Hiatus: La Signora

Once he was sure that Nicolo was on his best behavior, his stance changed into a more passive one. Loki was more interested in reading one of the books in the library ( such as a tome he’d conjured half-way through the proceedings ) than to listen to what was really going on. Now and then, he did pause and listen, if only to understand what issues the coven faced. But there was something else that worried him, and it lay beyond the walls of the Venetian palace.

Loki had finished the first book and was a quarter of the way through the second when the meeting finally ended. She’d stopped and talked to her father within earshot, and now she returned. Her smile was returned with one of his own, and he turned back to the book to finish the current page.

                    “You could never be boring. Your…guests, on the other hand…”

He trailed off, finally closing the book and standing. He had to admit that she knew a great deal about leadership and politics. There were a few moments when he noticed Valente’s handiwork, especially when it came to reaching a compromise with the hunting groups. Then there was the moment when she’d diffused the situation he’d created, a skill very few leaders knew to do.

                   “Though there’s something I must apologize for. This…bond we                        have. It concerns me. With how strong it is. Is this normal?”

As someone who prided on working alone ( and who was used to being alone ), this sudden dependency was something he was frightened of. What if she, Frigga forbid, die? Would he waste away in grief? A part of him didn’t like the idea, mainly because he didn’t like placing his fate in someone else’s hands. Even though he’d done so to survive his face-off with Thanos, he hadn’t expected things to get this “bad” so soon.

“Yes, it is quite normal for it to be intense in the early stages.” 

She had witnessed this false love occupy the minds of many of her parents’ fledglings many times. The desire to please, to bestow unyielding loyalty to their masters, it was highly common for them all to crave nothing more than the praise of their beloved sire. It was why her mother had a history for being so intimate with her handmaidens, for those closest to her in service often were bestowed the most mightiest of rewards. The emotional connection that was also built with physical intimacy also made them loyal bodyguards. They were quite willing to massacre to protect Estella, a feat that was often necessary now in these political times. It was fortunate, many claimed, this loyalty had extended to Sofie upon her birth.  

Thus, Loki’s prior display did not bring much concern to Sofie’s own perceptions of her fledgling. He was simply following the normal behaviours of a newborn, soon enough the fascination of her would likely be dismissed in favour for the quest for new discoveries... or new plans to destroy Thanos. 

“You will find that it will wear off with the passage of time, as you become more invested in other interests that occupy your mind, you will find your interest in me will slowly wane.” 

Thoughts turned to her own parents, the scarce details that she possessed of them and the loyalty that her mother may have held to her father once long ago. Sofie was aware that her mother had defied expectations as a fledgling, the initial loyalty that she was supposed to demonstrate being transformed into rage directed solely upon her father instead. Eventually they had settled her into their ways and she had become settled with her father, but, why had it taken such a delay?  

More importantly, what had Sofie done to earn such a strong reaction from Loki so early on?

“It is the same for all of our kind, I believe. I know for certain that there was a close connection between my mother and father.” 

  A small, feminine hand moved to brush some of the sweat soaked hair that had fallen into Ella’s face aside, and gently tuck it back behind her ear again. There was something light and airy in the way Asmodeus moved now, the fine grace of a golden, ancient bird that had been dancing and singing with the wind for eternities already. Even his scent was different now, flowery and sweet without overpowering the senses, and without the previous hint of musk and sandalwood notes that had enhanced the male presentation’s charisma before. Asmodeus truly had considered every last detail of his guise, still wearing it like a second skin despite all the decades that had come between them.

  “Hush, my love.”, she whispered against the vampire’s forehead, breathing cool wind over her heated skin. “The more often they come, the closer you are to getting it over with. So keep them coming.”

  The demon’s free fingers gently began to smooth over the heaving baby belly, bidding it to go a little easier on her. Perhaps the initial orgasm idea had not been so bad after all…? Estella was never to know this, but of course Asmodeus had never suffered even half as much from either birth or pain during his brief excursion into motherhood. But that was a truth the poor woman likely would not like to hear, and after all Asmodeus was somewhat of a people pleaser. If it soothed her to be able to connect with another female over this shared experience, there was no reason to withhold it from her. The demon shifted just a little closer, one hand still gently rubbing away the most agonizing cramps.

  “I was in labour for about twelve hours. A terrible time, really… but all great things demand sacrifice. And imagine how amazing the reward will be, with your sacrifice having been so big.”

Shaken breaths were given as the sweet gentility of Asmodeus’ touch to her face was absorbed. There was tenderness in her movements, a warmth and grace that made Estella feel more settled as she was tended to so dutifully. Perhaps it was the addition of another woman into the environment, spare her own handmaidens, there was a surplus of men that were steadily milling to and from the room: The doctor, advisors, even the occasional scholar who would enter to give the doctor further advice surrounding the birth of the baby. It was a rarity among their coven, a new life brought into creation in this way, they were attempting everything possible at present to ensure that things went smoothly for both mother and baby... and with some hope, reduce the potential for casualties to arise. 

