[* It's an open thread with a small requirement: you have to use all of your active (signatured) characters. You can use more if you want, but ya gotta have at least the chars featured in your sig. It's part of the fun! :D

EDIT: If you've brought all your characters in, you're good. You don't have to use them in every post if said post would consist of "Charlie Character stood around and did nothing because nobody even knew he was there.]

"Damn good turnout," Roderick said to himself as he paused a moment to look out at the Demaitre University Stadium from his perch in one of the suites. The field was awash in the light of the enormous floodlights, illuminating the throngs of people, happy-happy people, and the sound of the music blasting from the stage set up in the center of the field (where the DU logo would usually be) reached even up to where he was. It was only seven-thirty and the First Annual Charity Bash was already jumping. The first local band was banging away at their instruments and a small crowd was already milling around the stadium, while a steady stream of people pushed at the ticket counter. Though the Charity Bash was a relatively small project on the billionaire's plate, he couldn't help but be pleased that it was exceeding expectations.

Now he just needed to find his co-sponsor...

Cutting his basking short, Roderick turned away from the glow of the stadium lights and left the premium suite. He needed Sergei Drago to help him handle the press. For one thing, they'd both put up equal efforts to get this thing off the ground. For another, God knew Drago would look better on TV. The camera was not John Roderick's friend. It accentuated his stocky build and pit bull face, making him look a bit savage and unfriendly. Probably why he'd lost his bid for mayor. People didn't like voting for a cranky-looking tree stump. Anyway, the point was, Channels Thirteen, Seven, and Eight all wanted to talk to one of the sponsors. Drago was the man for that business.

Adam was in a great mood. You had your music, your pointless carnival games, and cotton candy. And hot chicks. He smiled at one of them, pleased with the way they smiled and fluttered back. Adam munched idly on a corndog--whoever thought to dip a hot dog in batter and put it on a stick was a genius--as he wandered through the crowd. Being six-three, he had a fairly good view over people's heads.

The music was loud and, actually, surprisingly good. Adam fit right in, with his fashionably battered jeans, vintage tee, and a great black leather jacket on top. Just because he was here in an official capacity (the DPD was one of the beneficiaries of the event) didn't mean he couldn't look good.

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!"

Johnny, looking aggrieved, looked up from his newspaper to peer at his daughter. "Yes?"

She pointed at the paper he'd just set down. "Can we go? Can we?"

Baffled, Johnny looked at the paper. "Go where? The paper office?"

His daughter gave him a look. A look that said, man, why does my dad have to be so dumb? "No, Daddy," she said exasperatedly, "I wanna go to the band thing."

Johnny turned the paper over, finally noticing the advertisement in it. "Come join us for the First Annual Charity Bash, featuring local talent in a battle of the bands! There will be carnival-style games and food as well as prizes, including a free car and a flat screen TV! Tickets are twenty at the gate, fifteen if purchased early, five for those thirteen or younger, and kids under five get in free."

Debbie, Johnny's wife, looked over his shoulder at the advertisement. "What's that?"

"A concert, I guess," Johnny said, smiling as she refilled his coffee. He glanced at his daughter. "You really want to go, punkin?"

The little girl nodded enthusiastically, pointing at a part of the advertisement Johnny hadn't read. "They're giving away Hannah Montana CDs, Daddy!"

Johnny laughed. Of course. He glanced at Debbie. "Remember that concert we went to back in my senior year at EMU?" he asked, a certain gleam in his eye.

"Oh... maybe," Debbie said airily, sipping from her coffee cup thoughtfully. "Didn't we..." she glanced at her daughter, then bent over to whisper in her husband's ear. Straightening back up, she smiled mischievously. "If you play your cards right, history might repeat itself."

"I think we're going," Johnny decided.

Ferox wasn't entirely sure why he was attending the concert. A whim, he supposed, as he had had many passing fancies in his long--very long-- life. When he had left his house that evening, it had been without any particular destination in mind. Then his wandering feet had pointed him here. Strange. It wasn't as if the music drew him, as he preferred elegance over... volume. He would admit, however, that it had a pleasant enough beat, the sort that almost made him feel as though he had a pumping heart back inside his chest. Strange feeling.

Well, he was here. He should enjoy himself. There were plenty of mortals if he wanted to go for a simple bite for the night. But he held back. The evening was quite young. Ferox decided he would wait instead, in the hopes that more interesting fare might present itself. Whims, he thought again, and smiled.

A night of fun, of music and high spirits.

Christ, who was she kidding? JJ Townsend was no party animal. The games of target practice or water balloon filling or basketball shooting for which aptitude meant stuffed bears or other animals? Worthless. What would she do with a giant teddy bear? Besides, she'd seen enough TV to know that those were the sort of things couples did. Guy wins girl bear. Or girl embarrasses guy by shooting better.

She had no guy. More, she didn't want one. And she really didn't want one to win stupid prizes for her. So why was she here, especially if she was going to be bitchy all evening, though all the bitching was mental. Maybe she should loosen up. Have some fun, maybe a funnel cake. Maybe she'd see someone from school. Maybe she should chalk it up to twenty lost and go home.

Aw, screw that. She was here. She could people watch. Better than going home and acting emo or something.

Isabelle fidgeted. This was notable because Isabelle L. Carr, she of the tough-as-nails exterior and love of contact sports, did not often fidget. And here she was, fidgeting, playing with her watch strap, tugging idly at the borrowed 'girly' shirt she wore. For the love of God, she hoped Atty was there. Hell, she'd even take E and be happy. Someone she knew that wasn't on the team.

She frowned a little, awkwardness forgotten, as she walked out onto the football field. All these people walking around on it was bound to tear the grass up some. And, oh God, did they have poles in the dirt? That was effing blasphemy! They were destroying her field!

Breathe. Breathe. It would be fine.

Her ice-colored eyes swept over the milling, chattering crowd, tapping her fingers against each other to bleed of the fidgety feeling. Maybe, just maybe, Charlotte would come. Hopefully. Isabelle wasn't sure if concerts were Charlotte's thing, but... well, maybe. Not that she was obsessing over it or anything and ignoring her 'duties' as one of the faces of the DU football program.

