Beggar's Banquet

[Alandor Fydmere]

He stood a silent specter to the discussion between the two women, two dark beings, and then.. as the two talked, and the man listened.. this ancient vampire.. out came the elf. Silent, he was always silent, except for the times he wished for attention. He was, after all, a sight of beauty. And he loved adoration, pride was his fall. Wasn’t it always? Pride, greed, love.. his virtues, his sins. Out he walked.. before the vampire. As the vampires fingers started to curl, his hands began to grow cold.. and then numb. Alandor watched him, directly, his eyes deep and blue. One with the oceans on a New Moon night.. no light, but so deep that if one were to fall in.. there was no coming back. The man fell to his knees, a vampire that spanned ages had his knees buckle.. so weak. Out came a scream, suddenly muffled by the gilded fingers of this elf. Bound in silver. Bound in gold. The pale skin of the Dark Elf made the vampires dark skin seem almost ridiculous. There was no struggle, there was no fight, as the vampire fell to the strength of this decadent elf. Down he fell.. and down to did the elf fall, crouched over him.. his necklaces dangling down.. silver and gold, silver and gold.. symbols of the occult, of black magic. In his bound fingers went, into the mans clothing, and pulled out one pouch, then another, then another.. After collecting them, perched over this dead undead creature, he lifted one to his nose and inhaled.. “Yes, yes, yes…” He muttered, his nose deep into the pouch. He let out a sigh, as his fingers delicately slid the pouch back into his coat. After that, well… the jewelry the man wore was ancient. What was an elf so perfectly absorbed with life to do but take what he would? And so he did. Yes, he did.. like a lion he killed, like a lion he hunted.. he moved slowly, suddenly, realizing he was surrounded on each side. He had escaped the underworld. The undead were no longer so much a threat as a nuisance.. he knew Brianna in passing, from the Mystic Tavern, a place he spent so much time with his resurrected love.. whereabouts unknown.. a place he hid when the heat was on, when the act of smuggling black magic potions, books, and other items was his passion. He stood, straightening his coat before making a lavish turn to look at the two.. and in that moment, he smelled her.. it was her blood.

[Asphodel]

She sensed Brianna’s flash of sadness; like a fading trailer of smoke, though, it came and went noiselessly. Nodding in commiseration, Asphodel thought back to those she knew, those old, far-flung creatures who (she was sure) she’d never see again. The slight peppering of memories which then assaulted her forced Asphodel to pause…and in that moment, she heard Brianna say “Mystic.” An unguarded grin leapt to her lips; the faint wave of remembrance that tugged at her was molasses-slow and unexpected—but not altogether unwelcome.

“I didn’t hunt there, no—I never so much as laid eyes on it. But my grandmother did, before she slipped into the darkness…”

Asphodel’s grey eyes drifted, stopping abruptly at the scene unfolding near the bar. Not long ago she’d left Meric there, and now there was a second individual, pale as the moon, muttering under breath next to Meric’s prostrate form! She knew immediately he was dead; something in her sensed as much, and she slid back a step. Scowling darkly, cold eyes even colder in her confusion, Asphodel wondered who this new creature was—and why he’d killed Meric so skillfully…and so matter-of-factly.

[Alandor Fydmere]

Oh, he was excited.. he had taken out that flighty vampire, he remembered him from before the End. The End of the world.. it was supposed to be. A lot of people died.. time stopped, for a moment.. but the world went on. The world was still together.. he had just been locked away in the underworld. It wasn’t time to reminisce.. except over the body of this fallen fiend. Who had robbed him, left him for dead.. not that he would ever let on to anyone how often his troubles took over his life. When he was home, at the Tavern, the world outside took a stand back.. as if he was in some sort of sacred land. For some people it was sacred. Here he was now, one fell enemy.. it’s amazing what you learn in the Underworld.. he sensed the surprise, as he lingered there in silence.. standing there, before the two semi-living vampires. He didn’t react, he didn’t react to the fact he had taken out one of their kind. He didn’t react to the fact that he happened across a fellow of the Mystic.. he didn’t react to the fact that he could smell the blood. He was alive. His blood was warm. He was corrupt, yes.. but he was not undead. Elves don't age. He surely didn't. Still as beautifully carved as ever. He slid his glinting bonded hand into his leather coat, and pulled from inside a flask.. off the top came, lifting it a little.. his familiar devilish grin came across his lips.. “A toast.. to the death of an unclean, forgettable fiend..” He took a sip.. eyeing the two, a glimmer of chaotic playfulness in his eyes.. he coughed, covering his mouth with his forearm.. “Let me try that again.. as it is not right to toast a man’s death.. nor civil to insult the departed..” He lifted the flask again. “A toast.. in memory to the recently fallen..” Again he drank.