“I love you.” She breathed softly to the demon, her forehead lifting to press affectionately against the sweet touch of her lips. A moment taken to savour the relief that her touch brought before another sob crept from her at another contraction. They were definitely coming more often now, each in its brutal glory as muscle felt as if it were being shredded to pieces.

Drawing close in the demon’s grasp, pained sobs dropped to steady sighs as the will for her children to go a touch easier upon their mother’s frame was heeded. There was some comfort found in the simple knowledge that she was not alone in this horrid experience, that the beautiful creature that cradled her so carefully now had too been in a bed as similar to her, writhing in agony to bring life into this world. Reaching out tenderly, trembling fingers stroked at the pale cheek of Asmodeus’ new form, visibly taking comfort in the beauty that was before her as her face shifted to press closer to the woman’s shoulder. Simple relief given to be held so tenderly by the demon. 

Sapphire hues drifted to the end of the bed, where she observed the doctor taking advantage of her more subdued state to part her legs and check upon the progress. With a furrow of his brow, she noted him turn to glance to Valente, a small bow of the head signalling she was ready to bring the children forth into the world. Before word could be spoken, her pleas were bestowed to the demon at her side. “I want to push. Please, let me push them out. They want to get out.”

Are you Christmas, because I want to Merry you.

Is your name Jingle Bells, cause you look like you go all the way

Can I take a picture of you, so I can show Santa exactly what I want for Christmas?

If your left leg was thanksgiving, and your right leg is Christmas, can I come visit you between the holidays?

Shouldn't you be on top of the tree, Angel?

You know I would love to show you the toys my elves make for adults.

How about I slip down your chimney, at half past midnight?

Wanna meet Santa's little helper?

What do you say we make this a Not-so-Silent Night?

Believe me if you ever saw it, you would even say it glows!

Screw the nice list, I've got you on my "nice and naughty list!

That's not a candy cane in my pocket. I'm just glad to see you!

My best toys run on batteries

Hey Cutie ever do it in a sleigh?

He may have a nice car but I have a fast sleigh

I know its not Christmas, but Santa's lap is always ready.

Santa's lap isn't the only place wishes come true.

Hey Babe, when was the last time you did it in a sleigh?

Interested in seeing the "North Pole"?

If you jingle my bells ill promise you a white Christmas

He might have been foolish or rash, but he had acted more out of instinct than logic. One of the few times he did so, and he realized that he should control his vampiric urges. Loki might not have previously cared for the politics of the vampires, but he was one of them now. Starting a war with Thanos nipping so close at their heels was very unwise. 

Sofie didn’t need to tell him twice: he released his hold on Nicolo and took a few steps back. A glance was spared towards Antonio and the other guards, an eyebrow quirked as if to ask them what they thought they were doing pointing their weapons at him. 

                      “As you wish, signora mia.”

Animosity might have been formed then, but that was one thing that didn’t bother him. Nicolo was NOTHING in his eyes, and if he was one of the victims of the war, he wouldn’t see it as a total loss. He kept his gaze on Nicolo. A clear attempt at intimidation. He didn’t move from his spot ( though he was itching to drink something ), save for the occasional glance at Sofie to ensure that she was fine. 

Eventually, he would have to face Valente for his earlier insubordination, but he remained unrepentant. They spoke of a bond between a sire and a fledgling, and one had been formed. As a god, he felt things more intensely than any human did. It was no surprise to him, then, that the closeness he felt towards Sofie was more intense. 

And he still wasn’t sure what to make of it.

After the initial altercation that Loki had roused, talks continued, albeit Nicolo was notably more subdued as he attempted to pose his side of the debate in his proposal. The ever present threat of the newborn god stood so close to him evidently settled his temper drastically and appeared to make him more accepting when once again Sofie informed him that she was not interested in the betrothal he offered to link the two covens. 

Thus, court returned to the normal flow. Advisors coming forth to update her on the various topics they specialised in: finances, technology, foreign affairs and a rather interesting fashion update from Stefan surrounding the current Venetian youths’ trends. A trend that she would not be engaging with if all could be helped, Sofie did find much of the youth fashion strange and a touch unflattering. Feeding quotas were discussed, a slight alteration being incorporated to allow Loki to be included in the hunting groups. A healthy decline was unnoticeable, especially when tourists were targeted. People who would go undetected if they vanished. Lone travellers. Too much death was simply screaming for hunters to come investigate. 

Eventually, the business of the day concluded and she softly dismissed her court for the evening to continue with their tasks before the call of the hunt and rest came to them. 

Rising gently from her throne, distraction was briefly approached by her father as he walked onto the dais to hold a hushed discussion with her. A conversation regarding Loki’s recent behaviour and a more fatherly warning to be careful with the newborn fledgling. The bond that existed between them now was a powerful one, many would often be attached impossibly so to their sire. Willing to die, to kill for their new maker. Behaviours that Loki was already exhibiting. 

A soft kiss pressed to her forehead before her father withdrew to update Estella on the events of the meeting. Sofie’s own attention turning to Loki with a soft smile. “Thank you, Loki. I hope I didn’t bore you too much.” 

