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Post by demikara on Nov 25, 2018 16:46:33 GMT -6
Milo waited patiently on the dawn edge of day for Catherine to arrive, more than willing to wait awhile if it meant getting a hold of her. This was the sort of important problem that Balto believed the warden herself should take care of. That meant there were two options: Send Tyrus or send Milo. Milo was still unwilling to allow his fledgling/husband to take part in court politics like this. And make no mistake, dealing with the warden was always court politics, whether he wanted it to be or not.
He sipped from a juice box as he read through a fantasy novel about werewolves and vampires. The mundanes had the wildest ideas about the unseen that any of their books was always good for a laugh, even if they were terribly, terribly inaccurate. That just added to the humor. At least in this one the vampires didn't sparkle. That had led to a glitter war the likes of which he sincerely hoped his family would never get into again, even if it had been hilarious getting glitter in Father's hair.
Mother had been so amused she had stayed Father's hand, which really had been the goal. Then again, Mother had also worn every ounce of glitter they got on him with pride like nothing else.
Milo glanced up, keeping an eye on the time and on the warden's office.
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Post by Circe on Nov 25, 2018 18:18:33 GMT -6
Catherine was bone tired and exhausted. After the incident last time, Rahal had been working her over double time to ensure that she met the conditions of the parole. If anyone were to ask her, she'd say that he had gotten the easier end of the deal; Council sponsored or not. Despite all this though, she was still on time for her shift with the Dallas branch.
"Good morning Warden." Her secretary said, greeting her boss cheerfully, who just muttered a groggy reply. Catherine would have much rather been at home and in bed still, but given what had been going on lately, showing up for work was probably for the best. Taking any sick days or vacation days were going to have to wait till they got through this latest round of insanity; caused by her own sire no less. After the woman informed her of the days appointments and calls, she added one last thing, "Oh by the way, someone from the Dragon Court is here to see you."
It was too early for this type of drama in her opinion and she'd sooner avoid it than have to deal with whatever nonsense the vampires had come up with now. "For christ's sake Sam... are you joking? You have to be joking, because this is not what I want to be doing first thing."
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Post by demikara on Nov 26, 2018 6:28:18 GMT -6
"It's not what I want to stay up doing either." Milo stood from where he was sitting more amused than not. "But this shouldn't take too long, Warden." He wanted his bed and his habibi, not to be here dealing with a dhampir who frankly was more trouble than she was worth, from where he was sitting. "But it is MCU business, so I'm not here for political reasons."
Balto may have the ability to order him here, but Milo was much more likely to insist a lower ranking vampire be assigned to deal with Dumitrescu and her bullshit. Neither of the two groups liked each other and he was willing enough to admit that truth, even is he didn't want to deal with it. Still, he had business with her, and he hoped to conclude it soon
"Besides, I have a husband to get home to. I have no desire to linger." Waiting had been annoying enough, but he hadn't been certain when she came in. At least the secretary had been polite enough. Having to deal with mad woman that he knew perfectly well Catherine had once had would have been unbearable.
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Post by Resident Demonolater on Nov 27, 2018 16:34:45 GMT -6
"For the last time.." Exasperation had seeped into the speaker's previously pleasent voice, and the patently neutral expression they wore had begun to fade. For the last twenty minutes they'd been going around, and around, and around with the woman in front of them, some glorified desk clerk, and they were just about out of patience. "I am Sir Walther Wolfgang Von Rohr, and I do not need an appointment to see Lady McBride." Snarled the voice, and though the sound of it erred on the side of all things masculine they had a certain meoldic, sing-song quality that made it hard to tell for sure. "I would suggest, for your own increasingly precarious safety, that you stand aside. Now." Continued the creature, and truly "creature" was an apt descriptor. It was plain as day to the woman being spoken to that whatever was addressing her wasn't human; their eyes were a rippling, stormy grey, their skin unnervingly free of blemishes, and scars, and when they sneered the tips of teeth far too long could be seen. The outlandish get up they wore didn't help, most notably head to toe leather beginning with an exotic ruffled coat, repelet with plush furs, and silver fixtures that was left unzipped to expose all-too-pale skin. There wasn't a hint of breast, or pectoral muscle to be seen though, and the high-waisted, skin tight leather pants the rude person's jacket tapered off to didn't betray a hint of anatomical detail either. She couldn't see their shoes, but judging from the sound of their heel tapping they ended in points.
