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The question genuinely takes her aback, the pastry in her hand dropping a few inches away from her mouth. "Outsider?" the word sounds almost hollow in her lilting accent, despite the shaking of her head in disapproval she retorts in a soft voice "zer is no such theeng as an outsider. Zer are only bad people and good people. I trust zat your friend ees a good person, so I trust zey would benefit from a leetle 'elp in a place where zsey may not be so confident." She laments that even after such a long time, Jean-Jacques was still so distrusting of those who did not come from the wildwoods. But she didn't begrudge him for it. She remembered all too clearly the fear in his eyes when the mob came, she remembered how he cried ever days after the siege upon their home had ended. How fearful he had been when they'd ventued so deep into the woods to find their new home. He'd endured his own kind of pain and she wouldn't lecture him on how to handle it. "Of course, mon cher. Just tell me what dishes zey like and I will write some for you to deliver." She takes a final sip of tea, before reaching for the thermos to pour herself more.

“You would share your recipes with an outsider?” he asked. Jean’s eyes widened in surprise. His mother was willing to share her knowledge freely, without even asking if they belonged to the world of man. If they were his recipes that Cerise and Jacqueline had asked for, he might have been reluctant to share until knowing who else would see them. 

Jean nibbled on the end of the pastry. The recipes could easily be altered. He had become skilled in the making of sauces and stocks of blood. The spiderlings hummed with activity, earning a sharp side-eye from him. Those little eight-legged ruiners of secrets! He loved them, but not when they knew of things he wasn’t ready to share.

“If you trust me with them, maman,” he said. “That would be kind.”

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"Ah" her response is resolute, finite and telling. Myrad chews her pastry and eyes Jean-Jacques with a playful gaze, she hears the spiderlings chatter of his companion but pays it no mind, until her son introduces the woman to her- she is none of her concern. As much as it pained her to recall sometimes, her eldest was an adult and had been for centuries, even if she could remember cradling him in her arms as though it were yesterday. "Would you like me to write your friend some seemple recipes to follow?" She smiles kindly "you could 'elp them learn. You 'ave always been so good at cooking Jean-Jacques." She reaches for a pastry of her own and takes a bite, chewing quietly. It was nice to see her son so cheerful, for too long he'd been stone-faced and careful, even around his own Mother. Sometimes his carefully curated façade would falter, but it was few and far between. Seeing this genuine happiness exuding from Jean-Jacques bought a warmth to her chest and the Dreamshade watched her son with a gentle smile, happy he was finally able to let loose a little.

Jean doesn’t like telling lies. Not to his mother, not to his enemies. Silence grows as he selects his words with care, stuffing the meat pie’s flaky breading into his mouth to buy more time. 

“I am visiting a friend later,” he admits, finally. “They are a terrible cook. So, I thought it does not matter much if I leave here full. I cannot eat anything they make anyway.”

Somehow, it sounded even funnier the second time. 

He laughed again, against all better judgment. It was a shocking sight, to those familiar with him. In fact, his sisters might go as far to say that this was the most he’s laughed all year.

He was, as the kids say, cooked.

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"Mmm" she replies his question once more, a humming rumble sounded deep in her throat that had been her go to noise of acknowledgement since he was an infant, not breaking her gaze to the sky for a few seconds, before lowering her eyes to her son and smiling at him with a deep warmth. "She whispers secrets to me zat I cannot share wizout breaking 'er trust" Myrad replies fondly "but know zat she does let me know zat all of my dear children are safe and sound." There's a slight pout as he sits opposite her, although very fleeting as she knows Jean-Jacques shows his affection in ways different to her. She sips her tea and eyes him as he umms and ahhs over his choice of food before selecting that boar and sweet-apple pastry. "What ees ze joke?" she queries innocently, lilting her head and reaching for a boiled pheasant egg, which she dips in her homemade tzatziki dip before popping into her mouth whole.

“Have they spoken of anything else?” he asks. Puzzled, he glances up at the full moon overhead. It does not speak to him like it does to his mother. He is connected to the earth below, the heartbeat of the forest that becomes vibrations on his strings. Still, he is curious about the secrets it shares to her. 

