?? Prague, Mother of Thorns

༕ Praga Caput Regni

„A great city do I see, whose glory will touch the stars. There in the forest is a place, thirty fields away from here, Vltava flows around it. Towards midnight the Brusnice stream fences it, though towards the noon side so does the rocky hill of Strahov. Once you arrive there, you will find a man in the middle of the forest, carving a threshold to a house. So will you also name the castle, which you will build, Praha.

And as princes and voivodes lower their heads toward the threshold, so shall they also bow their heads toward this city of mine. Honor and praise be unto it and let it be known across the whole world.“

- Countess Libuše to Přemysl, 'Founding of Prague'

(Un)Holy War

༕ Jitřenky / Vassals of The Morning Star

Prague is also home to a garrison of an unknown global 'monster hunter' organization, this extrapolation is known as 'The Vassals of The Morning Star' also known as 'The Cross' or individually by the Czech euphemism 'Jitřenka', though this is used mostly by Vampires or Czechs to mock their legend. The Vassals are an institution almost as old as their enemy with first records of structured hunts apparently leading as far back as to Merchant Samo's empire. Among the denizens, Jitřenky are more of a myth though it's operatives do carry a legal authority surpassing standard law enforcement. The Vassals are predominately responsible for controlling the population of 'supernatural' creatures across Europe with special emphasis on preventing them from attaining positions of power. However, The Vassals also pioneer the frontier of paranormal science through extensive study of live (or dead) specimen in an unending pursuit towards the Holy Grail - the cure to vampirism. Indeed, it is unanimously agreed that there do not exist different species of humanoid monsters, only vampires and the various mutations of the pathogen. Due to their expert understanding of these organisms, The Vassals are an extremerly effective and efficient paramilitary force of righteousness. With fringe science weaponry and rigorous training making up for their distinct lack of manpower. Current Hierarchy Patriarch - Cornelius Züse Head of Research - Natalia Illyevna van Der Waal Head of Engineering - Benedetto Villagio Voivode - Tomáš Masaryk

༕ Tlama / The Maw

Equally ancient and mysterious, the elusive organization known to V.M.S. and select few as 'The Maw' is somewhat of a dark reflection of a modern parliament with members representing Vampiric bloodlines both old and new, and also supporting criminal endeavors of cross-European mobs. Because of it's nature there isn't much known about Tlama. Though the librarians of V.M.S. agree on one thing - this is the first historical instance of Vampiric co-operation. It's origins apparently date only to the beginning of WWII where Himmler first proposed the concept of [Projekt: VAMPIR STÜRM] to Hitler. Before then, the idea of co-existence and symbiosis, no matter how begrudging, was something unheard of among Vampires. But it's composite bloodlines have been around for centuries, if not millennia. Some even speculate that Caligula's insanity was actually a byproduct of worsening vampirism. Members of the current court of The Maw remain unknown.

OOC

• Standard CVU Location Rules Apply.
• Please, attempt to sell the level of division between the natural and supernatural. This isn't really a hunting place for vampires, but more of a meeting place.
• No major destruction is allowed without permission from me or, if I am not around, the current CVU COE.

Damn.

Just.

Damn.

This is dope!

Pretty, pretty, pretty!!! I love Goth architecture!

@nodeathnolife: I don't, but I'm glad you like it :>

@kaija: Thanks!

@ichimanken: Yea

I'll most definitely be roaming around here soon. One of the most solid locations I've seen in a while.

• Standard CVU Location Rules Apply.

Valentine's Day, 1945

The Faust House

*Gack*The Nazi soldier struggles in Septimus' grip, slowly subsiding into unconsciousness as his biceps cut off the man's circulatory arteries, making the complacent subject ideal for a quiet meal. The stinger sucks greedily into his blood, his strength growing with each gulp, his mouth powerfully sucking blood as time went on and on until the man's whole body ran pale in seconds. Death took him and the venom converted his body to be recieving of the (Un)Life force that animated the Nosferatu being and kept his corpse in this well preserved state of biological stasis.

There were voices. Others with him. A man with an MP40 Submachine gun and a woman with a Mauser Pistol, a trench knife and a silver edged sword in her scabbard, comfortably at her side.

"I'll look ahead."

The victim became became a ghoul, and thus, under Septimus' control and at the same vulnerable to sunlight. The man was uneeded. *Crack* It's neck snapped and it's windpipe, crushed. He rose, swung his hips and released his grip, seemlessly threw the man off into the path massive, radiant windows of the loft, his corpse setting ablaze in the sunlight and spontaniously reduced to ash in mere moments. The other proceeded.

"Septimus..." The woman spoke. "Do you smell him?"

Bashanipal.

"Yes."

He moved through the house, meeting abnormally little resistance one his way, bar the the one man who had followed them into the house. But it was strange. The "haunted" house had the lingering stench of Nazi guns and Nazi soldiers. Recent too. Fresh. Was it an ambush? Were the Tlama here? The Maw? Masking their scents from him and using the allure of Bashanipal to coax him into recklessness.

"Heida. The holy sword." Septimus spoke to the woman. " Ready it.""

"R-Right." She nodded firmly, slowly unsheathing it. "Immanuel silver bullets."

Septimus swaps the rounds of his handgun and Immanuel does the same. He moves onto the door, both facing eachother and they exchange glances. Quietly, they nod as Immanual opens the door and Septimus breaches. It is empty.

*Woosh*

White bloods runs onto the floor as Septimus stops the ghastly dead in it's tracks. A gunshot goes into it's knee. silver poisoning and repelling the beast. More in the room show themselves and await their turn. Septimus drives his American made Bowie knife into it's heart as Immanuel chucks a grenade, filled with the silver fragments of his crushed up valuables into the room as The Black Knight sends the thing throttling into the room with a front kick as he abruptly holds the door shut.

Boom.

Open the door up. Silver fragments every. The Vampirific Vanguard cannot enter. His human compatriots however, immediately breach the room, gunshots combining with the slick sound of silver sword rending through vampirific flesh as if it were jello. Moments go by and Nier is able the room, his eyes laying squarely on a giant, intricate coffin in the center of the room.

"Here. Now. He is weak. Heida. End it" Septimus puts his hands onto the cover and flips it open. The woman screams and juts the sword inside, Immanual in the back ready to set off a silver grenade in case the elder vampire came howling out somehow. But....the sword hit nothing but soil. Soil than smelled of the same repugnant flesh that Bashanipal had. But nothing more.

"What? How can this...."

That noise. Planes.

Outside the mansion, a poor passer-by shrieked as he beared witness to mansion's apparent purification, as the entire thing went up in an abrupt blaze of glory.

The bombs came from American planes towards an ultimately innocent city simply occupied by the Nazis. There were no strongholds bombed. A bridge. Some buildings. A hospital. All casualties were civilians. Septimus had awoken amidst the rubble. His injuries were too great. Even with blood, his body would not easily repair such fiery wounds. His survival in itself was a miracle. Even as a vampire. They were nowhere to be found, and night would soon fall and the Tlama would roam the shadows once more.

He later found of that the bombing was meant for Dresden. Their radar was off by over 70 miles.

It later went on to be used by the Nazi's during their occupation as propaganda and then under the communist regime soon to come.

@Demonboundsitri

Modern Times

It wasn't hard to be mistaken for a gargoyle here, give the place's architecture. A set of specialized, black clothes served the dual function of both making him into a Silhouette and protecting him from the effects of prolonged exposure to sunlight. But the sun was setting and night would soon fall upon the Prague once more.

