Later on in the night, Vanille arrives in the back of the Silvernote Jazz club, the well-dressed vampire looking a little worse for wear. Her hair is out of place and slightly tangled and dirt stains marr her fine clothing. Taking one last moment to pull an errant leaf out of her hair, she walks up to the back door and raps her knuckles upon it, letting out a sigh of relief. She waits for a second before raising a brow towards the shut door and the lack of activity behind it.

“Hello? Melanie? You in there? It’s Vanille. Open up?”

The older woman places her ear on the door to listen through it, expecting activity. Dead silence greets her. The vampire frowns at the response. Very unusual for this time of night to be this quiet. Granted, the whole neighborhood felt deader than it usually did, but by this time, she should have seen or heard something going on. Scar almost always kept someone here after hours. Reaching into her pocket, Vanille draws out her keys and opens the door, stepping into the checkerboard kitchen. The place looked pretty clean, if not dark. But the lights in the main room were left on, casting a large beam of light through the kitchen doors. Vanille strides towards them confidently, rolling her eyes.

“Gentlemen, you know better than to leave the house lights on this late, you don’t want people to walk in and-”

Vanille parts the doors into the main room, and her cold heart sinks. The ceiling had a massive, messy hole punched into it, with multiple bits of wires hanging loosely from it. Several piles of ash and a few dead bodies were also strewn about haphazardly, the corpses having some severe cuts into them and the ash pushed out from the point of impact. The very center of the room beneath the hole in the ceiling had a crater into the soft carpeting, with bits of cloth, blood, and fur strewn around it.

Vanille gasps and immediately runs to the crater, looking between it and the various states of the corpses. “What...what the hell happened!? Scar? SCAR!?” She waits a moment after her call, the vampire growing concerned. Did something happen to him too? She sprints off in a hurry, bypassing any of the multitude of broken furniture to run straight upstairs. She rounds the corner into the hallway that leads to Scar’s office, moving around his meticulously well-kept office to dig into one of the drawers.

Rummaging through the contents of the drawer, which mostly consisted of office supplies and a few decorative cases, Vanille fishes up a small, old, rolled up a piece of parchment paper. She unfurls it fully; the fancy, cursive text on it reading ‘In case of trouble.' Pulling off her fancy white gloves to get to her bare skin, she raises her thumb up to her mouth and bites down on it with her canines. A small, rapidly growing dot of blood fills her thumbpad, which she turns down on the parchment and smears across the text. The text slowly shifts to a glowing number, the mark on the back of her hand burning with recognition. Taking up Scar’s telephone, she dials the number, a nervous expression settling in on her features. She’s never had to do this before.

Almost immediately, the phone is answered, and a smooth, masculine voice picks up. “Vanille White. Tell me of your distress.”

Vanille’s hand drifts over the picture frame of Scar with his arm draped over an empty space. She holds onto it fondly before speaking, her voice quaking with nervousness. “Mister Alucard?”

“I prefer Master Alucard.”

Vanille quickly corrects herself. “M-master Alucard. Of course. My apologies. I cannot find Scar. The boys are all dead, and the club is trashed. I was out, and when I came back and nobody's here anymore. I don’t know what happened!”

Alucard’s voice quiets for a moment as he contemplates the statement, a deep breath being drawn before speaking again. “Probably the same ones who destroyed the recent shipments of Rust. Very well. Have you been compromised?”

“No. Nobody knows I’m here and I don’t think anyone has been here. I didn’t see any cops.”

“Excellent. Here is what I am going to do.” Alucard says, clearing his throat. “In an hour I will have one of my right hands come by and pick up any incriminating evidence. Anything not vital will be burned. In that time I will call the head of the Vyers family and inform them one of their arms has gone dark and the city will require a replacement. The Prophets take care of their own. Lastly, I want you to return to your resting place and wait to receive further instructions. Do I make myself clear?”

Vanille reaches inside of the picture frame she was holding, pulling the tabs open and removing the picture. She slides it gently into her pocket, her voice sounding more confident now. “Yes sir.”

“Excellent. Do not call this number again unless instructed to do so.” Alucard replies, his smooth tone containing an authoritative sharpness to it.

Before Vanille could think of anything to say, Alucard hangs up abruptly, prompting her to put the phone back down. With a deep inhale and a heavy exhale, the visibly relaxes, reaching forward to grab a rose from the vase on Scar’s desk. She smells it passionately and walks out of the room, her thoughts growing calmer from the time on the phone. Alucard said it himself. The Prophets take care of their own. Things would be fine. A replacement would be sent soon, and things will go back to normal. Vanille heads downstairs and looks out over the ruined ballroom, the vampire moving closer to inspect the crater that was left.

She stoops down to look at it and notes that no ashes were left here, oddly enough. She narrows her eyes to a glare upon noticing brown fur in the crater. She picks up a few strands of it and stares at it for a moment, intrigued by it. A quick sniff confirms it’s origins: werewolf hair. What was a werewolf doing here of all places? And what a peculiar shade of brown too. It seemed familiar. Where was it from?

A bolt of anger strikes Vanille’s spine as she recalls the last werewolf she’d seen. Her fur was like this. This was HER fur! Vanille stands up and seethes at the few strands of tan fur resting in her hands. This was her fault! She did this! How did she do this? She was not this strong before and certainly did not have the strength to take down Scar. She could barely do anything to her, how did she even stand a chance against Scar!? The strands of fur catch fire inside of Vanille’s hand, each one curling and twisting up in stress.

In a flash, the strands turn into ash and blow out of her palm, leaving the fire there, smoldering. Vanille grits her teeth and clenches her hand shut, smothering the flames. The bitch would pay soon enough for harming him, but for now, it would be best for her to follow the instructions given to her. There would be time for revenge later. Vanille curtly turns away from the crater and calmly strides away, though her hands are balled into tight fists. The longer she had to wait, the more time she could scheme after all.