VAMPIRE/KING

It's not the first time he's stepped foot into Infamy, but it is the first time he's here before opening hours. The idea of going back to his dead end job at the roller rink, spending hours staring at teens and kids having the times of their lives, is excruciating to think about - and he'd said as much offhandedly Tressa the week after the gala.

To him, the skating ring is just another reminder of the hole he's been dug into it and how content he was to just sit there and lock himself into a stasis while he waited. She'd pointed him towards Infamy and Kingsley.

Nervous hands shoved into his pockets, he finds his way back towards the back office - adjusting his outfit all the while, way more dressed up than he usually his. Slacks, button up, looking professional. He knocks at the door, and clears his throat. "Uh, hey - I was told to come talk to you about a job?"

He opens the door and welcomes the boy in with the familiar grin on his face — he could try to look and sound more professional if he wanted but that just wasn't him. "A job, huh? You've come to the right place, honey. Let's see what I can do for you." Kingsley took a few steps back to lean against his table, eyeing the other from head to toe, studying him. "Or I supposed what you can do for me. You have any talents? Skills? A position in mind?"

There was often a very specific type of person who would sometimes walk in and asking for a job at a queer club and the one standing in front of him hardly fit the bill. Not an issue for Kingsley, though, if anything it just made him more intrigued. "Don't take this the wrong way, love, but you don't look like a dancer, so I'm gonna need to hear all about you."

"KingsLAYYYYYYY" She calls—loudly and with chutzpah— from probably a little too far away, and it's with that general sort of uncaring for any stuffy eyes that come to rest on her as she crosses the space between them that she greets her fellow Pretorius Vampire. "Nice suit!" She says, champagne glass to her chin as she sizes up his outfit.

Her mind, tonight, is on mingling. She's already had a very interesting conversation with somebody in a clan called Pembroke that she's absolutely certain might be the equivalent of Vampire Scientologists? Either way, she's dodged the cult invite and found somebody much more fun and familiar. "How are you?"

There's a perception in the supernatural community that Pretorius are nothing but snooty vampires who didn't know how to have fun, and Kingsley now had the perfect opportunity to show his community how wrong they were by not hiding a bit of his enthusiasm in seeing the clan's latest fledgling. "I'm doing fantastic babes. I have a hot date, I'm meeting a bunch of interesting people, and I look sexy as hell." He toasted her drink, happily ignoring the audience eyes turning size them up. "Tell me about you. You better be having the night of your life or you are doing this wrong, hun."

"Well, our representative has been a model example of what not to do," Cordelia says with a shrug of one shoulder. Her disdain for Laure comes freely and likely without too much surprise from Kingsley. At least, she hopes. The seamstress knows she has allies in her clan and others -- and the less Laure seems to care about enforcing the politics of Pretorius, the more others take notice. "Still, I care for the girl, so I can assure you I do want what is best for her."

At the end of the day, Tressa was told the risks. She made her choice. And Cordelia could not deny her own nature. She treated the turning with the gravitas it deserved. Anyone else's opinion on the matter is irrelevant.

"It wasn't something I planned for myself either, and I am not exactly eager for more," she assures her fellow clan member. Cordelia doubts it assuages his concerns much, but at least her position is known. "Tressa is very... science-minded, and believes she ran through the necessary calculations. I don't agree fully, but she has been enjoying the new experimentational opportunities the transformation affords her."

Kingsley mentions the opportunity and, well... she hasn't really presented her entire plan to any one vampire yet -- Cordelia intends to approach the council soon, though she had alluded to it in her petition to take a fledgling in the first place. "Well, following her transformation, Tressa and I spent some time rooting out the hunters who previously had control of the city morgue. Things were growing more dangerous as the Brotherhood becomes more erratic, and the girl was in danger if they discovered how much she already knew about the underworld," she explains.

"Now Tressa heads the death business and her loyalty to me, and furthermore Pretorius, ensures we have a degree of control over the corpses that are reported on official records. We also have access to the spare parts, as it were, if needed. Given how many creatures have such a disregard for the end of life, I saw the chance to remind this city how valuable the death industry is here. It's information, as much as it is anything else."