Yet, upon the coming of the night, the city would not fall utterly asleep. It was amazing how much a place could change in fifty short years. The Prague had become a true Capital of what is now, the Czech Republic. A center for commerce, tourism, art and technology. The sun had begun to set and the vampire felt more comfortable, as the cool night air of the Prague's summer began to settle upon his skin. And he always admired the city's sites. The intricate, Gothic Architecture and the city's countless pieces of art, new and old decorating it in it's entirety,

In his mind, rest the thought of this city's history and of it's still ever present under-belly. But he focused on the good and acknowledged the city's progress from those what? Sixty years ago. An entire generation has grown in that time and has restored the city to greatness once more. Even on business, he enjoyed prowling along the city's rooftops from above and regarding the streets below.

Pap.

He scarcely caught sight of one man's sleight of hand. A pocket pilfered a wallet. He stops, his eyes idly scanning the man strolls into a cafe and sits down for lunch. In this act, he remembers days of being brought here by the Nazis working with crooks embed in the cracks of city. Figures who intricately turned it. More than likely, the wallet would be taken to a network. Drained off all funds.

The night is still young.

A trip to the hospital seemed in order, but he remembers the masquerade is of the utmost importance here. He drew his sword...and held it up into the moonlight. His blade idly reflecting a distinct sheen upon a vendor's trinket. It is here the man discovers his wallet missing. Minutes later and he cancels all of his accounts. Nothing overt here, of all places.

I mustn't forget the history of this place. Lest it repeat itself.

Clad in black, he becomes a black blur, blending seamlessly into the shadows once more. He may as well have been everywhere and yet, nowhere to be found.

Every step, taken to maintain the masquerade.

@voracious:

Where am I?

Some city. Not my city. Sitri was testing the practical applications of theological philosophy - namely, figuring out the answer to the question How far can you get on the strength of another man's faith?

Pretty far, as it turned out. She supposed it made sense. Divine messengers tended to pop up where they needed to deliver their message, not show up half an hour late saying sorry, the Green Line was delayed. Sitri wasn't divine or a messenger, but she figured the transportation rules seemed to work about the same. At least, she thought they did, when she thought about them at all. Mostly she tried not to. It didn't really matter how it worked, as long as it worked.

It sort of worked, anyway. She was pretty sure that there weren't any other metas who got around by dropping themselves into a pit of despair... then again, maybe there were. People didn't talk about that sort of thing. Except maybe with their - no, don't go there - psychiatrists.

Too late. Dammit, Tristan... Sitri took a few slow breaths, calming herself down, putting that train of thought aside for another time. It wasn't the sort of thing to be thinking about in a strange city. The movement of the air around the building she was standing atop was filtered into crevices and spikes, some sort of gothic-ish cathedral or something. She could see the outline of it in her mind, even if she couldn't see the reality of it.

She could have. If she wanted to.

No.

The demon within laughed, and she laughed with it, at the absurdity of it all, and together they descended from the building, slipping down with a cat's grace. Her hand caught on the stone once, a scratch in the skin that she didn't let bother her. It wasn't long before she was standing easy on the street below. It was night here, wherever here was. It had been early afternoon in LA. That's weird. Somewhere in Europe? Maybe? I don't know, I don't get all this geography stuff! Stupid Michigan public school system. She listened, silently, to the voices around her. Not an English-speaking country, that was going to be another issue. Sitri's education didn't extend to fluency in a thousand languages. She knew a few broken phrases of leftover French from high school, and passable vulgar Spanglish from the streets of LA. None of those helped here... the language was harsher, with sounds she didn't recognize. Russian maybe, or Polish, one of those sorts of languages.

It probably would have been a better idea to pull herself back to LA, but the cool night air was kind of welcoming, and it wasn't like she had anything to get back to. Or anyone.

Stop that.

Breathe in, breathe out. Night, and the scent of a city - toxic and overwhelming and hopeful and mysterious and all mixed up together, a thousand airs from a million people. She could feel them around her, the joys and sorrows, anger and sweetness, love and hate and humanity. Sometimes, Sitri thought, she still wasn't so different from all of them.

And sometimes she was. She wondered if this city had its own guardian, a silent watcher keeping out the undesirables, or whether it was left to the whims of the mortals, better men and women than the metas who considered themselves above them. Sometimes Sitri thought about letting go of LA... but she wouldn't have anywhere else to go. And she owed the city something, she thought. She wasn't sure what it was.

A chance, maybe. It always seemed like there weren't enough of those.

@demonboundsitri:

V.M.S.

Man is sitting in his office, going about his every day life, reading the paper because you could call the man old fashioned. To the layman his eyes would wandered to the window. In reality, the man was trained, to recognize the things that went over the heads of the normal majority of the populace. The things you see in life....as well as what you see in the paper.

His attention at the moment went to the woman in white waltzing along the rooftops. Often times, this is chalked up some semblance of being vigilante. However, the man had seen some rather suspicious types do this before. The kind of enemies who didn't wanna show their face to people, for whatever reason. Could be nothing, or, it could be something.

{"Blue Ranger One to Celtic, observe woman. Blonde. Dressed in white. Moving along the rooftops. Sector Z"}

{"All units be advised, blonde. Rooftops. Sector Z."}

The man nods, a unanimous "roger" denouncing universal acknowledgement. And with that, the man can finally get back to his paper. LAst weeks football (of the Non-American kind) game looked like it was somethin' fierce.

*BARK BARK*The dog pants, nudging the trench coat clad man along as it looks up as something it saw on the rooftop. The man smiles as the dog tugs him along, looking all along the rooftops as it ran him through streets an alleyways, getting closer and closer.

The dog's growling seemed to grow almost with each step it took closer to the woman, cutting through alleyways to observe her activities.

Septimus

His body still yet bore the wounds it possessed from his run in Metro City. Simply, it was not in a conventional way. His body had no choice but to cannibalize itself in the wake of his wounds and the potency of his already meager bloodline decreased. In compensation for not being able to feed, his strength had been sapped and it would take time to recover. He was as fit perhaps as some of the most fit men who walked the earth.

It was exhilarating.

The caution. The deliberateness. The danger. It all reminded him so of his days as a limited, meager mortal with life that perhaps would have had more meaning, if he had given it chance. Alas, he was a vampire and one who resisted most all manner of cure that may exist. So this would be as close as he would come for now. The city's low rooftops would serve him well tonight.

Who is this? Another?

Naturally, he remained in the shadows in an all black outfit where he was content as he saw someone else who jumped along the rooftops. Looking for him? An enemy? Maybe. Her appearance spoke little of what she was, but her appearance was almost....radiant. She was flawless in skin and in general feature, and these in tandem made Septimus more than skeptical. Much like how when had first met Lori, he did not trust beautiful people. He was aware that the more unattractive can easily be turned by the world into one who was ugly inside and out. But this was different and to him, people like this were much more likely to be socially adept. Manipulative. It gnawed on his mind not to trust her until she had shown herself to be able to trusted.

But what was this person doing here? What was she, to be of such appearance? A Daeva or something else? There were many a myth and legend all many cities, let alone this one.

@voracious:

She was being watched.

She could feel it, of course, the vague interest in her general direction. Not maleficence, not anything definitive, just interest. Odd. She'd expected to blend in better with the night. Most of what she wore was black, after all.

Of course, she really hadn't the faintest idea what she was wearing right now. Once, she'd cared about that - carefully keeping track of her clothing so that all the colors were where she wanted them. Easy to dress properly for work. These days, though, she didn't have a day job, and somehow she'd stopped really caring what she was wearing as long as she could move in it. Maybe it wasn't black, today. Or maybe someone could just see really well. Whoop-de-do for him.