She was supposed to be signing stuff and just being accessible to try to get more people interested in the team. Instead she was sitting and... not obsessing. No, really, totally not obsessing.

Really!

Romax wandered aimlessly through the variety of attractions. None of them were particularly interesting. The people, though, they were a bit. It was fun to watch them, the way the less confident ones watched the more self-assured ones as if to make sure that they, the self-conscious, were doing things correctly and weren't going to make fools out of themselves. He'd never really noticed that before. Then, he'd never really taken the time to notice.

Since meeting Michael, Romax had found himself noticing more, feeling differently. It was hard to look at a human and not think of it simply as a meal or a sort of toy. He found himself taking more note of scents, perfumes and colognes, but also the underlying scents that humans had. Some were pleasant, some were... less so, but each was different and new. And here, in this crowd, they washed over him in a boggling jumble. Pausing, he closed his eyes, trying to sort one from the next.

Sergei Drago couldn’t help but smile.

“No, that’s fine. Everything is fine, I assure you...” Your service is greatly appreciated.

A laugh then.

“No, I haven’t tried any, but no one has complained as of yet sir. Your catering is fine, all of the performers are eating and besides that’s who this is for, well them and our good staff of volunteers. Everything arrived fine Mr. Walden, thanks for the call.”

Sergei Drago hung up his cell then, smiling a wry kind of smile. Walden’s was a local restaurant and a very fine one at that if most of the reactions he’d gotten when asking after the food were to be believed. Still Walden’s was small and known usually only more or less by word of mouth, it also turned out that Mr. Walden himself was a rather kindly old fellow and had donated a feast several times over toward the near Herculean effort of feeding everyone associated with the Charity Bash. Of course Sergei had been rather adamant about repaying the old fellow with all the free publicity that he could manage and so he’d been working toward that end. Not just for Walden’s though, but all there lovely lesser sponsors that had put their names on the dotted line beside his and Roderick’s.

Getting the word out had been Sergei’s responsibility, and he had to say he was rather proud all things considered.

It was then that Sergei’s watch beeped at him and he realized he was late. He’d been so wrapped up in things he hadn’t even noticed. Good thing he’d decided to set his watch alarm, but better yet if he could get to the press interview before Roderick took his head.

For the first time in his life, Detective Frances Logan was lamenting that lack of murder in the city of Demaitre. Okay, not really. He didn’t want someone to die just to stay away from this whole benefit thing But then again maybe if someone were maimed badly enough…

Heck, it was no use really.

Logan was already trapped in the land of pounding ruckus and high calorie heart attacks covered in sugar; batter dipped, deep fried, and put on a stick. Things officially could not get any worst. Oh wait, that’s right they could. Try being the tallest guy in a crowd and not being at that back of things, that dear friends, as the kids say “bit the big one”

Christian Lafayette paced back stage. Soon enough his pacing had picked up the beat of the performance on stage and Chris felt like he could almost start singing along. God in heaven it was so good, he felt so energized. For some it was with a sense of dread that they paced before a performance, but for Christian it was with a sense of not only enthusiasm that he paced, but with a sense of barely restrained joy and rapture. For Chris performing was the only drug he had ever needed, it was as sweet as blood, perhaps sweeter still, for it came without price, without lust and temptation. The same went for the more carnal arts. Chris had walked his path for so very long now, he had walked a path that he thought pleasing and right before the eyes of his God, his lord, and yet this was on of the grandest rewards he could ever imagine. To perform and not just on a street corner or on a club stage, but to perform for a packed stadium, oh yes this was the thing of dreams and so even as he waited, Chris could feel the steady thump of energy in his veins.

It had been nearly two days since last he’d fed and yet Christian felt like he was tapping into a blood high already. How would it be when finally he lifted his guitar and walked out onto that stage with a smile on his lips and a song in his heart? The Haitian born vampire could only wait to find out and yet the waiting ate him alive even as it infused him with excitement.

A jaunty elegant tune popped and strung together in lines of airy phantom melody on the quickly humidifying night air. The whistler of that tune stopped the moment it was drowned out by the insistent pounding drivel that passed for music these days. Ah, how Oliver Quentin Grey did love to whistle while he worked and yet even if that suddenly wasn’t possible it didn’t stop him from his work. No, if anything the loud rukas provided the perfect cover for his light and silent footsteps, the milling feet and swaying bodies made the rest far too easy for his tastes and yet Ollie continued on. After all it had been such a very long time indeed since he had “worked” a crowd. Especially one so very large as this.

A part of him had missed it.

After all he was technically rather wealthy, both with age and the mastery of his more mundane skills, he had amassed a fortune. Yet all the money in the world couldn’t out shine the thrill, the adrenaline, the test of wits and skill that was a good bit of old pocket lifting.

It had been a while since Ollie had pick pocketed anyone and yet it really was like the proverbial bicycle. Adept little hands shifted through pockets and purses with adroitness equal if not beyond that which had once slipped watches and purse strings from waits coats and jewels from beneath petty coats. Centuries pass and yet very little changes. And so Oliver amused himself with the crowd even as he considered what or rather whom would be his next meal.

The apparent nine year old was dressed once again as the poor street urchin. His normally long dark hair had been cropped short with a knife or rather a stiletto and so it was uneven, unruly, and a perfect match for the holey jeans, tattered and soiled t-shirt and the scuffed unpolished boots he wore. At once he looked like street filth and a small day laborer.

It was a costume that had changed to fit the times and yet one that had served Oliver for centuries now. It was also one that tugged the best at mortal heart strings, one that drew his prey and lied to them as easily as he did with his lips and eyes. Oh and those eyes, besides their gray storm color, Oliver Grey had such very wondrous eyes. And yet it was good not to use them. Good just to play with his skills and wits. It was whim no doubt, but it was also great fun.

Jon Nicon smiled. He just couldn’t help it. Looking at the old mallet and bell game, he just couldn’t resist. After all how many other guys his size could pick up that mallet with one hand then smash it so hard that the bell rang with a loud clang.

