Magnus parked his jeep, after disconnecting the front of the cd deck and locking the doors, he began the short walk to the Sinister Puppet, one of the few clubs he had not yet been to. He could smell the vampire in the streets, and blood and even humans. The secnts all enamated from the warehouse at the end of the street, that blood red neon sign a beacon of horror.

He knew of the barbaric ways of the Tarepha, they way they kill their meals, sometimes the way he does, but on a much greater scale. At the great metal door, he gripped the handle with his black gloved hand, the rust flaking a little as he flung the door on it's rollers. He shut it behind him and felt the bass, thumping like a monster, he glanced down the hallway to see a young mortal and a vampire, coupulating. Little did the mortal know... Well, he would find out sooner rather than later.

He shook his head and cointinued, the bass grew more intense and the sound of grungy techno industrial music spilled from the engineered holes on the walls. These holes let in multiple moats of different colors flash across his path. He pocketed his gloves and unbuttoned and unzipped his jacket. Revealing a black button up shirt with a crimson teeshirt underneath. His pants were the dark brown thin corduroys, tighter than regular pants, well other peoples regular pants...

After stepping through the heavy plastic flappy threshold, the music got noticably louder, and the crowd was a mix of depressed and poser mortals and the true vampires, mostly Tarepha. He eased across the dancefloor, cutting through the crowd like a chainsaw. Delivering the occasional return punch, probably hurting some mortals badly. By the time he sat down he had already taken his coat off, and set it on the back of his chair. He ordered a scotch and picked it up at the bar, he sat back on the cushiony black chair. He gently sipped the drink and immersed himself in the sound...

Phineus licked his lips nervously, crushing out his cigarette. This was it, the Sinister Puppet. For a month now, he'd been cruising the various gothic dens, trying to find out about the place. Now here he was, about to enter the belly of the beast. He snorted to himself, shoving his hands into the pockets of his battered leather jacket.

Phineus was woefully dressed for the place. Leather jacket, ok, but grey button up shirt, white tie, black sweater, black dress pants...it screamed academic. Maybe his choice in coming here directly from teaching his class hadn't been such a good idea. He most certainly didn't look gothic, not enough for these crowds, at least. Phineus took a deep breath, before grasping the rusted door handle, and easing it open.

He already felt out of place. But, if he was to finish his dissertation on sociological studies, he needed to do some hands on research. Phineus just hoped curiosity wouldn't kill the cat. In a place like this, it was a very real fear.

Phineus brushed past a couple, one of which was latching onto the other neck hungrily. Probably thought they were vampire lovers, or somewhat. Phineus was too deeply immersed in his own thoughts to notice. Phineus looked up suddenly, aware that he could now feel the thumping music in his bones. It was loud, crowdy, and dark.

Phineus shook his head, licking his lips once more before plunging into the crowd, trying to fight his way to the bar. On route, he was grabbed, punched, and even licked at one point. After a minute or so, Phineus broke through the crowd, and hurried to the bar. His eyes were wide under his lanky hair. That thing in the pit of his stomach was telling him to leave, but Phineus hadn't come all this way for nothing.

Morrigan rounded the corner with a silent step, her dark glare piercing through the darkness like mad fire. Her pink lips were curved into a devilish grin that would make even the bravest man shiver. She was thristy beyond belief and aching down to her bones. She needed blood soon, and she was going to get it. The thrist was twisting her insides and poisoning her thoughts. But not any blood would do. She wanted something delicious, young, and rebellious. She wanted passion, anger, lust, and voilence. Where better to find it than the Sinister Puppet?

It had been too many nights since she last fed and the effect was visual. Her freckled, flawless skin was extremely pale. It seemed to glow in the shadows of the tall city buildings. Her dark curls framed her beautiful, seemily-innocent face and enhanced its paleness. All her tattoos were visible tonight.

"Hey, chick," a young man shouted. He was standing outside the club door, waiting for someone. "You're a vampire!" He grinned from ear to ear, his eyes checking her out.

