gow starters.

Xavier didn’t want to be here to begin with. He didn’t think it was a good idea to group everyone together, knowing one wrong move could result in a bloodbath. But maybe that’s what the mayor wanted? If the Lycans and Reapers were to end each other, then the city’s biggest threat would be removed. There would be no more shootouts, ransoms, and turf wars. It actually sounded logical the more Xavier thought about it. The only issue was, the idea that there were civilians here too. People, who were unaffiliated with the gangs. UNLESS, that was just a ruse. Who would be able to tell when everyone’s faces and intentions were hidden behind of a mask?

Deciding to give up and learning to say ‘fuck it’ every once in a while, Xavier dragged his feet over to the bar and ordered himself a drink, which he decided to take out back by the pool. He wasn’t really in the mood to see or talk to anyone, not after his ex-girlfriend made a scene. Not only was it embarrassing, but it cost him his date as well.

“Ah, shit. Didn’t think anyone else would be out here.” He should have known better. Although the sun had set, there were lights set up around the poolside patio, offering a more relaxed ambiance than the one inside. “Mind if I sit? — I brought beer.” Xavier would have sat down regardless, but he wanted to get a sense of the other person’s voice. He’d be able to recognize another Lycan (hopefully). However, if the voice was unrecognizable, it could belong to anyone: a member of the cartel, a socialite, a reaper. There would be no telling.

Apathy hovered thickly in the air, shrouding the gala in a claustrophobic embrace. Time was tethered to a choke chain of stagnation, fighting to march onward toward a slowly fizzling decrescendo. The real festivities had yet to begin – when the pretty people peel themselves from the watchful eyes of acquaintances and business partners and evaporate into the night. Samantha knew it wasn’t feasible yet, but she drifted her way through the party.

There was a novelty to the anonymity offered this particular evening. Her surname had been noted and something she had struggled to get out from underneath. Her name, her work, was often the final chapter of someone’s life. Trauma, memories — a soul deduced to an autopsy report. Samantha wove her way through the sea of masked figures, curious hues flicking over anything that might of interest.

A sharp peel of laughter rang out and anchored her thoughts to the present, though not enough to totally sidestep a disaster. A wayward elbow of another clandestine figure connected with a tray of sparkling bubbles. Samantha was soon awash in a sea of alcohol and shattered shards of glass at her feet. “Watch it,” she snapped and moved to inspect the layers of champagne soaked silk. The crowd thinned but a pair of eyes upon her retreating form didn’t go unnoticed. Once secluded, she wheeled around to face the other. “Can I help you??”

He stood beneath a colossal bookcase, a grand piece of mahogany with carefully crafted golden etchings and rows after rows of books, neatly tucked away and seemingly untouched, the spines of finely bound leather free of that wear and tear all beloved books are marked with. Someone had cared enough to dust them off regularly, but that was the extent of care they were provided, a shame, considering the collection. Nik took a sip of his champagne, allowing the silence to hang between him and the person who’d just walked into the study for a stretch of a moment before he spoke, “Seems like such a waste, doesn’t it? It’s an astonishing collection.” A crystal ashtray stood on the expensive-looking end table beside him, and Nik tapped the ash from his cigarette into it, before taking a slow drag, “If you’re here to tell me I’m not supposed to be here - I’m going to have to argue you’re here too.” His fingers, still carefully gloved in fine black leather, reached for one of the books and pulled it out, and he ran them absentmindedly and gently, as if to caress it, along the golden letters, “There are cigarettes here on the end table, help yourself.” 

The backyard was a sprawling, shameless thing, illuminated by the warm, golden light of antique lamp posts - original, he guessed, plucked from some old city core, the kind big money could buy. And its purpose? A conversation piece. The whole damn house was a conversation piece, built with the intent to impress. Nate was of the opinion that it was unintentionally tacky, and intentionally impressive in its tackiness. There were summer sofas and lounge chairs lining the shimmering pool, but Nate found himself sitting on a backrest of a marble bench, the stone cold beneath him and absolutely refusing to warm up. He’d been looking out towards the gardens, all symmetry and carefully plucked greenness, dark in the night - it was the only thing he genuinely enjoyed looking at in this place. 

It was quiet out here, the music and the clamour of the gala only a distant, muffled noise so that the steps of the person approaching hardly went unnoticed, “The house is stunningly ugly, but the view is… something, I’ll have to give the Mayor that at least.”, he brought the cigarette to his lips, drew a smoke, his eyes still trained on the city that could be seen sprawling in the distance, “There’s alcohol in there, if you want, none of that champagne shit they’re serving inside.” He gestured vaguely, to the silvery flask that stood beside him on the bench, “It’s not spiked, don’t worry. Though I suppose that is something someone who spiked it would say.” 

Galas… balls… dances. Especially those with, big, poofy dresses involved… were never really Lo’s thing. For one– they required too much effort. Along with a fuck that Lo didn’t  often give. She was perfectly fine with sitting such, big events out. Hell, that’s probably why she missed her own prom. Well, that and her date at the time had stood her up. So maybe her afflictions had more so to do with that than some stubborn refusal to conform.

Granted, it was also her idea to come.  Yeah, weird right? Though not for the event itself but for any excuse to be around other people. As much as Lo enjoyed having Benjamin back in her life. He was worse than a bodyguard. He was her full blown babysitter. One, that came with this annoying little habit of telling her what to do. Or who she could and couldn’t talk to. Newsflash! Lo didn’t often advertise it to the public but, she lost her father before she was even a preteen and since then, she’s survived far enough on her own without a replacement.

