For you to sleep by. (Open - Any)

[Ilvyn Daleroth]

^{(OoC: What is spellcheck? What is threads for people to work with? I don't know.)}

---

"Not tonight, sweetheart."

Ilvyn couldn't remember how he got to that club or what the name was. Lights flashed in rhythm with the boy's throbbing head and he had to squint to look at the girl that was crawling all over his lap. It was loud. She was really drunk and rather good looking and her clumsy fingers had this magical way of slipping into Vyn's clothes. She must have been human, or had low standards, but then again Vyn thought she might be the cliché pretty. Thin, with tanned skin, plush lips, and long dark hair; it was difficult to tell exactly what she looked like with all the flashing lights and her need to be right in his lap, inches from his face.

She reminded him of a girl he used to know and that was sobering.

Her tongue was in his mouth and had a hot, sweet taste to it. The flavor made his blood rush, the sort of thing that would cow the protests of less honorable men, but Ilvyn was smart enough to not make the same mistake twice. They wouldn't be sleeping together that night. His lovely female friend was too far gone.

He pushed her away to free his lips and said in her ear above the clamor of the people around them, "Listen, we can't do this. I can walk you home if you like?"

"What a gentleman," She said, smacked him in the chest, and had a slow look of…it seemed disdainful. "Are you always such a pussy?"

The boy did his best to give her an apologetic smile. She rose to her feet and he steadied her. At the moment the girl was fixated on Vyn's failures as a man, rather than his respectful declination to take advantage of her. Even as they walked out the door, leaving the oscillating colors and blaring noise behind them, she was speaking of it. She clung to him like she might drown in the pavement if she didn't and otherwise seemed to not mind his company. Vyn was simply pleased to get out of that place and into the cool night. He liked parties, but he had already failed at his evening mission, which was shag between two consenting adults, to be perfectly clear.

"Ginger bastard," she was saying, her breath coming out in puffs of fog. She concentrated mostly on where she was putting her feet but her lips were smiling. "You wouldn't get any if I didn't pity you."

"You're drunk."

"Now…don't take up that condescending tone with me. Were you even old enough to be in that place, little boy? Should I be worried about what's going to happen to me if I said I wanted to do horrible things to you?"

"I'm legal," Vyn huffed. "For that, anyways. Not saying that anything is going to happen."

"Do you want something to happen?"

"Do you want something to happen?" Vyn repeated. "Maybe if you were sober."

"You're such a party pooper," She said with a sigh. "What a disappointment. All that work and I'm not going to get a lay?"

"I am walking you home," Vyn pointed out. "That could mean something."

That temporarily cowed her into submission and Vyn hailed a cab and rode with her back to her apartment. He did not enter the building. If she felt disappointed he felt mildly crushed, but the boy put on his brave face and walked away. She would find his number, eventually, but that didn't mean she would remember or that she would even be interested. So he was left to meander the streets of Boston all on his lonesome. Perhaps he could try his chances again at that club, but it was getting late, and his head was pounding. He just couldn't sleep yet. Not until morning. He wasn't much of a daytime creature.

"Gods-damn, what am I going to do?"

[♥ Nathan ♥]

Late nights have become something of a rarity for Nathan, a change heralded by both his workload’s dramatic increase and Silas’ company, but there are moments when the evening still calls. The wolf approaches the streets with a sense of forceful territoriality, covetous and greedy to witness what it has claimed as his. Boston has always been a poor replacement for the concept of home, but recent shifts have him focused on the city with a fiercely possessive light, an overbearing sense of ownership that stems from the wolf and is reinforced by rank. Three Kings is hardly his company but the pack has fallen into his hands; though he does not have the know-how to run a corporation, the animal will not relinquish its hold.

Responsibility is something he has always taken in moderation, and now it weighs at him like invisible shackles even as the beast hoards its newfound power.