Morrigan, only a few feet from the outer door, paused to look at him. Her smile vanished. Her bistre eyes examined the mortal man from head to toe and found nothing appealing. Just as she reached for the rusted door handle, he stepped towards her. Unfortunately, his face met her outstretched hand. With barely a push Morrigan abstentmindedly knocked him to the ground. She did not even look at him.

The thristy Celt shoved the large door open and entered a hallway. A vampire was sucking on the neck of mortal as Morrigan marched down the hall towards the loud, heartpumping music. She paused to inhale the intoxicating smell of blood, sweat, sex, and alcohol. Slowly, she unbuttoned her brown, leather trench to show off her sexy clothes. Surprisely, she was not dressed in her usual outfit. Her denim skirt was snug and stopped at mid-thigh. Her torso was hugged by a black, button-up shirt that was clean, pressed, and pricey. The first few silver buttons were undone just to reveal only a little cleavage. She wore no jewelry and no make-up. She had no need or desire to.

As the vampiress pressed through plastic barrier into the swarm she felt neither fear nor nervousness. Actually, she felt energized. The heat and power hit her like a rush and she loved it. She noticed a bar on the otherside and decided to hit it first. Shoving through the crowd was a ball. Fists, legs, arms, heads, and backs were pushing from all directions. Morrigan got through without a scratch, though the mortals in her way could not say the same.

Morrigan instantly noticed the two males at the bar. They seemed out of place; she wondered why they were there. Trying not to stare at them she helped her self to a seat, threw her coat over the chair's back, and checked her boots for blood. There were only a few unknown fluid stains on the thick straps, but they could be washed.

"What can I get ya?" the bartender asked. His face of a million piercings shocked Morrigan at first, delaying her response.

"Nothing, yet," she said, holding back a snicker. Goths always made her laugh.

Magnus saw the new addition, a rather attractive vampiress. He followed her with his eyes, there was no doubt that she could know it. She may be a little extra pale, lack of nourishment he guessed, most definitely, her features were just noticably gaunt. He noticed the subtleties of her garb, the way the shirt was just open enough for a bit of cleavage, her tattoos contrasted even more because of her enhanced pallor. The main eye grabber were the freckles, they were an attractive feature to him back in England, when the Irish girls would visit town... He grinned.

He poured a bit of the green liquid from the flask into the rest of his scotch and downed it. He flipped the glass upside down and watched the remnants of the absinthe and scotch slide down the inside of the glass and soak onto the metal of the table. He noticed the welding on the support of the table.

such crude construction... he mused.

He noticed things like this because he was a metal worker in the past, he propped his feet on the table and leaned back, carefully balancing himself so he wouldn't fall back, send a chair or two to the floor and look like a fool, not that anybody important would notice, but it was important to him that such things were not overlooked. One of the weaker mortals was pushed into a table not two feet away from him, it simply fell to the floor with a muffled thud and didn't move, he wouldn't lie there for long. A large muscular vampire with a face hiding hood dragged the mortal to the wall at the other end and shackled him, he hung there like a marionette, on the dingy dirty walls, smeared with what he hoped was real blood and not a substitute. He looked up and all around, the things, what may be corpses, or not, hung everywhere, swinging erratically, some dripped blood, not many, all with the effect of multitudes of puppets.

I hate stupid puns... at least that's where he thought the name came from, things this simple bothered him, he hoped there was a deeper meaning to the name...

His eyes wandered back to the irish looking girl, how much he liked the way she held herself, her figure, she probably had no interest in him...

Phineus wiped sweat from his eyes. The place was almost intolerably hot. Apparently goths lacked sweat glands. The pale man glanced to his left at a loud crash, as some man tumbled to the floor. Phineus' eyes went wide as some hooded figure proceeded to shackle the unconcious man to the wall. He blinked. Was this normal? Some S&M thing he'd not read about?

