It was a typical Saturday night at White Mice. The hour was approaching midnight, and the rave that had begun an hour before was beginning to reach its peak. Bodies swayed and pulsed to the beat of the DJ which entranced them all; limbs saturated with sweat and cuffed with glowing neon bracelets moved with a hypnotic grace spurned of the influences of assorted drugs rather than the natural intent of the persons they belonged to. The often barely concealed chests of women ground against whatever could be found, while men and women of various sexual persuasions sought simply to be that which was rubbed against.

On the furthest fringe from the seething mass lurked a hunter. While many who sat outside the dance floor did so out of an inability to join the herd, either from a physical disability or a perceived social one, Cheveyo did so because one does not “mingle” with their prey. Even if he was not there out of interest of satisfying certain lusts, he would never have joined the throng; the music did not speak to him, not the way that music had once been intended to. The beat was hollow, something for mortals to use as an excuse to thrust their most intimate areas against those of total strangers in a horrific display that most would regret in their sober hours.

To say that the Tarepha, leaning against a post decorated with neon shapes that glowed in the steady black light, stuck out like a sore thumb would be a fairly adequate description. Against the whirling neon greens and pinks, he was rather bruise-coloured, with his leggings and vest of deep blue and shadow-green, respectively. He wore no shirt beneath the soft leather vest, and on the decorative fringes of the garment hung the canine teeth of animals he doubted this portion of the population was aware of. His raven hair was completely unbound, spilling in a wave over his shoulders to brush the tops of his crossed arms and down his back; the texture of his hair was smooth enough to reflect in its sheen the colours of the lights that swiveled and flashed from the ceiling of the club.

He was unaccompanied, at present. At least once a month, Euthalia would insist that he go out and away from the coven unescorted. He wasn’t quite sure why, and he never felt the inclination to ask, though he supposed it might have had something to do with ensuring he still knew how to be his own person, away from the influence that was the child-queen. In actuality the only person he knew how to be had no place in this world outside of the Tarepha leader’s side, and so he spent such times observing the mortal herd, and waiting for one to strike him as being worthy of his talents.

Alexa was out for night on the town. She didn't usually go out, busy with school work and her own interest that revolved around saving the planet from the humans that were slowly destroying it. Her friends had finally convinced her to come, or more she didn't have an excuse to not come. School was over and with the end of school came a lull in her work as president of the group "Save the planet". It was perhaps not the most subtle of titles but it was pretty accurate.

So for perhaps the second or maybe third in the past year, Alexa was out and her friends were ready to make her drunk. She, on the other hand, would let her friends get drunk and only have a drink or two. They were walking towards the White Mice Club and her friends were excitedly talking about a rave that was there and Alexa wanted to groan. She liked parties, but raves were in an entire different league.

Her best friend, Nicole, saw the face she made. "You aren't going anywhere Alexa." Her friend grabbed her arm and towed her towards the entrance. "When was the last time that you had fun with friends, outside of what you do for the university club?"

Alexa shrugged. She honestly couldn't remember, but her friend seemed satisfied with the answer, but she didn't let go of Alexa's arm. Eventually they got in and it seemed that the rave was reaching it's peak. How lucky was she?

They made their way to the bar and as Alexa sat down with her friends a chill went through her. The word vampire flashed in her mind only to be shoved away. That man had simply been teasing her. Vampires didn't exist, right?

There wasn’t anything in particular that attracted Cheveyo’s attention to the latest group of youths that had entered the club, except perhaps the fact that they were sober for the moment, and so moved in a stable manner that the majority of their mortal brethren were incapable of.

His gaze darted from person to person from where he stood across the room as they settled at the bar, a little curious but mostly calculating. Curious because the many different flavors of white always mystified him; calculating to see if any of them would endure him. His eyes caught on one in particular, with hair as black as his own and an expression that hinted that she was feeling a little out of sorts about something.

Cheveyo moved away from the pole he’d been leaning against, and casually made his way across the club, walking around and through the pulsing bodies on the dance floor as easily as water running around rocks. For the most part he ignored the grabs that the dancers made for him in an effort to pull him into the mindless haze, only needing to pause once to treat a persistent woman with the full intensity of his not-so-sane stare before moving along.

He came to rest at the end of the bar, and after dismaying the barkeep with a simple request for water, continued his silent observation of the young woman with the onyx hair.