The sense of interest intensified, and she let the walls in her mind down a little, sensing him out. Curiosity, mixed with hesitance, mixed with a sense of watchfulness. No aggression, though, no anger. Just the standard emotional "who are you and what are you doing here." Fair enough, she knew how that one felt. He was hanging out on the roofs, so she stepped backwards, setting herself directly in the middle of the street, and set her hands on her hips, tilting her head in his general direction. It was less come hither and more come on, you wanna have a go? - but there were aspects of both ideas in her posture.

What could she say, it had been a while. Oh, she could have fixed that any time, it would have been easy. But easy wasn't really what she wanted. What she wanted was more like... impossible. Not going to happen, as she'd been informed. Just another lesson in why she'd spent so long not letting herself get attached, she supposed. Although, really, she'd expected to get broken up with over being too crazy, not over being not crazy enough. The world was a weird place.

This city, whatever it was, was just as weird. All quiet and calm, but with that overwhelming sense of... focus, she supposed. Interest. It wasn't just the guy on the rooftops. It was more than that, although Sitri couldn't quite tell what it was. Just someone else's crazy city, she supposed. It probably would have been smart just to drop out, head back to LA. Good decision making still wasn't her forte, though, so she stayed where she was, waiting to figure out what the man on the roof was so interested in.

Maybe it'd be fun. Take her mind off things for a while. She shifted her hand a little, feeling the absence of the 9mm she usually carried. She'd left it home, though, figuring that carrying a loaded gun around strange cities probably wasn't going to do much for her continued freedoms - although with all the metas running around, Sitri thought it was kinda stupid that people cared about gun laws, but whatever. She'd left it home anyway, out of a sense of responsibility she was still somewhat disappointed to discover she had acquired. A twist of her left wrist shook the charm on her bracelet free, though. Star of David, symbol of a god she still didn't believe in. It doesn't matter, said the rabbi, He believes in you.

The rabbi said a lot of things. Sometimes she listened. And she wore the bracelet, anyway.

@demonboundsitri:

Bark bark!

The dog growls, kept at bay and then easily kept quiet. The seemingly lone hunter stopping at a food stand as he too did near her. Although unlike her stalker, he approached in plain site and did not strike anyone as out of the ordinary. The two slowly had begun to converge, the hunter idly eating a real good trdelník as he watched the meeting between monsters go down.

His eyes narrowed as her head turned. Septimus did indeed have good eyesight. Enough for him to nail one in the head with a handgun from hundreds of yards away and enough for him to see the white of her eyes despite him being a small fraction of a mile from her. But, he was for the most part, only lightly armed. Indeed he scarcely had little more than a sword and the countries famous CZ75 Handgun.

Her body language spoke to him and riled the beast within. An almost natural, primal and in someways, inhuman instinct urged him to assert dominance and show little on the realm of fear towards her, even if she has done nothing to earn his ire. Maybe it was her looks? Septimus had been ridiculed much by people fairer than he in the past and he'd almost grown to distrust most of such people, hence his initial mistrust of Lori. It seemed to him a shallow habit he'd developed in his years of social isolation from general society, but he was only subconsciously aware of it. The thought that the woman didn't take well to being watched hadn't occurred to him.

He rose, a black Silhouette who was visible to those so keenly aware such as herself, standing where Gargoyles and statues often did. The sun had finally scenically set and the moon ruled the sky now. From the top of the Gothic watch towered, he jumped and landed beyond view. However, her empathy with the undead thing's semblance of soul would show he was getting closer and closer before within minutes, he was upon her. He stood just above her now. How she chose to interpret his own showing her his weapons held in his hands before being dropped to the ground was up to her. He did not mean to mask his intentions. But something did.

He glided along a pipe, jumped to an opposing fire escape and then let go as he landed with a roll to break his fall from a story up, before now, he stood in the alleyway across from her. People idly passing by as he only stood concealed from head to toe by his outfit. He was not hungry, at the moment. His breathing was shallow and very quiet, as if he did not need to do it and only truly did so to take in her scent. The tone of his skin an ghastly pale by what little of a flickering light shone on him. His hoodie concealed his expression until he decided to rear his ugly face and the ugly thing behind his eyes.

In all honesty, he did not know what the beast was. He didn't know if it was some thing that invaded him, something awakened within or something that was always. A demon? An amplified portion of the human mind? He knew not. But he knew it wasn't like this when he was a man and people hated it. Anyone who happened to gaze into the windows to Septimus’ soul seemed to be struck by something almost incomprehensible, Eldritch and yet of vaguely human quality. It made people afraid beyond reason and it made them see things. They rushed and hurried along, no one bothering to enter or investigate the alleyway as some aura of fear forced the too curious away.

He looked and his expression too, spoke of challenge. His fists were clenched at his side. His head tilt, wondering whatever she would do because he would not move out into plain view.

The interest in the scene grew. The guys were smart enough to just not look into the creatures eyes to evade having their minds remodeled. One or two monsters "interacting" in public of all places. Who knows how much there is to learn?

A dog barked, not too far away. Sitri tensed slightly towards the sound, then relaxed again. She didn't really like dogs. She had always been more of a cat person. Dogs were always coming up and wanting to play or something. Cats just ignored you until they thought you could be useful. Sitri understood cats. Whoever this dog was, it settled down. Probably distracted by a pierogi. Dogs were stupid.

Sitri was much more interested in the other character, anyway. He felt... strange. Not standard human, that was certain. Of course, in a world like this that could mean anything, so mostly it was just a mental note that whoever the guy was, he was likely to have some set of special abilities, and she'd do well to remember that and not get out of her depth. He moved toward her, closer and closer, then dropped down. The metal of a pipe echoed as he touched it, resounding in the darkness with a soft note. The man was in the alley. A man, or something like one. Two arms, two legs, moved like a human. Taller than her, but not towering.

He'd chosen to stop in the alley, where he could get a good look at her, but she wouldn't be able to look at him. Smart, but unnecessary. She let him look, wondering what he'd see in her. She knew what she looked like. A pretty woman. Blonde. Eyes that couldn't decide if they were blue or amber, and twisted the two together in constant motion, like a lava lamp. Staring vaguely in his direction, but entirely unfocused. Sitri hummed a low note, barely more than an exhalation, bouncing it down the alleyway, around the shape that was him. Hands at his sides, clenched into fists. Scent of metal, the sharpness of a blade and the potential of a firearm.

The aura of waiting. The hint of desire, almost - not lust, but desire for battle, for a hunt. She could understand that, revel in it as well if she wished. Right now, she stayed calm. He was patient, cautious. Self-assured, confident in himself and his abilities. He wanted her to make the first move, she thought - still trying to figure out who she was, and what she was doing here. Sitri hinted a smile, and reached her hand behind her, pulling the collapsible white cane from her back pocket and locking it together, adjusting her position. The cane was pointed downward, tip toward the pavement, just like it was meant to be, and yet her posture wasn't that of someone tapping out a path. She held the cane like a sword, presenting a profile and waiting for the strike, her left hand moved to a position behind her - farther back than mere balance, prepared to shield her from behind if need be.

She did smile then, idleness and indolence and anticipation. "You have a name, over there, old man?" Largely guesswork, but she was a fairly good guesser. 'Man' was a given, or at least as close to a man as she was to a woman, and his patience and self-assurance suggested an age greater than her own - which was, admittedly, only twenty-five. She didn't know if he'd give her a real name, a pseudonym, or nothing at all... but it was still worth asking. Sometimes, she could get a pretty good read off of what they felt about her asking, or what they felt about their answer.

Besides, she wanted to know who the guy was. He was interesting, in ways that she felt she should probably have been worried about. That was the best kind of interesting.

@demonboundsitri:

So it was true. This close, he could confirm.

You are blind...

