Byron had his hands jammed into the pockets of his dark jeans, staring up at the building in front of him, biting his lip. He then struggled to pull one hand out and adjust the strap of his satchel that hung loosely from his shoulder, carrying notebooks and pencils and several other of his belongings. Standing outside of The Macabre Dance, he let the abnoxious music fill his ears and contemplated entering. He listened and shuddered at the song, a bit arrogantly. Then, like he often forced himself to do, he swallowed his pride and entered.

Once inside he adapted quite quickly to the environment, to his own surprise. He mingled with several different groups, which consisted mostly of naive young adults, a crowd that he was used to conversing with. He gave out several of his cards to anyone who expressed the slightest interest in film or theatre, and also to anyone he found unique and interesting to his own likings. They were mostly humans, a bit of a disappointement. Humans he was used to working with, humans he had previously disected and 'figured out'. It was vampires that he was interested in learning more about. He could only learn so much from himself, alone in his cheap eastside apartment.

After introducing himself and conversing with a surprisingly friendly group of metalhead mortals, he made his way to the bar and called over the bar tender. A husky man approached him from the other side with a stern look on his face. Perhaps Byron should've waited to be attended to, this man didn't look like one to be 'called over'. Lesson learned. Regardless, he now had the man's attention.

"Nyx, you know her? I want her." Byron told the man, never losing his confidence. The man raised an eyebrow, and Byron corrected himself. "That is to say..I'd like to speak with her. Do you know how I could do that?" The man stared at him blankly without answering, and for a split second, Byron became nervous. Quickly, he collected himself. "Do I have to make an appointment or something, help me out here."

The man blinked then replied "Wait here." and walked off behind the bar somewhere.

Byron did as he said, waited. He had heard much about Nyx through the Demaitre grapevine, and her story...her character peeked his interest. On a proffessional level, of course, he reassured himself.

Tonight was just a regular night for Nyx, if any of her nights could be called such. Unlike other nights with similar agendas, she was not in her room at this time. There were no instruments of either pain or pleasure, only a small lounging divan covered in crimson velvet in which she lay, swirling warm blood that she had collected from the corpse that lay at her feet, staring towards the door with glassy eyes, her mouth open as if she was trying to call out when her voice had died – as had the rest of her. The girl looked to be about fourteen, and some would consider this act of barbaric on its own, but those who thought this would nearly have fainted at the sight of what the leader of the Tarepha had done to the helpless girl. It looked almost like an autopsy had been preformed, but more gruesome, if that was indeed possible. To a trained expert, they would immediately find that the heart was gone.

Did this bother the redheaded woman who sipped her wine like an upper class woman despite the revealing clothing she wore? Not at all. The girl should have stayed at home where she belonged, and it was her own stupid fault for coming into a bar like this in the first place. Those who came knew very well that there was a chance that they may never be seen again – the regulars at least. Unfortunately for them, they thought it was because those that had gone missing had become one of the ‘Kindred’, whatever the hell that was. Nyx figured they meant vampires, but damn if she’d ever heard a real vampire refer to the whole bunch in that manner.

The fact that this didn’t bother her wasn’t difficult to deduce. Her blood red hair had a bit of a wave this evening, and the room was only lit by candles, casting her into shadows. Her dress was long, black, interrupted only by the revelation of stark white skin in certain areas. Her green eyes shone out through the darkness like a great cat, and her mouth was curved into a slight smirk. When the bartender entered her room, she looked to him lazily, the alcohol in the girl’s system giving her a calm state of mind. She saw his eyes roam up from the body of the girl (where he didn’t even bother to cover his chuckle), over her body to her face.

“There’s a vampire outside,” he said, his deep voice making her insides vibrate. “He wants you.”

Nyx didn’t even bother to stop the laughter that flowed from her like honey. She figured it was partially from the alcohol she’d inadvertently consumed. “Yes, darling, most men want me.” She set her glass on the floor and stretched like a cat before slinking off the divan towards the door and the bartender. Despite her slightly woozy demeanour, she walked gracefully, never stumbling or needing aid, though her vampire (any vampire in her coven was ‘hers’ whether they wanted to accept it or not) set out his arm once or twice only to have it smacked away.