Alexa was feeling uneasy and she knew that someone was watching her, yet in such a crowd she couldn't tell who or why they were staring at her. It made her feel more than uneasy and she had a deep gut feeling that whoever was watching was not of the mortal kind. Could this night possibly get worse? She had a feeling that the answer to that question was a definite yes.

She brushed her raven hair back with her hand, her eyes looking around the room and trying to see who was staring at her. She still couldn't see anyone and intently looking hurt her eyes more than anything. She doubted that she would be able to pinpoint the person, especially with the flashing lights and loud music. It was enough to make even the blindest, deafest man dizzy or so she told herself.

She ordered her drink hoping that perhaps a few drinks would make her feel better. It would most likely have to be more than two. She turned to her friends and saw them talk to a few guys that were standing in their general area. She had no interest in finding a guy to hang around with, unless he was only a friend, then that was fine. She let a soft sigh escape her and took her drink, a smirnoff ice, she wasn't one for complicated drinks. As long as it tasted sweet, she didn't care beyond that.

She glanced around again and hoped that the uneasy feeling would shake off soon, it didn't help her feel comfortable in this setting.

A newly pungent yet softly sweet aroma struck the stifling air of the club; not yet fear, but a disquieted prelude to it, emanating from the raven-haired mortal that had piqued Cheveyo’s interest. If he had been hunting in a traditional sense, that moment would have been the time to strike with bow or club, especially with the rest of the girl’s band already preoccupied. As it was, Cheveyo knew enough about modern society to recognize the hassle that so public a killing would cause, and so he simply collected his glass of water and closed the distance between the two of them once again.

He ended up sitting next to her, flashing her a quick smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes before gazing down at his drink, as if he were too shy to engage her. Play-acting such as this was not a skill that came natural to him, and he was not nearly as adept at it as his teacher, Euthalia. Usually the bashful act at least made him more approachable – the animal bones hanging off his garments tended to intimidate most women – while also adding to his overall physical attractiveness.

Yet even as he kept on with his gentle pretense, he had a feeling that it was being wasted on this particular mortal.

Why was it that she felt more and more disquieted despite the fact that she felt that the gaze of the person that had been watching her? Alexa knew the answer immediately. The calm before the storm. If someone lost interest in you, it usually preluded to a disaster to come, especially concerning vampires. Perhaps it was time that she accepted that, she had no reason to doubt it anymore, she had enough proof really. She simply refused to believe it.

She shook her head and saw a man approach her and sit next to her. He smiled at her and the hair raised on the back of her neck. Vampire definitely, if not a vampire, he was not someone she wanted to associate with. She looked at her friends with a panic, but saw that they were all occupied. She told herself to breathe, panicking wouldn't help.

She wouldn't move oh no, she had to stand her ground. She had always done so as a child and she would continue to do so now. She glanced over to him and looked him over, it was better to be safe and sorry. To ignore him, would be more dangerous than to at least watch him. He seemed Amerindian and he was attractive and that was why she was weary. It was because of how attractive he was, that was worrisome.

And there it was; that spike of panic, come and then forcefully subdued, and all he had done was sit next to her. If Cheveyo were still capable of unintentionally expressing emotion upon his otherwise static features, the jolt of excitement he experienced might have betrayed itself physically, and caused his façade to crumble. As it was, his expression remained shyly neutral, as he swirled the ice cubes in his glass around absently.

He caught the woman glancing at him periodically out of the corner of his eye, and decided it was time to up the stakes of the game a little. She was aware of his presence, but also seemingly wary of it. It vaguely reminded him of the city’s wildlife—used to the nearness of humanity, but rarely trusting them enough to fully approach them and risk being caught. Trust had to be won first, and an offering of food was usually a welcome starting point.

Cheveyo reached a little down the bar a seized a bowl of mixed nuts, sliding it over the faintly sticky surface until it rested between them. Once again he looked to her, but this time held his gaze on her face, even if she wasn’t meeting his eyes.

“Is everything alright, miss? You seem worried,” he commented, voice gently accented in the way of many Native Americans, and louder than he would have liked it to be, in order to be heard over the throbbing music.

Alexa had to keep her eye on him, something about him threw her off and that bothered her. Her intuition was rarely wrong and he worried her, really did. She toyed with the bottle in her hand pretending total disinterest, yet she couldn't completely camouflage it. She was terrible at hiding her feelings and a terrible liar too. She couldn't hide anything.