Although maman pats the spot beside her, he takes his seat across the blanket. Keeping eyes on every direction would make it easier to avoid being snuck up on. 

Jean looks at the spread of food, unsure of where to start. He doesn’t mind eating his fill. Elia isn’t much of a cook, and it would take time to prepare a meal best suited to her tastes. (He wasn’t the fondest of using venison blood as a placeholder for chicken stock.)

Out came a single, quiet laugh huffed under his breath. The thought of her standing frazzled and angry near the stove was quite funny. Finally, he decides on a meat pastry he gently sets atop a napkin.

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Myrad knows her own son well enough to see the clouds of worry and doubt behind his eyes, despite how noble and stoic his demeanour was. However, she was content enough in his ability to take care of himself to not make a big deal out of it, or even bring it up at all. She liked to be the quiet, constant, comforting presence in her childrens life. It was a role that gave her great purpose and allowed her to live and love to her greatest potential. Folding herself down onto the ground, she patted the forest floor beside her for Jean-Jacques to join her and began unpacking the basket that was tucked next to the tree stump that she now used as a table. She pulled an intricately woven cloth and draped it over the moss-laden surface, following with some wrapped sandwiches, meat pastries and sweets. From the amount of food she keeps adding to the spread, it's clear she was expecting company on her midnight picnic, and she hums a clear haunting tune as she arranged the food and pulls the bone (china) plates and cups gifted by her love Jack. Pouring them both a cup of floral tea, she leans back slightly and smiles at the moon, cradling her cup in pale hands. "La Lune said I would 'ave company, I am so 'appy it was you in ze end."

Losing to the beast was a wake-up call. It’d gotten him to begrudgingly admit that perhaps he’d returned too quickly to his knightly duties. Perhaps, he had been mistaken in thinking he’d survived the brunt of Jacqueline’s powers without lasting repercussions. After awakening from his coma, he’d insisted on returning to work the moment he could stand. 

It is not just the moonlight making him pale. Jean’s cheek is gaunt where she’s pinched him, and he has been finding himself needing to catch his breath more often. It pains him to admit that mother knows best. 

“Alright,” he sighs. “Is it that noticeable? El–certain people have suggested I am still unwell.”

The spiderlings jitter with gossip when he almost slips up. Jean lobbies a small, scolding frown their way.

“Ah, the thermos,” he remarks. He sits across from her, fondly staring at the floral pattern. “I am glad you like it,” he says. “In truth, I did not expect you to keep it so long. I will bring you another from the mortal world. Soon.” 

The knight finally smiles. 

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As she gazes upon her first and only son, Myrad ponders momentarily on how she got so lucky with her children. All of them so loving, humble, compassionate- all of them wonderful beings who bought her life so much joy. All she'd ever wanted was to be loved and accepted, and her children made all of those dreams come true. "Mmm" she hums knowingly, although the lady of spiders doesn''t press the matter, the chitter of spiderlings around them tells a different story. "You must stop working yourself so 'ard, mon cher, you will make yourself unwell!" A concerned frown flits across her face and her hand sweeps up to cup his cheek once more, gently this time. "'eet 'ees 'eemportant to remember zat you also need rest and relaxation to work your best" a soft pinch on his cheekbone and she drops the hand away. "Are you 'ungry?" she asks, turning and walking back towards where she was sat before, "I 'ave some snacks I packed, we can eat zem together eef you 'ave time. I also 'ave tea" she beams, holding up the floral, thermal flask he himself had gifted to her some years before- a contraption that kept her warm drinks warm for hours after the left the house, allowing her to have a nice hot tea even when she was out foraging in the forest. It was one of her most prized possessions and she'd even fashioned a custom spidersilk bag that allowed her to carry it easily around with her.

The force of her hands pressing against the sides of his face smooshed his lips. Jean-Jacques’ expression remains static, even as he remarks to himself that his sisters have inherited many of their mother’s traits. Particularly her relentless cheek-squishing.

The knight isn’t embarrassed, however, until his mother remarks on his love life. He is the eldest son and despite having endured centuries, it does nothing to protect him from the feeling. Whether thirty or three-hundred, it never stops being embarrassing for your mother to remark on your girlfriend.

