New York City, United States of America - Chelsea District, Manhattan

Same Night

2:50 A.M.

Boisterous laughter; the cacophony of conversation; suppressed bass and EDM; honking cars; shouting; cheering!

Dzidra Whitelocke's expression tightened into something that closely resembled a frown as she critically observed the surroundings with one hand tightly grasping the top of the back passenger door of a limousine.

She found the location... wanting.

The moment she'd opened the door, she knew she was in for quite the treat as her senses were bombarded with the smell of unwashed, sweaty bodies and terrible, pounding techno music.

And now that she was outside of the vehicle, she was treated to the sights as well. Her grip on the door frame tightened.

'Is this a test?' She wondered- blankly staring at a line of hundreds of eager people impatiently fidgeting in a haphazard line to get inside the nightclub. The nightclub's two upper levels were visible from the outside- the muffled sound of music and multi-colored strobe lights intermittently illuminating dancing ghosts against the opaque windows. It was this crowded outside of the club... she couldn't- didn't, want to imagine what it would be like inside.

'And there's an entire sub-level too?'

Supposedly, her contact was below the nightclub's main floor. And honestly, she wasn't sure what to expect after meeting the Prince himself, but she must have subconsciously made the assumption that he kept company that was as similarly refined as he was. She was wrong, it seemed. But so was the Prince if he assumed she was going to set a single step inside that filthy hive. The contact would be made to come out to her, at which point they would discuss their business within the comfortable, clean confines of the limousine.

Dzidra slammed the door shut without looking and purposefully strode up close to the driver's side window, where she tapped once on the window before taking a few steps back, expectantly waiting with hands crossed, hips cocked, and a raised eyebrow.

'There had better be an explanation for this.'

"Damn, baby! What're you doin' with all that ass?" A semi-masculine voice rose above the din of the nightclub's exterior atmosphere.

The driver's window rolled down halfway, revealing an expressionless man wearing rounded driving sunglasses and a black chauffeur hat. He angled his head to look at her- Dzidra's reflection staring back at her through his sunglasses.

"Yes, Miss Whitelocke?" He neutrally inquired in about as average a baritone voice as was genetically possible.

"You've brought me to the wrong location, driver." She tried to keep a civil tone, only to instantly fail as an obnoxiously loud series of jubilant screams and laughter filtered through the nightclub's entryway- stabbing into her sensitive ears, as she had not yet acclimated to the sensory overload.

"Hey, sweetheart- I'm tryna' talk to you!" The same voice- closer now. However, there were so many people talking, shouting, laughing, shoes and heels scuffing or scraping along the pavement and sidewalks, and car doors slamming or engines starting, that Dzidra didn't notice someone had directed their attention and voice specifically onto her.

"I have done exactly as instructed, Miss Whitelocke." The driver calmly replied.

"This-" she glared at the driver and pointed to the ground, "-is unacceptable. I was told I would be meeting with an important contact- not contracting hepatitis's A through E!" She hissed- her glowing red eyes practically spitting flames.

"This, is the correct location." The driver mused, his inflection colored with the barest hint of amusement.

"And I assure you, Miss Whitelocke- there is no such danger." The driver replied with a straight-face, his blank sunglasses somehow matching her heated gaze.

"Hey, you ignoring me, darlin'?" The same voice, directly behind her- a hand fell onto her left shoulder.

Dzidra's entire body sharply tensed like a coiled viper preparing to strike. In fact, she was so surprised that some filthy mortal had dared lay a hand on her, and even more disgusted with herself that she'd let down her guard enough for something like this to happen, that she was briefly frozen in a state of indecisive disbelief. Her expression in that moment must have been decidedly unpleasant, because the limousine's driver side door popped open and the driver himself smoothly stepped out of the vehicle- closing the door behind him.

The driver was slightly above six feet in height, and possessed a lean physique that lent itself well to his form-fitting chauffeur outfit. Which fell into the "simplistically professional" category and consisted of a gray-striped tie tucked into a black dress vest over a plain white dress shirt that was neatly tucked into a pair of black dress pants. And although his expression was unchanged and the sunglasses hid his eyes, there was a palpable, menacing aura radiating off of him that anyone could've noticed if they were paying attention.

Unfortunately for the stranger, he possessed a limited attention span.

"Damn, girl-" the stranger let go of her shoulder and walked around her, "-is this your ride?" he incredulously asked, getting close to the limousine's sleek exterior and dragging an index finger across its side~ squeak!

