Bloodied Crystals

Atanu had- for once doing something himself -carrying along a canvas that he had set out to dry in the garden in a private little corner. Oil paints were annoying like that, and yet at the same time to beautiful and worth it. He didn't trust anyone else ever to touch his art, so, the councilman was bringing it back to his suite after keeping a close eye on it for a few hours. He was in the quarters of the councilman's suites when a door down the hall from his own opened.

If he remembered correctly, that was Tiernan's suite, but the man who emerged was not him. Curious like a cat, his head tilted, the painting carefully being set to the floor as he watched the cambion grow closer before he decided to speak. "Greetings," He mused, voice light and welcoming, "Given your lack of escort, am I right to assume you're the Irish councilman's?" He didn't keep up with his colleagues pets, he had his own things to worry- obsess, really -over.

Atanu's Suite (left to right)

Top row: Atanu's bedroom, living room, kitchen

Hunger was unfortunate, but inevitable for a vampire. Atanu wasn't ashamed of needing blood, he indulged occasionally, but his procrastination for feeding until he absolutely needed to purely stemmed from how messy it could get. He hated getting dirty, and blood was so hard to get out of his clothes; or so he was told by the people who did his laundry.

Still, he needed to do it, blood win and other substitutes would not sustain him for much longer, so he found himself lounging on his sofa and scrolling through the app. He was picky, always had been, the hunger was rushing him but he'd rather starve than drop his standards. Luckily for him, a handsome nephilim slid across his screen and he was quickly renting him and ordering him to be brought to his suite. No need to visit that dingy place again when the service was quick.

It seemed to live up to expectations as well, soon enough there was knock on his door and councilman was opening it to reveal the slave who seemed much prettier in person than the photo. He gave him a smile, feigning welcome and kindness even with the swift glances to the pulse point thrumming on the side of his neck. "Greetings. Alasdair, yes?" He spoke, shifting from his doorway to motion him to come in, "Make yourself at home." He shut the door behind him, head tilting as he studied him, "You're much more appealing in person," He commented, sounding more like an insult than a compliment, but it was meant to be the latter.

Business could wait. A councilman should've had his first priority be work and getting what he needed to in order, but he so rarely let himself enjoy some pleasure. Practicing magic, working, socializing to maintain his high status, it all was quite time consuming and even as an immortal he was more intent on success than fun. He blamed how he was raised, double blamed the bastard who left him to fend for himself in the first place. Now however, in a castle built specifically for the pleasure of vampires and vampire hybrids alike, he couldn't possibly refuse himself a few hours of indulgence.

The Undercroft called his name like a lullaby sung in his native tongue, and soon enough the councilman found himself in the Undercroft, intense stare looking down his nose at the slaves as if they were mere roaches at his feet and he was simply disgusted to be in their presence, like he hadn't chose to come down himself. It entirely too bleak and dull for his taste, how they managed to keep their wits to them while locked up was beyond him, but despite it, he was there for a reason.

His lips pursed slightly before eyes tinted in dark orange hues settled on someone and he raised a hand to beckon them closer. "You," He stated, cool and collected, yet a hint of dryness in the back, like he was fighting not to gag. "What are you doing? Come to me."