Septimus was indeed confident and yet the same time cautious. He would describe as going hand in hand. He was confident because he was cautious. He had lived some two thousand years. He watched his opponents and how they reacted to and approached things. Being able to kill or beat anything was impossible. But he felt at least that he knew enough to survive practically anything. If she could wipe him away with nary a stare, he likely wouldn't have appeared before those dull eyes at all.

A fool's guard.

Or at least, something reminiscent of it. The fact that she guarded seemed to allude to the fact that she wasn't invulnerable. She had to learn how to fight and she was prepared for a physical assault. Her smell was seemingly human and….something else he hadn't smell before. But from this distance, he did not know what. A smile. She was confident or at the bare minimum, good at feigning it and at keeping her cool under a little bit pressure. From this he can tell, that she has seen things and that….almost that she would like to engage him.

“My Name is Septimus” the emphasis on the S was enough for one to casually catcha glimpse of his sharp teeth as he spoke. “Nier.” He lets out with his somewhat gravely and yet low voice.

“What….and who are you, sweetheart?” He spoke with a hint of muse in the last word. Something he usually did not say. His curiosity, growing with the conversation passing.

Would the strange woman answer him wholly?

@voracious:

Septimus Nier. The name seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place it offhand. She let it mull over in the back of her mind, maybe something would jog her memory if it was something she had heard before. Or maybe not. Either way, she would remember it for the future. It was an odd name, not a common one. Not in LA, and probably not here in whatever country this was, either. The syllables were all wrong - Sitri was good at listening for letter groupings, even if she didn't know the language. Septimus Nier sounded more... Italian. Or Roman. Archaic, somehow.

That didn't necessarily mean anything. Plenty of people named their kids stupid stuff. Case in point, her mother. Bearing that in mind, she answered his second question to her easily enough, with an unguarded shrug of her shoulders - she had nothing to hide. "Sitri. Slyker." Usually she didn't give her surname, but he'd given his and it seemed polite. After all, they could maintain a polite fiction. He was interested in her, for one reason or another. It often turned out that the actual reason mattered much less than people thought that it should.

She paused, silent for a moment, contemplating the other question. What are you? was a lot harder to answer than Who are you? to be sure, especially in her case. There was also the aspect that the more she told him about what she was, the more she armed him, if he chose to fight her. Then again... then again, maybe if she answered, he'd do the same. Maybe not. But even so, maybe it didn't matter.

Maybe it was just that she was tired of hiding what she was. "It's complicated," she answered the question eventually, probably her favorite two words lately, for entirely different reasons. "These days, mostly I'm a Watcher." Her tone definitely capitalized the letter, and she chose the word carefully - at least in part because it amused her to see how people reacted to the idea of a blind watcher. A smile touched her lips for a moment, and she spoke again, thoughtfully. "Genesis 6:4." She didn't know if he would know the reference, or if it would matter to him. At that time the Nephilim appeared on earth (as well as later), after the sons of God had intercourse with the daughters of man, who bore them sons. They were the heroes of old, the men of renown.

Sitri wasn't precisely a son, but the rest was fitting. Mostly. She wasn't sure about the heroes part, either - Sitri didn't claim to be a hero. Only a Watcher. Iyrin, the Watchers dispensed to keep guard over mankind, there to fall and condemn themselves, cast from heaven, bound and banished. And the Lord said unto Michael: "Go, bind Semjâzâ and his associates who have united themselves with women so as to have defiled themselves with them in all their uncleanness. . And when their sons have slain one another, and they have seen the destruction of their beloved ones, bind them fast ... And whosoever shall be condemned and destroyed will from thenceforth be bound together with them to the end of all generations."

Outcast. Barred. Unwanted. To have touched paradise and know it, and know that it was lost forever. That was iyrin. The air stirred behind her, invisible wings rustling against the backdrop of despair. Sitri breathed slowly, and stilled them. Daughter of Enoch, this is not the time nor the place. She took a step towards him, then another, keeping her guard, forsaking the despair of the gods for the revelation of the huntress. "Does that answer you well enough? And what might you be, Septimus Nier?

@demonboundsitri:

"Genesis 6:4."

It had taken a moment for him to draw it all together. But, Septimus had indeed grown up in an age christ and he knew of the bible. Indeed, he had read all the spiritual texts to try and find some semblance of answer as to why god would allow such a thing as himself to exist. So far he'd found no answers, and he doubted the angel had any. She appeared to be savvy, but far from all knowing.

"I would have expected you to be taller."

Though she is, a bit tall.

"And to not have a gaze which shifts so." He knew her eyes symbolically spoke of a duality of sorts. But he sensed something ominous from her. Something she wasn't telling him....

She approached him, straying from the light and into the darkness that he had felt so at home with. Come to think of it, she was blind and in a way, she likely lived in this world as well. That is, if all of what she tells him is the truth.

She approaches, closer and closer and Septimus does not move. Indeed, his breathing grows lowers and lower with each passing moment. His heart does not beat, but he can hear the beating of her own and as she gets closer, the sound of the blood running through her veins becomes like a rhythmically flowing river. Certainly, she was no type of undead.

He looked up, blood red eyes now a pale blue, with a cat-like luminescence emanating from them both. Gazing into her own, he saw how her eyes shifted. Though indecisively, they did shift, like his. His fists remained clenched and his body appeared to be as relaxed as it ever was, ever ready to initiate a fluid kinetic chain at a moment's notice. Particularly when people lay eyes upon his visage first hand. She was blind but Septimus was not fooled. She had spotted him hundreds of meters away and clearly was more perceptive than the run of the mill sheep, preyed upon by wolves.

"I am a drinker of men." He responds cryptically, his mouth hanging open to show rows of sharp teeth which he ironically did not use much for drinking.

He looks at her, pondering her own response before he proceeds.

@voracious:

Sitri shrugged at his commentary on her state of being. "The rabbi thinks that if the Nephilim of ancient were giants, they came into that later in life. It's that whole 'born of mortal women' thing. Gotta squeeze the baby out somehow. I don't know. I haven't unraveled half of what I can do yet, I don't think." She'd only just begun figuring out how to travel between holy sites, which was how she'd gotten herself here in the first place. Here, wherever here was, talking to this weird guy about weird things.

"Besides," she added, judiciously, "Size alteration is Kaija's thing@kaija, and I'm not gonna try to steal her schtick. You just don't do that to your friends. I kinda wonder sometimes if she's got some sort of diluted Nephil blood in her somewhere that accounts for it, but I can't really tell. She's... something else, more than that." Demonic, but Sitri wasn't going to say that. Talking about their secrets was also something that you didn't do to your friends.

She didn't say anything in response to his comment on her 'shifting gaze,' deliberately. Sitri knew the reason for that, the conjunction of all her selves, but she was hardly about to tell everything about herself to some random guy she met on the street. Even she wasn't that bad at making decisions.

Septimus Nier seemed to have decided to be equally cryptic about what he was. 'Drinker of men...' Sitri wondered if that was more like soul-devouring, more like Team Edward, or more like stick 'em in a blender. She wasn't going to judge him for it, though. If people weren't meant to be eaten, they shouldn't taste so good. It had been a really long time since she'd actually eaten any pieces of people, though... long enough that maybe she could have a little treat once in a w-

Stop.

Sitri shoved that part of herself back in the cage where it belonged, and made herself refocus on the conversation. She'd gotten distracted for a moment, there. Breathe in, breathe out. Bloody stupid yoga. Back on the bandwagon. Hi, my name is Sitri, and it has been seven months since I last tasted human flesh. She didn't think there were actually meetings for that sort of thing. Hell, maybe there were. Metas were all sorts of weird.

