I'll Be Right Beside You...

Where: somewhere @ winefest

Who: open @vievecorcitystarters

Sizani had been moving to the beat for longer than she knew. She'd lost track of time and where she was at. The music was moving her and she got lost in the moment. Before she knew what was happening, she'd bumped into someone on the dance floor. Sizzy opened her eyes and looked up at the cage dancers on the celling and then to whoever she'd managed to dance into. "Sorry, I kind of got lost in the beat." She giggled softly and hoped the other person would be understanding.

"No harm done," he assured her easily, a warm smile settling onto his face as he leaned in just enough to be heard over the music. He glanced briefly toward the DJ before looking back at Sizani. "I'd say that's a sign they're doing their job."

His gaze drifted upward for a moment, following hers to the dancers suspended overhead before returning to her. "Are you alright?"

the ferris wheel loomed over the festivities, twisting in a dizzy, hypnotic pattern. why did the very idea of this contraption send a shiver down her spine? it wasn't like it could kill her again. it was just metal and mechanics. a brightly illuminated brow furrowed into dark concentration while she stared down the machine. was it foolish to even admit something so sincerely trivial and whimsical scared her? victoria pursed her lips, chewing on a thought. "oh, it's a cage." she murmured mostly to herself. "what a nightmare."

He folded his hands loosely in front of himself, giving the steadily turning wheel another look before returning his attention to her. "Though I imagine the view is considerably better than the architecture suggests." He paused. "You're not tempted, then?"

The Rubicund was not a place he frequented often. Even at his age he could only recall entering the club a handful of times before. He had almost lost his bearings twice coming back from the bar with half a glass filled with some Italian vintage wine, that he was sure he could not pronounce without butchering it entirely, in his hand. Once he had found an unoccupied booth a little ways from the dancefloor, he parked himself there and sipped slowly so as not to have to move again any time soon, and watched as the dancers enjoyed their evening of revelry.

He supposed he should make more of an effort to mingle, but he mused that the night was still young and whilst he enjoyed socialising in general, he found it a little grating attempting to hold a conversation by shouting into another's ear. At least from where he sat he was far enough away from the speakers to hear his own thoughts clearly, and relax into the festivities surrounding him.

When he felt a presence slide into the booth with him, his lips twitched upwards at the corners behind his wine glass. "Were you seeking my company, or a moment to rest your feet?"

His gaze settled on Sipho Dumisani as he approached the booth. The elder had a reputation for being approachable enough, and with much of the club already crowded, Henry hoped he wouldn't mind. He inclined his head in greeting before easing himself onto the seat opposite, taking a moment to settle his prosthetic after standing for so long.

A faint smile touched his face at the witch's question. "I'm afraid the latter won out," he admitted, lifting one shoulder in an apologetic shrug. "Though I certainly won't complain about the company." His eyes wandered briefly over the crowd before returning to Sipho. "I hope you don't mind me joining you."

He noticed the way she brightened, a touch more animated now, and knew better than to call attention to it. Instead, he allowed himself a brief, private moment of relief. “Thank you,” he added with a smile, a thread of dry humor slipping in. “I did block most of the goal just by standing in front of it.” One shoulder lifted in a modest shrug. “Hard to argue with physics.”

Her mention of the showcase drew his attention fully. “You do?” His brows lifted as he turned on the stool to face her more directly. “Which one’s yours?” He nodded toward the festival grounds. “I walked through earlier. They’re impressive.” He shook his head lightly, as if the thought was still catching up with him. “The amount of work and creativity that goes into them…” A brief pause, then a faint furrow appeared between his brows at the mention of cookies, but the corners of his eyes crinkled, the skepticism clearly playful rather than earnest. “Is that a thing? Eating too many gingerbread cookies?”

When she introduced herself, his expression softened into an easy smile. “Max,” he repeated, as if committing it to memory. “Nice to meet you.” He offered his hand without a second thought. “Henry. And no need to apologize—I sat down without introducing myself first. I promise I normally have better manners.”