The music poured on her like wine as she entered the main club area. Almost immediately she caught sight of someone who seemed not to belong. When her bartender pointed to him, she walked up and took a seat at one of the large barstools, seeming not to acknowledge him until she said, “I heard you wanted me.” There was a teasing note in her voice as well as the barest hint of seduction.

Byron was impressed to see that she didn't leave him standing around for too long. Although he was willing to wait, he wasn't looking forward to it if the situation were to arise. His good mood may have been altered. But fortunately, that wasn't the case.

He didn't realize she was sitting reletively close to him until she spoke and he turned to face her. In general, she was everything he had imagined her to be, physically. Pale and beautiful. Delicate yet fierce. As for the characteristics that she possessed in which only through hearing her manner of speaking he could discover, he wasn't yet prepared to make that judgement.

Briefly, he thought over his introduction. Leaning against the bar, he spoke.

"Yes. I do want you, so to speak." he began, smirking. "Byron Hobbs." he told her with a subtle nod of his head. "I'm a writer, currently traveling and taking what I like from places, sights, situations, people..." He looked up around as he said this, then his eyes returned to her. "...and creating fiction with those things that I believe have potential, piecing them together." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and cocked his head to the side. His proffessional introduction that he was so used to receiting was done with, and he decided to get personal with her, still keeping his main motives in mind. "And you, my dear, peak my...interest." That was a bit of a sexual innuendo. She seemed like the type who, if not amused by it, would at least be able to appreciate it.

Nyx was curious, and when this occurred, she usually found answers as fast as she could torture someone… but that was usually only when they didn’t want to talk. Usually. There was that saying… ‘Curiosity killed the cat’, and if that were true, it was a damn good thing that for one, she was no cat, and secondly, she was already dead. Besides, if any bastard wanted to kill her, he’d have to be prepared to be hurt when he failed… or she, as the case may be. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been confronted with an affronted lover of whom she’d stolen a certain man. In her opinion, if the man would cheat on his lady, he was no man worth having.

“A writer?” she said it like it was something terribly exotic that she’d not encountered before now. She didn’t mean to brag – oh hell, yes she did – but this wasn’t the first time she’d been approached by various artists, writers or otherwise. Nyx was quite aware that there was no one quite like her, and she fully intended to humour this man as best as she could. Of course, if he started delving into things that were not his concern, and far to private for her to talk with her lover about, never mind some author who happened to come bumbling into her club (although he didn’t look the sort to bumble).

“It is very nice to meet you Bryon Hobbs,” she said, flipping some hair out of the way in a not so subtle flirtatious move. Then again, when had she ever been subtle? “I am Nyx Ciardha, as I’m sure you’ve gathered by now. Welcome to the Macabre Dance, taken from the French phrase, ‘La danse macabre’, which just means tons of nasty little things that I’m sure you’ll find interesting.” There was an impish grin on her face, like she knew some big secret that no one else had any idea about. She leaned closer at his words, her grin seeming to grow, until her mouth was right next to his ear. “Are you sure that’s all I peaked?” Yes, it was shameless, but she so enjoyed playing these innuendo games. She ran one long nail down the front of his chest, stopping just below his navel before pulling away.

“I’m not sure where I come in Mr. Hobbs, but wherever it is, I’m sure that there must be a better place than this to discuss it.” Nyx gestured at the club around her. Sliding off her stool, she crooked a finger at him, indicating him to follow. Back behind the bar and into the room that she’d vacated only minutes before, and where the body was strangely absent, though a bright red stain remained along with the smell of blood and death. Once again, she took her lounging position on the divan, and gestured him into a few chairs that faced opposite her.

Byron followed her into her room.

Throughout Byron's entire career in the writing and film industry, one of his only known weaknesses was his relentless attraction to the opposite sex. Being one to always look on the possitive side of things, he didn't quite see it to be a 'weakness' himself, considering many of his director-actress relationships were partially built on through sex. What better way for young actress to impress a director than to graphically demonstrate to him her physical strengths and talents, especially with the types of twisted and racy films that he did casting calls for. Therefore to him, there was some good to the fact that his brain almost instantly dropped from his head to his pants when a woman would make the slightest sexual inclination.