Case in point, the one in front of her. She took another step towards him, then flicked the tip of the cane up like a sword point. "So. We gonna have a go, then, Septimus Nier, Drinker of Men?" Nothing too serious, but a little scuffle of sorts. It'd do her good - the challenge, the adrenaline. Burn off some energy, flirt with danger. Give her something to take her mind off other things for a while. Maybe for long enough that she could forget who she wanted to be. Tear down the walls, revel in the bloodbath.

"And when men could no longer sustain them, the Nephilim turned against them and devoured mankind." Sitri closed her eyes, opening them again slowly. Sight didn't matter, but it was an act of control. For a long time, she'd always assumed it was the demon in her that was the reason she wanted to eat people. It just went to show that you shouldn't assume things about the motivations of others.

No bloodbaths. Maybe a little tussle, but nothing beyond that. No civilians. And no eating people, for crying out loud.

I will try to be good.

No matter what it costs me.

No matter who it costs me.

@demonboundsitri:

It also wasn't often that Septimus had met something he hadn't seen. She appeared to be involved in the collective community of strange individuals who all seemed to find a way of meeting one another. It was already known to Septimus what the giantess was and what the nature of her powers were. He'd seen it in her red eyes, horns and from her scent. She had beast inside of her rearing to get loose. And from what Septimus observed from truly gazing into Sitri's eyes, she seemed to too.

"Interesting."

It reminded him much of times of old. Simpler times.

"A dual. It has been a long time since I have been challenged like this..." He smiled. It reminded him of...simpler times. You had a problem with someone and you'd settle it. Granted there was no real problem now. No "climactic" battle that destroys the streets below and rocks the heavens above. No long term feud which builds up into a decisive battle. Simply, it was two people who met and felt the need to beat the shit out of one another.

"I will accept your challenge under a condition..." He paused. "A bet. And one that is admittedly invasive, due to my nature." He paused. By now, it would probably be sinking in what he was going to ask. "The condition is that if I win, I feed on you. I draw out one pint. Roughly the same."

His eyes settle on her, focusing on the one holding the weapon. The staff itself, would be an obstacle.

"If this is acceptable, to may begin. Here and now. Whenever you are ready."

@voracious:

Sitri spent a moment considering his bet, then nodded. "Yeah. All right. You win, I'll be your personal Red Cross. And if I win... hm. If I win, you've got to teach me something I don't know." That was fairly open ended, she knew, but sometimes it was better to pick up odd bits of knowledge here and there, rather than set yourself on a single track. You never knew what sort of person you were going to end up being, after all.

"Sounds fair. City limits, and harming a civilian or causing one to come to harm is a forfeit," she added a couple qualifications. "The people around here are going to be watching anyway, but no human shield bullcrap." It terrorized people, and Sitri... well, there was a part of her that loved it. The terror felt incredible. And that was a path that she'd decided not to go down. "And no property destruction, people work hard for that stuff." She'd grown up in poverty, and carried a lot of that mentality with her. It was all too easy for 'heroes' and villains to toss each other into buildings. Maybe insurance would cover damages, but maybe it wouldn't - and there were always things that couldn't be replaced.

Her hand slipped into her pocket, and came out holding a penny between thumb and forefinger. She held it up, displaying it to her opponent, taking a step back. "Fight starts when it hits the ground," she added, then flicked the coin up into the air, listening carefully for the sound it made when it hit the pavement.

*plink*

Sitri slapped her left hand down over the top of her right wrist. "Bhitru." The invocation wasn't strictly necessary, but it helped her focus - the name of her demon, her namesake. Languages were weird, they changed over time. Sitri, Sytry, Bhitru. She'd thought about hiding the demonic aura, as she hadn't spoken of it, but it was going to come out anyway, and she might as well lead with it while it had a chance of it being a surprise. The energy she'd stored channeled through her, focused in the little shuriken bound atop her wrist by silver chains. It bit into her skin, blood focusing the energy further, channeling it out along the path of the white cane - soul-hardened, hellfire. She didn't pause, but lunged forward for the place where he'd been standing when the coin had dropped, a quick strike across the center.

I think this is going to end up being fun after all.

@demonboundsitri:

"I accept."

That tongue. Where I have heard it?

Perhaps the answer would come. Perhaps it would not. That was for later.

He saw...a spear. Headed right for him. He was in Thermopylae. It could not be stopped. To catch it would mean for it to slip through his hands and find home in his chest cavity.

The cane came forward and his shifted with a speed belying his size, as his arm simultaneously moved to deflect the cane's course and send a majority of it's energy somewhere less desirable than his center mass. His eyes however, flared a deep red as the beast became vexed by a torrent of flame. Ironically however, his (Un)Life force was vexed more so by the" purifying" properties ordinary fires than it was by supernatural.

He exploded off his feet to close the distance, that very same hand used to defend, fluidly transitioning to snap to the center of her pretty face with vicious speed.

@voracious:

A moment of... something, indeterminate, hard to figure out. Sitri didn't know what to make of it, but it was only an instant, and his emotions shifted to protection first, the air shifting around him as an arm came up quickly to block her hellfire-blade. There was no fear with it, at least, not of the fire. Whatever else Septimus Nier had among his talents, resistance to hellfire was apparently one of them.

That was just fine with Sitri. She'd have been disappointed if it had been over so quickly. She felt him shift to aggression as he moved from defense to attack, the distance between them rapidly disappearing. She'd started moving as soon as his emotions shifted, stepping back, and so the distance didn't close quite as quickly as he may have wanted. Still, though, he was fast. Faster than her, certainly. Even moving as soon as she'd felt him, she barely got out of the way, and she felt the briefest touch of fingertips across her cheek. Hmmm. She smiled, then laughed softly, listening to the sound of her laughter curl around the closeness of his body, dancing away to the side. Her cane swept behind her, guarding her back.

The straight physical attack was interesting, when she knew he was armed. Either he was testing the waters, or he was toying with her. That wouldn't do, now, would it? Definitely not... she wanted to be the one toying with him. She pivoted, keeping the blade between them but turning so she was facing again, continuing with motion, listening to where his footfalls fell, feeling the split in the air as he moved through it. Waiting, waiting... just long enough.

When he was close, she lunged towards him, the fencer's thrust - and when the blade was close to striking she whispered a revocation: "Grigori." The name of the Watchers, and the hellfire swirled and shifted, made holy again. After all, one could not be cast out of Heaven without being touched by God.

That was what the Rabbi said, anyway. Sitri still didn't know if she believed any of it, but it didn't seem to matter - so long as she could make use of it. So long as she could strike with it, and let her demon drink her opponent's agony. Carve him open and follow with a caress, feel the slick sweet blood and the softness of his entrails.

Just a friendly little fight. She laughed softly. Down, girl.

@demonboundsitri:

Stay on her.

He moved, constantly advancing to her position. Icy blue eye, locked unto their target; A wolf in sheep's clothing. He'd no idea of the hellfire upon her blade and simply had moved to meet it's flat end with his fist and unerring speeds. However, he knew the advantages of reach and they made themselves known as the holy sword struck into his abdomen and released a generous amount of white Vitae, before the blade exited Septimus' body with a violent swipe.

It didn't a genius to realize the agony it caused him from the inhuman, bloodcurdling screech that escaped partially restrained lips with an unnatural force of fear. People hardly processed the noise but suddenly the crowd was silent and most everyone on the street simply left and the area grew more quiet. Septimus clutched his wound. His eyes wide and red and his expression now a bug-like blank. Anger eminated from every portion of his body as he hunched down, almost tempted to walk upon all fours and a hostile hissssssssssescaped clenched teeth. Yet his face spoke little of it.