He eased back slightly on the stool, still angled toward her. “I saw the sculptures before the match,” he went on. “Which was fortunate, because afterward I was mostly only good for food.” He paused, searching his memory. “I indulged in some roast turkey, and—” a faint, self-conscious huff followed, “—Bin… Bingsu? I might be misremembering. Shaved ice with beans on top? I wasn’t daring enough for the ice balls, but people seemed to enjoy them.”

"It's fine," he said and waved a dismissive hand in Henry's direction. "You're, I dare say, a somewhat welcome distraction from what I was just dealing with. You and your... What do they call it? Bleeding heart?" It almost made him sick, but not entirely.

"I didn't know that a paramedic's job also including meals-on-wheels."

"Ah—I consider it community service," he said lightly, lips briefly twisting in dissent as his shoulders jogged with another shrug. "If nothing else it gets me moving after sitting in an ambulance all day." He gave a small chuckle, arms going out to his sides. "And it's really more meals-on-one-leg."

He paused then, as though to consider Matthew for a moment, head tilting a fraction. "At your bar—wouldn't you rather have a compliant customer than an unruly one?"

"A real doctor would have fancy tool things. I have rulers, levels, and crayola markers, but we will make this work." There was also only so much help he could get from real doctors, because there was a point where some of the complications came from his 'patient' being a werewolf with healing beyond a normal human's. Chris had a hypothesis that shifting between wolf and human form also caused changes in the muscles over time but didn't know enough to confirm it. "At least the crayola markers wash off though unlike the fancy surgical ink."

Once Henry was in place, Chris traced some parts of his feet onto the paper before carefully tracing his fingertip down his left leg to mark how his knee lined up with his toes. He repeated it on the right, using the ruler to help him see how there was a small angle between the mark for his knee and the mark for his first toe that wasn't there on the other side. He looked up at Henry. "Ok, it's small enough that I think we can fix this with a bit of padding rather than refitting the entire thing. Can you take off your leg for me? You can lean on the table or me if you need."

“Alright,” he said, nodding. “I trust your judgment.” He hadn't needed to rely on padding in the socket since he first got a prosthetic—back when his residual limb was still shrinking and he’d cycled through multiple before settling on one that lasted. But it was obvious that relying on padding first instead of the time-consuming process of casting an entirely new socket granted them more flexibility.

"You remember a couple weeks ago when I took a bunch of videos of you walking on a treadmill and just standing? I sent them to someone who's a physiotherapist and she said that the leg was twisting just a bit outward from the socket, so your right foot is slightly more turned out than the left. I want to try and adjust that and make something that should hold it in place correctly." He led Henry over to a corner with a roll of paper on the floor just below a work table with a stack of various seemingly disparate tools stacked near one of the legs. "It's gonna look insane right now, but I promise there is method in the madness."

He gave a small shake of his head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Not either of those things. And, uh, yes, I did… smack into someone,” he admitted lightly, chuckling. “After a long shift. When I was too tired and not paying enough attention. It happens sometimes—though it is usually limited to furniture." He paused, gaze briefly dropping to his leg. It was still just an aid and always would be. Never the real thing no matter how steady it felt or how well it worked. "That’s when I know it’s time to switch to crutches for the night.”

Where: The shipyard docks.

It was a cold day on the docks, another long shift of hauling crates and moving stock. The work was monotonous as ever, but Beck didn’t mind - it burned off some of that pent up werewolf energy, left her tired enough to sleep deeply before doing it all again the next day.

Today’s winter frost was the worst she’d seen. Despite the dock manager’s warnings, everyone was out rushing to finish up their work and get back inside. Maybe that’s why Beck saw it unfold in slow motion - a coworker slipping as he tried to maneuver a stack of heavy crates off a truck, the load tilting perilously above him.

It's instinct that propels her forward. She shoves him clear, sending the human sprawling to safety - just in time for the crates to clip her instead and knock her to the ground. Most of the weight missed, but not all. Pain hits a moment later: a sharp, disorientating stab in her right arm that drowns out the sting of the smaller cuts and grazes.