Phineus pushed the thought out of his mind, his gaze suddenly caught by an attractive, if pale, Irishwoman. Phineus, being a Dublin native himself, could hardly be mistaken; the freckles gave her away. There was something about her, the pale, taut skin, or the tattoos, that held Phineus' gaze longer then it should linger. Once more, Phineus forced himself to look away. He wiped sweat from his forehead again, looking to a heavily pierced bartender.

"Water." he said, licking his dry lips. It was nerves more then anything. Rationally, he could not accept vampires as realy, but in a place like this, a scholar was still well served in being cautious. Phineus flicked his gaze to the bartender suddenly. "JUST water." he reiterated, and the bartender set aside some vial he'd been about to put in Phineus' drink. Phineus grabbed the glass and downed half of it.

It was time to get to work. He'd come here for a reason; an interview. Anne Rice had written a book called 'Interview with a Vampire'. Phineus was hoping to do exactly that, interview a vampire. Not a real one, of course, they did not exist. It was, however, a most fascinating socio/pyschological foible, that drove the vampiric obsession. Phineus was hoping to unravel that mystery.

Magnus was tongueing his fangs when his gaze switched to the jumpy-looking man at the bar. He had the distinct appearance of not wanting to be there, not only that, but only ordering water. An odd thing to do at a place like this, downright strange...
He stood up, throwing his jacket over his shoulder and strode to the bar, putting it around the back of the seat, a clean one, well, the cleanest one. He sat two seats from the lanky water-drinker and one away from the irish girl. He ordered a brandy, not a word from the bartender, Magnus had such a fierce look of elitist apathy, the guise itself could leave most mortals with nothing to say, and turned the swiveling chair. He surveyed the dancefloor, the bass was a strong as ever, he couldn't imagine how the humans could stand it. This industrial music was of such high volume that it ought to cause irreperable damage to the timpanum.

It didn't bother him though, oh, not at all, he turned around to see his brandy, even with a napkin folded neatly under the base. The look he had on moments before was gone, it was a trick he learned to use if he didn't want to speak to certain mortals. Things were getting boring, he was either going to talk to the scholarly fellow or try to speak to the irish girl with a freckles and pallid skin.

"You come here often?" The foolish bartender asked Morrigan. He was hoping to get her number. Too bad the vampiress did not own a phone. The ancient's eyes darted from a dangling corpse to the metal head; the devilish grin had returned to her lips. "No," she said, simply.

The goth lick his lips and flashed a smile he thought was charming. "You a vampire?" He asked, loud enough for a mortal to hear it over the noise.

Morrigan leaned over the bar, her face only an inch from the mortal's. He noticed that her pupils shrank. "You're new here?" she asked, still grinning. The bartender's eyebrows creased.

"Yeah. So," he retorted. His head hurt.

Morrigan sighed, leaned back, and licked her lips. She had picked through his mind and found nothing special. No extreme passions. No love. No amazing hate. Only the silly whims of a youthful, selfish mortal.

"I suppose you don't carry mead?" Morrigan asked. The bartended shook his head.
"Just give me a shot of whiskey. Whatever you've got, as long as it's Irish." The bartender nodded, deciding that the weird chick as a vampire.

She could not help but stare at the other two men at the bar. The one wearing a business-like suit looked more than uncomfortable. The one closest to her had her interest. She sent him a sexy smile and looked back at the bartender. He was staring at her. She cocked an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing," he mumbled, pushing a shot glass her way.

Magnus gave his ageless dashing smile and turned back to his drink, watching out of the corner of his eye until she had no sight of him. He dashed to the seat closer to the irish girl, putting him three away from the scholar. This movement would have made most mortals uneasy, for it was lightning fast, not to the standards of the even faster covens, but near it. He gave the bartender a vicious glare which sent him the impression,

Lay off

Which gave the desired effect, the mortal discontinued staring at the Irish girl and just looked down at his work. Magnus swirled his drink and projected,

"I hope that helped..."