This situation was different, mind you. Because the woman, Nyx, was not trying to impress Byron. In fact, it was the other way around. He was the one selling himself and his ideas to her, in hopes that they could work together to aid his current project. He wasn't used to having to go to people rather than letting them come to him. Being the submissive one, in a sense. He wasn't yet sure how much he liked it.

He thought it wise to try and contain himself and focus on his proffessional intentions, also to try and steer clear from any further sexual puns and references, for his own good. Staring her up and down as she sprawled across the divan, he had the feeling that she wouldn't be making that easy for him.

He sat down one of the chairs across from her.

"You're right, this is much better." he agreed, looking around the room. He then slid a hand into his satchel and pulled out a pen and note book. "Now.." he began, writing her full name at the top of his page. "As hard as this may be, try and give me an introduction of who you are in a nutshell." He tapped his pen against the side of the notebook. "Who are you, Nyx?" he said in a polite but forceful manner, leaning back in his chair, getting comfortable.

Nyx smoothed out her dress and folded an arm under her head, leaning it back so that the man in her room had a clear view of her unmarred neck. The other hand smoothed out the fabric on her chest, running over her breast in what could be an innocent gesture save for the strange glint in her eyes and the pink tongue that oh so carefully trailed along her lower lip. A small strand of hair fell into her face, just over her left eye. One graceful head movement moved it back to where it belonged. It was clear that this was a woman who was apt at seduction and wasn’t afraid to use it on a regular basis to get what she wanted – whatever she wanted.

She pondered his question. She’d never really thought about what made her who she was. Fuck, she was who she was; why the hell should it matter why? Images of her sire leering at her popped into her head. There was a decided rumble deep in her chest, like a growl from a great cat, but it was quickly squashed even if her eyes had narrowed in a look that made her own coven members more than a little uneasy. Closing them, she took a deep breath, and opened them, smiling a charming smile.

“Who I am in a nutshell?” she asked, amused. “Honey, I don’t think you grasp just how difficult that is, but nobody really does.” There was a pause as she collected her thoughts. “I am one thousand, nine hundred and thirty-one. I have been leader of this coven for seven centuries, and have moulded it into the perfect coven. I am the Tarepha, and whether they like it or no, the Tarepha is me. I do what I want, when I want, and always, always, get what I want. People don’t like to see me cranky. I tend to get violent when I’m cranky… but that’s not the only time I get violent.” Her smile was nothing short of devilish.

“But!” she added, moving off the couch in a way that no mortal would be able to do with so little thought, “In order to know the real me, you have to know my story. Unfortunately, most of the details are very deep. I don’t talk about things like that outside of… intimate situations.” Even in her expensive gown, she crawled closer to him on all fours, something that seemed strangely graceful before lying her head on Byron’s thighs. “So, I suppose the question is… how badly do you want to know?”

Byron jotted down in point-form the brief description of Nyx as she spoke.

Intimate situations.

In a very mentally calm state, Byron watched as she crawled towards him, never letting his eyes stray from her own. Physically mind you, his muscles began to tighten as she approached, and to release a bit of tension, he concentrated most of it into his hands and cracked his knuckles. Once she touched him, lying her head in his lap, she let a small chuckle escape him, as in to say 'Oh no you don't.' In an attempt to appear as if he didn't want or need any sexual satifaction from her, not to mention to be a smartass, he sat his notebook on her head for a moment and finished writing his last point. He then lifted it and dropped it and his pen on the ground next to him. He had the feeling he wouldn't need any written documentation to remember this one.

He reached down and lifted her head up to face him, two fingers under her chin.

"Badly." he replied simply, pulling his hand away. He was thinking of turning the tables and acting as if her story maybe wasn't as important to him as she thought it was, playing hard-to-get, if you will. But one, that was untrue. And two, he was having to much fun playing her game to try and start up his own. "I've gone to many lengths to get the stories I need," he continued. That wasn't completely true, stories often fell into lap....no pun intended.

Nyx had stopped beating around the bush. In order to stay generally on the same level with her, he did the same. "What did you have in mind?"