It's only the horrified gazes of her colleagues that make her realise how bad it must look - and as she turns slowly to see for herself, the sight of blood and exposed bone of her forearm does send a wave of nausea through her. That was bad. But, the more pressing issue was the crowd of humans now gathered around her with wide eyes and panic. "I'm fine- I promise I'm fine."

Hard to sell that with your radius sticking out. Sirens wailed in the distance. And as the minutes passed, dread pooled in her gut. Some of the smaller wounds were already starting to close. No one seemed to notice. Not yet, anyway. She needed to leave.

So when the paramedic reaches her, Beck lurches to her feet in a burst of sudden panic, ready to shove her way out of there with her one good arm if she had to.

“Hey—easy. Slow down,” he says firmly, voice calm but carrying over the hubbub. He closes the gap in two purposeful steps, placing a steadying hand on the upper arm of her uninjured side—not tight, just enough to stop her from turning tail. “You’re not fine. That’s the adrenaline talking. You’re in shock. I need you with me. You don’t want to pass out on the dock, do you?”

Her wide eyes and rigid posture tell him she hasn’t processed the situation yet—or the injury—but one glance at her forearm, the radius clearly exposed, tells him everything he needs to know. He keeps his voice level. “Listen to me. If you refuse to cooperate, we’ll have to sedate you. I don’t want to do that, but you can’t stay here like this—you’ll make it worse. And you’ll hurt yourself.”

He shifts slightly, angling his body to block the worst of the crowd. “Everyone back! Give her space!” His voice cuts clean through the noise. He spots a dockworker near the edge, blanching. “Ramos—take care of him. Keep them clear. Now!”

“My name’s Henry,” he says to her, lowering himself carefully onto his healthy leg. “Can you tell me yours?” He supports her injured arm, cushioning it with a rolled-up jacket from his bag, his grip firm and practiced. “Look at me. Keep your eyes here,” he continues evenly. “I’ll talk you through what comes next.” He glances back up at her. “I’m going to stop the bleeding and stabilize your arm before we move you to the ambulance. We’ll take this step by step.” There's a brief pause, honest but controlled. “It’s going to hurt. I won’t lie to you. But I’ll stay with you, and I’ll get you something for the pain as soon as I can.”

“No, I had a little help,” He reassured him, giving his old friend a knowing look at the way his eyes had warmed and crinkled with suggestion. “It wasn’t Artus, he has enough on his plate at the minute.” He responded warmly to the teasing, “I had some of the Golem’s help me during the night. I just don’t like to over work them and they need to stay hidden during the day.” He explained.

Nari took his hand away from the shovel so that Henry could take over. “Thanks.” The elf’s voice softened, “How have you been doing lately? Is the pain relief still working for you?” He asked. Nari knew Henry would probably tell him if it wasn’t, but Nari liked to make sure he was taking care of himself.

“Some time in nature might do him good,” he said conversationally, glancing toward Nari, a boyish smile quirking at his lips. "But who am I telling." He hesitated just long enough to let a flicker of concern show—he always worried about his best friend, even when everything seemed steady, aware of how Nari tended to put himself last, take up as little space as possible. “But you’re both managing all right? Have you seen much of each other lately?”

He pressed the blade into the soil again, testing the resistance. “The pain is still manageable,” he said, voice calm. “I’m not quite used to Chris’s latest adjustments yet, so I’ve been feeling more discomfort than usual—though I do appreciate the added maneuverability. And you know how it is, the cold likes to remind me of what's no longer there.” The dropping temperatures increased the bouts of phantom pain he was experiencing, but it hadn't reached a level he couldn't handle… yet. He knew the weeks ahead would sharpen them further as the year drew to a close. He glanced at Nari, the corners of his mouth lifting just slightly. “For now I’m just glad to be moving.”

Henry. Werewolf Henry. Werewolf Henry who frequented Liber enough to be called a regular customer. And in that moment, the fallen deity schooled his face into something less threatening (if he could manage it) and loosened up his tense shoulders as the other man took a step back to put some space between them. "It's alright," he said, voice still tight as it betrayed how he really felt.