  “Your wish, as always, is my command.”

  There was a smile on the demon’s face when he closed his eyes, and a smile still when he opened them once more. However, although the same mischievious twinkle sat in his gaze the second time, there was no denying that it looked much softer, much more delicate than before. The redheaded man with the chiseled cheek bones and light freckles was gone. In his place, her head still propped up by one arm while the other was held by Estella to grant her some security, a young woman stretched out instead.

  Her skin pale and soft, her features Asian in nature, with a flattened nose and big, brown almond eyes, slightly tinted lips and a mane of smooth dyed blonde hair, she looked nothing like Asmodeus anymore. Yet she radiated the same warmth and comfort, and her kiss was still made to feel like a drop of soothing rain upon a heated desert stone.

  “Now breathe, love. I know just what you are going through.”

An audible gasp was breathed by all in the room, save for perhaps Estella who simply let out another broken sob as pain rippled through her abdomen. It was an act of witchcraft in its finest form, a complete transformation to become a creature of equal beauty and grace to his previous form. With trembling fingers, Ella dared to tear one hand from where she clutched to the woman’s forearm to gently stroke the softness of her cheek. Utterly mesmerised by the beauty of the woman that lay beside her. 

With a shaken breath, she stated softly. “You are really pretty.” 

If it were not Asmodeus, Ella would have already had the cogs turning in her mind to recruit the woman as one of her handmaidens. The handmaidens of the Venetians were beautiful creatures, women pulled from the passages of time for their demonstration of wit, beauty and intellect that the vampiress deemed a tremendous sin to simply neglect to leave them to wither and die. Her handmaidens were always offered the choice to join her of course, very few had refused the offer over the years. Her own were loyal to her and offered an extra layer of protection in the male dominated coven. 

Another agonised sob left the blonde as a powerful contraction twisted her frame. “How long were you in labour for?”

It was important to show that Mina was his. He understood that well enough. Where most political situations he found himself in in modern times were far less motivated by beast, this had not been one of them. Most settings would have seen him expecting her to sit delicately at his side. He might have expected that of her had she been briefed in how to do so beforehand, had she known what to expect and how to react accordingly. However, this was a week of many firsts for her, wasn’t it? And even then, Valente had behaved beyond a respectful protocol for allies. Not only had it been a slight to her, it had been a slight to him to behave in such a manner right under his very nose. So he kept her close, offered comfort should she need it, and kept up with the conversation with every intention not to bring the focus back to Mina. 

“She had quite a business going last I spoke with her. Demitri adores her.” Eleanor did too, but perhaps that was not something to be brought up in present company. Vlad cleared his throat, shaking his head as a server appeared to enquire if anyone needed a refill on their drinks. In truth, he had only taken a handful of small sips of whiskey in his own cup throughout this ordeal. 

Vlad did not enjoy drunkenness. It was exceedingly difficult to attain it for him, for one thing. The strength of his form compared to one younger led to an exceedingly high tolerance. It was not impossible, of course, but it certainly took more than a glass of whiskey to loosen him up, to blur the edges of his thoughts until he could pass for drunkenness. He had not had more than a glass of whiskey in one sitting since centuries before he met even Mina. Lapses in control did not appeal to him. 

However, The Venetians were another matter entirely. Their parties were not nearly as tame as Teppes gatherings. Vlad could only imagine the insanity that might have ensued with them in Amsterdam under Eva’s hospitality. Grey eyes turned to survey the bar once more as he fell into the familiar small talk that always hung about coven politics, and he looked back to Valente and Estella after a moment of thought. 

“Will you return to Venice now? Or are there more stops on your itinerary?” 

“Her business is certainly thriving.” Estella hummed softly, neglecting to mention that their usual purchase of party narcotics had been taken from Amsterdam this time as opposed to Demitri’s own holdings. They had been slightly under the influence at the time when the deal was made, but Estella did have to admire the woman’s business model. Get her guests high and then start discussing trade with them. The Venetians had agreed to three shipments of an array of drugs to service their parties before Valente had seen sense and stopped further transactions. It worked well for both parties. The Venetians got supplies for their parties to take it to the necessary wild edge that was expected of them and the Amsterdam coven received free publicity for their own drug cartel. “We were most impressed during our visit.” 

The cocktail that had been cradled between her fingers finally was lifted to her lips, a few sips being taken before the ornate glass was returned to the polished tabletop. Where Vlad Teppes craved control, Estella Lansacosta craved a lack of it. Her enjoyment could be sincerely drawn from exhibiting a wildness that came when her mind was clouded with whatever poison that had been taken into her body. Though there was far more tremendous fun found in observing others utterly lose control, she suspected unless Stefan was able to convince Valente to let her venture down into the club that she would have to provide her own entertainment for this evening. It wasn’t like Vlad Teppes ever got drunk. It was why she had selected him as a companion at parties when she was young. He was a safe point, very few coven leaders opted to challenge him and if she sat in his lap most left her alone to chat with him. He also had been rather spectacular at teaching her card games to pass the time before the parties grew to raucous. 