He cracked a wide smile like he'd just received an early Christmas present, nodding to himself before turning and casually leaning against the side of the vehicle in what he hoped was a cool and aloof posture.

"Oh yeah, we can have a lot of fun in there." He slyly smirked, gesturing back with a thumb before finally taking notice of the chauffeur silently standing outside the vehicle with them. A weird expression crossed the stranger's face.

"Bit dark out for shades, my man?"

The chauffeur did not respond.

The stranger's brows went up at the blatant dismissal, but he nevertheless let it slide by as he laughed good-naturedly and patted the door while looking Dzidra up and down.

"Mm, anyway," he drawled and shrugged, "we, uh, headin' out already, or you want to go inside?" He motioned to the nightclub- willfully ignorant to the blank stares he was receiving.

"I'm a regular here," he continued bragging without pause, "so we can head on over to the VIP section. Grab a few drinks, little bit of dancing, see where the night takes us?" He tried for a confident, convincing voice.

Silence- except for the usual noises one would expect when parked outside of a packed nightclub.

The man's 'confident' smile strained- a slight frown twitching at his brows.

'The heck is up with these people?' He wondered as he expectantly waited for the gorgeous woman to inevitably agree on a night out on the town. She was here after all, and no one came to this place for the drinks and dancing. She was also out tonight without a group of friends, so that was something, right? The thought alleviated the weird tension he felt when looking at the chauffeur- he'd really scored big tonight! The woman looked like she was straight off the cover of a supermodel magazine: a short, black, flutter-sleeve top that looked like liquid silk against her milky white skin. And a pair of grayish dress pants that hugged her curves just right. She wasn't even wearing any jewelry- not that she needed it in the slightest!

Though the thought did cross his mind that she wasn't wearing comfortable dancing clothes and would've looked more in place as a secretary at his law firm. He dismissed the fleeting thought- she could wear whatever she wanted cause goddamn did she look positively sexy.

His eyes had nearly fallen out of his head when she'd first stepped out of the limousine- and then he'd registered that it was a limousine! She was here to party, that much was certain, and he wanted in more than he'd care to admit. And just when he thought of all the nasty business they would be getting up to tonight, the chauffeur spoke.

"Miss Whitelocke?"

Dzidra stiff figure remained unmoving, but her venomous eyes glanced to her driver, who in turn, easily regarded her and waited.

She released a slow breath. It didn't help. There was nothing she wanted more than to rip this disgusting, presumptuous, filthy, no-good thing, limb from limb, drain it of blood, torch the remains until only ashes were left, and then scatter those across a landfill; the mortal had touched her! He deserved to lose that hand at the minimum. And yet here she was, out in public where such an action would shatter The Masquerade and Prince Walker would immediately withdraw his support and remove her from his Court- if he didn't kill her first. And her ears hurt from all the noise, and her nose was assaulted with a downright vile series of smells.

She wasn't doing well in that moment- the smarmy smile on the mortal's face nearly drove her over the edge as red crept in at the corners of her vision.

"Would you like me to dispose of this man?"

Dzidra was fantasizing what it would feel like to slowly dig her fingers into the mortal's throat. To watch as the life drained out of him from between her fingers, to witness the light in his eyes extinguish...

She registered her driver's words.

She couldn't believe it.

"You... really?" She fully turned to the driver- scrutinizing him with hopeful wariness to see if she'd misheard or misinterpreted.

'He couldn't possibly mean what I think he means, right? How would-'

"Of course- I am your personal valet for the evening. Your safety, and comfort, are paramount." The driver calmly explained.

"Um, what? Hello? What're you on right now, buddy- the lady and I are talking." The stranger was no longer trying to hide his frown as he angrily watched the chauffeur, but not processing what he'd heard.

Dzidra on the other hand, was positively ecstatic. The sheer relief that flooded her, the weight that lifted off her shoulders, was indescribable. She was allowed her revenge. She could punish the mortal- even here.

She closed the distance between herself and the driver, laying a hand over his heart.

"You are perhaps the sweetest thing in this world- thank you." She spoke quietly, yet sincerely.

"Now-" she used both hands to smooth out the wrinkles of his vest before also straightening his collar, "-be a dear and kill this thing."

"Uh, excuse me- what?" The stranger spoke up, futilely trying to piece together if he'd heard correctly or if he needed to rethink standing so close to the speakers at these clubs.