The night is dragging on but Nathan cannot return to his apartment. Home means Silas, means confrontation, means sitting idle and attempting sleep while his mind frets. Though the werewolf puts on a bold face, arrogantly believing if he ignores problems hard enough they will go away, some piece of him knows the truth; stressors and worries blend into a potent mixture that has his nerves on edge, and an inability to settle keeps him wandering. Only when exhaustion threatens him will he find his way to his own bed – until then, he walks, encouraged by the wolf’s incessant need for control and his own desire to keep occupied.

It is not a healthy method of functioning, but it suffices. Nathan suspects it may even serve better than his usual manners of escape, if only for its tendency to keep him sober.

His jacket collar raised against the night’s chill, Nathan stalks the sidewalks and alleyways with the atmosphere of a predator, his stride long and his step purposeful. The city is deceptively silent. This particular street is not one he has ever explored, but the man is unconcerned; there is no threat in the dance of shadows and headlights, and he certainly does not fear getting lost. Engrossed by his own countless concerns and personal demons, the werewolf shoulders roughly into a smaller figure before he is even able to realize he is not alone. Nathan’s head snaps upwards in abrupt wakefulness, eyes narrowed, and he rounds on the man with a curled lip and an arrogant intent to chastise.

”Watch where you’re—“ but the snarl is dropped mid-sentence, the outlet for his frustration suddenly rendered more of a curiosity than a potential victim. A scent spikes on the air, and what had been a boy is no longer; a second, harder look pierces through the creature’s projected glamour, and Nate tosses a surreptitious glance down the empty street before voicing his brusque interest. ”The hell are you?” Years spent as a werewolf have only managed to grant him a superficial education in supernatural species, and Vyn, as of yet, does not play by any known set of rules.

Waning hours and ragged nerves do not make the man eloquent, but Nathan welcomes the distraction.

[Ilvyn Daleroth]

Vyn was not expecting a reaction from some random passerby, but it was a thing he wasn't completely foreign to, a shout that was incredibly similar to what he might hear had he just been caught picking at someone's pocket. Except he was too engrossed in thinking of that drunk girl, just as Nate was thinking of his boyfriend, so hearing the man's sudden accusatory tone surprised the hell out of Vyn. The boy jumped half a foot back, bristled like a startled cat, and bared his own teeth in some knee-jerk fiendish reaction to the sudden voice.

"You watch where you're going you arrogant fuckface," Vyn snapped back before the guy was even able to squeeze out his next line. "You're not some fairy-fucking- princess, OK? It's not like you hurt yourself."

Ilvyn didn't have any particularly strong feelings towards this stranger, but catching the kid off guard put him in an immediately negative mood, embarrassed that he had reacted with such blatant fear. Naturally when the stranger began to express confusion from seeing through Vyn's glamour the boy took it the worst way possible.

"Same can be said for you," Vyn continued in a confrontational tone. Because Nate seeing through his glamour meant three things: he was either a freak himself, spent a lot of time with other freaks, or he was a human that was particularly sensitive around the paranormal. Vyn liked to assume the first; he didn't like thinking he was the only weirdo in this city. "Don't act so surprised, at least I know what I am. What the fuck are you, all wearing some human mask like that? HUH?"

[♥ Nathan ♥]

The wolf takes a twisted pleasure from the way the boy startles and shies; it considers the reaction only appropriate, the reward its rank is due. Were Nathan of a calmer mind he might feel guilty for how the stranger bristles – though then he likely wouldn’t have snapped at him in the first place – but as soon as Vyn fires back bold words and furious curses, a retaliatory temper flares hot in his chest. Live and let live is not a philosophy Nate has ever understood, and he steps towards the petulant youth in a show of authoritative posturing.

”You reek,” he bites back by way of explanation, his tone curt. ”Is that perfume? Are you whoring, or does all your kind smell like a goddamn hooker’s first night out?” The smile that crosses the man’s face is arrogant and condescending, a hint of playful challenge in his eyes; Nathan reaches into his coat for a carton of cigarettes, and taps one out into his fingers before waving at the boy dismissively. ”Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want any.” He draws up his lip in an unrestrained grimace. ”Too skinny. Too young. Too…. pointy.” A hand motions in vague clarification over his head.