Of course he got a bunch of funny looks; but what could he say, he was stronger than he looked. Well that and potentially a werewolf. Okay, he was not a werewolf. He had no proof. A string of slaughtered pets wherever he decided to lay his head on the night of a full moon…

Dang it; that was not proof, besides that hadn’t happened for a bit. Yeah, after he’d started sleeping in the woods on rather convenient “camping trips” every month. During that time of the month...

Okay that was it with his stupid mental voice; after all he did not have a damned time of the month…

Still he was strong, stronger than he seemed, indeed strong enough that the carnival worker giving him his prize gave him a once over and then glanced at bell game as if it might be broken. Of course which it wasn’t. Perhaps a little fixed, but definitely not broken. Of course it being fixed meant that Jon had to have hit it even harder than he imagined in order to get a giant stuffed teddy bear stuffed into his arms.

Now onto the matter of, what the heck was he gonna do with a giant teddy bear? Man he wished he had a date or at least somebody to hang out with. Maybe that would have stopped him from his fanciful flight of macho longing. After all a computer engineer could not go around doing every stupid idea that popped into his head. If that was the case he’d be at the office trying to hack Microsoft security measures and get a beta of the new “Gears of War” but as it was he was doing something a bit more entertaining and a big bit more legal.

“Why did you talk me into this? I mean we could totally be performing right now, getting the name out there…we could…” E didn’t get to finish her rant.

“Be doing absolutely nothing, because you know like I know that Luna was forced home to see her folks and what is a band of two gonna do?” Atty’s words were as logical as could be and that in and of itself was enough to piss E off.

She hated it when Atty turned into little Ms. Logic. Hated it enough that E pondered taking a swipe at her sister and might have; if she didn’t doubt that Atty would already see it coming and totally embarrass her with one of those damned Judo holds or worst probably a throw.

In a square fight Electra knew she’d win, she always won, marital arts or no, she was just the better fighter. She’d been in more real fights, fought dirty, did whatever it took to win. Athena was too much “way of the warrior, respect your opponent” still logical or not Atty was her sister and the two of them would never really fight. Not, I’m going to hurt you fight and play fighting in the middle of a football field and stadium’s worth of people seemed less inviting than one might think. Especially knowing Atty would probably go for the blasted Judo throw and Electra was not about to risk her white jeans to grass and mud stains. Damn logical Atty could have her precious little victory.

With a sigh E relented.

“Alright girly-girl, which way then? And choose carefully, the next guy to mistakenly grab my ass is losing a finger…”

Atty just couldn’t help her smile. That was the sister she knew and loved. Of course she knew that E wasn’t joking. Someone would have a bad day if she was touched again amongst the hustle and bustle of the crowd. So that meant tearing through the crowd as safely as possible, but finding Isabelle before E found Mr. Wrong and he found her artfully crafted high heeled boot up his backside.

Of course Atty could sympathize, after all she’d been a victim too. Though unlike E she’d been a bit more subtle, after all her own heels didn’t feel good digging into the top of a sneaker, plus she could always walk on as if she hadn’t done a thing. Electra had never noticed. Or at least she hadn’t said anything, which given E, meant that she had noticed else wise Atty knew she’d be being teased even now.

Atty looked around. She didn’t see Isabelle, she knew the team was here, but where were they? It was then that a familiar form crossed her path and Atty just couldn’t avoid a shout.

“Isabelle!”

Atty moved rather easily on heels then, together her and E had a look that was at once casual and fancy. Electra just wanted to show off, Atty, never having been to this kind of thing, well she’d simply thought the simple knee length black dress would work well for anything and so she’d been right. While E actually looked, well like a girl. She wore white jeans with a black semi-lace blouse. Her hair wasn’t its usual fiery color either. It was just white. Still short, but white and now she and Atty looked more like twins than ever before. They were still albinos, but at least they matched a bit more. Though Atty was still the obvious athlete between the two of them, a slight bit of musculature told the tale.
Istar Indora sighed as he got yet another call on his cell from the old man. Jesus, his boss was a slave driver. Course not really, after all they were all getting overtime for this whole catering deal.

Answering it with a mocking.

“Hello, oh great and powerful boss man…”

Istar then proceeded to once again watch the show. Things were great, he boss needed to calm down. Yeah this looked to be shaping up to actually be a cake walk, the vampire and former assassin had to admit that it was a nice change of pace.

Raven followed the scent of his prey with a wry smile. This prey was a clever one. Like all of his prey she was a murderer. After all Raven so enjoyed turning predators into prey and yet he found himself pausing at the edge of the proceedings. The woman had paid and disappeared through the front gates. No doubt she figured he was a policeman, especially after he'd slipped from the shadows at the scene of her latest murder. Of course she'd run and he'd chased her.

He could have taken her at any moment and yet it was always better to draw the hunt out. Always more fun. Indeed the woman's desperation and fear would nicely flavor her blood.

Raven's grin stretched wide just considering it. A part of him wished he could bring her back to share with Alexandra and yet even so the ancient Ishak already knew that was not possible. Especially not with such a crowd gathered for this function.

No.

If his hunt was to continue it would have to become a much more subtle thing and yet it was a challenge that Raven welcomed gladly as he lept from one roof top to the next and scaled down a building in near absolute shadows, even this close to the function and its blinding massive banks of lighting.

And yet soon as he hit the ground Raven was moving. It didn't take so very much effort to sneak in. Yet after he had, there was the matter of finding the trail he'd been chasing once again.

((Total crap. Sorry in advance >_<))

Benedict hadn't exactly wanted to go to this particular outing. Partly because he knew his adopted son Michael would do nothing but run about, high on sugar, begging his 'father' to play random and completely boring games with him in the large football field. Mostly, though, the vampire figured it was because Charlotte had stayed behind. Alone. She hadn't been in the greatest of mindsets lately; but she was strong. Though strong didn't mean he didn't worry as him and his son made their way past the ticket booth. "Calm down, Son." The vampire could sense others of his kind and didn't know how strong they were, but he knew there was more chance of a tsunami hitting them than another vampire attacking.