His eyes begin to scan his surroundings and slowly, but surely he drew the beast back into his mouth, the elongated tendril slithering back from when it came within his body. He refocused himself, but in this time, she was probably already on her way to making her next attack. Her laughter, beginning to bounce off him as he held up his hands now, ceasing his stance as a monster and standing with his hands up like a man.

Ready to go.

@voracious:

@voracious:

The scream of agony, the acrid bite of terror deepening to rage. He'd coiled around himself, and she'd stood back, a soft smile touching her features. She didn't want to attack him. Not while he was hurting. Let him hurt a while, draw it out. The air was whipped away by a.... something. Flesh, she thought, though she didn't know any more than that. Prudently, she took another step back, waiting.

Septimus Nier drew himself back together, brought himself back under control. Sitri could do no less than make herself do the same. A fight like this wasn't just about damage and destruction, it was about being able to exhibit control over one's abilities - and if she let herself go too far, she'd have lost. She breathed, slowly, in and out, mastering her selves slowly, and letting the energy fade from her blade, leaving it a white cane only again.

"You all right, there?" she inquired, quietly. He'd taken a ready stance, preparing for the fight, but she didn't want to force him too far. "You need a safe word or something?" In retrospect, it probably would have been a good idea to sort that out before the fight. Too late, now. They'd just have to trust each other to stop. Trust themselves to stop, maybe the harder ask.

She didn't want him dead, though. Going in to cities and killing local metas... that wasn't what she wanted to be. That was getting right up there in supervillain territory. Sitri didn't want to be a villain.

Even if she'd make a much better one than she made a hero. It would have been so easy...

No.

She would... try... to be good.

@demonboundsitri:

Bark.

The streets were empty enough that you could hear the dog whimper. His master, sat with tense trembling hands that fought just to attempt to look like he paying the paper any mind. He wanted to run like anyone else but something about the sound that he barely heard, that he barely even processed, shook him to his core. His adrenaline was rushing, his appetite was lost and he wanted to explode out of his seat to get away. And yet, he stayed on accord of his own will. His pup, remaining similarly loyal to him, as he gave his report.

More watched from some of the same shadows as the things they hunted. In plain sight, and out. One could stop this, but why? There was much to be learned here, clearly. And it was surprisingly controlled.

"It would seem chivalry is not dead."His smile was forced, for it harbored a grudge beneath it.

How ironic it was. It wasn't the beast that spoke to him of her human senses, as he looked towards her and saw something ugly inside her. Something like the ugliness that was within him, both from his condition and from himself? (The line got blurry) But so far, she didn't seem ugly on the inside. Not particularly pretty either. More, there was the possibility of it. He could only tell so much from how she fought. To press on, to know more about someone through how they fought? It was nostalgic, truly reminding him of older days. A part of him disliked the concept of being shown mercy, of her not moving to finish him.

He did not want her pity. But he calmed himself.

Next round.

"No." He spoke, shuffling seemingly suicidally to the blade as with his hands raised as he did. "Keep going."

It seemed right of her to keep her sword raised and in front of her, for not even a second had passed from his statement before Septimus struck once again. His eyes rest on her. But the damn blade was in the way, waiting to be drawn back and to be impaled in his person no doubt.

Another punc-No. A well angled swat to the flat end of the blade that sought to deflect it to open up for a front kick. His foot strikes from below, extending as he seeks to bring it to her chest with such force as to blow back a 200 pound man some multiple feet away, momentum from both a charge and from forward movement. Hit or miss, he had to stay on her, to get in. Or all would be for naught, as she'd just slowly but assuredly pick him apart. But if he got in? He almost felt certain he could take her apart.

Piece by piece.

@voracious:

He'd been angry, for a moment, but the anger had been accompanied by something else. Nostalgia, maybe. Something approving, mixed with the disapproval. Septimus Nier, it seemed, was a man of many contradictions. She wasn't surprised when he met her inquiry with calm refusal to give up, wanting to continue the fight. She nodded as he stepped forward, and let him make the first move. In the not-too-distant streets, a dog barked its own disapproval. The same one, by the tenor of its voice. Hopefully it found another sausage and didn't interrupt just when things were getting interesting.

His hand slapped the tip of her 'sword,' and like the hollow cane it was, it snapped off and spun out into the alley, just another piece of debris. Without the force of her abilities channeled into the form, it was merely a simple object, unable to threaten him or cause him any harm. The kick came after it, striking her chest, and she moved with it, pushing back off of the ground and arcing her body into a coordinated backflip. It was a more emphatic one than she'd have liked, and she felt the strain on her ribcage. Definitely some bruises there - she'd be a lovely shade of purple in the morning, and might be a little crack on one or two.

That was just fine with her. She rebalanced herself, dropping the cane and shifting sideways. The cane was just a prop anyway, she'd learned to do her spirit-blade thing without it. She didn't want to rely too much on that, though. Damn, I wish I had my .45...

Of course, that wasn't really sensible. There were other people around, after all - she couldn't just go shooting off a .45 because she wanted to win a fight she'd started with some random dude. She was pretty sure Nier could handle getting shot - after all, he'd handled her hellfire just fine - but bullets got messy, she'd have to worry about where it went after it went through him. And for all she knew, his blood was toxic.

Probably best not to lick it then. Sometimes, life just wasn't any fun. She let the demon adapt her physiology, feeling herself get stronger, faster, feeling the change in her eyes to amber, the elongation of the pupil. Sitri didn't really want to get kicked like that again, so she came at him from the side, snapping a kick of her own towards his kidneys - if he had kidneys. And if they were in the usual place. Fighting metas was weird like that. The only real way to see what they were like on the inside was to cut them open and start pulling things out to see what they tasted like.

@demonboundsitri:

You show me mercy?

For a vampire, the were two places which could be truly hurt by guns, knives and bullets. That was the head, the seat of the consciousness. And the heart, the seat of his soul. A strike to anywhere else was simply to strike a bag of meat. His body was a blood sac, through which the only important things were his muscles, skeleton, heart and head. Everything else may as well have been there for aesthetic purposes.

He expected a strike with the cane and for it to resume it's sword form once more. Instead a strike with the chin came. Her snapping strike was met with hands the saw it coming a mile away. Not because it was slow, but because he was of such reflexes. The hit of her shin did not register to him.

The sequence would continue with V moving forward with her held leg, savagely striking the back of her achilles with his steel-like shin and following down to the ground to pin her. His fists, would seek to rain down like a hailstorm not too soon after. Looking to batter down whatever semblance of defense she'd put up as they sought to sneak it's way to her "off switch." The temple. The nose. The jaw.

Sleep.

His mind was mostly instinct. That was but the only thought that bounced about his skull.

@voracious:

Her kick snapped forward, right into the palm of his open hand. He grabbed her foot, and his other leg came around to the back of her leg. He'd gone fully in to the fight, and Sitri didn't think she wanted to take the beating that close combat with a stronger opponent promised. The demon wanted to tear into him, but her sensible side convinced it that biting a self-proclaimed 'Drinker of Men' was a really bad idea according to at least eighty percent of awful horror films, which was good enough for Sitri to go on. She pushed the demon back into its place and brought her left hand up in front of her - not a strike, but a defense.

"Enoch." The Name of the Book. It encompassed her, the emanation from the Star of David on the bracelet she wore, the silvery soul-shield springing out between them as he pinned her to the ground. Unlike her blade, the shield had neither holy nor unholy aspect - it was merely a blockade. A shimmer in air forming the six-pointed star was the only visible hint that it was there, the rabbi had told her, but the shield itself surrounded her, and when the blows rained down, she let them fall, waiting them out.