All in all it screamed one simple thing..Court attire. Vampire Court attire to be specific.
Gathering her courage, and righteous indignation Sam pushed out of her seat with a huff. She wasn't about to be pushed around by some bloodsucking snob, and they were truly stupid enough to try anything Catherine would make sure there was hell to pay. "And for the last time," she clucked her tongue in displeasure, shooting the stranger a death glare in the process, "I'm telling you that no one bothers Ms.Dumitrescu without an appointment, or my discretion! If you'd like to schedule an appointment, and find some manners in the process, I'd be more than happy to help you. But you are not getting through that door today, understand?" It was a gamble, but she shielded herself with anger. There was a real fear in being attacked, but truth be told Catherine in a rotten mood because she let some pompous vampire through frightened her more. Not much more, but enough for now.
At least until she caught the sudden flash of rage in the stranger's eyes. It was a terrifyingly cold thing, almost like a bored obligation, but murderous none-the-less.
"I could eat you," they growled, hands balling in to fists habitually. "Drain ever last drop, and incinerate your carcass - after all nobody misses the peasantry.."
The colour started to drain from Sam's face, bluster, and bravado rarely got to her, but something about this person's disregard..No, contempt, for life drew her up short. She took an instinctive step back, and reached out towards the panic button on the underside of her desk. It had been installed for "guests" with just such a disposition, but before she could reach it something strange happened. As quick as the stranger's rage had appeared, it disappeared, and with a dramatic flourish of their coat they turned away.
"I tire of such pleasantries," they scoffed, voice once again soothing, and low. "Besides, you'd probably taste like ass. Poor folk usually do." With that they took a single step towards the door of Catherine's office, and with a blurr of inhuman speed kicked the damn thing open so hard it cracked the foundation around the door frame. Two more graceful, flowing strides, and the stranger's unnaturally long legs carried them in to the office.
"Well, well, I was right, you are in Lady McBride. Hmm, I see you've aged poorly though."
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Post by Circe on Nov 28, 2018 19:11:23 GMT -6
"The answer is no to whatever it is you insane people want." The Warden said, intially meaning Balto and then rest of the court. The two had reached something of a tenuous peace, or rather cease fire as the current situation may have been. But meanwhile, Catherine was far from amused at seeing Milo sitting there, practically on her doorstep. She didn't appreciate that her secretary had let him camp out by her office door, and she even more so didn't appreciate Milo's whining about something that was MCU business. "But for the sake of the fact this may come back to haunt me, what the hell do you want this time?" Catherine asked impatiently.
She would much rather be spending her morning doing other things, things that didn't mean political visits from the Dragon Court and it's princes. But she did half to admit that it was better than dealing with the pompous ass of a sire she had, Grigore, and his mechanizations to take over the Dragon Court. "Well out with it! I have things to do that do not include you camped out in my office reading trashy novels." She said. Catherine knew the Dragon's penchant for dramatics and habit of drawing things out until an entire evening (or in this case morning) had been wasted. Fortunately for her or perhaps unfortunately for Milo, the door to her office was ripped off it's hinges before she could goad Milo any further about whatever was important enough to show up unannounced.
A flurry of emotions briefly flitted across her face as she looked up at the new guest. From anger, to surprise, to recognition and back. It was clear she wasn't too terribly pleased to see either party, but especially not the newest one. Catherine was not in the best of moods when she was forced to deal with individuals like Milo, Balto, or even Grigore; but after the door was torn from it's hinges her mood darkened considerably, with an almost unbridled anger written clearly across her features.