“I want to go to Paris.” Came a whimsical sigh, hand lifting from trailing around the rim of the glass to idly take her husband’s hand to toy with a little. Drawing his attention from where he was wallowing in his own self-pity to visibly showing some relief that his wife was willing to bestow some affection upon him to ease his embarrassment. “We’ve not visited the Parisians in so long and I’ve heard that they are wandering around here tonight. Apparently they have a new line of gowns released for the council gathering in a few months. But, my darling husbands wishes to return home. He is so old now, he likes our home comforts.”

“You should come stay with us Vlad.” She hummed softly after a moment’s contemplation, reaching across the table with a smooth movement to coyly brush the rim of his glass. “It’s been so long since you’ve been with us longer than a day or two. Nonno would adore seeing you and your children.”  

Vlad gave very little indication beyond a slight breath of air at Demitri’s little display. Likely Mina would have picked up on it had she remained at his side. Instead, she had stood as clear surprise at Demitri’s actions registered with her– or perhaps it was Estella’s reply. Well, if she ever needed more proof as to why Quincey so enjoyed Demitri’s presence, perhaps this was enough. Vlad, on the other hand, was convinced that Demitri had only encouraged this sort of behavior in his son from day one. 

Any thought on Demitri’s distraction was immediately dispelled, however, as Valente reached forward and dared to lay a hand on Mina. It was not one with immediate intention to do harm, but it was certainly sinister in its own right. The taste of metal surfaced in the back of Vlad’s mouth. 

How dare he? It was not precisely an unknown fact that Vlad viewed those involved with him or his line of business as an extension of himself. It was the source of what some may claim to be ridiculously high standards, but it was also a sort of protection. However now, not only was Valente opting to set Mina in a lower level than any involved here, he was forgetting that Mina was very much tied with Vlad’s coven. She was the heir’s mother, for starters. that certainly put her at a specific level of being granted Vlad’s protection. He would see her granted the respect that was due– and in turn, he would see himself respected too. 

No one, no one within his coven went beyond the extension of himself, and thereby a certain sort of protection in the world of the covens. Alliances were maintained amicably, of course, but to breach into his family in such an impertinent manner? He’d not allow it a moment longer. An attack on any member of The Family was viewed as an attack on Vlad himself, let alone the mother of the heir that would inherit everything. And here Valente was treating her as though she were nothing but another plaything to manipulate Estella with. 

“Valente.” The younger vampire’s name rang clear through the air with a flash of red in Vlad’s pupils. It was sharp– the edge of a blade could be detected by anyone who had half as much sense as he knew the leader of the Venetians did. He allowed the silence to stretch a moment, watching for any change in Valente’s posture, before he spoke again. It was softer, but his tone had resumed to its usual firm, but soft-spoken cadence when he finally broke the tension. 

“You forget yourself.” Such a pleasant way to remind someone that they were offending, wasn’t it? And certainly the words anyone of older years might use to get the attention of a younger. Vlad had known Valente when he was but a child on his father’s knee. The history between them was a long one, but that did not grant Valente the room to act in such a manner. 

Valente. The cut of the elder’s voice like a blade through the skin caused Valente to grow still. Memories of his childhood suddenly being wrenched back to the forefront of his mind, visions of his father being perched in the parlour, his mother gently carrying him in to sit him on his father’s lap. It had always been considered a special treat to go and sit in with his father. One of the rare times that his stern facade may dare to crack as he quite proudly sat his eldest son upon his knee. He had to remain quiet if he wanted to remain in the adults’ company for long, let them speak and not even dare consider interrupting. 

He had known Vlad Teppes then. The domineering presence that often sat in the parlour with his father, never giving more than a glance to the little boy that would one day be the leader of the Venetians. Toys would on occasion be brought as gifts, but that was more the necessity to maintain good ties than demonstrating a smidge of affection towards Valente. Even then, the younger vampire had always considered Mr Teppes a rather frightening presence. A man that he was quite certain would not think twice about taking a bite from him if it would serve some purpose. This fear of Vlad had perhaps done him well, led him to being respectful to his elders... A trait that had momentarily been forgotten in his desire to torment Estella as she tormented him. 

Vlad had never scolded him growing up. But the tone, the inflection of his voice was so akin to Valente’s own father that he instinctively withdrew from the young fledgling. His face now more resembling a frightened boy than the ancient man he truly was. The fear of being scolded, of disappointing someone he respected, that never truly became old. 

Bowing his head lowly, far lower than any other leader would be bestowed, an apology parted from his lips softly. Dark eyes remaining cast down to the dark wood of the table as he dared not lift them to stare at his stony features for fear of causing further anger.  “I... apologise for my impertinence, Vlad. It was deeply disrespectful on my part, I truly did not intend to cause you such offence.” 