“It is nothing,” he says, quickly. The hot flush to his cheeks says otherwise.

(Translation: Moooooooooooom. :/ )

“I am flushed from the day’s work,” he says.  Jean nods matter-of-factly. He rarely told outright lies; it is true that it gets quite hot underneath the suit of armor. But, his patrols can eek into the late hours of night. It’s still a bit early for him to retire for the evening, which means he must have plans somewhere else.  

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The deep pink hue capturing her sisters cheeks doesn't phase nor surprise Josefine, she's used to her sisters fleeting yet intense crushes. "No" the lawyer responds simply, "the contracts i have them sign are rock-solid." She glances at her sister and smiles wryly. knowing that any writ signed in her favour has not only legal, but magical repercussions if betrayed. "Min recommended him" she replied, allowing the other 2 to board the carriage ahead of her and stepping in with a nod of thanks to her friend. There's a roll of her eyes at Dorothy's complaint "the windows will remain closed, sister. No fear." She turns her head to look at their goblin companion who had recoiled back into her seat as soon as the carriage had lurched to life, there was pure unadulterated fear in her swamp-green eyes as they soared through the air and at Dorothy's question she managed to croak out a reply. "We're in the pissin' sky." Josefine frowns and glances at Min, then her sister, before trying to comfort their unusual companion "Ms Bogstink, you are perfectly safe. I can assure you of that." She looks back to Dorothy, hoping her more casual approach to life could help reassure their goblin friend.

Dottie sneaks a glance at the decorated guard. He looks suspiciously close to a man she’s held at knifepoint recently, and the realization makes her cheeks flush. She turns on her heel so sharply, her ponytail cuts across his face like a whiplash. 

Picking up the pace, she hurries to her sister’s side and leans close to her ear.

“Don’tcha ever worry about your guards getting paid out?” she whispes “Like, and have them turn on you? Where’d you meet this hunk–I mean, uh, seasoned professional anyway?”

Her heels click onto the carriage. 

“This might be safer for Ms. Botoxsink,” she says. “But flights like these always mess up my hair! Me and her are gonna need the Dyson Airwrap we've got stashed in your office when this is done.” Dottie pouted, already smoothing down the crown of her slicked-back hairdo. “Don’t you just like, hate flying, Ms. Botoxsink?” she said. She smiled awkwardly, a smudge of red lipstick on her teeth.

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Her expression changes from one of dreadful worry, to a beaming smile at the sight of her first born emerging into the moonlight. "Ah, Jean-Jacques!" she quickly unpicks her fingers from the threads they were enwrapped in and handed off her project to a horde of spiderlings who scuttled off into the darkness carrying the Christmas sweater home for her to continue in secret. She rises from her seat on the mossy tree stump she had been curled upon and walks barefoot towards her son, hands encompassing his cheeks with a loving embrace as she stares up at him endearingly. "Mon Chéri, you 'ave ze flushed complexion of un bébé 'oo is 'aving 'is first love" a coy smile curled on her lips and her eyes glistened in the moonlight. "Do not worry about me, your Maman 'as survived worse zan trivial monsters!" hands leave his face and wave dismissively in the air "besides, La Lune and I 'ad important matters to discuss." She smiled up at the sky, referring to the Moon as though it were an old friend.

“It is only me, maman,” he said. Jean strode into the glade. Streaks of moonlight bounced off his armored plates in silver-spun fractals. He was without a helmet, and his unshielded gaze was cold even though his voice spoke softly. “What are you doing so far away from home?” he asked. It was a question recently pointed at him; he had been far from the safety of their home in hunt of a beast. The monster terrorized its own corner of the Wildwoods, but was elusive to catch. Jean, arrogant as he was, had volunteered himself for the task of vanquishing it. 

It was both the worst and best mistake he could’ve made. Worst because he’d nearly died. Bones crushed, blood slicked on the forest floor, his sword just out of reach. Best because he’d been saved. By a woman. Awoken in her cabin, nursed back to health, and perhaps a little smitten. 

What a mistake, failing to catch a beast but falling in love with another instead. 