[Vice and Virtue]

The muffled sound of laughter broke the silence that hung like a thick suffocating blanket on the room, pierced the the grave anticipation that hung suspended, trembling like a pin balanced on the edge of chaos. With eyes full of banked fire, Brianna turned to glance at her dark-haired daughter, brows lifting up in an indulgent question.

Sasamh shook her head once, a pale slender hand pressed against her mouth while cold silver eyes danced with a malicious brand of mirth. Seeming to gain control of her laughter, she lifted her hands to either side of her body and shrugged dismissively, her eyes passing thoughtlessly over the crumpled form of the old vampire.

"I can't help it. It's just so terribly dramatic and amusing. Here we all are, so old, so dangerous. And some imp of an elf waltzs in here and takes out that posturing old fool. The rest of us noticed him."

She waved a hand around the room then let her head fall back against the back of her chair, a lazy yawn stretching her red lips wide to flash rows of pointed teeth. She was more animal than anything else, just like her mother.

"He deserved it for being so utterly stupid. Though..."

She leveled those quiet eyes at the conquering elf while mother and sister looked on, both only mildly interested and amused by the whole thing.

"It is rather crass to do it in the middle of a conversation. Don't you think? A cowards path to rely upon surprise."

Brianna shook her head and ran one hand through her long hair, tugging it over her shoulder until it draped her face in thick, tangible shadow.

"It's a tavern, darlings. It was built for the dramatic."

Still, she did turn her attention to the dead vampire and the looting drifter. Cautious eyes taking in even in the smallest detail. From each woman the darkness hissed and danced, skulking through the shadows, skirting the pools of light until they could gather beneath Meric's corpse, a writhing, opaque pool of trendrils that kissed his cold skin, licking the lingering scent of death and fear from his flesh while Brianna watched and spoke.

"Still, why did you find it necessary to drop him here and now? Are you one of those terribly boring fanatics who believe all is evil and depraved and must die?"

[Alandor Fydmere]

He was fairly happy with his hunt, he had felled a foe whom had robbed him some distant time ago.. and with some just reward, he came away with pouches of.. well.. pouches of significant value. As well as some wonderful jewelry, always the gilded villain. What else could he be? He had to be. He was. Always. He listened in on the three as they talked among themselves, as if speaking in legion. There was something sensual about the whole matter, but he couldn’t help but be a little insulted.. he.. dreamwalker, he abyss escapee.. being degraded by a bunch of vampires. He laughed to himself, it was chilling.. as he looked past them.. to the eyes of Asphodel.. she had the blood. How could it be? It was confusion, wandering confusion.. drifting across his perfectly etched face. He never smiled, Hell.. he hated wrinkles.. but that grin. That damned grin.. it was there again. He wondered.. so many questions. How..? Her blood.. and then.. as if to drag him from his own mental quest.. one of the three spoke to him. His grin faded.. amid their laughs, amid their insinuations… his grin faded.. lifting a hand and dragging his fingers across his lips.. the black inky residue from the underworld strayed.. for just a second before dispersing.. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to catch him off guard? If it hadn’t been for you distracting him… I would have never found the chance. Vampires have dwindled as of late.. perhaps that grand purge did some good.” He laughed a bit. “..but it had become hard, catching him off guard.. he was too wrapped up in nostalgia, lust, and the hunt..” He looked to Asphodel.. “He was certainly looking to kill.. and I couldn’t have that.. not to cloud up the road ahead.” And back now to Brianna.. and her daughters.. “Nor let him get away with what was mine.”