Michael had been a ball of fire since he saw the lights and whistles of the bash. Tonight was supposed to be the man's turn to take their son out and teach him a different way of killing a victim silently; Ben and Charlotte's way of pruining him for vampirism later on. They figured that by the time he was old enough to decide he wanted to be sired; he'd be their perfect equal in monstrousity. "But Father, look!" Pulling the hand of the vampire to the point where his own was fully extended, the smile on his face priceless as he saw a chance to throw darts a balloons, "It's just the other night when me and Mommy ki-" Suddenly the boy stopped when his father came to a halt and interupted him.

"Michael." Ben spoke sternly to his son for the first time that evening; even after the child had convinced him that going to this bash would be a good break from violence for the week had been full of it. "What did I say?"

The expression on the boy's face was one of realization at his own words as he hued a pink shade and bit his lip, "Sorry, Father. It just reminded me of when Mommy and I were popping balloons in the kitchen." To those listening to the two's conversation they'd have thought the dark haired man in emo jeans, a band tee and converse to be teaching his son better grammar. Which was strange because in truth, Ben didn't use proper grammar almost at all; just when he wanted the make an impression on his son.

"There's a good lad. Now," Ben said with a smile, coming back to his full height, his bright blue eyes still glued to Michael's brown. "Let's go play some games, yeah?"



She'd been exhausted, really. Feeling very much her fledgling rush of emotions. The guilt of having just left Rosa's abode, leaving nothing but a note saying that she might be back, after all the vampiress had done for her. Taking her in, making sure she fed and even gave her clean clothes to wear. But she couldn't stay there anymore. Little Mona hadn't grown on her in the way that Cai could have hoped; apparently her ghostly appearance was something hard to get past. This however, was something she'd grown used to in her 19 years; both human and otherwise. Aldalphus had loved her because she was unique. Her whole appearance something to be celebrated as independent and special; not shunned and feared.

Though, just as most creatures must do even if they don't want to; she went out and tried to do something with herself. It'll Be A BLAST! - bring some money, a good attitude and be prepared for an excellent time! That was what the posted flyer on a corkboard in the lobby of an old hotel that had been playing haven for Cai that day, "Good time, eh? I think I could use one o' those." her Irish accent seeping through slightly as she whispered before the corkboard. The decision was basically made as she realized she had a hundred dollars left to spend freely before she'd have to seek more money from her mother's account. It was always a sort of sigh of relief for her mind when she realized that money was always just an ATM away. That was unless her wretched mother up and decided to close the account because she realized there were small amounts of money disappearing now and again.... But surely the woman had enough so that the thousand her daughter took out once and a great while; went unnoticed.

Wading her way through the people at the front pay booth, she took a crumpled hundred from center fold in her dress, a smirk twitching on her pale lips as she reminded herself how odd-ball she appeared. A polka dotted dress, with bright green converse, bright white hair pulled back into a loose bun and her vibrant red eyes lined with dark makeup; she was sure the people who were already staring were almost nervous to stand next to her. But as she paid, recieved her change and stepped forward into the stadium; a man approached. Early twenties, very butch and muscular but in a bar patron type way, his simple blue jeans and dark shirt giving him a far less intimidating appearance than he apparently wanted. "Hey, girly."

At first she only ignored the man and moved through the small onslot of people who'd also just entered into the spectical, her eyes catching loads of colors that made her smirk, all the while keeping a sense of where the man was. He had followed her through the crowd, a few people looking at him but soon forgetting as he pushed past, Cai finally stopped and turned to him. "Wha' do ye want?" Her tone was innocent like a teenage girl's but feminin like a woman's, "Do I know ye?"

"Oh, alittle Irish girl, eh?" He approached, a long stride bringing him right up before her in a matter of a few seconds, "I just wanted to talk to you for a moment." He smiled, "In private." Cai gave him a simple stare with her ruby gaze that clearly expressed a 'for what?' statement that she didn't bother to speak aloud. "Just come with me for a moment." Putting his hands in his pockets and continuing to grin, he gestured her to follow him back through the entrance to the stadium and out to a large oak on the green lawn of the campus.

"What is it ye want?" Cai's accent had thinned out a bit as if she were already bored with the situation. But her interest grew when he check to see that there was no one really around and pulled out a knife, an expression of greed on his somewhat handsome face.

"Give me all your money and I'll let you live, alright?" He held the knife to her face and forced her back against the large tree, grinning wickedly as she lazily handed him the remnants of her cash from her dress and smiled. "What's so funny, huh?" His tone was something of a high amusment as she grabbed his face and pulled him into a rough kiss before she migrated her hands down to his belt loop like she was going to please him in some fashion. Though it never got that far. Flipping the tide on him, Cai knocked the knife from his hand, spun him around to press him hard against the oak and went about tearing into his throat.

With a slow gurgle and a useless fight against the strange looking girl, Cai killed him and from afar it would have seemed as though she were merely kissing the lad; a smile on her face as she set him on the ground and let him fall to the side as if asleep on the lawn beneath the large tree. "Thank ye, lad." The vampiress blew a lock of her hair from her face before replacing her money back into the fold of her dress and striding forward to the stadium entrance once again with a grin on her face.



Xander had been out, having just dropped off Adri at the club, and he was looking for something alittle more exciting than the simple feeding on some hussy at a bar or club. And he found it while passing a large crowd of people and the music emanating from the stadium of the University. "Aha!" The vampire breathed with a grin, rummaging through his pockets he found the proper amount to pay and stalking over to the booth, paid his way in. Moving amongst the crowd a particular girl caught his attention, she was fidgeting horribly and apparently trying to hide it; though she was failing miserably. It was her hands tugging at her shirt and the way her eyes shifted around the field that gave her away.

Stepping forward, he realized she was supposed to be a supporting member of some football organization or something, a light hearted expression of interest on his handsome features. "Hey." the vampire smiled at the nervous girl, his amber eyes fixing on her icey ones, "How's it going?"

Lynch knuckled his mustache as he surveyed the milling crowd of... what? Bash-goers? Was that what they were supposed to be called? Bashers? Well, maybe since this was a concert, they were just concert-goers. Fans. He sighed and felt old and scratched idly at the mustache again, his latest in unfortanute facial hair experiments. One would think that after the Brawny-man beard, he couldn't choose worse, but they'd be wrong. Though not an ugly man, Lynch with his thick black 'stache resembled a Civil War soldior.