"Would you like some blood saved, Miss?" The driver politely inquired- his sunglasses angled toward the stranger, while his charge, who was partially sidled up against his body, made a face.

"I would rather starve."

"Understood. If I may?" The driver gestured in the direction of the incredulous-faced stranger.

"Mm." Dzidra primly stepped back and turned to once more inspect the exterior of the nightclub- her mood, and senses, now more-or-less acclimated to the lively environment.

Her small nose wrinkled. She could do without the smell, though.

"Well hold on-" the stranger began, then cut off as her driver made his silent approach.

"Whoa- you protecting your girl, huh?" The stranger mocked, pushing off the limousine and stepping forward to meet the sunglasses-wearing chauffeur.

"Your gal and I were just talk- hey, what're you- GAH!" Thud-Thud!

"Ah!-" Thump!

Dzidra silently enjoyed the sounds of that despicable mortal's suffering as she took note of the colorful, strobing lights and the occasional throng of smiling couples walking past two burly bouncers. The only two bouncers she could see, actually. Odd. But perhaps intentional?

'This is only the public entrance- there'll certainly be more inside. Especially the lower level... Hm.'

"Ugh... plea-" Thud-Thud-Thump!

Dzidra's eyes gently closed, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she savored the faint, lingering scent of the man's suffering on the air as though it were a fine wine.

A car door popping open... clothes rustling... Thud! - Slam!

She could faintly discern her driver walking around the back of the car and passing her- returning to his place beside the driver's side door.

"Mm. Still alive?" Dzidra softly asked through half-lidded eyes- the multi-colored strobe-effect lights playing across her face.

"Yes, Miss."

"Good." She gave the nightclub another once-over with a serious expression. Her first assignment for Prince Walker- for the Camarilla. She deeply inhaled- exhaled. She could do this. And despite how much she personally detested the idea of entering, she was going to do this. Because this was it. This was the first step of many on the path of ingratiating herself into a stronger, better family.

And when your back was to the wall- you could always count on family.

"Expect me within an hour, and have a drink ready- something light... around the last two months will do."

"Of course, Miss."

"Oh, and driver...?" She asked, back to the limousine- the ambient, colorful lights highlighting her lithe figure while the endless, shifting crowd milling on the sidewalk broke it apart, creating an illusory feeling when looking directly at her.

She looked back over one shoulder- half of her face obscured in a shadow offset by the gentle, red glow of a single iris.

"Make it slow."

Her figure unsteadily wavered like a distant, shimmering mirage one moment, and the next, she had disappeared among the jostling masses heading toward the nightclub's entrance.

Unknown

Same Night

2:40 A.M.

“WHO?!” An infuriated, devilishly feminine roar shook the walls of a small workshop- glassware, tables, and leather-bound books dangerously trembling in their places.

Tavian silently stood in a corner of a relatively small workshop with his feet together, head bowed, and hands clasped behind his back- the picture of an obedient, inconspicuous servant.

“Who!?" Shattering glass!

"Would..." Intense crashing!

"Dare?!”

Tavian smoothly moved his lowered head to the side- barely avoiding an empty glass beaker that violently whistled past his left ear and shattered against the wall over his shoulder. A small shower of crystalline fragments rained over his clothes- a few particularly jagged shards carving across his cheek. The skin knitted itself together almost as quickly as the glass cut through. He showed absolutely no reaction aside from seamlessly resuming his original stance.

CREAK!... CRASH!

A large wooden workbench soared across the entire length of the room, smashing through anything and everything in its path before crashing into the opposite wall, which briefly cratered inwards before the workbench's inertia tore through it like wet tissue paper. The workbench was reduced to nothing more than kindling in mere moments, and a section of the ceiling directly over the destroyed wall slowly bent inwards before similarly collapsing- some supporting structure having been destroyed somewhere behind the wall.

“Tavian!”

Tavian had already disappeared in a thinly miasmic cloud of shadow before the last syllable had finished reverberating through the small space, reappearing in a similar fashion, posture and stance, at a respectful distance, beside an inhumanely beautiful woman with long raven-black hair and wearing a red dress. He dropped into a deep bow- remaining utterly silent, and still.

His demeanor was perfectly relaxed- his expression placid and as still as the surface of an undisturbed pond. His thoughts, however, were... less than calm. He'd frequently seen an upset Mistress Vantu- failed experiments, disobedient servants, an unlikable blood doll, so on and so forth, there were many small disturbances that could negatively affect her mood. But this... he'd never seen her lose her composure to such an extent.

