#cor.events

THE CONCLAVE & SUPERNATURAL GALA

Dr. Selene Calder arrives precisely on the stroke of seven thirty —punctuality, after all, is merely applied relativity. At her side glides Tetsuya Mizuyaki, enticed from his sanctum only because Selene insisted the evening required at least one other person who appreciates the virtue of silent observation. (She has already identified several conversational cul-de-sacs where they might stand in dignified stillness.)

The gala promises complications, and Selene intends to choreograph them with her usual rigor. She appears on the arm of her new coven-mate Daniella—an elegant provocation calculated to make Blair jealous—while simultaneously plotting a series of evasive maneuvers to avoid crossing trajectories with her ex-partner Jade, who is inconveniently present and married. Selene is not processing that well. 

Her attire is a blue lehenga borrowed from Kali, a dance teacher who has become a pupil in her own turn. The skirt’s weighted hem sways like a precision pendulum, granting Selene full range of motion should the music (or destiny) demand it.

Throughout the night she sutures conversation threads with the deft guidance of her five-second foresight, shepherding interlocutors toward favorable outcomes as though moving pieces across an invisible chessboard. She is interested in the Kanoute Clan, with their love for the arts. She’ll be able to see any of the Zhongshan’s grifts from a mile (read: five seconds) away. She takes issue with the Pembrokes and intends to keep an eye on them.

Between bouts of social calculus she slips onto the terrace, drawing a steadying breath while futures overlap and reform around her, gaze fixed on the moon as though its tides might steady time itself.

THE CONCLAVE & SUPERNATURAL GALA

Nico calls this the Seventh Circle of “Behave Yourself”: a ballroom stuffed with supernaturals he’s technically not allowed to drop-kick. Hunters are on the Conclave watch-list, and Aurelia’s last text read, Play nice or play corpse, your choice. So—fine. He’s playing nice.

Damage control comes in the form of Vira, his smoking-hot friends-with-benefits who accepted his plus-one invite purely to weaponize that dress. (Ask him how good she looks; he’ll tell you before you finish the question.) Nico’s tux is rental chic—because either he forgot a bow tie or he knew Aurelia would pack a spare just to keep him presentable.

Find him at the bar pounding tequila to muffle the hunter-sigil buzz under his skin and also the fact that Aurelia's wife is back in town (?!?!) Five minutes later he’ll be behind the sound booth trying to replace the string quartet with deep-bass remixes (Pitbull Let's GO), and if a priceless art piece happens to vanish from the wall? Total coincidence. He swears.

THE CONCLAVE & SUPERNATURAL GALA

Galas like this are peak glam in Jasper’s world, and they arrive stag, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. Their chat with Jonas about the looming Werewolf Council is top of mind—Jasper’s determined to show they can be a bridge between pack. Still, fun is a non-negotiable: they’re already scouting for a bartender brave enough to blend a proper piña colada (yes, they brought a mini bottle of coconut cream in their pocket—no judgment).

A dog-eared tarot deck rides in the other pocket—hit them up for an impromptu reading between songs. In a forest-green tux lined with discreet paw-print silk, Jasper circulates with their trademark grin, coaxing wallflowers onto the dance floor and turning introductions into impromptu conga lines.

While the Zongshan pack and the Berserker pack feel intense in their own ways, Jasper is ever the optimist on being a bridge between people and wants to make sure that they have a list of the best places to eat and things to do while here in Port Leiry. They've got a whole list to share with the packs - as well as the covens and the clans - but oph! They forgot it on their phone. For the night they will be reciting it from memory instead.

THE CONCLAVE & SUPERNATURAL GALA

Caitlin Siltshore steps into the Conclave carrying a secret that crackles like live current: she is no longer merely a witch—she is a freshly forged warlock, the first in Port Leiry to bind herself to Tenebris on her own terms. The revelation all but thrums beneath her skin, but she shares it judiciously - first with Estela and Mara.

For the first time since Dorian’s shadow fell on her at thirteen, Cait’s body is unequivocally hers; the past few days have tasted like oxygen after a decade underwater. There’s an expected sense of joy (the happiest she’s been since 13), but in typical Cait fashion, she is looking to the horizon of innovation. With Garnett’s future humming at the front of her mind, she’s here to map the covens as Garnett's leader — catalog their specialties, gauge their politics, identify the sparks of collaboration.

While she intends to introduce herself to each of the new leaders in attendance, she is looking to leaders of the Wyrmwood Coven and Coven Mariposa the most. She is a sort of fangirl for the Wyrmwood Coven and their renowned enchanted items. She is looking forward to discussing the magic and innovation there - while looking to deepening her understanding of Coven Mariposa's glamour magic. Per Garnett's tenets of teaching to anyone who is willing to be taught, Caitlin dreams of a shared pool of knowledge for witches and will be holding discussions surrounding the matter throughout the evening.

She attends with Atlas Jay Astor, a collaborator she deeply respects who also happens to be a party-proof alchemist. They are 30 minutes late to the red-carpet because Atlas sends a car and Caitlin argues that she would rather take an uber.

With the announcement that her coven-mates will not have their phones on them, Caitlin intends to check in on all of them and make sure they know how to get her attention during the event through magic if necessary. Between spot-checks on every member of Garnett and diplomatic rounds through the ballroom, Cait plans to pull each Port Leiry coven leader aside, eyes bright, and say the words that will reshape Port Leiry’s balance of power: I’m a warlock now—let’s talk about what that means. She will ask them if they think she should reveal at the midnight meeting of the leaders and follow the polled vote.

She’d come alone tonight, still reeling a bit over the run-in at the coffee shop but hoping the gallery would distract her worried mind. First Nikko, and now Corvina. Next thing she knew Blair was going to drop some bombshell on her and then the surgeon truly would be triple fucked. God, things had been so much easier when she had been by herself. Away from people, away from feelings. Just her and the four walls of her little bedroom in a farmhouse located in the middle of nowhere. The only person her her true proximity being her mother. And after her passing, well then it was a little farmhouse in the middle of nowhere with nothing but solitude.

She wonders briefly if she should go back to that, she’s made plenty to live on. She could move to Canada, secure a little cabin in the woods, and only travel into town when supplies were needed. She sighs, looking over a nude portrait and taking a swig from the wine glass she’s practically manhandling as her other hand is settled in her pants pocket.