The door had been a custom installation, hewn from a large yew tree and designed to not only be esthetically pleasing but functional. With wards inscribed into the door frame, and matching ones carved into the wood of the door itself; it was clear that the occupant was concerned with more than just privacy.
Meanwhile, her magic leapt at a chance to be allowed to lash out at what it had decided was its newest foe, and soon enough the room became quite quickly oppressive from the forces radiating from the woman. "Please be so kind as to replace the door, and wait your turn." Catherine said with excruciating politeness, her voice dripping with honeyed sweetness that masked a danger just beneath.
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Post by demikara on Nov 29, 2018 7:02:18 GMT -6
"I was trying to observe pleasantries, warden. Apologies, I'll make a note to skip them the next time something sends me your way." He said simply, mentally noting that it wasn't like she had given him a chance to speak before she started being insulting. Were manners too much to ask for? He didn't expect deference, that was far too much to expect from such a powerful person, but basic manners smoothed things over greatly. "As for what sends me here, 15 young vampires, none of which have ever had anything but the blood boxes which are willingly donated blood, have been killed." He managed to get that out before the door was kicked in. He could see the runed wards cracked and there was damage to the wards, he had no doubt. Brilliant. It looked like Tyrus would have a job soon, given there were few others he knew that the warden would begin to trust to put together strong enough wards. Then again, if Tyrus had time to carve runes into a new door and set up a new ward scheme entirely was questionable at best. He might make time for Dumitrescu of course. He seemed fond of the dhampire, for reasons beyond Milo's understanding.
Still, he hadn't expected to have their meeting cut short by some interloper. He looked the man over and raised an eyebrow. "Friend of yours?" The newcomer seemed to recognize Dumitrescu at least, even if he insulted her with his first words. This was going to be fun to watch. Of course, no one burst in on the Warden, even he knew that, and her words suited just that. Milo leaned back, so as to be out of the way of her anger. He knew perfectly well the warden was significantly more powerful than him and had no desire to go toe to toe with the woman at all, nor to be in the way of her anger. She could be incredibly terrifying after all, and he hadn't forgotten the fact that she had set a vampire on fire in the court before.
Hopefully, the interloper would listen. If not, he really didn't want to be here. Drilled in manners and arrogance had him not moving from his seat however, trusting that the warden would handle it, and not desiring to show weakness at all, even in the face of what appeared to be a well armed man dressed for court. Who wore court clothes for every day business? Even Milo was dressed in more mundane clothing of slacks and a button up. He had to look professional for his meeting with Dumitrescu after all. Usually, he and Tyrus had similar tastes in clothing: T-shirts and jeans or cargo shorts. Tyrus had learned it from someone after all, and that someone was sitting there, a carefully cultivated blank look on his face.
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Post by Resident Demonolater on Nov 30, 2018 13:39:52 GMT -6
The carefully manicured features of Walther's face twisted, and creased into a cocked eyebrow, and decided frown upon Catherine's less than stellar greeting. Sure she probably liked her door, tacky little wooden baubble that it was, but that was no way to welcome an old friend. Especially one of such standing as he. Wordlessly he proceeded into the room, each step cutting through the swell of hostile magic like the pointed prow of a ship through unruly waves, and he came to a messured stop just in front of the Warden. He knew full well she could end him with her twisted magics, but such a base, unfocused, and emotional display fell far short of what it would take. Lesser creatures may have coward, but Walther always met the difficult woman head-on, and now was no different. "Really now, Lady McBride? Your manners have sunken almost as much as your bust if this is how you greet me," the younger Dhampire kept careful eye contact, and had moved both hands to his unusually curved hips. His tone had gone to ice. "Your father would be ashamed, famed for his hospitality, and all.."
As fun as pushing Lady McBrides' buttons were, Walther couldn't simply ignore the elephant - or rather the rat - in the room now that he was so close, and instead of giving Catherine a chance to respond he spun on his high heels to face Milo.