Thankfully, little Mina had swiftly returned to the elder vampire’s side as Valente’s name had been snapped across the small group. Her small frame burrowing deep into Vlad’s side, face pressing to his shoulder as soft inhales were given against his form. Scent calming. Estella still did that now, even if she would fiercely deny it if he enquired. But, she could not deny the many times that he caught her pressing her face into his shoulder only to deeply inhale the scent that lingered there. It was a common soothing technique for fledglings. Mildly fascinating to witness one of Vlad’s own perform it on him. So rare that any of his own found themselves that attached. 

Vlad could not say he was thrilled with Valente’s impertinence. The elder had hoped the younger leader might ease off of his little game, but there was seemingly no such luck. This was something that Vlad would not indulge much longer. Not only was it clearly an intimidation to Mina, it was a disrespect towards him. A warning glance was sent in Estella’s direction too, in truth, as she sent her own glares to Mina with each of Valente’s taunts.  

Demitri wasn’t fond of this situation. Not one bit. He had to hand it to the venetian, of course– Valente was exceeding far beyond his usual arrogance. Demitri was also not unaware that it was in a direct reaction to his wife’s attentions to himself. Demitri hadn’t exactly missed Estella’s glares in Mina’s direction with Valente’s flirtations either… And who else was bearing the brunt of this little ordeal than Mina? She was the clear target, after all, the pawn in the situation between these two. Demitri and Vlad were hardly what one might call vulnerable here. Mina on the other hand… It seemed all she could do was cower into Vlad’s side. Perhaps Demitri might have to miss Vlad putting Valente in his place this evening. No matter, he was certain there would be more chances. 

Demitri knew when to bow out gracefully, and certainly when it was in the interest of a fledgeling’s welfare. 

With a sigh, Demitri produced his cigarette case from his inner breast pocket, pulling a stainless steel lighter along with it. He didn’t really care if anyone here desired him not to smoke, after all. “Right-o. I’m going downstairs,” he said as he lit the darling little roll of tobacco. “Think it’s about time I go make the rounds, make sure everyone’s staying grounded tonight…” A wink was sent to Estella as he rose with all the grace of a broadway dancer to step first on the plush leather seat of the booth, and then up once more to waltz across the expensive polished wood– directly between Valente and Mina… and certainly enough to create a spectacle for the entire bar to notice. Maestro, the bar tender, offered a wolf whistle as Demitri gave a little spin and landed like Dick van Dyke himself on the floor next to Marisa to offer his arm to her. 

“Ella, you don’t mind if the girls and I go find our high-flyer, do you?” 

Catching Vlad’s look, Estella instinctively ducked her head in a meek form of apology. There was an authority that the Teppes leader still held over her, one that despite her own leadership seemed ever prominent when the two were left alone together. A father figure, that was perhaps the closest thing she could place as to how she felt for the elder vampire. Even if now gone were the days where she would sit in his lap during social gatherings as he would inform her not only of the strength of his own power but of the men of the other covens that flocked the room. He had always been terribly useful at advising her on connections to make. Lord, he even had taken her out hunting as a young fledgling. There was a bond there and that was perhaps why it brought her a touch of shame to know she had displeased him. 

She would be a touch friendlier to his little mistress, if only for his sake. Of course, she would report it all back to Eleanor. But, he would likely expect as much from Estella. The women were very close friends after all. 

Her husband’s errors were his own to make though. Thus, Ella refused to prompt him when she observed the look her received from Vlad and the clear lack of reaction from her beloved. He was in the predatory mindset now. It would require a shock to break him from it. A shock that the blonde suspected would swiftly befall him if he did not cease leering at Vlad Teppes’ fledgling in such a beastly way. 

“You little attention whore.” She hissed playfully to Demitri as he stepped with surprising grace up onto the table. Sapphire hues observing him with a touch of delighted whimsy as he gave a little twirl before leaping down into the waiting arms of her handmaidens. Marisa and Elena instantly wrapping themselves around him with excited giggles at the prospect of what the night may offer with him. An enchanting sight that earnt the faintest of growls from her husband. He so didn’t enjoy others playing with what he deemed his, did he?

“Of course, just return my girls back in one piece. I will come after you myself if I discover anything amiss and you know how... vigorous I can be in punishment.”

Estella’s rather forward statement was met with a vicious squeeze of her thigh, earning the slightest wince from her as the indicator to shut up was received loud and clear. He was certainly in a foul mood now. One that seemed to only last a moment though, as the little fledgling across his way spluttered on her drink at his wife’s very open statement. Apparently shocked that Estella dared to be so bold before all present. 

“Oh bella, come here...” Valente cooed in soft, luring tones as Mina abruptly stood in her coughing in an attempt to catch her breath. A smooth hand quickly taking opportunity to stroke her upper back gently, fingers perhaps lingering on her pale skin a touch too long as he murmured. “You are such a delicate little thing.”

Even a vampire could be persistent. Arranged marriages were not strange to him: Frigga had once told him that they were considering a match between him and a Vanir lady in the hopes of strengthening Asgard’s ties to Vanaheim. That arrangement fell through a few months later. Now, it looked like Sofie, his sire, was not only being forced into a union that she didn’t like, but she was also being insulted and threatened. It was shortly after her response that he moved to stand behind Nicolo, clamping his hand on the advisor’s shoulder and giving it a painful squeeze.

