunity presented itself. His new headache of a neighbor was on the verge of passing out.

Without hesitation, Dominic reached over him, jerking on the door handle and shoving it open with a bit too much force. As it came rolling back, Dominic shoved him out of the car.

"Thanks for the ride, but fuck this."

He caught the door, swiftly swinging his legs around to find the ground. Before he could even take his first step, he realized he had better brace himself. But the eyes that met his were wrong, red as blood. "What the hell are you?" His voice was steady, though still bewildered. The shock didn't keep him from baling his fists, ready to charge as the lasso started swinging in the air. That would complicate things.

when  he  sees  the  lasso  swinging,  he  takes  it  upon  himself  to  dive  out  the  other  door  and  begin  running,  screaming  out  for  help.  of  course,  no  one  seems  to  hear  him  –  just  his  luck.  or  even  worse,  there  is  people  who  hear  him,  they  just  don't  care.

he  stops  for  a  moment,  then  cuts  and  runs  in  the  opposite  direction.  suddenly,  there's  a  feeling  of  pressure  on  his  arm  and  his  eyes  widen.  though  before  he  can  turn  to  see  who  or  what  is  grabbing  onto  him,  he  is  suddenly  yanked  hard  the  other  way.

well  shit.

They were more of a horror person, but westerns reminded her of her grandfather and how they would watch them together. This one she had never heard of but settled in none the less, watching from where she was, taking a small sip of her drink before eating some popcorn. The movie was just getting good when she could hear the sounds of voices raising from inside the truck. She hated when people talked during a movie, so she thought to take some action.

Putting down her popcorn, she crawled over to the window, giving it a knock with her hand, loud enough for them to here. "Will you shut up, some are trying to watch the movie." She groaned as she pulled her hand back, ready to dig in to her popcorn again. That's when she noticed it, her hand was wet, looking down at her hand, her eyes widened, red, her hand was red.

“what  the  hell  is  going  on!”  he  exclaims,  still  looking  all  around  for  any  sign  of  what's  wrong.  his  brow  furrows  and  he  feels  something  on  the  back  of  his  neck,  expecting  it  to  be  a  mosquito  on  account  of  summer  being  right  around  the  corner.  he  slaps  it,  the  wet  feeling  confusing  the  hell  out  of  him.  as  he  pulls  his  hand  back,  brown  eyes  blown  wide  at  the  sight  of  blood  on  his  hand.  definitely  too  much  for  squishing  a  bug…  is  that  his  blood?

swallowing  thickly,  his  vision  begins  to  swim  and  he's  feeling  woozy.  just  what  the  hell  is  going  on  here  tonight?  he's  known  for  years  that  there's  something  strange  about  vegas,  but  this..  this  is  something  else.

"Yeah, my words good for it." He shrugged, eyes still slightly unfocused as he glanced toward the bartender who was still half way down the bar. "I'd suggest getting your ass on the list soon, though, or you might miss your shot."

“you're  right,”  he  chuckles.  and  with  that,  he's  off  to  put  his  name  on  the  list.  there's  a  couple  people  ahead  of  him,  but  he  will  get  his  turn  in  time.  he  then  returns  to  the  bar,  honestly  a  little  surprised  to  find  the  man  still  there.  he  easily  could've  slipped  away  and  bailed  on  their  little  bet.

“done  and  done…  hope  you're  ready  to  eat  your  words,”  he  laughs.

Eyes narrowed, Tomo watched him for a moment. Saying nothing. Lips pursed. His eyes went to his face. And then down. And up again. Then, he broke into an easy grin, a brief exhale of laughter following. A glance back over his shoulder confirmed that he was, in fact, very much in the way of a bunch of candy. Tomo raised his hand in apology, making a display of acting comically sheepish before hopping out of the way.

"Sorry, buddy," he said, with the sort of casual comfort most don't reserve for strangers. "I was trying to go for the whole Guy Who's Taking It Out On The World schtick but I don't think it's quite workin' for me. Think I've got the face to pull it off but it feels so fake when you're heart's not in it." Tomo had a bad habit of saying whatever he felt like, even when nobody fucking asked. As for what had been asked, Tomo looked at the console in his hand and blinked at it, almost as though he'd forgotten it in his hand at all. (He hadn't but, hey, he was easily distracted.) "Uh, s'called Pocket Monsters," he said, with a shrug. "Japanese game. Dunno how I'm feelin' about it yet but, hey, maybe it's worth checking out if they ever bother to translate it, huh?"