There was no mistaking what the "man" was; the sickly pallour of his fetid skin, the slow, grotesque pace of his heart, and most noticeably the smell. Vampiric filth. He pursed his lips, and quite literally turned his nose up at Milo before addressing Catherine once more. "It seems I've arrived just in time as well, your office has something of a vermin infestation..Shall I, Lady McBride, or were you merely saving the pleasure for yourself?"
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Post by Circe on Nov 30, 2018 17:51:19 GMT -6
Catherine had little intent on doing anything other than shoving or throwing Walther unceremoniously out of her office. She wasn't exactly known to be a fan of unexpected guests, and Milo, as well behaved as he had been so far, was testing her patience. Catherine couldn't stand anything to do with the Dragon Court, especially after they had forced her hand in matters she would rather be left alone. "My father would not have allowed you to go round kicking in people's doors like it's still the bloody crusades, Wolfgang." She replied bluntly. Walther had always been brash and impulsive when it came to finding ways to get what he wanted; and in the past it had served them well on occasion. But now, it only added to Catherine's rising stress levels and concerns about how the unseen should best act now that all was revealed to the mundane.
Briefly pulling in the magic, that had such a mind of it's own, she made the effort to at least somewhat calm and center herself. She couldn't promise being successful however. Giving Milo the best apologetic look she could manage, she turned her attention back to Walther. "I'd say the same about your manners." Catherine muttered ignoring the jab he'd taken about her looks. At the end of the day, she didn't care, it allowed her to blend in relatively easily among the humans when necessary; and recently that was quite often.
"I beg your pardon Herr Von Rhar! Milo... and he has a name, is not vermin." She said, finding it hard to believe that she was even taking the side of the vampire. As much as she hated the Dragon Court, Walther didn't exactly understand the politics at play to the extent she did. "He was expressing some concerns that he wanted my agency to look into."
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Post by demikara on Nov 30, 2018 18:09:27 GMT -6
"I'll text Tyrus before I go to bed about your door. he's the one who did the wards, isn't he? I doubt you'd trust someone else with it." He ignored the hunter, trusting that Catherine wouldn't let this go so far, and more than ready with magic at his finger tips. If blood flowed in the dhampirs veins, well. He just needed the spell to hit after all. Half a second of blood boiling in your veins was usually enough to bring someone to heel. "As I was saying, warden. Fifteen young vampires, under the age fo 50 to a one, have been killed. Since they all worked in mundane jobs, they've been reported missing to the mundane authorities by their coworkers who were not in the know."
Night shifts were useful. He managed a small smile, though a stressed one. "They were dependent on our donor blood bank. None of them has ever even hunted." Still, it seemed he may have found a possibility for who had killed them. It was rare to find someone who hated vampires this much in today's world. most of the mundane had grown up with stories of romance for their vampires. It made everything much easier.
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Post by Resident Demonolater on Dec 3, 2018 15:01:11 GMT -6
It was Walther's turn to cycle through a slew of unpleasant emotions, each plain as day on his face as he stared bloody murder at Catherine, and like her he opted to settled on anger. Barely brideled fury actually. His long, delicate fingers clenched into white-knuckled fists as he processed what the two were saying, and though he had no magic to his name the room's atmosphere shifted with his posture; the hunter became a coiled snake, ready to strike. Though whether at Catherine, or Milo was unclear even to him. When he finally spoke it was through gritted teeth, and barred fangs, "Vermin have no names, you taught me that McBride, or is it merely 'Dumitrescu' now?" The jockularity was gone from his voice, and he no longer addressed her with a familial tone. "You taught me that, or who you were did I should say, because it looks to me as though the noble huntress McBride is long dead, usurped by whatever this is.." He gestured a dismissive hand at Catherine, his eyes never leaving her's.
In truth he was having a difficult time processing the situation. People, even dhampires, changed with time, and he knew that fact well, but this? Stories of Catherine's newly turned leaf, vague rumours of someone likely to be her really, and reached the Church some time ago, but Walther had refused to believe them. Hell, he had stood up for her good name more than once with the tip of his icy blade. To see that they in fact soft soaped the realities was a harsh blow to both his pride, and his admiration for his idol. For that was, if nothing else, exactly what Catherine was to him.