She was destroying years worth of painstaking research notes and expensive lab equipment without so much as blinking an eye!

He was utterly, and completely befuddled with her current behavior- and it terrified him to the point where he no longer felt safe in her presence, even as the Primul.

It proved to be a sensationally disturbing revelation.

What Tavian didn't know, was that his Mistress's uncontrollable rage stemmed from the untenable perception that she'd been robbed- something she'd been highly intrigued with, something she wanted, something she'd already claimed as her own, was stolen from her.

Someone had stolen from her!

There was no greater insult- no greater infringement upon the very ideals that flowed through her veins.

"Where... is... Camelia?" Aurellia spoke through gritted teeth, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"Hunting outside, Amantă." Tavian spoke to his feet.

"Bring her to me... Now."

Tavian's bowed figure was momentarily enveloped in a coruscating pillar of writhing shadows that vanished as quickly as they'd surrounded him. She was alone.

Her heavy breathing turned ragged once more, and with a shout of frustrated rage, she grabbed another table beside her piled with equipment and notes below its edge and upturned it- a small cascade of fluttering paperwork billowing into the air and a variety of mysterious liquids spilling across the previously immaculate floor. The table crashed onto its side, the frame cracking and sagging beneath its own weight as it settled atop a chaotic pile of scientific debris.

"FUCK!"

Outside of the Saguenay City Police Precinct

Same Night

2:40 A.M.

Savio stiffly sat with his back supported against the brick wall of a short, secluded alleyway between two stores. His head was canted back against the wall, eyes closed, as he slowly swallowed a mouthful of cold, stale blood with a weary expression- a small, stainless steel canister held in his lap with both hands.

A grimy, dull-green, graffitied dumpster was pushed up against the opposite wall a few meters away and to his right- just beside a rust-hinged backdoor that employees would use to take out the garbage. A small mound of snow was gradually piling up around the dumpster's bottom, and most of its surface was crusted in a thin layer of glossy ice that made the already unintelligible graffiti even more ambiguous.

Suddenly, a heavy puff of snow blew across his haggard features, some of it getting stuck in his wavy brown hair, while the rest painted the rifle propped barrel-first against the wall beside him.

"How're you doing?" Martin asked, his left shoulder leaning against the opposite wall, and arms casually crossed while the edges of his hood and winter coat slightly billowed in concert with the snowy wind funneling into the alleyways' entrance.

Savio softly grunted, and replied without looking.

"Fine."

Martin silently regarded Savio out of the corner of his eye. He was genuinely worried for the man- their work was fast and brutal, a combination that could get you killed, or worse, when closely communing with Oblivion energies.

It wasn't long ago that he'd witnessed an Oblivion practitioner briefly lose control of his emotions when attempting to seal a Shroud aperture. The following ten minutes were some of Martin's most harrowing experiences in the field- he still occasionally saw those things when the daytime claimed his consciousness. He was, however, aware that tonight was nowhere near those stakes. But, it was the little things that add up in the end- Savio needed his rest, and the very nature of their work precluded such a thing in the long run.

Thankfully, Hjalmer was as reasonable a leader as they came and saw the necessity for some R&R.

"Need a top-up?" Martin offered, tapping on the flat, rectangular flask sticking out against the interior of his coats' breast pocket. He'd already had a few sips and would be fine until tomorrow night- his vitae expenditure was insignificant compared to Savio's. Hence the already apparent difference in portions allotted during their assignments.

"Naw... thanks." Savio somewhat shook his head while it was still leaned back against the wall.

He suddenly grimaced as a visible shudder ran through him.

"Savio..." Martin frowned, displeasure evident in his tone.

"Mm- it passes." Savio replied through gritted teeth, his entire body tensed before slouching in relief the next second. He shakily exhaled before opening the canister with trembling fingers and taking another swig with closed eyes.

His disposition significantly improving as he carefully sealed the container and adjusted himself more comfortably against the wall with a sigh.

"I don't like this," Martin muttered- shaking his head, "That-" He motioned in Savio's direction with an uncrossed arm. "-can't be normal."

"Who is?" Savio tiredly mumbled.

"Don't do that- that isn't the point." Martin spoke exasperatedly, completely uncrossing his arms as he pushed off the wall with his shoulder. He strode over beside Savio and leaned back against the wall, letting himself slide down until they were sitting together.