Her other hand came up, slowly - not an attack, but to reach for him. A caress rather than a counter. "Is this what you wanted?" she murmured, drawing attention to the fact that he held her pinned, ignorant of the near-insanity of the blows. The intensity of a man consumed by himself. She knew the feeling. Knew how it was, the need for something. She laughed softly, amused at the insistence in him, the way it provoked her. "Do you want me to bleed, Septimus Nier?"

She drew her right hand away from him again, still holding the shield steady between them, and bit down on her thumb until she tasted the iron in her blood, felt the first slow drop splash onto her lips. She grinned, the mischievous imp, knowing she was provoking him and doing it anyway. Her tongue flicked out and licked the droplet away, though the bite mark still trickled, infinitely slow. She breathed in the tension that suffused them both. "Yield," she told him - half a demand, half a promise.

Let's find out what manner of monster we both are.

@demonboundsitri:

"Do you want me to bleed, Septimus Nier?"

Yes.

His fists had reigned down tirelessly before and without any sign of stopping. Indeed, if anything, it would only grow in it's intensity. They sought some way past the field, half fueled by pride and the half fueled by the prize. But, as she....teased him, such feelings were replaced by the shame of how easily it was half of his will left him.

Her hand reached up to touch him and though he held his guard up, the lack of speed in it caused him to allow the hand to reach. It was the first touch he had experienced in some time that did not feature someone either limp, dull or being struck as he had earlier. He had spent much time watching people from a far, constantly rejected to the point that he could not walk among general society with his face exposed. Usually, this was the beginning to whatever Vendetta one had which would involve him. Her touch sent an euphoria that seemed to almost emanate from the area she touched, most intensely on his cheek. And then to spread throughout the rest of his body.

Was it a trick? Some sort of ruse?

There was only one way to find out. In but one gesture, she had robbed him his will to fight. In another gesture, she made it a battle for him to not cease the fight. He didn't want to take it as yielding, his pride still yet remained. But, such a thing took second nature the beast. To his primal, physical needs. His hands relaxed. And so, as she said the word "Yield" he stopped.

He looked at her with a cautious expectation.

"What's your game?"

@voracious:

The hail of blows slowed down. Stopped. His instinctive aggression turned to caution, to curiosity. To inquiry. "What's your game?"

Sitri paused, shrugged a shoulder. "I don't know," she admitted, with a smile. "I hadn't thought that far ahead." She lowered her left hand, let the shield of Enoch flicker away into nothingness, and reached out to him again, replacing her hand on his cheek. She could feel the tension beneath her fingers, the slow hint of slipperiness as the cut on her thumb left a smear of blood along his jawline. "You seem like the sort of man I could make some very bad decisions about," she teased. Truthfully, she was probably already making some very bad decisions.

Those were the most fun ones. And she really wanted to find out what he was going to do about it. Find out how it was that others controlled themselves, when they were something other than what they wanted to be. Maybe she'd learn something. Or maybe he'd kill her. There was really no way of knowing.

Sometimes, that was the best feeling of all.

@demonboundsitri:

I see now.

He leaned back, and whiffed the air it on her. To resist lapping up the blood he'd smeared on her was like trying to resist the urge to blink. But he did so as to think.

"Hopefully I don't burst into flames upon a taste..."

Blood of an angel, the held some semblance of Numina. Spiritual Essence of...something? Something more powerful and ominous then what she'd care to show him. Indeed, he had rarely encountered demons such as this, that smelled of hell. Even fewer was when such a being or more accurately, something that harbored such a being, took an interest him. One part, curiosity. He wanted know more of the woman. The second half, the beast was insatiably hungry, desiring more than the sustenance blood seemed to survive, but what it would gain by drinking something such as that.

His tongue seemed almost to elongate and he licked up the blood that she'd smeared on his face. A blank stare to....nothing in particular for a moment as he mulled about the taste in his mouth for a second. He took her hand by the arm a before Voraciously went to her thumb for more. His entire mouth went around to sucking it like how a baby would suck a thumb. His eyes blink, turning from blue to a blood red.

Decadent.

Thumpthump thumpthump thumpthump

The sound of her beating heart. He thinks of Lori. More guilt. But the blood. The woman beneath him? She is...warm. And the blood, it calls to him. A man of contradictions? Accurate. A man of conflict. That embodied him.

He is finished with the hand, as he withdraws the tongue and licks the wound clean. Seals it. He takes her wrist, both of them and lays it down to pin her, looming over her with an expression that spoke of a predatory hunger at it's first and foremost. And beneath it, Sitri of all people could probably see the lust that lie beneath it that was washing away his guilt.

His head goes from above her face, peering into to her eyes towards the neck. His mouth unhinged and his stinger shoots out, sliding into her flesh with such sharpness that it leaves no cut. To strike something like the carteroid artery would mean bleeding one out. It would mean that if she could not heal, she could die. So, his fangs instead injected veins closer to the jugular with an almost surgical precision. The venom was euphoric, inducing dopamine rushes and nullifying pain. He took care, measuring the blood as he drew it. Not being too greedy as he withdrew it. Indeed.

He savored her...or it. Whatever he told himself really.

@voracious:

He held himself back quite admirably, for a little while. Sitri just waited, and smiled, and let him make his own decisions about what he was going to do. Too many heroes fought by trying to push their opponents into a corner where they only had one choice. Maybe that was a good thing if you wanted to win, but winning had never been all that important to Sitri, at least, not in the conventional sense. She just liked to find out what people would do, if they had all the options available to them. If the only thing forcing their decision was their own mind.

Maybe that was the influence of the demon, or maybe it just came from all the time she'd spent around Tristan. As always, a little ripple of loss coursed through her at the thought of him. It was getting quieter, though. Maybe it would heal, in time. Maybe it wouldn't. She still wanted him back, and she stayed away, because it was the right thing to do.

She had to make some good decisions, after all. Not like this one. Not like taunting a Drinker of Men with a smear of blood, with all her defenses down, just to see what he'd do about it.

"Hopefully I don't burst into flames upon a taste..."

Sitri wondered, idly, if that was a possibility. She didn't think so, though. If her blood were toxic to him, she thought he'd have reacted to the trace of it on his skin. Reacted physically, anyway. Psychological reactions were another matter entirely. She let him have her hand, and lick the blood off the bite mark she'd made. She could feel the wound closing - that was interesting. It wasn't anything she was doing - at least, she certainly didn't think so - so she figured it was him. It made sense, if whatever he was was designed to leave a victim alive. Not so much if he was the manner of creature that was designed just to kill.

It was a good enough sign that she let him have her wrists, feeling him pin them down onto the pavement. Ooh. Briefly, it occurred to her that maybe outside wasn't really the best place for this, but just as briefly, she decided she didn't much care. It didn't matter. She could feel the ache of his desire, tangled up with the hunger, the need. The demon within admired the presence of a kindred spirit, desired its closeness.

She could have stopped him. Beneath his hand, the shuriken bit at her wrist, blood-tied, focus for her blade. Holy or unholy, it would take but a thought to push her soul into it, shred the blade, penetrate the man above her. This close, he wouldn't move away. He'd bleed. He'd scream. Agony again, just like before. She wanted it, but there were other things she wanted more. Other things took patience. She held herself back, and waited.

The kiss came at her throat, a prick of sharp pain, only for an instant before it was taken away, and she hated that he'd taken that away from her even as the warmth of euphoria spread through her. Blood rose, awoken with desire, and she let him have it. Her eyes stayed open, shifting, unseeing, and her lips parted at the promise of other things, different things, more of the same.

Oh, yes. Septimus Nier was definitely a man she could make bad decisions about.

@demonboundsitri:

So this was what you are. Or what you seem to be.