Refusing to back down he took another step towards the Warden, rage still on display. "You would help this filth? You know well only help they need, the only help their kind is capable of receiving is that of greeting the dawn! Would your heretic's Council truly put a value on the 'life' of a maggot? Do you debase yourself like this willingly, or do they hold a knife to your throat?" He was pretty sure he knew the answer, but he was stoll disparate to give Catherine an excuse, a way out from the implications of what she was saying. "I came here for your help, but now I wonder if instead you'll be tasked with protecting Grigore from me. Imagine! And you!" Walther swiveled to face Milo once more, the disgust for him, and all his kind as clear as day in his expression. "You are a maggot of the Dragon Court, are you not? Your fecund kind all smell the same, but I will wring a use from your fetid existance one way, or another.." It had been difficult for Walther to enter the MCU building, as visitors weren't allowed weapons. They had confiscated his more obvious ones, his Zweihander, a blessed shotgun, a brace of pistols, racks of consecrated knives, his axes, a dozen stakes..But they hadn't gotten quite everything.
It was a subtle sound, but everyone in the room was more than equipped to hear it. Polished metal sliding along fine leather like a faint ripple. In less time than it took a mundane to blink a stake had shot down Walther's right sleeve, and was caught with great ease. It was a beautiful thing, clearly silver, and richly engraved with Church's iconography, meassuring as easily as long as any grown man's forearm. A string of Crusader's crosses formed a band around the midsection, and it had been consecrated by Pope Francis himself. A virginal blade, almost as hungry as Walther himself for the blood of the unholy.
"I cannot claim credit for the last fifteen, but I will gladly take the next thirty," he spat, pointing to Milo with the stake. "Run back to your shithole vampire, and tell your King of The Damned his reign is over. Before I stake you were you sit, and mail the blasted ashes back to him. Either would be a sufficent message, I suppose."
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Post by Circe on Dec 5, 2018 15:17:05 GMT -6
"Yes, I had Tyrus specifically set the wards due to a problem I had been encountering." She explained to Milo. That problem had been Molly barging in whenever she pleased, and Catherine had not taken kindly to it. "I can more than likely put temporary ones in place until he's able to reset them." Catherine added trying to ignore Walther's current state of dramatics. 'Bloody idiot...' She thought to herself, still quite furious with the other. It didn't take long for Catherine to determine just how dearly would make him pay for the damage done to her door. The setting of it's wards had been complicated, exhausting, multi-day affair; and Tyrus hadn't been able to do it alone considering the level required. Both the Warden and mage were powerful enough in their own rights, but generally ran on half empty at best. All things considered it had been one thing to carve all the symbols and do the rune work required for the wards, but imbuing them with the magic had required two people.
Unfortunately in Catherine's determination to prevent Molly from busting through the wards, she'd forgotten about individuals like Walther. If she were honest, she hadn't seen the man in decades, if not centuries. It wasn't as if this visit was exactly a planned thing that Catherine had forgotten.
"That is indeed quite worrisome, and considering the current political climate... it's concerning at the very least." She agreed with Milo. If someone was hunting vampires, that meant that all of the unseen could potentially be fair game now. That was extremely concerning to Catherine, given how well they hadn't been received upon coming out to the larger population.
Lost in thought about who or what could be posing a problem to the population at large, she nearly missed the stake hidden in the confines of Walther's coat as it slid forth with a gentle "shnik!" against the leather. It didn't take long however for her attention to be brought back around to the other man standing in her office with yet another florid speech spewing from his mouth. Soon though, the magic that Catherine had previously struggled to reel in was back full force and then some.
"Filth?! How dare you speak for me! If I taught you anything, I would have hoped it would be respect for a man coming unarmed!" She chastised Walther as the oppressive weight of the magic grew within the small confines of the room.