He is too used to wolves, to being both understood and placated; body language that is second nature to Nathan and his kind reads as gibberish here. A held stare is meaningless; there is no corresponding animal with which the beast may communicate. It renders the man half mute. It allows Vyn to be bold were another would balk, and it lets Nate remember he is dealing with the unknown. Strange supernatural fairy-demon or not, the other creature is still a kid, and an idiot at that.

He has never had the patience for children.

Rocking back on his heels, Nathan lights his cigarette and inhales deep, apparently satisfied by his own reprisal. Vyn’s subsequent rambling, then, only earns a raised brow and an amused expression for his efforts, though the boy manages to hit a nerve. Masks and guises are hot-button issues; Nate understands too well that he only wears the skin of a man.

”What do you think I am?” He scatters paper and ash to the ground with a tap of his thumb, pleased to discover that if the boy is a riddle, he is an enigma in return. ”I’d argue your illusion is the bigger fraud – at least I was born this way.” A beat. Nate’s smile grows teasing and mischievous. ”Fess up, handlebars. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

[Ilvyn Daleroth]

"Wow, that was the best retort, my mind is blown," Vyn said in a very my-mind-is-the-opposite-of-blown voice. He was getting angry. Ilvyn wasn't particularly quicker to anger than the average person, but he was slightly inebriated, and he was still recovering from wounded pride. Slap a bit of hurt feelings on top of a pile of emotional instability and he became more than merely frizzled at Nate's jibes. "Yeah, well, I don't want any of yours either. You look like a fucking faggot, with girly lame hair, the kind of bitch that would whine about bumping shoulders and then act like a complete asshole about it."

Ilvyn's fists balled up at his sides and he stared Nate down (up?) with an inhuman fierceness that implied he was seconds from punching the pretty boy right in his lovely little nose. Then Nate brought out a cigarette out and, while Vyn was generally poor at reading people, the boy was smart enough to realize that the guy was taking some sort of enjoyment out of watching Vyn be angry at him. This elicited a breathy exhale from Ilvyn, a relaxation of the muscles, because he didn't want this stranger to get the better of him. The kid didn't operate that way either. Not usually. He could always make this jerk regret messing with him later.

"I think you're a jerk," Vyn responded, his voice growing even, controlled, with a great effort, "that wants to see me squirm for your personal enjoyment AND I'M NOT SHOWING YOU MY PENIS, YOU PEDOPHILE!"

This was screamed at the top of his lungs if only to embarrass the guy. It didn't really matter that Ilvyn was technically legal; his shrieking ought to draw some odd looks to the stranger if anyone was unfortunate enough to stumble upon them. Ilvyn was socially inept but even then he knew that wasn't what the guy was talking about. Two could play at this game. If Vyn started screaming 'fire' perhaps someone would come and help him. Wouldn't that be embarrassing? It was one thing if Vyn punched him in the face but a totally different thing if Vyn got someone else to do it.

You're not so smart. Thinking you're so much better than me.

[♥ Nathan ♥]

It may be a more serious failing than he had anticipated that Nate is used to getting his way. He is unused to either opposition or confrontation; a display of wealth alone often grants him the upper hand in a majority of social encounters, while ego and practiced nonchalance see him the rest of the way. Humans are, for the most part, as predictable as wolves – and therein lies the majority of Nathan’s expertise. That Vyn should act explosively is amusing; but that he should be quick to turn that anger into a volatile and impulsive series of responses catches the werewolf off-guard.

Intimidation and arrogance fail, and Nathan suddenly remembers why he hates children.

A sharp tongue pricks an apparent nerve, and when the chaos grows worse Nathan can only respond with frozen muscles and an unblinking stare. That just happened. For a moment, Nathan is still, incapable of response – and then his lip curls in an outraged snarl and a crimson flush crawls its way up his neck. Down the block, a fish-faced old woman with rheumy eyes gapes at them in shock, handbag clutched desperately to her chest. Though she makes no move to interrupt them, she waddles away at a pace that speaks of purpose (or at least a rampant fear that she is, somehow, next on the menu), and the werewolf manages a brief thanks for the absurdly early hour.