The thought didn't occur to him, fortunately, as he was already feeling more than a little like a historical relic in this mass of young, popular-culture knoweldgable people. Well, at least he wasn't here for the... entertainment. The questionabyl titled 'entertainment'. No, Lynch, being the poor man taht he was, was working as security - as made obvious by his black shirt with the word SECURITY printed across the chest.

Tucking her hands into someone else's pockets, Cassidy Collins could barely smother her wide grin as her dark green eyes moved over the crowd. Sure, the ticket at the gate had cost her twenty, but wasn't there a saying about having to spend a little to make a lot? That twenty sure seemed like a good deal now that she had her fingers wrapped around a shiny, genuine gold watch with a brand name she couldn't begin to pronounce. Not to mention a tidy sum of cash.

Her eyes narrowed as they landed on a mman built along the same lines as the Incredible Hulk. (The one from the new movie, not the one that had sucked.) She didn't need the glimpse of gold at his waist to tell he was a cop; everything about him screamed it if your ears were tuned right. The stance, the eyes, the et cetera. Cassidy was going to give him a wide berth, but then paused and grainned cockily. Maybe she should see just how good her magic fingers were. Eyes fixed on a point past the cop, she bumped into him, a perfectly normal occurence in such a crowded... crowd.

She looked down. In her magic hands lay the cop's badge. Too fucking easy.

Edmund "Hammer" Mallet was a vampire without much in the way of mental capabilities, but even he could feel the whispers of power murmuring through the weaker glow of the humans, many of whom were giving him nervous looks and trying to avoid jostling him. Those particular reactions always made him grin. Though not overly tall at an even six feet, Hammer was built like a boxer, all muscle and surprising grace. A big-ass boxer was probably the best description for the vampire, with his scarred face and wicked blue eyes. He even had a pugilist's hands, with knuckles like bolts and etched with the scars that caem from slamming them into things.

Right now, though, those hands were at his side, thumbs hooked onto the belt loops of his battered black jeans. Hammer knew how big crowds worked and who worked big crowsd. His own wallet was fat with money in his leather jacket, but any fool who tried o pick it would have their fingers broken before they ever got close. All part of the game.

He followed his nose, his black motorcycle boots picking their own path through the herd. Hammer paused as he watched a skinny, weak-looking human at one of the carnival games, then smiled a little and moved on. He seemed to recall that he'd enjoyed feats of skill and strength when he'd been a mortal. Not so much anymore. He'd likely brake the game holding back if he tried it. Shrugging as he moved on, his blue eyes sharpened as they caught the unmistakable sight of a predator stalking prey. It was another vampire, but the quarry was unknown. Smiling to himself, he followed the older vampire. Hammer might not be hunting at the moment, but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate one.

Sierra was having a blast. Her dark hair flew around her face in wild ropes as she pounded out a riff on her trusty, battle-scarred Fender, and stepped up to the mic to roar out the chorus to Paint it Black in her strong voice. The Stones rocked. And, right now, she was rocking the Stones.

She looked pretty damn awesome too, filling out the simple yet very rock star tight black jeans and blazing red blouse with aplomb. Her skin was dewed with a healhty mist of sweat. Performing was as good as an aerobic workout, maybe better. Sure had a better kick. Her band's set was going to be over in a couple of songs, so Sierra was making sure to savor it whiel she could.

His bills were pitifully wrinkled and his coins tarnished, but Todd managed to scrape together enough money to pay his way into the concert. He even had a little left over to maybe spend on a game or something. The thirteen-year-old grinned a little, but also glanced guilitly over his shoulder. As far as he knew, his dad and himself was happier without Mav knowing about the little tips the guys at the garage gave him for being their gofer.

He paused as soonas he was inside the stadium gates enough to gawk around. Even though DU's stadium wasn't that big, only like what? thirty thousand? it was big enough. A typical thirteen-year-old in his tattered, holey jeans, sneakers, and t-shirt, Todd took a moment to imagine what it must be like to run out onto the field with thirty thousand people cheering for you... Pretty awesome, he bet. Despite having lived in Canada for years, Todd's first true love was gridiron football. That was why he'd come, mostly, 'cause the flyer had said you could meet the DU football team.

His hazel eyes rested a bit disbelievingly on the girl, a blond for God's sake, who sat with th e team. Man, girls weren't supposed to play football. That was just at little gay schools where there weren't enough boys. (Some of his father's view of sports had, unfortunately, rubbed off on Todd.)

OOC: So, uh, just to recap... Lynch is crowd-watching in his role as security, Cassidy just (stupidly) stole Logan's badge, Sierra's screaming singing, Hammer's watching Raven hunt, and Todd is gawping at Isabelle. :D

((OOC: My characters are so damn antisocial! XD))

She’d never seen so many people. Yes, yes she had, but that had been so long ago. And there had been so much smoke. And fighting, gunshots, bleeding. Screaming. This was different. Everyone seemed so pleased as they threw water balloons at distant targets and won little stuffed things for their sweethearts. Charlotte walked through them like a deity through water, her limbs brushing against hundreds of others as she moved and slowly turned her head from side to side. Lots and lots of gentle lambs bleating and hopping about on the grass—just looking at them made her hungry for a little play.

There were lots of naughty ones, too. Wolves amongst the herd. Their bitter scents drifted in, tainting the lovely smell of the living with something rank and putrid, that taste of the grave she loathed more often than anticipated. Some of them were strong and powerful. They made her tingle in all the right places. But others were much weaker, and their fuzziness amused her. Why, they tasted barely more than people, some of them.

Tonight was a good one. She could think clearly, see everything. She remembered that she wasn’t supposed to be seen here. Ben was here, with Michael. And beautiful Isabelle, she was here, too. A tricky business, really, but it wouldn’t get in her way. Tonight, she’d have her pleasure, one way or another.