"You! You will hold your tongue and begone!" She said turning the magic on Walther. It didn't take a word, only a single thought with a brief gesture for the man to be propelled with significant force out of her office. If he had forgotten just exactly how difficult she was, then Catherine and her magic would be more than happy to reacquaint him.
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Post by demikara on Dec 5, 2018 16:33:21 GMT -6
The bared fangs caused Milo to reach for his magic and bare his in turn. He recognized a threat when he saw one. "I am a prince of the court and I do not run from any hunter. But I will be sure to tell my brother that a hunter is in town." He didn't flinch, trusting in Dumitrescu's hospitality, even if he kept the magic at his fingertips ready to cast. Trust only went so far, but the Warden had been raised fae. She probably subscribed to the old rules an he had come here as unarmed as any creature like him could be.
The trust was rewarded though and the subtle tremor left him as he watched Catherine cast her spell. The oppressive feel of loose magic was everywhere again and he stayed carefully in his seat. He would not break the rules of hospitality. He would trust her. Or at least, he would try very hard to trust her, even if he couldn't not really. She was not one of his brothers or his spouse. She was yet another dhampir who refused to be fully turned. Much like the mad man who had nearly attacked him for doing no more than reporting a crime, however politically sensitive of one it currently was.
Hunters, in today's world, when the Unseen was Seen, were potentially dangerous to all and not just those they hunted. The unseen was trying to seem as harmless as possible, with everything from donor blood to playing down the violence inherent in many of their societies. A hunter could easily blow that sky high.
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Post by Resident Demonolater on Dec 7, 2018 15:07:37 GMT -6
Man, and beast alike wilted under the direct pressure of the Veil, it was the way of nature, but Walther? Walther was something else entirely, something far worse, and capable of doing what few short of true divinity could: defying it. The hunter had listened, ears burning to his idol's rebuke, and the vampire's would be chest puffing in silence, the wrath in his eyes growing colder, and colder with each syllable either uttered. They didn't know it, or at least the dreck Milo didn't unless Catherine had truly forgotten her past life, but they were prodding a dangerous monster. A dark spot within the fabric of their realitiy. "A prince of maggots is still a maggot himself," muttered Walther, just before Catherine's final outburst.
What happened then he doubted either expected, for while Walther had still been a discomforting ripple in the latent, hostile energies the other dhampire exuded, he had been a benign one. Until the woman truly directed her ire at him.
The first wave of Catherine's spell crashed in to him violently, sending a burst of air through the small office, and sent many smaller objects airborne - an unstoppable force had met a nearly immovable object. Walther took a single, difficult step forward as if struggling against a tornado, and met the woman's angry gaze once more as the room began to quake. Like a black hole her magic flowed in to his body before simply ceasing to be, swallowed up by a dark abyss, by Walther himself. But he could only take so much, and knew his time was extremely limited, not that it mattered. Defiance was dominance, even with the inevitable looming. That icy, scorned rage flowed freely through his veins as he gritted his fangs, and offered his former hunting companion one single, simple line of intent, "Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo." With that his limit was reached.
What happened next was likely more in line with what Catherine had expected; Walther's feet lifted from the ground, and he hung suspended like a marionette for a second, or two before being thrown from the room with tremendous force. His slender frame collided with the wall just outside her office violently, issuing a sickening, echoed crack down the hall. But it wasn't of bone, the support beam his body had impacted split from the force, and the wall was well dented.
He laid in a slumped over heap for a moment, dazed, and humiliated by the witch's actions before finally picking himself up. Broken-boned, and bleeding, he was still far more durable than most of his kind due to his physical only limitations, and turned his back to her doorway. A small part of him wondered if she'd meant to kill him with such a robust spell, but hard lessons had always been more her approach. Had been anyway, this new McBride, this Dumitrscu, had clearly seemed to abandon all she once was - the woman likely didn't know it, but Walther's perception of her was slipping dangerously towards "prey". Dusting himself off in indignation, he straightened his coat, shot the snickering secretary a look of pure death, and retreated down the hall towards the exit. All the while plotting his next move very carefully, for such an offense would never go unanswered by a Von Rohr.
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