She felt more than saw the movement and looked up startled. She looked like a deer caught in headlights, neck and back straight, eyes opened wide. She threw a glance at the peanuts and wrinkled her nose, like she would ever touch those, she had no idea who had put their hand in their and less what it had been used for on other nights. she didn't want to reach there and wasn't planning to.

Her eyes turned to him as he spoke. He had a nice voice and definitely Native American. Now how was she supposed to answer that question. She wasn't about to tell to his face that he worried her that wouldn't do anything, so she decided to pick the next thing that worried and distressed her. "I don't like raves very much and often where they might lead worry me." Not complete lie, but not the complete truth either. She had pulled that off quite well or so she thought.

Mentally, he was basking in the scent of her fear; outwardly he remained shy, even managing to force some uncertainty of his own into his dark eyes as he nodded with synthetic sympathy.

It seemed his peace offering of nuts had failed, and upon second glance he noted why; feeding on blood had dimmed his innate knowledge of what good human food should look like. Upon reevaluation he conceded that the contents of that bowl were most definitely not it.

“I’m visiting from out of town… I was supposed to meet a few friends here, but so far they haven’t shown up. Or maybe they have, and I just can’t tell,” he stated, casting a helpless look toward the grinding bodies behind them.

Alexa still wasn't sure about the man, but something in her made her trust him. Perhaps trust was too much of a word. She was at least going to be civilized. There was a part of her that was telling her to stay away from him, but he was being nice. She was too soft to be out in the world of vampires.

He seemed to agree with her, yet even that was hard to tell. She only trusted one's eyes, they were the only thing that she trusted. Even though he seemed sympathetic, the was something off about him, but she wasn't scared. She was intrigued.

She took a deep relaxing breath and thanked her parents for the endless hours of meditation. It actually worked sometimes. "I understand what you mean, you can't see anything in here." She didn't know why she said the next things that came out of her mouth, yet she did say them. "Perhaps I could show you around?" For a moment she was horrified, where had all her sense gone? It was too late to take it back. Oh God what had she done? Hopefully it wasn't too bad...

The mask slipped into a new form, and a smile lit Cheveyo’s features, even managing to catch in his eyes. “If you really wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate it,” he replied, surrendering his barely touched glass of water as he slid off the bar stool.

In truth, he was a little disappointed—he’d expected more resistance from this one. Or perhaps he was merely becoming better at this game of playacting… Euthalia would be proud. Or would she?

He brushed past the uncertainty and the concern that his mistress might not approve of his improving ease with charming mortal women, and turned expectantly to the particular mortal in question. His smile broadened a little, though his attitude in general slid back toward being a bit bashful.

“I’m Cheveyo, by the way.”

Alexa had definitely lost her mind, she had done the worst thing possible. She was going insane, it truly was the only explanation. She usually was friendly, but this man simply gave off the wrong impression and she didn't trust him. She could be wrong, yet she doubted it. At least she would try to fight him off, she doubted that that would stop anything.

she watched him startled as he stood up. "Now? You want me to give you a tour now?" She hadn't seen that one coming though it would be easy for him to get her alone in one of the many side alleys. She had to give the man some credit though. He was being civilized and quite nice with her, but often the most dangerous ones were the ones that seemed so nice at first. "I'm Alexa." It was polite to give her name as he had given his. What was she getting herself into.

Cheveyo hesitated, his already tentative smile faltering in response to the surprised lilt her voice had taken.

“I’m sorry. That was too forward; you probably want to spend some more time with your friends,” he stated hurriedly while staring intently at the floor and broadcasting the perfect image of a socially awkward young man.

If he’d had enough blood in him, he might’ve even managed to force himself to blush, but as it was, he looked rather forlorn and flustered even without that extra touch.

Alexa frowned, unsure as to what to think. He seemed fluster, yet something was wrong with it. Perhaps she was too untrustworthy, yet something about him did strike her the wrong way. She glanced furtively to her friends, yet they were all busy with other boys.

She returned her glance to...what was his name again? Ah yes Cheveyo. She hesitated unsure as to how to continue the conversation. "Cheveyo? That's unusual. Is it Native American?" She could stay polite as long as she wasn't alone with him, she would be fine. She did wonder what he would do if they were alone, she shook her head out. She brushed her hair out of her eyes.

To himself, Cheveyo wondered what other nationality he could possibly appear to be, what with being dressed in what sociologists would call stereotypical Native American attire; publicly, he smiled with what seemed to be barely subdued pride as he nodded. “It’s a Hopi name, yes,” he stated affirmatively, as if he were extremely pleased that someone had asked him about the origins of his name.