“yeah  i  get  that…  tried  that  before  too,  except  i  don't  think  i  really  got  the  face  for  it,  even,”  he  laughs  again  with  a  nod  of  his  head.  squinting,  he  tries  to  get  a  better  look  at  the  little  screen.  now  adonis  isn't  huge  into  video  games,  but  he  definitely  likes  'em,  so  this  has  his  interested  piqued.

“japanese  game,  huh?  sounds  pretty  cool,  actually..  i'm  a  little  jealous.  almost  wanna  snag  myself  a  copy  even  if  i  won't  know  what  the  hell  is  really  goin'  on.”

it seemed like a common theme for jibril as of late was trying new things. so, here he was, simultaneously having two experiences for the first time. 1. going to the drive-in, something they knew was a classic american activity. 2. seeing a western at a movie theater. they didn't know much about the genre besides it involved cowboys, but they were willing to give it a shot.

he'd managed to get a couple of his friends to tag along with him. they had all piled into a car together. jibril's already invested in the movie, devouring handful after handful of popcorn absentmindedly. but, their hand freezes mid-way to their mouth when they notice something odd. it seems like the cowboy's eyes are turning red, is it just his imagination? is the cowboy somehow getting closer too? they feel a chill run down their spine, terror clouding their senses.

he spins around to face the others in the backseat, inadvertently spilling the tub of popcorn into iris' lap. jibril wants to ask 'did you see that too?' but can't find the words, mouth opening and closing a few times. instead, they notice something even more horrifying, words written on the back windshield. he raises a trembling finger, pointing at the inscription.

he  chuckles  as  he  tosses  his  arm  around  the  back  of  the  seats,  leaning  in  slightly  to  the  person  next  to  him.  though  he's  currently  got  his  sights  set  on  someone  in  particular,  there's  no  harm  in  a  little  flirting  when  out  with  friends..  right?  he's  using  one  of  his  best  lines  when  the  passenger  turns  around  to  look  at  them.

or  at  least  that's  what  he  thinks.

he's  puzzled  by  jibril's  expression,  but  still,  he's  annoyed.  he's  trying  to  set  a  mood  here.

“what  gives?  you  jealous  or  somethin'?”  his  tone  is  only  slightly  feisty.

The loss of the territory didn't keep Dominic out of the club. Though the recent peace treaty left his old hangout back open without consequence. Even if it hadn't, he was unlikely to catch anyone's attention tonight.

Dim lights highlighted sweat-slick skin, smoke sticking to those places on contact, shoes sticking to the split liquor on the floor as it dried. He liked grittier places. Something about well put-together people caused an irrational irritation to rumble behind his ears. Nothing quite felt like home the way blood and stale smoke did. Even tonight, with the stupid country theme draping every dancer and drunk girl on the bull, it was more comfortable than most places.

Dom wouldn't be caught dead playing dress up, not that his lack of costume made him stick out. Faded blue jeans and a black t-shirt blended in anywhere.

"I bet the next round your dumb ass can't last two minutes on that fucking thing." He was drunk already, eyes beginning to glaze as he tried to escape the shit show that was his job here lately. He was starting to worry he wouldn't have one soon. At the rate the Vitelli's were going, he'd be out of employees.

With the gesture of his hand, he called over the bartender. It would take her probably another ten minutes to get to him, but that wasn't her fault, and he wasn't about to make his empty glass her problem.

"Shit, a shot just to see you try."

a  drunk  girl  sways  in  front  of  him,  trying  and  failing  to  flirt.  it's  obvious  that  he's  not  interested  but  she  just  hasn't  gotten  the  hint  yet,  and  he's  too  nice  to  say  anything  too  forward.  with  a  smile  and  a  curt  nod,  he's  on  his  way  again,  this  time  finally  making  it  to  the  bar.

dean  takes  a  seat,  hardly  even  noticing  the  man  next  to  him  until  he  starts  speaking.  “huh?”  he  says,  looking  over  at  him  then.  he  can't  help  but  to  laugh.  “think  i  got  better  odds  than  you  think,”  he  adds  confidently,  smirking.  dean  had  never  been  one  to  really  shy  away  from  a  challenge  either.

“can  i  hold  you  to  that?” he  questions  as  he  stands  from  his  chair,  glancing  over  at  the  bull.

Atticus was the farthest thing from a social butterfly — hence why he had been lurking outside of the building, a cigarette in hand and whittling away the time until Nadia arrived. His psychologist had suggested he should try to make an effort and connect with the local community, for however long his stay was meant to be.

There were reasons and people that had peppered itself between the lines and encouraged him to stay, but his heart remained with the philharmonic when he was well enough to return to playing during at least the busiest season. The challenge of picking up playing the instruments again was one that he hadn't yet attempted — and before that could be done, he was going to have to ensure his beloved cello had been put back into working order.