                        “The lady has given her answer. Be content, or leave.”

Though vampires were technically dead, he could sense the blood flowing within Nicolo’s veins. Maybe he was just imagining things, but he could have sworn that he felt his fangs lower as if anticipating a meal. However, he wasn’t that reckless to make a scene and possibly destroy an alliance formed before his arrival. A threat was made by the Romans, and he was simply responding. It wouldn’t be his fault if a fight broke loose should Nicolo decide to retaliate.

A brief moment was spared as he glanced at Sofie, silently wondering if she was alright. As it was, it seemed that it was more her authority that was being challenged, and he had to acknowledge the fact that she remained patient despite the insistence and insults she faced. Anyone else might have snapped and become violent, and it could have been one of the reasons why Nicolo was being insufferable. Being persistent enough to wear her down and have her agree to whatever he wanted. What he hadn’t counted on was Sofie’s will to be stronger than the iron within the walls of the palace.

Far stronger than he rmother’s, who was noticeably absent from the proceedings. If there was one thing he  observed about Sofie’s parents, it was that neither of them were apart whenever they were both in the coven. Usually, the other was just out of sight, but this time, he really couldn’t see Estella anywhere, meaning that she had possibly gotten fed up and left. All the more reason to ask Nicolo to leave: he had caused enough trouble for the day.

Loki wouldn’t release Nicolo until the advisor relented or Sofie told him to. Frankly, he was hoping that Nicolo would put up a fight. He was so thirsty.

Every single being in the throne room froze at the sudden appearance of the newborn vampire. A newborn that had the audacity, or the stupidity, to challenge another that possessed such a high ranking among the covens. Intervention was required from Sofie immediately if her precious fledgling was to remain intact after this little incident. Acts such as these were often viewed as treason and so often were met with a fitting execution to eliminate the threat. Her very own mother apparently had been at risk of such a similar fate, fighting with her father in the newborn years... Her mother had been spirited to say the least. 

In the next moment, all guards moved in. Antonio spearheading the Venetian guard as they swiftly dove forward to form a semi-circle around Sofie’s front, their blades pointed forward toward the newborn for fear that he may unleash an attack upon the young leader. As rare as that instance may be with the words he spoke. His actions seemed to be sourced from a desire to protect, not to harm her. Instinct no doubt, the desire to keep his sire safe from the perceived attack within the room posed by Nicolo.  

Slowly, she rose from her throne, gentle eyes rested upon Loki’s gaze as the room remained in its tense form. Each member ready to launch at one and other and relieve the tension that was swelling between the covens with each beat that passed. Soft steps were taken down from the stone steps of the dais, treading closer to her newborn as her hand reached out to soothe him. 

The advisor thrashed furiously in the newborn’s grip, fangs bared as a snarl was released in his rage at being captured by this young creature. A creature that currently seemed to possess more sense than strength. 

“Loki, it is alright. Please... Put him down.” 

A softer, quieter voice followed in reassurance. “He won’t win this argument, I won’t let him. No one is going to hurt me.” 

It wasn’t exactly the same, was it? Eleanor’s standing within the coven was not in the same fashion as Estella’s in her own. Eleanor’s standing would not be affected by Mina’s appearance alone. It was the paperwork and business that would define her own power at the end of it. A savvy handling of deals could likely see to it that Eleanor be granted her own share of the Family, even. And in truth, that would be fair. None of this would have been possible without Eleanor’s magic nearly a century ago. Vlad would be long dead in the most literal sense, The Hotel not nearly in its current state of grandeur without Teppes money filtering through its gilded halls. 

Demitri counted himself lucky that he had never really had to spend much time as a member of a coven. Structure was important in this life, yes, but he had always considered himself too much of a rogue to truly commit to such rigidity– never mind the disdain that fell with the notion of serving someone in such a sense– or worse yet, being the one in charge of such things. It seemed many had adapted a certain similarity to the kingdoms of centuries past, failing to change as the years moved ahead of them in the human worlds.The Teppes held their own faults as well. More modern, of course, but they fell to the same pitfalls of power grabs and manipulations that so many in the more archaic covens did. 

Funny, how everything always went to shit the moment you tried to control it– whether it was in manipulation or an iron grip, it didn’t really matter. Demitri was looking at both sides of the coin in the couples before him. And they had been having such a pleasant evening… 

But he was just as talented in these games, even if he did not show it. Better to have the reputation of bumbling drunkard than criminal master mind, right? Keep the expectations low… and there was no where to go but up. 

“Oh please do,” Demitri, chimed in as Valente continued to push his luck. Sliding along the leather, he made room for Estella to slide in next to him alongside Valente on his side of the booth. He was against the wall now, and likely would not be staying much longer, but he had his own favored method of making an exit. The Venetian leaders would not have to move an inch for him to exit the booth. When he spoke, it was directly to Estella and the handmaidens, tone dropping to a conspiratorial note as the words drawled from his lips. 

