#dmitri1

Magnai had heard plenty of stories out of Krovs that might've warranted his return. One of them was practically worth making the decision all on its own -- if the varcolac had his druthers, Shenker would dead and buried already in a shallow grave, if there was nothing left to interrogate out of him. But someone liked making examples too much for that level of common sense. Magnai would see for himself how well the castle had done at taming such a poor candidate for a slave and if it was poorly... well, he'd worked with cruder material before.

He pulled the playroom door shut behind him with a heavy sound, Magnai's eyes trained immediately on the room's only occupant. He'd given Dmitri fifteen minutes alone once the guards had left the slave, the first step to any stress test: how well they responded to waiting. Magnai stood there without a word for a long moment as he gauged the smaller man, arms folding over his chest, expressionless but for the first curl of his lip at the omega's scent. The second step, and one he had a strong idea as to the outcome of: gauging how well-trained the slave was at knowing when to hold their tongue.

It was fairly late, or early depending on your definition, well past midnight in any case. The party was still in full swing and likely would be until the sun came up. Roland had enjoyed himself and was rather pleasantly buzzed on the various blood and blood alcohols he'd sampled. While he'd had various tumbles and trysts throughout the evening he was in the mood for another, moving through the crowded streets and looking for likely candidates. He happened to see spot a Dalmation costume and a guard walking beside the man wearing it and grinned. Of course he was aware that there was one slave in the Undercroft who was supposed to be constantly accompanied and had heard plenty about him from Rhys besides. Now was as good a time as any for them to meet, at least in Roland's mind, so he made his way over to see the defiant pup for himself.

"I see someone's chosen to dress you appropriately." Roland mused, old fashioned heeled shoes clicking on the cobblestones as he approached, smirking. It was purposely antagonistic but Roland liked a challenge, it kept things interesting. Besides, the idea of riling the werewitch a little amused him. "Perhaps I'll hold your leash for a while and give your escort a break. What do you think of that, petit chiot?" The wig and gloves that went with his costume were long gone but he still cut a fine figure and didn't look incomplete.

Sammie had taken it upon himself to add a dash of extra Christmas cheer to the castle and was thus on a mistletoe hanging spree, shoving the stuff up in all sorts of nooks and crannies. In this particular case, he was just outside of the hospital wing because even the ill and injured were not to escape from Sammie’s well-intentioned but ultimately obnoxious holiday traditions.