Martin motioned with his hands as though he were trying, and failing, to grasp the proper words to express his worries. He eventually hung his head with a sigh and pulled back his hood- the damned thing was annoying. Then rubbed a hand down the side of his face, the permanent beginnings of some stubble rubbing into the flesh of his palm. It was surprisingly soothing, and was starting to become a habit when he needed to think.

"Just because you can, doesn't mean you should- you don't have to! You have us." Martin finally articulated how he felt about his friend constantly pushing himself to the edge of the abyss- literally.

Savio cracked a tired smile.

"I know."

Martin sighed. He figured that there wasn't anything he could say to dissuade, let alone stop, the man from shouldering more of the burden than necessary. It's why every operations group leader wanted him. And why he was always short on time and vitae. It was an awful, thankless position to be in, and yet he always did it- never complained, and only asked for his allotted portion of blood. He had never met, or worked, with another man who went above and beyond the call of duty like Savio.

"Fine. Then... why?" Martin asked with genuine concern and curiosity- the emotion behind the word carrying across a profound depth.

"Help me understand."

Savio didn't immediately respond- a companionable silence descending among them as one quietly rested and the other absently watched as the wind played with the steadily falling snowflakes.

"You remember Mariella?" Savio softly asked.

Martin's brows furrowed as he glanced sideways, then his eyes lit up with recognition!

"Yeah... yeah, I do, actually." He sighed- sliding his right foot in closer to himself so that his right knee rose to chest height. He rested an elbow on the knee and clasped his right wrist with his left hand.

"She was... stubborn, man." Martin chuckled as his eyes took on a distant look. "But one hell of a woman." He returned to the present.

"Weren't you two-" Martin looked over with a slight grin, only for his expression to freeze when he noticed a single, bloody tear rolling down Savio's cheek.

"Sa... what...?" Martin didn't know what to think as he stuttered over his own words trying to think of what to say- for a vampire to cry bloody tears was... a significant indicator of their mental state, to say the least.

"I don't." Savio whispered- so quietly that if not for Martin's supernatural senses, he wouldn't have heard a thing. But he did, and he silently listened with expressionless attention.

Savio slowly opened his eyes, looking up at the swirling snow storm occluding the night sky.

An age... a weight, to his bloodshot gaze.

"I don't remember her, Martin." His fingers tightened around the canister in his lap.

"Her eyes... her smile... her laugh..." Savio deeply inhaled... shakily exhaled.

"The name... Her name. It's..." A second tear ran down his other cheek- the canister shook in his grip.

"It's all that's left."

"It's all I have left..." Creak- finger shaped depressions dented the canister.

"And I just... I just can't." Savio hoarsely choked out, lowering his head to look at the dirty alleyway snow between his legs. The light behind his eyes slowly dimmed until they were replaced with the spent eyes of a man who'd long ago admitted defeat.

"I just can't..." He whispered. Whether to himself, or to the man beside him, neither knew.

A suffocating silence descended upon the duo.

Martin, silently processed his friend's words, while Savio unscrewed the canister and took a small sip- the metallic scraping and clicking of the container's lid breaking the silence, but failing to lift it.

Martin inhaled through his nose- exhaled, determination replacing uncertainty. He pushed off the ground and moved to stand in front of Savio. He extended a hand.

Some time passed before Savio lifted his head to squint up at his longtime friend, two dark, bloody streaks staining his cheeks. Then he looked at the offered hand. He looked Martin in the eyes. Martin unflinchingly held his gaze.

"Come on, brother." Martin said, extending his hand slightly more, "We've got a job to finish."

Savio only waited a second more before something flashed behind his eyes, and he reached out- their hands clasping together as Martin pulled Savio to his feet and slapped him on the bicep. He motioned out of the alleyway with his head.

"Cmon', we gotta let Hjalmer know so he can call this in."

"Yeah." Sniff- "Yeah, alright."

"Ay, don't forget your baby!" Martin mockingly accused, a good-natured smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Savio paused in confusion before nearly tripping over himself to grab the rifle leaning against the wall- a sheepish look on his face that oddly went well with the dried blood as he strode back beside Martin as they exited the alleyway and into the still-raging snowstorm.

"Can't believe I almost forgot her." He mumbled, holding the rifle close to his body so that the wind and snow wouldn't wear down some of the more malleable components.

Martin silently pulled up his hood as the pair strode into the cold, swirling darkness- the last vestiges of fading storefront lights barely illuminating the frown on his face before it was veiled in shadow.