He gave her a fake smile and nod, "Yes, absolutely, only the best for her." Apparently now the best was murder. Kingsley knew he was alone in this and his views were extreme to say the least, but he still couldn't believe how his own people could justify turning others for whatever reason there was, and boy had he heard them all — love, revenge, loneliness, grief, lust... not one of them good enough, Well, maybe he had almost all of them.

"Science? Cordelia, my love, you know as well as I do that there's no science to who we are, it's all magic, and blood, and horror. Don't you think the girl will be disappointed when she learns that?" It was too late and quite frankly pointless to ask her that now that the deed was done, but Kingsley needed to share his concerns; the impulse was stronger than him. "What will happen to her when she becomes disillusioned with this life? Have you thought of that? Will you watch over her when that happens."

Whatever pretense that Kingsley held of being on Cordelia's side began to dismantle the more she talked about the opportunity. His usual smile went from warm and supportive to incredulous. "Information? You traded a young woman's life for information? For control of the morgue? Are you listening to yourself, Cordelia?" His tone grew more and more serious as his voice grew louder and louder until he finally shouted, "Who cares about the brotherhood? Who cares about the death industry? We could've handled all of this ourselves, you don't give up a life for that. A life, Cordelia. Gone."

He had no doubt that the other vampire was right about the business side of it, or that they might be safer against hunters. Hell, he didn't even disagree that this might be the best decision for Pretorius in the long term. But the cost? That was one he would never be willing to pay. "I hope that you're right about this, Cordelia, and by God, I hope Tressa grows up to be the best vampire of all of us, but you know that you did was wrong. I know in my gut that you know that," he spoke in a calmer tone now, "I just pray that you don't end up regretting this even more."

"Kingsley, crowned among men and vampires."

Pretorius is an old and storied vampire clan -- its vampires likewise storied. Not all so old. Cordelia knows she's among the younger of her fellows, but Kingsley has never made her feel lesser. While a system of complex traditions and rigid dogma was oft designed to keep those beneath its bent subservient and stymied, there were others who took pride in their discipline to shape their circumstances within its bounds. Rules were a great equalizer.

At one point in her life, Cordelia made great gains sitting at the feet of royalty -- today, she walks among them. More or less.

She accepts his embrace, knowing they aren't the closest of clanmates. But in terms of enmity among allies, Cordelia has far bigger concerns and would, in fact, like to maintain some semblance of friends. "Thank you, darling, I am doing as well as anyone can be."

The seamstress cants an ear towards his whispers, a sort of rue settling over her lips deceptively looking like a smile. Secrets rarely stay so for long in these circles -- not that Tressa was in any way a secret at this point. Perhaps neither were Cordelia's ambitions.

"Kingsley, I assure you I'm doing my level best to guide her -- gently but presently. A childe will often grow to resent their sire with too much control," she sighs, "But I promise, she was warned and given every opportunity to decline the change. She seemed quite insistent. And normally I would decline, but... I saw a rare opportunity."

He's also not stupid, he can tell Cordelia is defensive and he knows that she knows that he's not accepting of fledglings. Good. She should feel bad. "Oh, Cordelia, please. If there's a vampire in this clan that I would trust to guide a fledgling is you," that's not a lie, "I believe you know what you're doing with her" that was.

"I suppose I was curious. You never seemed to be that interesting in having a childe and then suddenly there you are. Caught me by surprise, I have to say." It doesn't surprise him to hear how badly Tressa wanted it. He's met his fair share of the like in his life — some even got him to consider it — but at the end of the day, he still couldn't curse someone to unlife, no matter how badly they begged for it. "May I ask what kind of opportunity we're talking about? You know I can't resist a good gossip."

"Tricked and unpaid. Unfortunate," and he grabs a shot from a set one of the bartenders is preparing. The bartender scowls at him, but Avi doesn't give a shit because he's been beat. This was a match between two showmen, two creatures of the theatrics, either side unwilling to leave the last word to the other. Avi usually isn't one to admit defeat, but this? He has a harsh L to take.