“Evening,” he said simply, tone calm and familiar enough for two people who crossed paths now and again. At the question, he shifted his weight and adjusted the canvas bag he carried, the paper inside crinkling faintly. “I am on my way home. I was hoping to drop something off first—only a short detour.”

He was quiet for a beat, fingers tightening slightly on the strap as if weighing how much to say. Then he continued. “We had a patient earlier. Fractured femur. She was more distressed about her children than the injury.” One shoulder lifted in a small shrug. “I said I would bring a few things round this evening. Food, mostly. Enough to see them through the next couple of days.”

He glanced down the street, then back to Matthew, expression steady. “I did not intend to get in your way.”

The smile was enough to warm ice on someone who was all ice it made her feel a little self concious of being a little jaded. Maybe it was the sweet the smile was that kicked her brain out of the spiral it was in. Trade? She thought to herself why would she trade for something that wasn't her whiskey. The hand holding the whiskey glass froze and she remembered the warmth running in her and set the glass down and slid it over to him before nodding. "Yeah, trade is probably a good idea."

She took the spritz gently in her hand and gently set her whisky down closer to him and out of her hands. "Oh i did miss the game didn't I!" Max face palmed she'd meant to be there to watch some of the others, "Did you win?"

Max drank more of the spritz, her fingers still creating tiny little stalagmites on the bar top. "Because if you win then we have to cheers thems the rules."

His gaze drifted toward the darkening grounds before returning to her. “I’m afraid you may have missed tonight’s matches,” he said mildly. “But there are likely more planned for tomorrow.” He paused, then added more gently, “Were you hoping to see someone in particular play?” He was happy to sit with her as long as necessary but he couldn't help but wonder if she had arrived with anyone. If she had friends around who could make sure she got home safely.

He raised his glass in a modest salute. “Well, if we must observe the rules,” he said, the corners of his mouth lifting, “there was a shootout. I’m told that counts as a proper finish. We did manage to come out ahead.” Henry took a measured swallow, evidently satisfied with the outcome. “I didn’t play to win so much as to see whether I still could. Skating asks different things of you than most things. Still—” he paused again, thoughtful rather than boastful, “—I was glad I didn’t slow them down.”

When: VC Ice Fest Where: Ice Bar Who: Open @vievecorcitystarters TW: Alcoholism

He turned slightly toward them when they spoke, expression open and unhurried. “They do,” he agreed, glancing at the ice glass with mild curiosity rather than judgment. “That’s a clever bit of work. Keeps the drink cold without watering it down.”

Only then did he signal the bartender, squinting briefly at the non-alcoholic options on the board. “The cranberry passionfruit spritz, please,” he said. When it arrived, he glanced back to them with a small, polite smile. “Mind if I trade you?”

He set the glass within easy reach and eased onto the stool beside them, resting his forearms lightly against the bar. “You really ought to try it. I’m fairly sure there’s no magic in these,” he continued, conversational. “Though I could swear having one earlier helped my performance on the ice. Haven’t done much of that since I was a fair bit younger.”

for: anyone @vievecorcitystarters location: along the sidewalk in any district!

Now that the final terms of the negotiations with Artemis had been released to the supernatural community, Matthew had been on the receiving end of a lot of vitriol from the demons in the community given his status as an elder. There were a lot of complaints about demon contracts and how ridiculous they thought making it 'legally binding' was.

The fallen deity's phone was blowing up again that evening and he had picked it up to speak with yet another demon who wanted to yell his ear off. He was going to end up cursing all the demons in Vievecor City at this rate.

"I am hearing your concerns. But I am not hearing how you intend to continue abiding by these rules that were pretty much already in place. If you want to kill your bloody contracted human, that's none of my concern as long it is proven that they have violated the terms of your contract with him. You're a demon. You're supposed to be good at finding loopholes, so get to it!" Matthew did his best to assuage the caller on the other end of the line as he stood there, one hand coming up to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He was so engrossed in his chat that he did not see another person coming his way, and there was nothing much to be done when said person stepped right into him.