He'd been doing this for years. To drink from her, he would know much. He could taste her blood, feel her shift and squirm. He didn't just hear the beating of her heart, he felt it as though it were his own. As though, his own heart wished to stir. It felt almost like, an additional incentive. It went beyond the thirst and to simply the prospect of stealing life away.

Or in this case, taking what was given to him all too willingly.

He had come to know much of her. Of the powers that her body possessed. She could push him away any time she wanted to but she didn't. She could fear him and he would taste such a thing. Feel it as well. But unlike everyone else. She did not seem to fear him. Perhaps she is planning something? it wasn't so well thought out at all that Septimus would not become intimately aware of every so ability she possessed. With his appearance, he would be an easy target for seduction, for it had been oh so very long, before Lori anyway.

But if it was planned out, it wasn't very well so. It wasn't really just that now Septimus had begun to become closer to the demon that chose to be beneath him. He could feel his power...growing. From something. His lineage resonated with some particular concepts. Many of the abilities she had wouldn't...carry over or be able to be well conducted purely through. But there was one. To project, sense and feed from emotions. Fear was something the demon and the beast shared. An aura of fear had begun to emanate all around him. How those around him acted in response to fear was different, but he didn't even know he was doing. Not really. It just felt wrong. Unnatural. But that was what made it all the better. He couldn't get enough of it.

It reminded him of himself. It was something that just shouldn't be. But it was different. It reveled in being a monster, and worked more subtly than the beast, so he thought. It guided her emotions. The way her blood made him feel, it was as though every bit of anxiety and fear had simply left him to become the problem of others. It-

Too much.

His eyes snap back as they resume their icy blue hue. From her neck, the incision was precise enough to leave no easily detectable mark. A bit of stray blood, but it was a problem he could easily solve. "Forgive me, Sitri Slyker. It seems I had drawn more than I had originally intended." He spoke straightly, the undertones very subtle. "I could not-" His tongue runs along her neck. The wound does as it did before, closing and sealing intricately ran his tongue along it, licking along her neck. "Control myself." He whispered.

"Though, we have strayed far from our original deal, no?"

Spoke as he releases her wrists, and begins to slink down her body on all fours. Going lower, and lower.

Sitri felt him close against her, and reveled in the unique feeling of having a willing victim - no struggle, nothing offered grudgingly, but someone who wanted it as much as he did-

Um?

No, wait, that was him. She was... here. With him. Yes. Very much, yes. No fear, no anxiety, just blood and desire and a sense of union. She was slipping in to him again, his emotions blending in to her own, and didn't care. For a few moments, they were inseparable. Time passed in heartbeats - maybe a handful, maybe an eternity. One of them pulled away, and she was herselves again. The world was dark as always, and hazy around the edges. Darkness where there was nothing, and darkness where there would have been darkness anyway. The warmth lingered in her mind, the tremble in her limbs.

Lust, maybe, or blood loss. Both, she thought, with what little thought she had spare. He murmured something - maybe an apology, maybe a promise. She didn't forgive him. Forgiveness would have been an insult. He moved, and she remembered that she could move as well.

Breathe.

In, out. She found a voice, not sure which of her it belonged to. "Don't." The voice of restraint. Not really the voice she wanted to hear. A slow breath, and her fingers moved across the back of his neck. "Not here." Now, that was more reasonable, and she found she almost agreed with herself. The public alley was hardly the place for that sort of thing. Not that Sitri was really that much of a prude, but at the same time, it was a reason. Easy to hold on to.

Not like him. No, she couldn't hold on to him if she wanted to. That was a good thing. She'd tried to hold on in the past, but it didn't work out. This was different. Let everything go, and see what happened. Let someone else lose control, for once. Live vicariously. Let him be what she wished she could let herself be, sometimes.

But I try to be good.

So did he, she thought. She smiled, in the haze. "I would... very much like to, though."

@demonboundsitri:

A tremor of fear. But from where. It was close. No. No onlooker. It was someone else...her. She feared something. This was new, so what it was she was afraid of was unclear.

Was it him?

What am I....doing?

He knew that he had taken more than he should've. He knew that he was about attempt to make love to a woman in an alleyway where children. Was this what it meant for the beast to take him? For to forsake his humanity? The question bounced around his mind but he still yet did nothing. He was content to lay in the path he had scent forth in the flow until someone turned the tides.

That someone was her, who prevented them from ending up thrashing in the rapids that would be the consequences. He felt it in the form of her hand on his head, urging him to stop. His eyes flashed from red to blue as the man came over the beast and fended away what felt all too natural. Something rare. For both parts of him to want something. But, he couldn't. Not only was it a public place, but he had taken far too much blood.

What have I done?

His eyes grew wide. Self conscious. Not of the monster outside of himself in his pale skin, veiny face, ragged skin, pointed ears and pale blue eyes. No. It was the monster within. "Damn it. Are you alright? I took too much. I don't know what came over me. I didn't mean-"

He paused and took in a deep breath, the oxygen in his lungs reminding him of his humanity, as he exhaled once more. His composure needed to be reclaimed, and an objective clear on his mind.

"I apologize."

He offered his hand for her to take, trying to assess if she can even get up.

"Do you have a place to stay? To heal?"

@voracious:

Sitri laughed softly at his obvious discomfort. Maybe she shouldn't have thought it was funny. Maybe it was the demon, or maybe it was the blood loss. She tried, cautiously, for the hand he offered, caught it on the second try. The world was a little more spinny than usual, but it wasn't going to end. Not today. She pulled herself up to a sitting position, waiting there for a bit. "I'll be okay," she assured him, in the general sense. Sure, it was more than the standard Red Cross donation, but she wasn't in get thee to a hospital forthwith territory or anything.

She would recover, eventually, without any lasting damage. Maybe that wasn't the best benchmark to be using for things, but... well, after the encounter that had left her blinded, little things like losing a lot of blood just didn't phase her much. Rest, drink orange juice, eat spinach. She would be fine.

Of course, in the more specific sense... "I still don't know where the hell I am," she told him, with another amused laugh. "Poland or one of those -stan countries or something? Hell. I freaking suck at geography. I'm from LA," she added, a bit more helpfully, and considered. "I think I can get back to the city all right. And once I'm there I've got friends who can pick me up. Suppose I gotta sort that stuff out anyway, in case I ever get my ass kicked outside city limits." She shrugged. "Probably good if I just sit for a little while, though."

A smile crept up on her. "I did warn you I was likely to make bad decisions about you," she teased. "Seems like maybe it's a bit mutual."

@demonboundsitri:

You really are blind.

For reasons of her appearance and assertiveness, he'd had her pegged as some kind of master-mind. Someone inhuman who would all but end up using him. But, as time grew on, regardless of what he tasted in her blood, she was but a human woman. Not a normal one, mind you. But a human woman non-the less.

He smiled as he brought her to a sitting position, her laughing serving to ease him somewhat as he gave her a close look. Obviously, disoriented but still able to recover with mere time. It was however strange that she would end up somewhere like here. Perhaps she could teleport.

"You are in the Prague. The Czech Republic. While I've no real doubt of you being capable of handling yourself, given your performance, I'm not so sure I should let you walk off in this state. Carrying you is the least I can do for what you have given me." He started to feel a bit more comfortable in his own skin. Maybe because she was blind, she wasn't one to truly judge him by his mutilated appearance. Or maybe she just didn't care much.

His smile turned more so to an arrogant smirk, for one who views himself as so little at times.

"Perhaps it is. But, why don't we make our first good decision of the night and get a room." He teased back.

"So that you may recover adequately. " An attempt at a joke. But one with at least a grain of truth it.