“Girls, you’re gonna love this. Our resident high-flyer and five-man-puncher are already cozying up downstairs…” 

“Thank you, my darling.” The blonde cooed, swiftly slipping into the offered space in the booth before her husband had time to react. A very european greeting being bestowed to Demitri as she came to perch beside him: two quick pecks to his cheeks. Not an unusual greeting by any standard, especially from the Italian covens to those that they considered close friends. A kiss to the cheek was intensely European in greeting, very Italian. There were many they refrained from bestowing it to: Vlad Teppes included in that small group of leaders. But, if doing that small action would make her husband’s blood boil as she suspected it would... It was worth it, especially now they were to sit in the company of the woman who was causing dear Eleanor so much trouble. 

No sooner had her fingers chastely stroked down Demitri’s thigh by ‘accident’ than Valente had snatched said hand into his grasp and place her slender palm firmly into his own lap. An iron grip holding her down as blazing onyx eyes locked on her own. Perhaps it was time to back down, just a for a small while until he became more grounded again. It would look terribly unfortunate if the leader of the Venetians engaged in a very public fight with the owner of the Hotel. A fight that it was highly likely Valente may lose with the difference in age that lingered between the two men. She knew herself, Demitri was far stronger than his appearance gave him credit for. That form of embarrassment was not needed for their coven. 

Instinctively, evidently in equal desire to rile her up, Estella observed Valente’s gaze suddenly come to fixate on the young fledgling sat among them. His stern features softening to a luring look she knew far too well, the look he often had when seducing his prey as a smile was sent to the rather bewildered little creature. It roused a touch of envy in the blonde. A thing that she found herself instantly hating.  

Was that how she had once looked to others? Soft? Weak? Naive? Frightened? Had she once hid into Valente as Mina did now with Vlad? Had it seemed so enticing to other leaders? The desire to pick up something so pure and delicate and dirty it with their fingerprints? Estella was far too certain that if the desire took her, she would be able to snap the brunette’s head from her shoulders in one single movement. A desire that was becoming all the stronger the longer those wide doe eyes blinked up at her husband in curiosity. 

Thankfully, Demitri offered suitable distraction as her handmaidens suddenly released excited giggles at the prospect two very special people were so close. Turning sapphire hues back to Demitri, feline smile spread across her rosy lips softly. 

“Oh really? Have there been any further flights or is everyone staying grounded tonight?” A giggle sounded. “I am surprised you are missing that. They are your favourites after all.”

Vlad was not unaware of the draw of innocence to some of their kind. On the most basic level, it granted a sense of ease in taking another out if that was what was required– the lack of fight or skill required to defend oneself was remarkably similar to that of prey. There was also the all-to human element of desire that was prompted by it, in truth. A fascination with something that had yet to be corrupted, and then moving on to the next corruptible thing in their path once the damage was done– even if in simple fickle flirtations as Valente was likely about to launch into now. 

Vlad had seen it before, after all. Estella had learned to play Valente’s game early on, twisted it to her own advantage in the realm of flirtation and sex to attain and secure power. It had been interesting, to say the least, to watch Estella blossom into the woman she was today. A wife to match Valente in every sense of the word. Vlad was not blind to the little flings she so often held with Demitri either, and part of him was a touch smug that the playing field was slightly even in the realm of one man flirting with another’s chosen mate. 

Demitri just had the good sense not to push it. Would Valente? 

“Valente and I are old friends,” Vlad explained to Mina. He was only able to gage Mina’s current state through the physical contact between them. An arm had extended to wrap around her shoulders as Valente offered his kiss. 

“I knew the Venetians in the days of my youth. His father was a close friend of mine and Demitri’s.” At the moment, Vlad was quite pleased with the fact that he was between Mina and Valente– perhaps even more so that he was between Mina and Estella. There was an unease to let these acquaintances be made so early, but it did not show. It never did– Vlad’s stoicism was among the variety which made him exceedingly difficult to read. There was very little difference between joy and discomfort in settings such as this one. Even rage was only ever a flash in his eyes. 

Mina Harker. Estella was all too aware who Mina Harker was. A name that had eventually been pulled from Eleanor’s lips after a few glasses of wine when she had last spent the evening with the blonde. Initially she had put her walls firmly up, refusing to mention why she appeared to be more than a little distracted as they sat together catching up. It had taken persistence and gentle persuasion, but eventually the elder vampiress had disclosed what had been preying on her mind. Quincey Harker. The bastard child of Vlad’s. His only son. A young vampire that his father had now taken under his wing to transform into the leader that the Teppes coven required. He was now named as heir. The child to take power if his father ever passed. A figure that now usurped Eleanor’s power. Perhaps all may have been well, things could always happen after his father died. Eleanor could debate the power shift, perhaps continue leadership over Quincey until her own passing. But then it had become apparent that Vlad had engaged in a relationship once more with Quincey’s mother and the increase in public appearances alongside this Mina did not bode well for Eleanor’s standing in the coven. 