Vivian had never much been one for big crowds, and the feeling had only been reaffirmed of late what with the whole “dying” fiasco. But he had to admit, whoever had planned this had done a good job. He found it funny how few of the people here would even begin to suspect the presence of the numerous killers in this crowd, but the thought also brought on a bit of guilt. It wasn’t his intention to hurt anybody. He was here to practice, and he’d made sure before that he could handle being around so many humans at once. He wasn’t a monster, and this little trial would prove that to whomever.

Still, he lingered towards the edges, walking slowly past the lines of booths whose crowds paled in comparison to the one circulating near the stage and the food stands. The predictable hunger was alive and well, but that was all it was. Just a hunger, brief and fleeting. Something simple, primeval, not at all like he.

“Excuse me,” a sweet, soft thing touching his shoulder while she leaned past him to throw away her empty cup. Her throat, taut from being stretched, was maybe five inches away. He could smell her, and she barely even saw him.

Tight, low-rise jeans, a black camisole, her long, black hair down and newly cut in bold layers. Lipstick, now, and a little bit of eyeliner. Big social events had once-upon-a-time scared Caina Barker, but tonight was different. Why? Because she was a completely different person, and if ever she had anything to thank that creepy bastard for, it was this monumental fact. And the blood. Whatever it had done to her, it had done it well. There had been so many things in life she had once been afraid of. People were one of the higher things on that lengthy list. Not so much anymore, because now there wasn’t a damn thing in the world that could happen that would surprise her. Because now she was totally, completely independent of everyone, everything. Because now, she didn’t apologize to anyone—

“Whoa! Jesus, watch it!”

The sloshing of airborne cola, and, damn it, those shoes looked expensive…

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry!”

“Yeah...whatever, it's fine.”

Right. Onward.

Jason was not pleased. Certainly it wasn’t his job to patrol the entire city and ensure that no vampire ever claimed any human victim, but this…this was ridiculous, this was suicidal. Unwitting suicide, granted, but it never ceased to amaze him at how blind people truly could be. No one looked up when he passed, when their arms met and his was disturbingly colder. No one shot him a curious look when they bumped shoulders and his didn’t so much as budge while they stumbled out of the way. Not a soul noticed, and Jason was willing to bet that more than a few would be dead before midnight.

And, God, he’d been brilliant enough to ask if Skylar had wanted to come.

He had been incredibly clear about it- blunt as he could be, when it came to Skylar things were infinitely more complicated. But he had asked her if she might like to come, and she had expressed some interest, though she hadn’t made a certain decision either way. What if she did? What if something happened to her?

He’d know. Within seconds, he’d know.

But what if seconds wasn’t fast enough?

Like a watchdog, wary and tense, he continued to patrol the crowd, locking eyes with the occasional vampire and moving on just as quickly. If she was here, he’d find her.

It was a damn good evening. The music wasn’t terrible. The food, as rancid as it smelled, kept people around in clusters and allowed for plenty of easy, vulnerable pockets and corners to pick from. Not that he needed a bloody corner. Lots of pretty little things scampering around and giggling, their hormonal brains addled with the heady, intoxicating high of a large crowd of new, attractive faces. He wanted one. Perhaps more than one. Perhaps right now.

No, not just yet. With so many choices, why rush? And tonight there wasn’t a thing in the world to tether him down. No entrancing bitch to tug on the other end of the leash she’d slipped about his neck. No little bitch to whine and be obnoxious and vie for his unwilling attention. It was just him- Michael, the vicious, remorseless, bloodsucking bastard he’d been for years- and the unwitting crowd.

There. As if on cue, her round, smiling face showed. She was a strawberry blonde, very thin and maybe twenty at the oldest. She was holding the hand of some kid, hardly more than a boy and less than worthy. But he was letting her out of his sight while he waited in line to prove his love by winning her a giant stuffed puppy holding a heart in its mouth. Just the briefest glimpse of those sea-foam tinted eyes and she was slipping, her thin brow knit and her lips gently parted as she intently scanned the crowd for whatever had inexplicably caught her attention just a second before. He let her go, and she took a few slow steps forward.

It was a damn good evening, indeed.

The woman on stage was a goddess. Dacy stared up at her, just another face in an increasingly prominent crowd, and found herself deeply awed. God, what she wouldn’t give to be someone like that. Someone powerful, someone with presence. Someone with more identity than just “that weird, quiet, blonde girl who’s good at math, reads too much, and works at that freaky magic shop downtown.” She would have killed to be like her. Heck, she would have killed to be with her. Would someone like that even so much as entertain the idea of hanging out with someone Dacy’s age? Probably not. And she probably had, like, a billion boyfriends and fans and everything.

Dacy backed out of the crowd and circled around towards the side of the stage, wondering if, perhaps, she should call her grandmother and at least let her know where she was. No, bad idea. If her grandmother knew she’d lied about going to the library to study and went to a concert instead, she’d be dead. She’d be more than dead. She’d be grounded, fired, and then dead. And it was a school night, too. Opting to fly low and just milk the atypical night for what it was, Dacy leaned back against a pillar and continued to watch her new idol, her lips whispering along in time to the lyrics she of course knew by heart.

Roderick’s earlier happiness over how well the Charity Bash was going was being punctured by the reporters and their questions and the cameras and the mind-numbingly tedious task of making sure he didn’t say anything that could possibly be construed as offensive. No wonder there was no spontaneity on television, he thought sourly, who could be spontaneous when they had to worry about being taken for something they weren’t?

“Mr. Roderick, to what do you account the success of the Big Band Bash?” one of the reporters asked, making Roderick want to roll his eyes at the insipidness of the question. Instead, he smiled as ingratiatingly as he could as he thought about his reply.

“Hard work, of course, can never be overestimated. My co-sponsor and I both logged plenty of hours trying to get this project off the ground and our other sponsors worked even harder. This year’s Charity Bash would have never gone anywhere if not for the dedication of the Demaitre University volunteers, the generosity of such supplies as McMullan Motors who gave us our raffle car, and most especially Walden’s, a superb restaurant that donated generous amounts of food to make sure that all of those working this event are fed, and deliciously,” Roderick replied smoothly, having polished some of his communication skills during his failed bid for mayor. He even managed to slip in a plug for the restaurant that Drago had been so adamant about, since Drago seemed to be running late. Because he felt it was his duty to give as much good press as he could, Roderick added, “Demaitre University must also be thanked for giving us a venue large enough to support the concerts and other festivities, renting the football stadium to us at a very reasonable price. They also donated fifty premium tickets to several different sporting events to give away. Almost all of the labor and supplies used for the Bash were donated or reduced in price so that nearly all of the money raised tonight can go directly to charity.”