Once he was strong enough for the journey home, he’d returned and carried a constant furrow in his brow. He was not sure what to make of it; a knight called The Cursed-Blood Slayer, finding himself trying to cook all manners of venison-blood stew for the exact creature he’d sworn to hunt. Jean had returned to her since then and even – much to the horror of a spiderling caught on his coattails – stayed the night. 

“I was patrolling the area before retiring for the night,” he added. “The beast still runs rampant in the woods. We are far from where it is sighted, but I feel uneasy seeing you alone.”

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@chocalafolie || Astra & - Moonlit threads

The moon illuminated her figure as she sat in the small glade in the woods, Astra's face was tilted upwards, conversing with the celestial body in rapid french as her fingers flashed quickly and delicately in her lap, manipulating spidersilk threads into an intricate pattern. It wasn't often she felt bold enough to venture so far from her home, her deeply interwoven alarm system, but the full moon hanging in the sky was calling to her and basking in its glow was something she knew was well needed. She was mid sentence, when her speech suddenly halted, head whipping round and fingers freezing in place, mid-stitch, as she scanned the tree-line for whomever- or whatever, had made a noise. "'Allo? Qui est là?"

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"We have funding from a private investor who is very passionate about seeking Justice for humanoid minorities in crisis" Josefine replies to her sister. her expression unreadable. "Speaking of, here is our escort to ensure the city guard doesn't attempt anything untoward as we lead Ms Bogstink to her safehouse" two people emerge and walk to flank the trio. One is recognisable as Min, an old friend of Josefines and one of the finest mercenaries in Selphia, the other her close colleague Wade who is easily a well decorated, they both cut imposing figures as they take their positions to guard Josefine, Dorothy and Bogstink. "I believe this is what the youth of today refer to as Scary Dog Privilege" the Lawyer chuckles at her own joke as she continues walking towards the waiting flight carriage. Min opens the door for them and gestures Dottie inside, then Bogstink, then Josefine. The mercenaries follow and the door shuts, the vehicle shuddering to life and taking to the skies as soon as they are all seated. "We're going to my office on Whale Island." Josefine explains before Dottie can query her "it will be safer for Ms Bogstink there." there's an undertone to her words, she knows the goblin will need careful monitoring, and it will be exponentially more difficult to lose her on an enclosed piece of floating land.

"So like, who's paying the legal fees again?" whispered Dottie. "I thought that goblin bone chips like, don't convert to phils at all." The guardsmen reluctantly obey her sister's commands, and the iron door swings open with a metallic clang.

Dottie could count more stories of goblins than personal encounters. In the city, however, people rarely had kind words for mortal-hunters and cannibals. Her boots clacked against the marble as she followed along. Hands clasped behind her back, she bent forward and offered a compliment as an olive branch.

"Did you use heart berries for your hair dye? No wait, that shade of pink must be a tombmelon! Suckerstem? Oh wait, razorstalk!" she said, to the goblin. "Anyway, that color is such a slay. By any chance, have you ever heard of Olaplex? Not to brag, but I did go to cosmetology school for half a semester."

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There's some clarity when he speaks once more, despite her... condition, her loyalty is still first and foremost to House Beltran. "You're getting dirt on them to pre-emptively have ammo to blackmail them just in case your allegiance goes sour?" she questions, brow furrowing again "or..." her expression smooths and she glares at him "do they already have something on you?" The Fledgling Vampiress keeps her gaze on him, looking for any tells in his body language or expression in response to her query. She was about to be flattered when Rook mentioned Ms Jian recommending her, she'd always found the lawyer, who'd represented her a few times in her life to get her out of some legal troubles, to be rather cold towards her. Gabs genuinely thought the Dreamshade disliked her. However her flattery is quickly cut short by a horrendous, cold, unnatural grasp wrapping around her hand. Eyes widen almost comically and fierce tension builds in every fibre of her being, her hair swells with violet magic, the sparkles shimmering in the air around her and she glares daggers at the bone man who is crooning to her about some nonsense that she's not listening to, because she's too fixated on the fact his repugnant bone fingers are gripping her manicured, moisturised, well cared for right hand in a vice-like hold. "Let. Go. Of. Me. Right. Now." every word is almost spat through gritted teeth, her distaste at the situation growing with each passing millisecond "or I'll blow that repulsive spirit halloween decoration looking hand of yours into a thousand pieces you ugly, disgusting, corpse looking disgrace of a cryptid."