Thus, when her own husband far too obviously began to turn on the charm for the young vampiress, Estella was more than a little infuriated by his actions. It was insulting to Eleanor to be so openly flirtatious with this mistress, especially in public. Yes, Vlad too was a friend and ally, there was a certain level of politeness that was required in this interaction. But, Valente was pushing it. 

A pointed look was briefly sent towards Demitri as she noted his gaze momentarily shift to her. He understood what was going on here. Her husband was taking the opportunity in front of this young, innocent little creature to openly flirt in some attempt to rile her up. He was always so petty when they came to the Hotel, anything to metaphorically stick the middle finger up at her for the flings that she indulged with alongside Demitri here. Apparently putting unwanted advances on Vlad Teppes little plaything was his new approach. 

Smirk drew across her lips to observe Vlad’s own body language in this interaction, something her husband foolishly was ignoring at the present. As her husband pressed a kiss to the young woman’s hand, an arm had been firmly wrapped around her shoulders by the elder vampire. A symbol of possession. One far more prevalent than Estella had ever witnessed between him and Eleanor. Hand holding, a hand on the knee, but never holding her to him as tightly as he did this wide-eyed little thing. It was a warning sign if she had ever seen one. A silent request to back off. 

One that her husband continued to ignore as his query was posed to the small group: “May we join you?” 

A bold move that earnt an equally bold act from Estella, her smile suddenly thrown towards Demitri as she added. “Yes, I would love to catch up.” 

Demitri was not afraid of Valente. Not at all. There was respect there for the family, of course, enough centuries of knowing them to be perfectly civil, but in the realm of intimidation, he was not precisely one to wilt when brushed aside– no matter how civil the snub might be. 

To be fair, there was something to be said for a husband refusing to be too friendly with a man who had dabbled in all sorts of debauchery with his wife and handmaidens. Demitri had enough sense to at least acknowledge that. But with that sense also came the ability to see things as they truly were. Valente was by no means more innocent than Estella in the realm of pleasures of the flesh beyond the marital bed. 

His smile grew wider as Marisa and Elena chimed in with their laughter. Now there were some fledgelings he loved to see happy. They were so expressive, so lively. It did this place good, really brightened it up. If Demitri had his way, such happiness would be granted to all fledgelings. That was what the life was about, wasn’t it? What was immortality without fun? 

Pale eyes danced from Estella to Mina as Valente addressed the youngest among them. A fresh cigarette was lit as he sat down once more to watch the coming events unfold. Mina was quite clearly not of the covens in the way she sank closer to Vlad in the booth, and it was not unheard of for such mannerisms to be quite a thrill for the older vampires of the political world. Darling Estella had once been as Mina was, after all, and the years had seen her into a harder fledgeling than she had been in her youth. So much that it had taken Demitri a moment to recall meeting her for the difference in her appearance when she finally made it through the doors of his establishment one night. 

But Mina still had the tell-tale softness to her, one that spoke of a soul not forged within the fires of politics and treachery. No matter how old she might be, there was little doubt she was not as they all were. A single glance was spared to Estella as Valente asked his question. 

“Valente, this is Mina Harker. Quincey’s mother,” Vlad replied. “Mina, this is Valente and Estella, Leaders of the Venetians.” 

Mina Harker. The name sent a ripple through the women stood clustered at his side as all eyes suddenly turned to stare at the young fledgling cowering into the elder vampire’s side. Estella’s jaw notably tightening as she regarded the smaller woman, the warmth in her gaze drifting to an icy chill. They had heard all the gossip surrounding the Teppes coven at this period in time, rumours that were confirmed upon Vlad’s arrival at their home one evening with a rather charming little duplicate walking along at his side. It was impossible not to observe that the boy was quite clearly the Teppes leader’s son. Though his mannerisms were arguably far warmer and frankly sociable than his father, the similarities were still fairly prevalent. 

That had begged the question though, of course sparking rumours alight with the increased appearances of the boy. Who was the mother? It had taken a while for Valente to find the source, though he had guessed long before the truth had finally struck his ears. In simple conversation one day, Quincey had revealed his surname was Harker. The very same surname, Valente observed, that had been possessed by the human Vlad became infatuated with over a century ago. A little human he had been most heartbroken to lose, even if he hadn’t desired to show it. 

The question then had lingered over whether the mother still lurked in the shadows or whether she had never taken the turn and perished with the unfortunate turning of age. It was incredibly rare, only caught on a drunken whisper. But Valente had overheard Quincey speak softly to his father regarding his mother, words that were spoken in the future tense, a final hint to indicate not only was the mother alive... She was still in contact with Vlad. 

Now here she was, a vision of innocence and sweetness. Traits that had long since dwindled in his own wife and undeniably sparked the desire to speak more with the frightened little thing. If only to bring back memories of when his own wife had once been this way. A desire that had evidently been noted by Estella with the blaze that suddenly ignited in her gaze at her husband’s sudden interest in Vlad Teppes’ little mistress.