"Hey!" he practically hissed like an angry cat at his personal space being violated, the shadows around him pulsing dangerously for a moment as tendrils seemed poised to attack. "Are you blind? I'm not an easy person to miss."

The impact was light, but unmistakable.

“My apologies,” Henry said immediately as he corrected himself, one hand coming out on instinct to steady before he made a small, habitual motion to brush at the front of the other man’s suit, as though he might have scuffed it. “That was entirely my fault. I wasn’t watching my step as closely as I should have.”

When he looked up properly, recognition settled in. Matthew Alexander. Demon elder. Fallen deity. Council representative—and, by the sound of it, bearing more than his share of the Artemis fallout tonight. Henry had no intention of commenting. That sort of thing rarely led anywhere good or useful.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he continued, stepping back to give the man space, unperturbed by the brief stir of shadow. “Are you alright, sir?”

His expression remained open and courteous. “If I’ve caused you any inconvenience, I would be glad to set it right.”

Chris walked out into the lobby of Ambrose science and grinned when he spotted Henry waiting for him.They'd run into each other a few times here and there at the hospital before Chris was an adult, mostly times when he was hanging around out of the way after school while his parents were busy. They'd met again after he'd become a vampire and gotten to know each other better when he started working with Henry on improving his prosthetic.

He could still remember how he'd thought Henry was one of 'the cool adults' so being on the same footing as him had left him a bit off balance at first, but that had faded quickly enough. In the end, it felt good to have someone trusting what he could do and actually willing to listen to his ideas. It gave him another real chance to prove what he'd been saying about using science to help the supernatural community. He'd tried not to get too sappy a while ago explaining it to Henry but had probably failed. "Hey come on back. How's it going?"

“Hey,” he greeted, returning the grin as he clasped Chris’ hand and gave his shoulder a brief pat. “I’ve been good. Work’s been busy. Holidays always are.”

He followed him back without hesitation, hands settling into his jacket pockets. “The changes you made are mostly working like you said they would,” he went on. “Better balance. It feels steadier overall. There’s a bit of give in it I’m still getting used to—it doesn’t always behave the way I expect—but that’s on me as much as the hardware.”

He didn’t say it out loud, but he trusted Chris in a way he didn’t offer lightly. Plenty of wolves wouldn’t have let a vampire anywhere near something this personal. But Henry never saw much sense in that kind of thinking. Chris had always been careful. Thoughtful. Earnest—sometimes to the point of sentimentality—but to Henry, that wasn’t a flaw.

The air blew a cold cloud in front of his mouth as he finished digging one of the large holes for the trees in the rather solid ground, the earth grown hard from the change of weather. “I’m so old,” he sighed to himself as he tried to regain his breath, leaning on the handle of the shovel that was buried in the earth. He lifted his head when he heard someone approaching, “Henry,” He greeted, straightening up, because he’d be damned if it looked like he couldn’t handle his duties at the park. “I thought maybe you weren’t going to show up.” He teased.

He came to stand beside Nari, breath blooming in the cold, and glanced toward the half-dug plot and the impressive pine trees off to the side. “You didn’t haul these in alone, did you?” The image of Nari—delicate to human eyes, all elegance, grace and soft sweaters—dragging nearly full-sized pines across the park in the dead of night would’ve been comical if it weren’t such a miracle no one had tried to intervene. “Or did someone lend you a hand?” The slight emphasis, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes, were enough to suggest Artus without naming him.

He tugged a worn pair of leather gloves from his jacket pocket, slipping them on as he nodded toward the shovel Nari still leaned on. “C’mon. Ground’s stubborn today," he said, holding out a hand. "Before you go blaming the years, let me take a turn.” Once Nari passed it over, Henry tested the soil with the tip, bracing himself without hesitation or self-consciousness. “And for the record," he added, gentler now, “I wouldn’t leave you hanging. You ask, I show up. That’s how it goes.”