Thus, he'd kind of ended up with the next best thing — searching for a new hobby. Poetry was a second love after philosophy, and although he'd never dreamed or writing it himself, many had proclaimed it was an effective outlet for frustrations through periods of grief and alterations of life.

Ash tipped onto the sidewalk and splattered against the concrete, before winking out of existence as a soft desert breeze swept everything along, and he offered the vaguest instance of a smile to the one woman he had thus far befriended. Most of the slam poetry sessions, he sat in silence, observing and disinterested in participating — being watched was one thing, which he didn't particularly enjoy about performing with his cello, but most of the time, everyone was focused on the conductor rather than the individual players. Public speaking was downright unfathomable.

still,  she  enjoys  this.  putting  together  some  words  to  describe  how  she  is  feeling,  to  produce  an  outlet,  it  is  nice.  not  to  mention,  the  people  she's  met  thus  far  have  all  been  quite  enjoyable  as  well.

she  spots  him  right  away,  smiling  gently  as  she  gets  closer.  she  makes  her  way  up  to  him  slowly  but  surely,  still  hugging  that  book  to  her  chest.  when  he  asks  if  she  will  speak,  she  bows  her  head  for  a  moment  in  thought.

“perhaps…”  she  begins.  it  may  provide  just  the  right  amount  of  outlet  in  that  moment.  or  at  least  she  hopes  so.  “i  haven't  decided  yet,  truthfully.  maybe  we  can  both  give  each  other  the  courage  to  do  so,”  she  gives  him  another  small  smile,  and  nudges  him  with  her  shoulder.  hm,  she'd  never  realized  just  how  much  taller  he  is  than  her.

“we  shall,”she  nods,  leading  the  way  into  the  building.  luckily  for  them,  not  many  seats  are  taken  just  yet.“should  we  be  adventurous  and  sit  in  front?”

lauryn was always one for trying new things. most of the time. she often tried new foods that other people were afraid of trying, going above and beyond to prove her adventurousness. but a good funnel cake and a slushie always put a smile on her face. she decided to get proper cowboy boots for the occasion. in truth, they were from the local thrift shop, not that she didn’t have the money, she just wanted to see what was out there.  the dunk tank seemed like the perfect place to start their rodeo journey, and after buying a quick cocktail, she was ready to see someone get dunked. lauryn had only been able to drink for a few years now, and she was savouring every moment of it, trying drinks that were completely out of her comfort zone, or trying to make her own. waiting for the dunk tank to actually dunk someone, she looks around the room, and makes eye contact with the clown, wandering around the room. the mime was eerily doing the mime-in-a-box routine, and he makes a gesture towards lauryn. what the actual fuck? was this an omen for something dangerous? she wasn’t supersitious, but it was still unnerving. tapping valentina on her shoulder, she pointed to the mime. “val, i swear that creepy ass clown looked me in the eye. am i gonna die?” she wasn’t being facetious, the clown really did seem like an omen of death.  

she  picks  at  the  funnel  cake  that  lauryn  has  ordered  –  they're  sisters,  after  all,  right?  so  she  should  totally  be  able  to  pick  from  her  plate.  however,  the  drink  in  hand  is  all  hers.  a  whiskey  based  drink  that  she  had  the  bartender  whip  up  especially  for  her,  and  she  washes  down  the  sweetened  cake  with  a  sip  from  her  beverage.

she's  totally  engrossed  in  the  atmosphere  when  lauryn  taps  on  her  shoulder.  she  looks  over,  slightly  wide-eyed  on  account  of  not  really  hearing  what  she  said.  in  her  defense,  the  music  is  pretty  loud.  “huh?”she  mumbles  then  as  a  few  moments  pass,  the  words  settle  in.  “oh  my  god,  you're  not  gonna  die!”  she  laughs.  “it's  fine,  he's  just  doing  his  job…  being  creepy.  you're  fine,  i  promise,  now  c'mon,  let's  explore  some  more!”

the man next door moves with intention. practical, maybe. the kind of person who doesn’t hesitate when something needs doing.

he’s also loud.

not in the way most people are—voices, music, television—but in pieces. heavy boots against the floor and doors that don’t close softly, making leon flinch. he isn’t used to it. not after all this time.

and mikey is loud, yes—but familiar. predictable. this is different. sharper. harder to place.

he notices it more on certain nights. the last time, he’d been trying to sleep—counting imaginary sheep in the quiet—while the man next door moved back and forth well past midnight. not restless. just… going. still going, despite the fact that they’d both be in court the next morning.

it had settled into something leon couldn’t quite ignore. so he adjusted. gained… a quieter understanding built without asking questions. if the noise has a reason, it’s easier to let it exist.

the stairwell is quieter. not silent, but contained. sound doesn’t linger the same way here. leon sits back against the wall, walkman resting next to him. the headphones dull everything into something manageable. something even.

he looks up as the man passes—close enough now to see him properly, not just hear him through walls.