To save face (to end his suffering), Avi lets the moment die, and when Kingsley disappears back into the crowd, he disappears for a few hours, as well. Deep into the crowds, where he can nurse his absolutely crushed ego.

Later, much later, the club has wound down. The background music is just the clink of glassware being cleaned and the low murmur of tired staff. Avi finds Kingsley again, and like a child denied dessert, like a child who refuses to hear no, he circles back with that same persistent glint in his eyes.

"Alright, keep your secrets." He starts, like no time at all has passed since his soul-crushing defeat. "But since you're such an open book, you shouldn't mind me reading a few pages." It's not a question, it's a callback. Kingsley's own words. "What's a guy like you doing in a stuffy clan? I'd have taken you for a free bird."

Most people are gone by the time he hears his voice again, which gives him plenty of room for him to offer Avi the seat next to him, with a wave of his hand a bright smile. "Come on, sit. Sun's almost up, you must be tired."

The question surprises but doesn't bother him. If anything, he's shocked to learn werewolves care at all about the politics of the undead. "Fine, I owe you that much." He shrugs and takes a sip, his last that night. "There weren't stuffy, as you call them, when I became a Pretorius vampire. That was centuries ago, a completely different world," he explains calmly, "but they still held the same belief, which is putting the needs and survival of the species above the wishes of any particular one of us."

"You don't live as long as I have being a free bird, and a clan doesn't last as long as we have by being loosey-goosey with the rules. I suspect it's the same with your kind and your packs," to be frank, he doesn't know exactly how werewolves work, he never spent too much time near them to find out, but he had an educated guess simply by knowing those who survived and those who didn't. "And, hon, between you and me, Pretorius is stylish as hell. I could be doing a lot worse, believe you me. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

They’ve got their shoulder squished up against the bus window, phone in hand, thumbs flying like they’ve got a deadline and a dream. The Notes app is open. The words are flowing. Scales of Desire (working title, don’t judge) is really starting to heat up - at least as much as it can on a morning commute with someone’s gym bag digging into their knee. The bus hiccups to a stop. Jasper types out the final line of Chapter 8: His Trident, My Heart.

“Take me to your kingdom,” Clarabelle whispered, tugging gently on the sea-beaded necklace of the Merprince, heir to the Saltwater Scepter. “Show me the undersea castle. Show me the throne room. Show me… the trident.”

They grin. Pure gold. Mermaid sex might not be everyone’s thing, but Jasper’s pretty sure it’s going to change the entire literary landscape of Port Leiry. Bold of the town to sleep on them, really.

Still, books take time. Rent doesn’t. That’s where the plan comes in - currently nestled in their messenger bag between a granola bar and a gameboy. They hop off the bus with purpose, a pep in their step, and a staple gun loaded like a t-shirt cannon.

It’s been… a journey since graduation. Jobs came and went like Tinder dates with commitment issues. But Remi’s been a rock. And Jasper? Jasper is an optimist with a vision. A flyer goes up on a telephone pole. They catch the eye of someone standing nearby and beam.

“Oh hey! Looking for love?” They hold out the flyer like a secret weapon. Across the bright neon-pink paper, it reads: HAPPY TAILS MATCHMAKING. Helping hearts find their pack. Working title here too. Don't judge. “Happy Tails Matchmaking is here to help! First consultation is free.”

He's wondering if he's lucky enough for some rain when he notices the other person beaming at him and he sighs. Usually there's no one who would love to chat with strangers more than him, but he's still quite drunk from the night before — and for a vampire as old as him, honey, that is an achievement — and he can't quite risk a human trying to pull him into the sunlight.

Still, with nowhere to run, stuck in the shadows of that alleyway, he threw the other a charming smile. "As a matter of fact I am, babes, but it so happens that love and I are playing hide and seek at the moment, and it is cheating to ask for help."

As Kingsley lets them down gently, he can't help but take a closer look at the flyer: Happy TAILS? find their PACK? He laughs. Werewolves are so not discreet. "Doesn't look like I'm your target audience either, honey, I'm sorry. I'm more bite than bark if you catch my drift," he shifted deeper into his shadow. "But this is adorable. Seriously. I hope business is booming."