The only place Lo could escape to without being followed was the bathroom. Which is where she ended up before another party had found her making a bed out of the bathtub. Who could blame her though, really? It was big and luxurious and for whatever reason, smelt like lavender oils. Even hard, it was more comfortable than her own apartment. Wild.

It was foolish of her to be here, she knew that. Lila has never been one to attend such events but this time was different. She needed to see him, to see with her own eyes that he was out, finally. Five years. Not a day went by without her being reminded of it. After all, she put the result of them to bed every night. She would keep her distances, only look from afar and when she would have seen him, she would leave. She would be able to go back home to their child. In truth, Lila knew she should not be here and to no matter how much she tried to reason with herself, nothing would be believable. She did not want him to see her, she just wanted to see him. After all, they had been so close, even if it felt like a lifetime ago.

For composure, she grabbed a glass of champagne from a tray that a waiter was holding near her. It was something to hold on to, something to do so she would not look so out of place. Drinking. Eyes scanning the room quickly, Lila did not see anyone that was remotely familiar to her. But then again, the masks were not helping. Taking a tiny sip, the woman turned around, with the intention to head outside for a little while, but her feet, unsure in her heels, slightly gave away. It was the tiniest thing, almost impossible to see, as she was use to being clumsy and could catch herself in the blink of an eye. But her glass did move a little bit too much and while nothing spilled, it was a closed call. “It’s the shoes, not the drinks,” she said with a soft laugh.

District: Red Line

Time: 11:34 PM 

For: Anyone / OPEN

Xavier showed up at the casino on business. He was supposed to take someone out who owed money to a business partner affiliated with the Lycans. But gambling was a vice Xavier had trouble walking away from. It started off with a few slots to blend in and then before he knew it, he was sitting in a card game. The bets were high and the crowed that rolled in was toxic. Everyone was encouraging him to stay in and play. They were most likely hired by the casino to keep guys like him spending money. The girls, too. He would know, he fell for a hostess and made her his girlfriend before she took off. “Nah, I have to get going.” Xavier stood up, but then the person he was tracking took a seat at the same table, three chairs down. “—Maybe one more game.” He relented. If only to keep an eye on his target. At least that’s what he kept telling himself.

Location: roof of the Half Moon Bar

@gowstarters​

Rose perched herself on the edge of the roof, swinging her legs over and letting them dangle as she looked out over the city. Houston was her home. She’d never been further than a three hour drive away from it’s limits. Some days she hated it so much she’d like to burn it all down. And then during other moments, like now, she found it savagely beautiful. The night wasn’t going well with the alpha nowhere to be seen and the more founded members taking up all the oxygen in the room. She’d come up here for a breath, and a cigarette, and maybe a little peace. 

But as she heard the roof door opening she sighed, knowing the later of those wishes would go unfulfilled. Without turning around she took another drag from her cigarette and said, “If your interesting company and you won’t hassle me about smoking at my age then you can stay.”

     If Beatrix hadn’t almost gotten into the bar-fight back there, she’d never would be out under the lit streetlight at the back of the building, inhaling a long drag of her cigarette. All she wanted to do was lean against the wall, tilt her head back, and enjoy the cool breeze against her damp skin. Instead, her mind kept replaying the scene that recently occurred; a customer, too insistent for their own good, a few exchanged words. Before she knew it, a threat to slam the his face into a rock-glass had spilled from her lips and her fists balled in anger. Her day had already started out bad enough with her younger brother cancelling their lunch plans, and now this? When it gotten to the that point of now return, Beatrix knew it was either time to walk away or a full on fight would break out. She remembered the last time it happened, with her practically leaping over the bar in haste and slamming someone down to the ground. It wasn’t a pretty scene, nor one she found herself proud of. That’s why she was outside now, trying to think of anything other than the idiot customer. 

   She kept her head back leaned against the wall, her hazel hues closed as a sigh left her lips, “Listen,” She started before even bothering to look up, to take in who was now there. “Before you even start, I’d rather not fucking talk about it, alright? Can we leave it to another day?”

While, Izzy knew that Killian could be incredibly temperamental, for one night.. she had hoped he could set aside his volatile mood, to just have a little fun and appreciate her tireless efforts to please him. Unfortunately, her luck as of recently had run out and instead of feeling accomplished for her attempted good deeds, she just felt incredibly anxious and defeated as she surveyed the crowd. Looking for any sign of life or entertainment to uplift her mood. When no physical beings sufficed, she opted to have a drink at the bar. Unlike the general population of Reapers, Izzy got her drinks for free. Being the king’s devoted queen had its perks, of course.

“Can I help you?” The House, though centered in the heart of reaper territory, was open to all guests. Unlike the Lycans, the Reapers welcomed more outsiders. They preferred fresh blood in their shark-infested waters. It made for an interesting night and today was no different as Izzy stumbled upon an enemy, enjoying the fruits of their labor. “You seem lost.”

            The good old, cliché-filled bar glistened under the city lights and the atmosphere was brimming with people of all sorts. Much like everyone else, Victoria was only here for a drink or two with a friend – although she could use networking, as always. Meeting new people was never out of fashion for someone in her field of work and you could never have such a thing as too many allies. That’s how she saw them: allies, never friends.

          Or so that’s what she told herself. She knew this was Lycanthrope territory – thus, anyone could be the enemy. All that Victoria hoped for was to blend in with the crowd, but it wouldn’t be too difficult considering the place was fairly difficult to navigate already. Bumping into an unfamiliar face, she promptly apologized, hoping not to have spilled her drink onto someone else’s clothing. 

          “I’m sorry. I’ll get you another drink if you’ll excuse me. I’m looking for a friend – but apparently, they’re not coming tonight,” an apologetic smile curled upon her lips. She offered them a hand. “What should I get you?”