It was a lot of talking for the normally brisk billionaire, given that he was usually giving orders and not having discussions. Or giving interviews as the case happened to be.

Another reporter spoke up, one with a smooth, well-polished face and a smarmy tone. “There are rumors, Mr. Roderick, that you began setting up this charity event to boost your image in the public eye during your run for mayor,” he said, sneering a little as he addressed Roderick. “Is there any truth to the feeling that the event isn’t so much about serving Demaitre as it is, or was, about serving your own political aims?”

Roderick frowned at the reporter. He didn’t like Ralph Johnson. And he certainly didn’t like the question. Still, telling ol’ Ralphy that he thought the question was a pile of goat dung didn’t seem the best way to respond.

“Well, as far as I know, the first game of what we, erm, what Americans called football was between Harvard and Yale back in the… oh, 1900s or so, I think. But that football wasn’t very much like football is today. The forward pass wasn’t allowed for a long time after rugby was modified into football, and it was only allowed after Roosevelt—Theodore Roosevelt—threatened to outlaw football because of all the deaths,” Isabelle told a middle-aged man who asked her about the origins of football. She smiled because he seemed genuinely interested, which was nice. “I don’t know when gridiron football was imported to Canada. The American version and the Canadian version are mostly the same, except Canadian rules allow for twelve players on the field for each team, the ball’s slightly rounder, and a few other changes.”

Another man who was listening asked, “Do you ever play American schools? How do you decide what rules to use?”

Isabelle turned towards him and offered another smile. “First, yep, we do play American schools. Mostly northern universities. Typically, the host school sets the rules, but sometimes US teams don’t want to change so we usually go by American rules.” The two men nodded and ‘ahhed’ before turning and wandering off. Isabelle took a deep breath and scrubbed her palms over her bought-for-this-occasion boot-cuts. She hadn’t been asked too terribly many questions so far, but she thought she’d been answering them well enough.

Another man came up, this one younger and better-looking than the other two. Isabelle fixed her best ‘hello, and welcome to Demaitre University’ smile as she looked him over, noting his interesting (and unusual, by her standards) yellowy-brown eyes. “It’s going good,” she told him, straightening the already level tag bearing her name, jersey number, and position pinned to her totally out of character button-up black blouse. The DU team had been instructed to look as neat as possible, though casual, and with that in mind had she purchased the clothes. Unfortunately, Isabelle didn’t often wear pretty blouses and or snug jeans and was awkwardly self-conscious in them.

“So,” she began, squinting one pale blue eye at him as if sizing him up, “I bet you wanna support your local university and buy a t-shirt.” That was another one of the team’s jobs, to try and move some of the merchandise. Isabelle didn’t figure herself much of a salesperson, but she was giving it a go. In her wisecrack sort of way. She opened her mouth to say more, but then she heard a familiar voice call her name. “Atty! Electra!” Isabelle waved happily, though she didn’t leave her spot. The safety wasn’t sure how far from the team area she was supposed to get or if she was supposed to stick like a burr on a dog.

She grinned. “Took you guys long enough,” Isabelle ribbed playfully, raising an eyebrow at their clothes as she tried to figure out which was which. She was getting better at it. “E, you look positively ecstatic to be here,” she stated dryly, “I like the shirt, by the way.” Which she did, but the pants puzzled her. White jeans? Isabelle, a person who spent little time on clothes and whatnot, tried to imagine what a pair of white pants would look like once she got done with them. And nearly winced. “So, how long you guys been here? Wanna buy a t-shirt?”

Ferox felt an interesting presence and smiled. Like a man following his nose, he wandered after the sensation as if it were a scent. When he saw the fledgling, he smiled again and nearly laughed aloud with pleasure. She had her own unique style, that fledgling did, and though it was quite different from his own, Ferox appreciated it. He pursed his lips thoughtfully as he watched her get led off by a large, muscular mortal man and trailed them unobtrusively. The ending to the little affair was obvious from the moment the man began to speak, of course, but no less entertaining for its predictability.

In fact, it might have been even better for knowing what was to come. The, ah, viewer’s irony when the audience knew something that the characters, or character, did not. Ferox knew that the poor, greedy boy had on his hands something very volatile, but the boy was purely ignorant. How entertaining, how funny. Unlike, perhaps, a human’s reaction upon seeing a young girl threatened with a knife and stepping in to help, he tucked his hands casually in his pockets and enjoyed the show. To a casual observer, it would simply appear that the two were sharing a passionate kiss and said casual observer would walk on by without another thought. But Ferox… oh, he could smell the blood from where he stood.

As she laid the now-dead man to the ground, where it would be some time before any of the other high-spirited humans bothered the apparent drunk, Ferox ambled after her. He caught her wrist just as she went through the stadium gates, tugging firmly to spin her back into him. By way of greeting, he planted his lips on hers in a lively kiss, then pulled back and grinned. “Hi.”

It seemed he was in a rare and playful mood.

OOC: I know I sorta broke my own rule, but since Adam, JJ, and Johnny aren't doing anything, it makes it hard to post for them. I'll try to add some shorty blurbs later. ;)

If she was using it to end a show, Sierra typically preferred to end Paint it Black on a strong glory note, seeing as she was a sucker for that sort of thing. But since they still had another song for the set, she let it taper out as it was meant to. It was still the Stones, after all, so it rocked either way. There was a healthy and lovely smattering of applause as the last note fell and she stepped up to the mic to speak. “How’s everybody doing tonight?” she called, pleased with the cheers that replied. “Awesome! I’m Sierra Clark, lead vocalist; that’s Desmond Figures and Jennifer Roday on guitar, Max Aught on the drums, and Shelley Harmon is our lovely keyboardist. Collectively, we like to bek known as The Peashooters.” There was some laughter from the crowd at that. “It’s a little random, but that’s us. If you liked our performance tonight, why not go by yourself a Peashooter down at booth nine? We have two CDs so far, one of entirely original works and another of rock covers of everything from the marvelous Rolling Stones and Aerosmith to Nickelack and Daughtry.” Sierra pointed in the general direction of the ebooth. “And now we’ll leave you on a Peashooter original, It Ain’t Easy Being a Not-Star.”