”Listen here, you scrawny little shit,“ Nate growls; a hand darts out and makes to grab for one of the whiny demon’s aforementioned handlebars and wrench Vyn’s head to one side, ”—I am one fucking faggot you don’t want to mess with, alright?” A wolf-born show of strength will shove the boy roughly from him; Nate flicks his cigarette to the sidewalk with his opposite hand, and sizes Vyn up with a threatening and feral gaze. ”So get the fuck out of here. I don’t need to find out if goat blood comes out of silk.”

Facing down the supernatural or not, Nathan has rarely been presented with a need to show fear – and when faced with some snot-nosed skinny fairy bastard, kicking the crap out of him is guaranteed, but hardly worth his time.

[Ilvyn Daleroth]

(OoC: Oops, nope, I couldn't wait. I just had to reply. Sorry, Raining.)

---

That could have gone smoother, in Ilvyn's opinion. He wasn't regretting his choice of action and was only sorry that no knights had come to his rescue and given Nate a healthy punch to the face. All of the theatricals were worth it for that look on the man's face, a shocked expression that Ilvyn would hold fondly in his memories. For a second he might have even smirked, but it was difficult to tell when Nate was suddenly in his face, grabbing him by the horn and leading him around by the head like a farm llama. Flesh was trapped between Nate's hard grasp and the horn underneath but only Vyn's neck protested at the rough handling and he winced at the sharp pain.

Though he was being threatened, Vyn did not physically retaliate. That was all in the eyes; he glared up at Nate, looked him straight in the eye, with familiar ferocity. Vyn wasn't going to stab him right there, though he entertained the idea, but he was clearly not intimidated and perhaps all Nate had done was sparked some need for the boy to enact revenge on him. The boy's eyes could have substituted for a large screen, televising the thoughts in the back of his head. I won't get you now. I'll get you later. When you least expect it, when you're unprepared, I'll slit your pretty little throat and no one will ever know.

Then the man shoved Vyn away and the boy should have probably ran then, but he didn't. His face twisted into an intense expression of pure hatred and his voice enunciated the fact. Tense, with the slightest shiver, as if barely keeping his emotions in check.

"All you had to do was let it slide," Vyn informed him. The idea of the boy giving advice was a bit laughable, but here he was. "You came here looking for a fight. Not me. I came here trying to be a nice guy for once. Oh well, I am pretty familiar with your type, with all your money and power and stupid fucking material playthings. I can't even be surprised. Does blood come out of silk? I used to work for a guy like you…I wonder…?"

Vyn made a slashing motion, "He befell some, ah, misfortune. I think they just burned the clothes he was wearing when it happened and just put him in some fresh ones for the funeral. I'm not really sure. I didn't stick around, too many unfortunate implications."

"Those are some nice clothes too," Vyn continued. "I bet you're a real prominent figure around here. I bet you're in alllll the right social circles. Unlike me, just a homeless nobody who will do work for any price." Vyn laughed. What he was saying was not what he meant. What he was saying was: I bet you are easy to track down, I bet you are easy to find. I bet you have enemies that would be joyous to find a mercenary to end you at a profitable discount. "Sad thing, really, don't you think? But what is it they always say? You know in, ah, movies and shit? The bigger they are the harder they fall? It would be really fucking unfortunate if anything should happen to you, but I would chalk it up to karma."

[Raining]

Tonight was like most nights, prowling around the 'high' classed clubs and bars grabbing a meal where she could. Of course many drinks from some generous human men who thought they were getting in under her dress tonight. She couldn't blame them, dressed in white... an innocent and pure shade while playing the naive girl all alone in the clubs. Of course a couple of them were eager to see if they could take her home... but she wasn't out to play tonight. No, she was out to feed since she was out of blood she casually steals from hospitals. If she had known any supernatural creatures worked at that particular hospital she would have tried somewhere else -- compelling only works for humans... it is either very difficult to compel supernatural or impossible. Never has she tried to woo a werewolf and she wasn’t about to try – not unless they trust her.