Morrigan stared into the shotglass, lifted it up, and swirled the liquid inside. Tilting her head back she drained the glass, then set it back down without a sound. When she opened her eyes there was a male vampire sitting beside her. She blinked, alittle surprised. She watched, grinning, as he sent the bartender a nasty glare.

"I hope that helped..." she heard the vampire say. Morrigan grinned from ear to ear. She could see the Irish in him, as well as old world features. As she stared into his dark eyes, her own glistened. She had not seen such features in a long time. She liked him already.

"Another shot," she demanded of the bartender. She lightly tapped her glass on the counter as a signal, just in case he did not hear her. He poured her another without daring to look at her. Damn, undeads, he thought.

Morrigan did not take her stare off of the vampire. She gave him a once over, her eyes moved so quickly a mortal would not have noticed. "Indeed. What made you think I needed help?" she asked the vampire, playfully. There was a twickle in her eyes.

"Well.. I felt it my duty to make you more comfortable, it's a deeply ingrained ethic of mine. In short, I'm obligated to."

He drank half his glass, and cocked his head, taking in the sight, the freckles and pale skin were what got him, not to mention her eyes...

"So, does such a lovely girl like you have a name?"

Morrigan smirked. It seemed the lad was just as interested in her, as she was in him. She came here for a mortal worth satisfying her and found a delicious immortal instead.

"I am Morrigan Blair," she replied, "Of the Emerald Isle." She could feel her spirits rising from the sad depths already. She had been depressed the past few months. Drama, politics, and young vampires were draining her of patience and energy. Also, she had been feeding less often. The new habit was taking all her willpower.

"What is your name?" she asked, curious about this fellow.

He saw the innate look of desperation in her eyes evaporate, he rejoiced on the inside,
he began,

"I'm Magnus Leopold Wendt, of Mercea, England, but I spent a good amount of time in Ireland, long enough to develop a slight accent"

He swallowed the rest of his drink, he pushed the glass away,

"I've travelled across the globe since I've been turned, I won't get in depth right away, what'd you do?"

Morrigan smirked. "Indeed," she said, "I've been to England a few times." She paused. "I've around the world a few times, too."

She swallowed the next shot, rolling it on her tongue to savor the flavor. The bartender was lifting a bottle to pour her another when she shook her head. "A beer. Guiness," she told him. He nodded, a hate and fear of the Irish building up.

"So, what brings you here?" Morrigan asked, smiling. "You don't seem like the type that hangs"-she pointed with her eyes at a bloody puppet, pun intended-"around here." She wrapped her fingers around the tall glass of Guiness that was pushing towards her. The drink was cold, she was sure of it, but such sensations felt different the undead. It sipped from the glass, then licked her lips slowly. She loved Guiness.

((Nice draco Av))

"I was drawn here, it was a strange desision really, I just up an' came here, very odd indeed. I threw this on,"

He vaguely gestured to his shirt,

"and I came, I was determined too.." He looked to the bartender, and pointed to Morrigan's glass, and then gave him a two fingered sign, meant for two beers,
"actually, I quite like to socialize, most of the time usually;" a clink came from behind him and he grabbed the first glass he felt, the cold only felt slightly different from his own skin, he brought it to his lips, and lowered it a bit, he said, "Sláinte!"

..and tipped the glass, .. til he could see the puppet-adorned cieling through the bottom of the empty container. He set it back down and took up the other one, "Good drink, Guiness is," He pointed to her glass with is, "A bird with one wing can't fly." he said with a smile.

((thanks! I love Draco.))

"Aye." Morrigan grinned. With his last comment she swallowed her share of beer in one swing. The beer's bitter taste was strong enough to excite her senses, which pleased her. She placed the glass back down and licked her lips. "Being a loner does wear off after a few...hundred years," she said, rotating the glass in her hand. She watched as little drops of water dripped down it's sides.