Grinning, she counted off the beats atomatically, her eyes flashing with the emotion of a good show as she checked out the mood of the cowd again. If she was reading them right, and she typically did, they were going to get a good haul out o the CDs and other assorted merchandise, like the t-shirts and funky wristbands. Her gaze fell on a face in particular, one that looked both a little shy and rather a bit awestruck, which stroked Sierra’s ego just fine. She sent a saucy wink in the girl’s direction as she stepped back up to the mic and opened the first fast bars of the comedic song.

OOC: Can I just do what Rommy's doing and keep Lynch, Cassidy, Hammer, and Todd in a holding pattern until they get involved?

NOTE: Benedict and his 'son' are still off playing games until further notice.


The fledgling had little more than traveled half the distance through the gate and someone caught hold of her wrist. For some strange reason the pearly woman's first thought was 'holy shite, the dead bloke got up'. But to her great surprise and glee, it was instead a handsome and tall figure that pulled her into a kiss before she could even decide to submit or object. The kiss was foreign but nice at the same time, her red eyes reflecting no shock as he pulled away, but instead one of her cotton colored eyebrows were raised at the vampire. The taste of blood smeared onto his lips; she was sure. "Ello..."

Not breaking her gaze at him, Cai stood there smirking in her baffled elegance, a bit short compared to the man. His features were striking and that was something to be admired considering three quarters of the men she'd seen tonight were of the 'fat and/or ugly' persuasion. The Irish woman was sure she'd never met the vampire standing only a few inches away before in her life.

Perhaps, 'e's jus' a weirdo.... Cai thought to herself before straightening up and sliding her arm backward so his hand fell into her, "Cai." It was short and simple but the woman had other things on her mind than a perfect introduction. Perhaps this was the break she was looking for. The thing to sort of pull her out of her funk. "Nice ta meet ye....?" Her red gaze fell effortlessly on his features with her centered smile, the question of his name and wonder if it matched him, catching up with her.


The amber eyed man stood there, fingering back his hair in a fake 'I don't know' type fashion about buying a tee shirt, when the girl now recognized as Isabelle shouted to her friends. Xander stood there silently and smirked as she greeted the two, who were apparently twins, and spoke up when Isabelle asked if they'd like to buy a shirt. Gesturing with a pointer finger in the air, the vampire smiled broadly, "I would."

Sure, the guy had little to no interest in modern day sports and such. But when did he turn down the chance to buy a shirt, help out a group of hard-working kids and meet a pretty girl all at the same time? Yes, he absolutely adored Adrianna with all his body and soul, but it didn't hurt to have a few friends either. "Name's Alexander. Call me Lex." It was a name he gave to those he didn't see himself getting very close to but instead used in passing.

For instance... If they happened to see one another after this initial greeting, say... on the street. Then he would know how to address her and she him. With his hand out, Xander waited for Isabelle's response.


((I think it should just be a given that when someone doesn't reply as one of their signatured characters: it's only because the character doesn't have anything to do yet. Think of it like.... a flexi-rule! :D haha))

Isabelle offered forth a smile to the guy who was still hanging around as she greeted Atty and Electra. “Will you? Great!” she said in her best bubbly, promoter fashion (which, surprisingly, didn’t look half-bad on her sharply featured face) and turned to indicate a table packed with different types of merchandise—everything from several different types of t-shirts to keychains with the DU logo and water bottles.

As he held out her hand, she blinked at it, then recovered. “Nice to meetcha… Lex,” the blonde replied. As this was Isabelle Carr, her thoughts immediately jumped to Lex Luthor and she tried to imagine this guy bald. And evil. She very nearly laughed out loud, but managed to contain herself. “Isabelle. Carr,” she added, as it seemed the polite thing to do. Isabelle Carr wasn’t really huge on manners and whatnot, but she didn’t think Coach would be happy if she insulted a paying customer.

In true Isabelle fashion, she was only just beginning to pick up on the fact that he might possibly (could) be hitting on her. In just as true Isabelle fashion, she was at a loss as to how to deal with that. Be friendly, she told herself. Not necessarily interested even though he seemed reasonably good-looking, but nice and friendly.


OOC: Oops. I sort of forgot that this was supposed to be the meeting thread, thus the sort of forward intro.

“Cai,” Ferox repeated, rolling the name over in a way that seemed to make the short name much longer. He smiled, the easy, familiar expression washing over his poet’s features in a way that made it clear that he had long practiced it. “Nice to meet you too.” Casually, as if they were a couple, he smoothly drew the hand still lightly clasped in his around his waist, dropped his free arm over her shoulders. The vampire ran his tongue over his teeth, tasting the hot sweetness of blood from the trace still on her lips and her underlying flavor. Interesting mix.

Inconspicuously steering her back inside the stadium gates, back into the warm, oblivious crush of sweaty, ignorant, and tasty humankind, Ferox smiled again. “That was bold, you know,” he said, turning so his mouth brushed her ear almost intimately, “Taking the boy outside like that could have raised an alarm if any were to be watching closely… few do, of course, when there are more pressing matters at hand.” His grey eyes scanned over some of the people. “Can you hear them?” he murmured, his voice low, nearly a whisper. His long, elegant fingers moved slightly, as if to pluck a thought or half-unsaid word from the air. The former legionnaire smiled slightly, still speaking low and softly, “Does she like me? Do I mean anything to him? I can’t wait to get out of these shoes. I hate her guts, the bitch. What makes him so special?”

He stopped, turning towards Cai so his eyes could dance over her face as the noisy crowd flowed on by. “Does that matter to you, I wonder? All the pettiness from them, these lower creatures we once were… I’m Ferox.”