After she drank her fill and cleaned up, she left and her victims were sent home with little or no recollection of their night out. There was a small part of her that felt guilty, since she had tried to tell herself she didn’t need to feed on them anymore. But she can’t deny fresh blood was far more satisfying than anything found in a plastic bag…. It also held the cravings back a little longer.

Black heels clicked against the pavement as she wandered, not ready to call it a night just yet. She had moved to Boston to have some fun but her thirst for more always gets the better of her. Even after a couple of months she wants to move on, even after meeting an interesting wolf while she was here. The little girl in her dreamed of sunny beaches, where she could bask in the sun.

Tans and bikinis were soon forgotten as a voice pierced her thoughts...

The words she could hear clearly, ‘ And I'm not showing you my penis, you pedophile.’

Her brows furrowed for a moment, thinking about just calling a cab and moving on, but this pretty little vampire happened to be bored – so a quick look to see what was happening overcame her desire to leave. Also, whoever it was, wasn’t too far. They should just be around the corner – ah.

There were two figures; one looked like a young boy and the other… well, well. The once shady situation became much more interesting when her light green eyes landed on Nathan as he seemed to tower over the boy. Rebekah casually approached them; Vyn’s back was to her. As she closed in, the ‘boy’ suddenly melted into something else entirely complete with horns and a tail. Light green eyes glinted with interest, as a slow smile crept to her face. She only caught a bit of their conversation; most of it was laced with foul language and vague threats.

“Interesting, a demon… ” she paused circling around, her amused gaze slid to Nathan, “and a charmer”. Rebekah wasn’t sure if Nathanial wanted his little condition announced to this hoofed demon, so she left it vague. “Cute glamour, quite effective -- especially on someone who was once human. she stated trying for an innocent smile. Demons were tricky creatures, having learned about them briefly when she had first turned. Her mentor was vague, and uninterested in them… where Rebekah was always so curious.

Air around these two creatures was tense, blood heated – not to worry little strawberry blond here to save the day. Or… make things worse; she was either a good little Samaritan or an instigator.

“I suppose it’s been a while.” Eyes were still curiously flickering over the demon, but her statement was meant for Nathan. Time didn’t matter to her anymore, but she forgets that time for him may move at a human like pace… whereas a month to her is nothing at all.

[♥ Nathan ♥]

A story can be told in a single look – and the tale Vyn is spinning is obvious long before he puts it to words. Nathan knows that stare. Remembers it, even, being fifteen and full of fire and hatred and entitlement – and maybe in some ways he hasn’t changed at all – but where he would have responded with a swing of his fist and nonsensical curses, the demon is all cold eloquence. The man understands the potential for danger in a cool and smoldering rage. It speaks of a control and calculation he himself strives for, and though Vyn is no wolf their exchange turns to one of posturing and none-too-subtle threats.

Unfortunately, the weight a warning bears is based both on its believability and just how much the victim cares. In a world of monsters and devils all too often guised as men, the idea of a knife between Nathan’s ribs is laughably mundane, no matter the supernatural hand that wields it. In the end, Vyn is right: there is any number of individuals in the city, some more obvious than others, who would see Nate’s death as a quick and easy fix to a convoluted problem. Finding out just who Nathan is – and uncovering the complicated web of Boston’s change in power, with all its dangerous facets – would be a fairly simple task.

A silent knife is almost preferable to the violent end he fears looming, and maybe it’s for this greater paranoia that Vyn’s words strike no spark of fear.