"I've never been here before," she continued, turing her gaze back to the vampire. "Thought I would give it a shot."

((Sorry, short post! I'm on a tight schedule today. I'll do better next time. Promise.))

"Tis true, the appeal of a.. a.. solitary life with the occasional friend here and there gets kind of trite,"

He turned a bit away from Morrigan, and a grin tugged at his lips,

"though after a bit, some comraderie is an eagerly accepted alternative."

((A bit short also, I'm in computer 4 class right now))

Licking the last of the blood from his lips the dark-skinned man lets the body of the young girl glide to the pavement, limp as a puppet without strings. He looks down at her and smiles. She'll wake-up in an hour, if she survives the neighborhood.

He lifts his gaze to the large warehouse across the street and watchs as a vampiress of obvious Celtic mean opens the sliding door and enters. First shot, dead on the mark. He always was good at sniffing out the right place to be.

That delightful sensation of near flight as he takes a quickstep and is in front of the large sliding metal door. His bright gaze almost caressing it's features, admiring the soft flow of the rust and metal. Patterns swirl and reform in his gaze as he stares deeply, flecks of dried blood trying to hide in the patterns. He steps back and smacks his hand on the metal door lightly, rust dust lightly falling from the door as he shakes his head to clear it. He's been too long in sleep if such simple things draw his gaze so easily.

He grasps the ring and pulls the door to the side, catching himself as he notices the ease with which it moves. He checks his strength and eases back. Won't do to attract too much attention.

Stepping into the hallway beyond he notices a couple, one vampire, one mortal. He sends a tendril of thought into the creatures mind and gathers the layout of the Club, it's basic rules, and.......Coven? He smiles a predatory smile, fangs gleaming brightly ass he strides by. I really haven't lost My touch

His brand new New Rock Terminator boots strike a deep stacatto tone on the cement floor as he strides like a soldier into the main room, the beat and wail of the music washing over him like a tide. He sighs without breath. Such lovely music these children create in this age. His attire helps him to blend, almost. The black on black of his clothing is typical of this crowd, but the cut is a mixture of Edwardian, Victorian and punk. A black velvet shirt with lace crevate and cuffs, black velvet brocade jean-cut pants and a black silk and velvet frock coat, pants and coat liberally studded with silver spikes and hanging with chains, all strategically placed for effect.

His blue-grey eyes scan the crowd and he steps forward toward the bar. As he comes to the edge of the dancefloor and it's writhing, sweating bodies, they seem to part like the Red Sea. No one touchs or looks at him, but every body he passes notices him.

He steps up to the end of the bar, quickly taking the measure of the two vampires sittting and conversing. Isle folk by the cast of thier features. And the nervous mortal further down. That one will be prey soon enough with that demeanor.

The bartender makes eye contact and nods, pulls a large glass of beer from the taps and places it in front of the dark featured man. The middle eastern cast to his face now apparent in the brighter light of the side bar. His shoulder length black hair, loose and flowing, lacks the structured look of the typical Goth. His foot taps lightly to the beat of the music as he sips at his beer and observes.

((I'm back! *shudders*))

Morrigan let herself relax, as much as a warrior is allowed to. She rolled her shoulders back and let her legs uncross. The air, noise, and smells were warming her up, in a sense. The alcohol was bubbling in her gut. The presence of another arriving vampire tickled her senses causing her eyes to wander. At the end of the bar she spotted an interesting character. He was new to the city, she guessed, since her "children" had not reported him yet.

Before her habit of staring intensely began she looked back at her new friend. He was a handsome fellow. She grinned, thinking of what fun it would be to "play" with him for awhile. Suddenly, the idea of an Irish Coven or Clan amused her. She laughed alittle, picturing drunk Celts and Irishmen painting the city red.

"Any comraderies in particular?" Morrigan mused, flashing her small, but sharp fangs in saucy smile.

