#gowstart

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.” 

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.” 

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.”