Revolzin slowly walked down the freshly-wettened street. He walked almost silently; the only noise exposing his presence is the tip of his cane tapping the ground. The streets were oddly bereft of mortals, even for this late hour. The streetlights were reflected in the wet street, hurting his light-sensitive eyes, even though they were covered with sunglasses. He had just fed yesterday, so there was really no need to feed tonight, unless, of course, he wanted to.

He was waiting for Nyx, hoping to join her Coven, the Tarepha. It wasn't like he needed to be known as a Terepha member; he needed to belong. He didn't know what to expect in Nyx, or in the Coven for that matter.

The night was overall dark, except for the streetlights that lit up a good portion of the street and sidewalk. There were puddles in the street and sidewalk, not big puddles, more like the kind that mothers let their little children jump around in. There was no moon, which accounts for some of the darkness, though there were a few stars out. Not something you can see in many cities.

Revolzin ran his fingers over the eagle feather in his hat, reminding him of his country. He remembered the fights over the national animal, how they almost escalated into fist fights. It wasn't funny then, but now, in retrospect, it was.

* * *

He waited for about half-an-hour, and decided to move on to another location. For some reason, the night had livened up a bit: he must have seen forty mortals in that half-an-hour period, more towards the end.

He decided to go a nightclub, maybe he'd run into Nyx there. He didn't bother looking at the name of the club; it really didn't matter to him. The unnamed club was like all the others: bright flashing lights, too-loud music, mortals everywhere you looked, and the overlaying stench of blood. The music was too fast-paced, and too loud for that matter, for him to identify the beat, let alone the words. The lights consisted of over twenty strobe lights, flashing purple, green, blue and pink. you really couldn't call what the mortals were doing "dancing" per se; it was more like, how could you say this nicely, a dry orgy.

He despised the mortals’ ways, how they lived in ignorance, thinking truth is myth, myth is truth. He loathed mortals because, even in his evolved form, they could do something he could never: die.

He walked on into the club, using his hat to protect his eyes from the lights. He looked for a table in which he had a view of the whole club, thinking that Nyx might already be here. He found a table in which so one was sitting, about fifteen feet from the door with his back to the wall. He sat there, his elbow on the table, his hat in his hand, blocking out the terrible lights.

For once, she was not seated in the secluded back room, but rather at the bar, nursing a real Bloody Mary. There was a cigarette in the ashtray that had long been forgotten, hence turning into little more than ash. Her hair was wavy again but half of it was pulled back in a plaid scrunchie. Not her usual accessory, to be sure, but she wasn’t dressed as she normally was, and tonight… she almost stuck out. She wore a black blouse with short sleeves that came to just below her naval. Her red plaid tie matched her scrunchie and was loosely tied around her neck. Her skirt, if it could be called that, was leather on top with a small fringe of plaid at the bottom.

All in all, she looked like some men’s wet dream: a teenaged schoolgirl, with awesome legs and a pretty face. However, if someone were to get too close, they may end up with her nails in their windpipe and one glare from those oh so unnatural green eyes of hers were enough to make that very clear.

She looked up at the crowd and watched a vampire scuttle his way through it. Apparently, he didn’t like the club as much as she did. That was too bad. Another thing that was too bad was the fact that she didn’t recognize him from her coven. It seemed that she was going to have to pay Mr. Vampire a visit. Sliding off her stool and onto her ankle boots, she pulled her knee high socks up a bit before pushing her way through the crowd and towards him.

Taking a seat across from him without even asking, she set the beer she’d grabbed from some unsuspecting mortal on the table. Perspiration dripped off it, leaving water on the dark wood. Putting on a cheerful smile that didn’t usually find its way onto her face, she hid her fangs carefully despite the fact that he’d probably know she was a vampire. “Hey,” she said loudly over the music. “You alone?”

She didn’t bother waiting for an answer. “Why you here? Is it to see Nyx? To challenge her or something? I have to tell you… that would be a bad idea.” She gave a look of worry. “She’d eviscerate you. She finds it fun.” The last word was said seductively, like she had a dirty secret that she wasn’t sharing.