With a sideways glance at the patrons along the side bar I turn back to the dance floor and drain the int glass of it's contents and setting the empty glass down with a *clunk*. I step away from the bar toward the dance floor with a feral smile at the two other predators seated there and loose myself in the crowd of dancers.

"It..."

He looked up and out of the corner of his eyes and then back to the rather attractive celtic vampiress in front of him,

"all depends on the parties involved, ma'am"

He then glanced to the newcomer who had disappeared as quickly as he had appeared. He'd barely even felt the effects of his alcohol, He twisted his back alittle on each side to relieve a little tension, and adjusted his junk discreetly. :mhm:

((Your new av is calvin and hobbes, no?))

Morrigan just winked in response. She, herself, had many different "friends" of many different kinds. Connections were difficult to sustain, though. Well, until the last century. New technologies changed more than the lifestyles of mortals...

Morrigan ordered another beer. Her mind was wandering off into dull, over-traveled territories. With a quick, vampire-smooth movement she pulled her seat closer to Magnus' seat. She was curious how the closeness would affect him.

"So, have you been in this city long?" Morrigan asked, only inches away from Magnus. "Or are you fresh meat?" Morrigan chuckled lightly. She loved the phrase "fresh meat".

((Yes. :heh: ))

He liked the wink, it was a good touch, whatever she was doing to him, he liked it, and it was working.

He analyzed the probable reason for the increase in proximity, he had a burst of brilliance, and leaned a little closer, almost nose to nose, he smirked lightly and tongued his left fang,

"To Demaitre, I'm fairly new, so I am fr-esh meat, in nearly all the senses of the word;"

He left a pregnant pause before he finished,

" dear..."

Morrigan felt something like fire stir inside of her. This vampire was provoking her hunger. If he had been a mortal, she would have taken him out back and rocked his world before draining him of his life. Of course, most mortals could not handle most of her...tricks.

Alas, this man was a vampire. Which, in this case, was better. She could indulge. Normally, she would suddenly cut off the man from any fun, causing him to try harder to impress her. But the alcohol, noises, smells, and good mood of the place made her decide on something else.

Her dark eyes lingered on his mouth as her left hand reached out and squeezed his thigh. "I bet I could change that," she whispered, alluringly. "One night with me...would leave you hungry." She flashed her fangs and licked her lips. She was bold tonight.

Magnus let her squeeze, which he flexed hard as a rock, his mouth opened a little,

"Y'know, I might just leave you just as hungry, and one night? Hell, I see morrre."

He was completely enthralled by the lady celt, she was courageous, good-looking, and he wasn't busy. He liked he body language, the flashing of the fangs, and lick, she knew how to do it...

"I couldn't help but say this; your place or, well, mine?"

((Is that one of the guards from pirates of the caribbean?))

Morrigan felt a chill shoot up her spine as his leg hardened under her grip. She smiled at his suggestion of making her hungry. He was younger than her, but that did not always mean inexperience. She withdrew her hand, slipped off her seat, and stepped closer to Magnus.

The bartender, at this point, was staring at them with a gaping mouth and wide eyes. He was not surprised, just mezmerized. Fangs, tongues, and hot bodies were captivating to him, despite that fact vampires were constantly haunting the bar. The ancient sent him a glance he could not translate. He took the sideways glare as a warning and busied himself with dirty glasses.

Morrigan did not speak until Magnus asked where they should take this. She heistated, thinking, before answering. Part of her wanted to bring him home, show off her collection in the basement. Another part wished to explore his home. The latter won.

"Your place," she whispered into his left ear as she placed a hand over his heart. She nipped the skin under his ear lightly, then pulled away.

((I'm not sure, I think it's from Hornblower. But I could be wrong.))

"Cool fraggin' beans"

He said, as he stood up, wrapping his arm around the vampiress' waist. He threw on his coat with one hand (which is extremely hard, by the by) They walked towards the dancefloor, and

(to be finished soon)

((I'm still alive. I'll reply here as soon as I can!))