[Asphodel]

The newcomer was puzzling, his mirth almost surreal. But Asphodel remembered that those who lurked here, those who traversed mountain and ocean and eon to arrive (unrifled and, sometimes, voracious) at the Tavern’s doorstep were always a little surreal. So it was with fae creatures, creatures born of blood and shadow, other beasts whose origins Asphodel knew only dimly: they were all (well…almost all) graceful and strange and breathtakingly adept at wrangling from humans whatever they wanted. Asphodel had a suspicion that this newest addition was much the same. He’d wrangled what he wanted from Meric in a matter of minutes, and Meric wasn’t even mortal…

Turning at the sound of laughter, she allowed herself a flitting smile. It had been an interesting night, to be sure—the arrival of so many individuals after so long a spell of solitude rendered her almost dizzy. And though the situation had taken an admittedly odd turn, Asphodel was interested. She was no stranger to unsavory things (and people); indeed, in times past, those who populated the world’s seedier realms had excited her, seduced her, pulled her into a culture of killing and taking. But that was when she’d first been turned…that was a long, long time ago. Licking one pearly, pointed fang, Asphodel remembered why it had eventually disgusted her. Still…this one was worthy of note. That he appeared amidst vampires was startling, and that he dropped one so quickly was certainly cause for inspection. After all, she couldn’t have vampire hunters slithering through the shadows. Not when she, herself, preferred to slither there.

Turning her attention back to the current mise-en-scene, Asphodel shrugged off Meric’s death with a toss of her head. There was nothing she could do for that one. But she could, however, do something about that one. Ice-grey eyes, penetrating and cool, turned on Alandor. Wordlessly she took stock and wordlessly she wondered: what on earth...? Something about him caused her skin to prickle; something about him seemed familiar but so very, very alarming.

Though the monstrous fireplace hissed and crackled, she heard the others as they questioned him. She listened because she, too, knew nothing about him—not why he was here nor why he’d done what he’d done. Still, she couldn’t shake the whispery-light feeling of familiarity…and so she waited to see what he’d say.

[Vice and Virtue]

She shrugged lightly as the elf prattled on and finally dismissed him with a wave of her hand, sharp nails glinting silver black in the dim lighting. Sorrow was creeping upon her with each moment, growing and swelling like the flow of the tide, threatening to swamp her. Sensing it, her daughters grew restless where they sat, eyes of molten silver and frigid blue filling with inky tendrils of shadow.

"Whatever, really. Your problems, your dramas...."

She smiled wistfully, passing one hand over the cold, feral features of her face. Somehow wicked and tired all at the same time. Like a matched pair, her daughters stood and prowled around the room; graceful, deadly, silent as they skirted vampiress and elf, casting the latter an amused, if bored glance. Pausing at the base of the stairs, they glanced back at their mother, knowledge a peaceful mask on their faces. Brianna simply stayed where she was, surveying the room with the air of someone who'd lost much.

"I find I have no taste for it any more. All these problems, so petty, so mudane and fleeting. There was a time when places like this were so full of life. All those mortal desires touching even us. Passion, need, want, love, such terrible lasting anger."

She grinned briefly, her hair sliding forward like a silken curtain of fire. She recalled nights when countless lives unfolded around her. A thick, tangible blanket of misery and joy. Ghosts touched the edges of her vision, opaque black shadows that hissed and moved with purpose. She glanced between elf and woman, dark brows lifting with some faint hint of indulgence.

"It's all washed out now. So much dust resting like a memory on the tongue. But, enough of that. Careful with your killer..."

She looked to Asphodel, smirking with a hint of her old cruelty as she stood, waving back at the vampire's decaying body.

"He doesn't seem to favor vampires too much, though his interest
seems piqued by you. Have fun, darlings."

With her skirts dragging whisper light over the floor, she left them to each other, joining her daughters at the stairs by sliding her arms around theirs, white dresses tangling with shadow as they went to find someone to rest for the remainder of the night.