"I am here to see Nyx, though not to challenge her." Revolzin said, thinking that this was probably Nyx. He looked her over, holding back a smile. He put his hat back on his head and motioned for her to sit down. He could tell that she was infinitly more powerful than him, and much older, though she didn't look it. He didn't want to challenge her, for in that lies his demise, though, if he had to, he would, for he held his pride high.

"Been here long?" he asked her, but didn't wait for a reply. He already knew the answer: she had been here, and he was just lucky to have gone into this, nameless, nightclub. He wished he could just turn down the music; he could barely hear himself think. “Sorry if I disturbed you night,” he had seen her at the bar before, but just passed her over as a mortal, given he could not discern immortal from mortal with the overwhelming scent of blood.

Now that he wasn’t blocking out the light, they were attacking his eyes. God, how he hated those bright, flashing lights. Though the mortals seem to enjoy them.

“What does it take to get into the Tarepha?” he asked, skipping the small talk and getting right to the point. He couldn’t imagine the woman standing in front of him could be the leader of vampires, though he wouldn’t doubt that she could do it.

Nyx raised an eyebrow, frightfully unimpressed. While her heart sang at the prospect of having yet another vampire in her ranks, she assumed that he had guessed who she was. Damn. She liked having fun with them before revealing it and watching the shock factor. A slight frown the only indication of her irritation, she sat down plopped her feet up on the table. She was quite aware that were anyone to look, she would most certainly be flashing them, but this didn’t bother her. There was very little when it came to appearance that did. The Tarepha leader could walk around naked, and wouldn’t bat an eye at the gawks from the men and women, or when they tried to grope her.

Cut off their fucking hands and shove them down their shitty little throats so they could choke on them, yes. But bat an eye? That was never a problem.

“I’ve been here since the club opened Mister,” she said with a slightly mocking tone, pulling a pack of cigarettes from God knows where in that outfit and lighting one. She shoved the pack at him, not caring if he took one or not… but he didn’t know that. Let’s see if he took one. To decline an offer from a coven leader? Well, that could incite her anger. To take one when you didn’t really want one? That would make you a coward in her eyes, and Nyx did not suffer cowards. The only real way out of this was if the vampire smoked in the first place. Enough did. It wasn’t like they had to worry about making their lungs all black and wrinkly. They already were.

Taking a long drag, Nyx’s eyes and eyebrows snapped up when she heard his question. A sly smile crossed her face, and she dropped her legs from the table, leaning forward with an almost excited look. “That depends,” she said smoothly, brushing some hair behind her head. “What can you do for the Tarepha? Or, more importantly, what can you do for me?” Her look was now impish, and again, this was something that had to be handled carefully. “If has to prove you’re willing to go all the way.” Why Nyx! Was that an innuendo? “If you’re scared of pain mister, you won’t last five seconds in this club. We thrive on pain and blood.”

She leaned back in her chair, and she was certainly a sight to behold. The strobe lights behind her made her appear to be moving when she really wasn’t, and despite all this, her eyes seemed to glow with some inner light. Her outfit contoured her body perfectly, and making her look like a little demon girl.

And hell, she was.

"No thanks," Revolzin said, "Never really picked up the habit." He wasn't sure if he had insulted her, but he would take the chance rather than start something that he would regret. Cigerettes cost money, something that he had little of, and what he sid have he stole off his victims' corpses. He never really tried the modern cigerettes; he only had a snuff-box as a mortal. He didn't continue the habit after he died. Never had the urge to; the addiction didn't carry on into his new "life", if you could call it that. He did, occasionally, smoke a fine cigar.

"I can do plenty of things, what would you want me to for you?" He said, feeling as if he were applying for a job. In a way, he was. "I am willing to do many things, but it depends on what it is you're talking about how far I'll go.' He had certain moral lines that he was unwilling to cross, though, those lines had signifigantly lowered in number with his death.

"No, I am not afraid of pain. But I'm not a masochist either." The light was reflecting off of her skin, blinding him when he looked at her, but he still did. He wasn't the kind of person to stop doing something because of pain. Sure, he would try and reduce the pain if he could. "We all strive on blood and pain." He said with a slight smirk on his face.