”Prominent enough. You,” and Nathan encompasses Vyn and all his feelings for the wretch in a single, disdainful sweep of his eyes, ”are hardly chief among my concerns. Frankly, you should consider yourself lucky for that.” The creature is not worth the time hunting, no matter how outrage and indignation burn beneath his skin. He runs his tongue across his teeth, eyes narrowed. ”It would be unfortunate for you if anything should happen to me. How many kids with horns and hooves do you think are running around—“

Nathan’s elaboration of just how easy it would be to pinpoint Vyn is cut off in a sudden whiff of air, one that sucks the breath from his lungs. Straightening, he eases his tense posture and aggressive stance just as that familiar voice reaches him, possessed by a sudden worry over how much of the conversation Rebekah had heard. Any and all of his embarrassment is laid solely upon the little demon’s shoulders for having distracted him so completely – for having worked him up to the point that the vampire’s arrival would have gone unnoticed, and allowed her to witness any of this miserable altercation.

Turning to face the woman, Nate runs a hand unconsciously through his hair and discards Vyn simultaneously. ”Too long,” he admits, distractedly adjusting his jacket’s lapel in an effort to regain some amount of composure. ”You never called.” Not that Nathan had, either. The statement does not read as bitter, but both factual and explanatory, and he accents it with the draw of a tight smile. Such is often the way of exchanged numbers; Rebekah is a mystery he once desired to solve, but the werewolf has been pulled in too many directions to spare her any time. That she should stumble upon Nate now, rendered so flustered by both the encounter and his situation, is more karmic than any of the horned boy’s ill-conceived threats.

The interrupted conversation is best left ignored.

[Ilvyn Daleroth]

[OoC: Ugh, I'm sorry for this sup-par post, guys. I am running out of things for Vyn.]

---

A smooth female voice broke the precarious intensity and drew Vyn's icy glare off the well-dressed stranger, a man that had eagerly batted back the death threats as though the men were locked in some lovely pale woman who appeared to be a young adult, but the boy knew better. She had seen through his glamour so the same assumptions could be made about her as he had about Nate; she was a freak, somehow, some way. Ilvyn couldn't help feeling his muscles relax a bit, relief at being distracted from that hateful conversation he had been trapped in moments before, but a part of him remained wary. This whole situation had potentially taken a turn for the worst. She seemed friendly towards the man Vyn had been arguing with. Way too friendly to just find him intriguing.

Ilvyn made no move to correct the pretty little interloper on her greeting him as 'demon'. Her postulation was not entirely inaccurate, but it was far from truth. The term 'demon' brought forth a specific imagery to the mind, a role that fit Ilvyn as well as a six fingered glove. Demons came from hell, were immortal, had the obnoxious pastime of possessing human bodies for their own use, and were generally very hard to kill. Ilvyn was just a boy, only a little above a human, with a hell of a lot misfortune piled onto his shoulders. He bled as humans did and he was just as easy to kill (or so he thought, it was a hypothesis he wasn't ready to test). Let her call him demon, for perhaps Nate would be given the wrong idea about Vyn. Maybe he would begin to think Ilvyn was more than just a physical body, that if he killed him he would come back as something more powerful, and resist any further urges he might have to test the boy.

He did seize the opportunity to take a cheap shot at Nate.

"Charming," Vyn laughed. "That is also cute, unless you are saying that to be ironic."

He didn't detail how completely repulsive he was beginning to find Nate's personality to be, but he was seeing how an egotistical fat cat could transform into a gentleman at the site of a peer, a lady wearing a lovely dress just as telling of her social rank. The boy glanced at the sky as if to check for the sun; watching a vicious bastard turn into a genteel man was disquieting for the boy. Oh, how the rich played their little games. It made the boy want to puke. As rude and abusive as that man had been earlier, in the end it wasn't what really made Vyn hate him.

You remind me of my former employer. I hate you rich bastards. So far removed from reality it's like you aren't even alive…you're living in some…alternate universe.

But perhaps Vyn should leave now, unless given a reason to hang around. He might stay for her. He was curious even if that feeling might result in his own death. The two of them seemed so immediately wrapped up in each other that the boy had become like a ghost or a shadow to them. Nothing to be looked at, so far under their heels he might as well have been dirt. Vyn was alright with that. Being underestimated always treated him well, especially in terms of the unsavory work he did for a living. Maybe the man would come to forget Vyn with time. The boy could only hope as much. When he stumbled, Ilvyn would be sure to snap him up like a shark.

Just you wait.