[Alandor Fydmere]

This petulant woman, she had been since the beginning.. when his old rival.. turned this, wretched woman. And where was she now? Moving on, as always.. he laughed to himself, covering his mouth with his adored fingers, washed in the beautiful glow of perfectly crafted metals and stones, so rare. How many people died so that he could have his fill with his own decadent want? His lips were perfectly crafted, perhaps if he was a vampire.. he would have had more use out of them. Her and her daughters, moving on.... he wondered where his old rival was, that old astronomer.. drafted by the fiends in the night, banishing him into madness.. and the haunting dirge of life. Seeing Brianna brought back so many memories.. nostalgia.. and then the light of the elf girl, the healing child of the Tavern.. the scion of wonder.. whom he had come to adore, more so then his own vanity.. his hand dropped from his mouth, he let her go on speaking.. before turning away to leave.. down his eyes went, for a moment.. as his mind wandered.. Brianna.. Selur.. Lee.. his memories drifted off, and he caught himself.. he smelled her blood.. and just as suddenly, his head tilted up to come upon the other vampire.. not the dead one, or the old acquaintance taking her children.. the other. The vampire he didn’t know. The vampire he followed, as Meric followed.. as he followed Meric.. strange how it all came to be. Fate? The Universes twisted irony? Strange how Brianna came and flaunted life.. to renew memories.. to wander away.. and leaving the new petals on an old flower. A mystery..

He waited as the vampire and her children walked away.. and his eyes followed her.. Asphodel.. Asphodel.. Asphodel.. “phodel..” out came part.. as his mind formed the words from passing strains, memories.. his mind caught up in the ether.. as waves came crashing chaotically.. his mind connected.. feeling.. faces, words… “odel..” .. a second.. “el..” his words came out as whispers.. he tried.. grasping.. and it was gone. Like the wind taking dandelions after they bloomed.. and wept.. and let their seed out in one climax against the wind.. to feed the land.. to calm the land.. gone but more thoughts planted.

He moved keenly to her.. his hand sliding into his coat.. the leather, waves of black.. and his glinting hand came back.. with a necklace, hanging from his fingertips.. so gently.. where to begin? So many questions.. most likely another dead end. Wasn’t it always? It wasn’t easy.. what was he to say? I can smell your blood, her blood is your blood.. have you seen her? It was always the same.. he moved with elegance.. and so too did the chain from his fingers.. as it spun, just a bit.. before falling. His eyes watched it.. and as it came to hang.. he looked up to her. “This is all I have..” Skipping the normal routine..

[Asphodel]

She barely heard Brianna’s words, barely noticed as she and the others slithered up the stairs in search of sleeping quarters—Asphodel was too stunned by the sudden attention.

In one night she’d met and, subsequently, saw die the first vampire she’d met in ages. She’d witnessed the arrival of ancient beauties, of an arcane elf, the interaction between former and latter (which, she surmised, stemmed from some sort of shared past). She’d been surrounded by kindred creatures this evening after years and years (and years…) of relative solitude. Now, as if to compound her surprise, that same elf was breathing her name. And she’d never told him what it was.

Retreating a pace, Asphodel watched Alandor warily. Her upper lip curled a little, one pearly fang flashing in the yellow light of the fire. Brushing long black hair back from her face, she cocked her head; though not a vampire, he seemed so…dead. So of her sire’s stock—so “the same sort of beast,” she thought. Dark brow furrowed, Asphodel retreated another pace back, towards the window and its watery pre-dawn glow. She knew he was watching, remembering something, rolling her name around in his head; she didn’t know who he was but, it seemed, he knew who she was.

Eyeing the necklace as he extended it, she shook her head.

“I can’t take that. You know I can’t. I’ve no idea who you are or where you came from…no idea whose jewelry that is. It’s not yours, I’m willing to bet,” her grey eyes flickered, “You just robbed a corpse—and with so much aplomb it paints you as habitual.”

She grinned a little, shrugging, “A sweet gesture though, I must admit. Thank you.”

Moving to the right, Asphodel opened the black enameled doors of one of the Tavern’s curio cabinets and began to pick through the bottles. She hadn’t been able to do much in Vectis this evening; first the golden-eyes boys then the watcher had preoccupied her, taking both attention and precious energy. Forced back to the safety (and seclusion) of the Tavern earlier than planned, Asphodel was still so thirsty. And so she searched her collection for the tall, slender glass bottles as she waited for Alandor to explain. She knew he had to have sensed her fleeting alarm and present curiosity by now. And she wondered if he’d sensed, too, the strange feeling of familiarity she’d experienced upon his arrival.

Settling herself on the window’s wide sill, Asphodel popped the cork from another dusty black bottle and smiled. “Excuse me while I indulge. And excuse my terrible manners, while we’re at it—you’re welcome to anything behind the bar. I’m tired this morning…you’ll have to serve yourself.”