“—hey.” his voice is low, careful. not meant to carry far as he pulls his headphones from his ears.

a small pause. “you always work this late?”

so  he  continues  going  about  his  business,  married  to  his  work  like  always.

he's  walking  through  the  stairwell  at  a  quickened  pace,  ready  to  unload  his  messenger  bag  full  of  notes  and  books  and  get  to  analyzing.  there's  gonna  be  something  within  this,  he  just  knows  it…  he's  sure  of  it.

but  something  disturbs  his  inner  monologue.  a  voice.  he  looks  over  his  shoulder,  finding  a  man  standing  there  with  headphones  hanging  around  his  neck.  dean  forces  a  polite  smile.  “huh?  oh..  uh,  yeah,  i  guess  i  do,”  he  nervously  scratches  at  the  back  of  his  head,  chuckling  softly.  “why?  something  up?”

he  looks  familiar  and  it  makes  him  wonder  if  that's  why  he  chose  to  stop  him.

now  her  and  ivy  have  an  interesting  relationship.  the  two  can  really  fight  like  cats  and  dogs  at  times,  but  right  now?  it's  surprisingly  quiet  despite  their  close  proximity.  when  ivy  does  speak  up,  dom  looks  up,  slightly  surprised.  “hm?  oh!”  she  looks  over  at  the  tv  screen,  squinting  to  see  better.  “you  know,  i've  got  no  damn  clue,  actually..  it's  weird,  though,  totally.”

He didn't know how to answer her question. What was he doing there? He told himself that he'd just scope out the Underworld and see the attendees in case any suspicious characters were among the partygoers, but he didn't want to admit that. It not only made him sound like a creep, but it also showed that he knew the club was a hotspot for vampires. Intel like that was crucial for their organization--- and he'd hate to see one of the known vampire spots close because of him.

"...I wanted to..." He muttered the words under his breath, knowing only she was close enough to hear the confession, "...dance." He didn't know why that was the first idea that came to mind, especially when he had the grace of a baby deer. Still, he was forced to go along with the idea even if he would rather run back home. "You're not the only one who likes having fun."

when  he  finally  does  say  something,  her  brow  furrows.  dance?  here?  of  all  places  –  why  here?  while  she  does  not  know  much  of  the  underworld,  she  can  imagine  it  is  far  from  his  kind  of  scene.  so  to  say  he's  come  to  dance  has  to  be  a  stretch.

“you  know,  i  find  that  hard  to  believe,”  she  says,  laughing  humorlessly.  “i  find  it  a  lot  more  likely  that  you  were  following  me,  probably  trying  to  finish  what  you  started  or  maybe  send  some  kind  of  message  i  don't  know  –  ”  her  words  come  out  fast  and  almost  jumbled.  she's  nervous.

“but  look,  i  can  handle  myself,  okay?  so  don't  try  anything.”

“yeah,” he says, a quiet breath of a chuckle following it. “i think it might be a lot of pictures. she probably hasn’t even noticed,” he adds, glancing down at the earring in his hand. “it’s… small.”

he notices the way people gather in clusters, how the room keeps filling instead of thinning. he notices the way people gather in clusters and how the room keeps filling instead of thinning—conversations folding into each other, space closing as soon as it opens. “there’s a lot of them,” he says after a second. “family. or—people who feel like it.”

his shoulders lift slightly, then settle, “i don’t really know them,” he admits, quieter now. “not like that.”

“you  can  say  that  again,”  she  laughs.  the  weiss  family  is  an  interesting  one…  one  that  looms  over  vegas  like  a  phantom.  she's  never  been  very  involved  with  any  of  them,  thankfully…  but  she  has  a  feeling  that  won't  last  for  very  long.  whatever.  no  need  to  worry  about  that  right  now.

“me  either,”  she  says  with  a  nod.  “i  mean,  i  know  of  ‘em,  of  course.  who  doesn’t,  ya  know?”  she  laughs.  “but  i  don't  really  know  anyone  in  the  family  that  well.  it's  interesting  to  see  this  whole  thing,  though.  i  guess  i'm  glad  i  got  to  witness  it  all. no doubt this will be the talk of the town.”