Truth be told, he was working at formulating a modern past for himself, should the girl pursue the topic. Sharing any aspect of his actual history seemed liable to blow his fragile cover, and it seemed the young woman was suspicious enough without him providing any additional details to raise her alarms.

Alexa wasn't completely clueless, she was trying to be friendly, despite her misgivings of the man she was still polite. When he specified that he was Hopi, she smiled briefly. He gave her another topic to open up on. She wondered if he was hiding something, then decided that if he was, perhaps he would misstep.

"Hopi is it? I'm afraid I don't know much about Native American culture. Where are the Hopi from?" She was at a bar and she knew that perhaps conversation about culture wasn't what one did, but she liked to learn and this was something different all together. She was curious to his answer, but didn't trust him either.

Cheveyo’s warm smile broadened, eyes glittering lightly at her implied interest. “Arizona and California. I’m not from there myself...relatives of mine, several generations back, were Hopi. My name has kind of been passed down since then, so that we don’t forget our more distant origins,” he replied, inwardly pleased at the speed with which he was able to formulate that half-truth of a response.

((OOC: Sorry it's so short... Cheveyo is a lot more difficult to work with in situations without Euthalia than I thought he'd be. :heh:))

Alexa looked him over. "I've never been to California or Arizona. I always wanted to go, but then life got in the way." She shrugged her delicate shoulders and frowned glancing back to her friends and noticing that most of them had moved to the dance floor. Why had she even bothered to come? It was clear that her friends could have fun without her. what was it that her friend Nicole had said? Ah yes, she needed to relax, well this wasn't helping, she'd rather relax with a book, while sipping tea.

He did give her another opening, another question to ask, he was making this easier for her and wondered if he realized. "So if you aren't from either of those places, where are you from?" She would question until she had nothing to question anymore. At this point she simply hoped that the night ended on a good note.

For an extended moment, he faltered, mind racing to try and remember the name of a city in that area that wasn’t Demaitre, as he had claimed to be from out of town. The delay was quite long and obvious—it shouldn’t take a person that long to state where they’d come from—and he fumbled to try and recover himself.

“Ottawa, or rather a reservation just outside it,” he said at last, forcing a sheepish smile while scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “I know it’s not that far from here, but I really don’t get away from the territory much.”

Alexa raised an eyebrow as he tried to find a place that was his home. There was no way in heaven or hell that she believed him now. She felt iffy about him to start with and now there was no way she was going to trust him.

She watched him, her eyes suspicious. "Ottawa? That's quite a different area all together. I didn't think that they deported people so far from their original place." The truth was that they didn't move people usually across the continent and to a different country all together. She was clearly frowning at him. "I don't believe you." Caught in the act? Most definitely.

There was a quick and severe narrowing of eyes that had nothing to do with Cheveyo being caught red-handed, and everything to do with his naturally defensive nature, vampire or not. “They ‘deported’ us wherever was most convenient for them, and moved us whenever those places suddenly seemed desirable for the progress of the white men,” he stated sharply. “It’s no strange thing that my ancestors found themselves pushed this far north over time.”

As his fragile mortal mask was pushed aside by angered pride, the undeniably tall man seemed to occupy more space than was physically possible. “I am Haudenosaunee by blood, also descendant of Hopi, and whether you believe that or not doesn’t matter. If you’re this skeptical of everyone, no wonder your friends left you by yourself.”

A sharp pain was beginning to grow behind the man’s eyes. So many centuries of being little else but an obedient bodyguard had numbed more than just his sanity, and Alex’s accusation seemed to be working a bit of magic with him; he’d been provoked back to himself, if only temporarily, which meant the situation between the two of them now stood at equal odds of the mortal living to see the next sunrise.

Alexa took on an offended look, how dare he accuse her. There was no way that the American Government, because at that time it would have been the American Government, would have deported a Native American tribe to an area under control of the British Empire. It did not make any sense.

"It simply doesn't make sense. Why would the American government ask the British Empire to take care of you. It is none of their business to interfere. Do you see what I'm saying?" Perhaps history wasn't what she was studying but she knew a lot of it.

She didn't quite her frowning. This man didn't scare her, he had struck too close to home, for her to even care anymore. She brought her face close to his only a second but long enough to say. "You might want to brush up on your history, vampire." She had enough of denying something she knew to be true and this was enough.