"Well, House Beltran's got a nice alliance goin' on with the vampires," he said. "I don't want them draggin' us into a mess. Could be family squabbles, could be somethin' that puts our other alliances in jeopardy. It's no secret, but houses like mine are holdin' on by a thread these days."

Tiptoeing the terse relationships across factions was part of his duty as a young lord. But what they couldn't access through diplomacy, they'd access with a lockpick.

He sighed.

"Aw, crud. Here I was, hopin' we wouldn't actually have to go in there," he mumbled. "Josie personally recommended you 'cause--"

Rook was cut off by the musky exhale of their new hire. How long had he been left to rot underground before being summoned? It was as if something had gone wrong, and he was permanently stuck semi-decomposed.

"It is amazing to speak with the chosen," rattled the hireling. "Oh, Gracious Undead! Please, do not doubt your skills. You speak their language, the language of the night." Bones exposed, the hireling held the Gabriella's hand in a firm shake.

Rook was at a loss for words.

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Josefines lips tighten as her sister starts speaking and she waves a hand dismissively "let it be noted that my sister speaks from a place of championing my clients wellbeing and while there are no true legal requirements in her statements-you should understand that we will absolutely accept public compensation as an apology to my client, for how her case has been handled by the City Guard thus far. Such compensation could help alleviate any public backlash they may receive as a result of this thoughtless fumble." She looks to the captain once more who is just staring at the writ in his hands as though it might catch fire any moment, dumbfounded by the very thought that a goblin of all things was being rescued and represented by Josefine Jian of all people. The Lawyer clears her throat purposely and gestures to the cage once more "my client, Captain?" With some irritated grumbling and barely whispered swears, he nods his head and waves his hand to the guard with the crossbow, who puts the weapon down and steps to the cage, expression one of disbelief as he unlocks the door and lets the Goblin free. "Perfect" she turns to the Goblin who stares at her warily "saa'atcha" Josefine smiles, her knowledge of gobbledegook is enough she could converse with her charge if she didn't speak common. Bogstink frowns slightly but seems to relax at the sound of her native language and she steps towards the Dreamshade. "Let's go, Dorothy."

Dottie shot a silent prayer to the gods for her sister's timely arrival. All Josefine needed to make men bend the knee was a fresh pantsuit, iron will, and legal intimidation. It was something she'd always admired her sister for.

Dottie chimed in with newfound courage. "How dare you intimidate our client. You will be paying for Ms. Frogwink's therapeutic treatments," said Dottie. "Including an emotional support eyebrow lift. To freshen up the worry lines you caused with all your arrows and crossbows."

Hand on her hip, she leaned forward and wagged an accusing finger at the guardsmen.

"Don't worry, Miss Logtink," she said. "I was just, uh, playing the long game. Ya know, hard ball! These two bubs never stood a chance."

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"Right, and this is my problem because?" Gabs' brow furrows again her annoyance deepening at Rook's explanation "Vampires are always up to something fishy, they're undead, they eat people!" her hands lift in exasperation, before raking through her long curls as she sighs once more. "If it's anything like my guys, all their sensitive items are in the cellar in a musty old lockbox guarded by charmed beasts." She shakes her head, Vampires were very protective about their secrets, considering some families could be traced back for millennia it kind of made sense, but she thought it was a bit theatrical. She'd heard of one family going so far as to have a magical labyrinth built under their manor. She hoped it wasn't this one, dark eyes narrowed at the house suspiciously, but she honestly hadn't really been paying much attention when she was being given the history spiel by an old vampire who loved the sound of their own voice a little too much. "Anyway, regardless, you're not going to find anything out here except for like- old headstones or some shit." Eyes flicker to Joon once more and she grimaces unhappily "I'm not surprised, he's literally built like a Draugr from The Elder Scrolls."

"Hopefully, we ain't goin' to be in here for long," he mumbles. "We're lookin' for anythin' incriminating. I don't know what exactly, but these vampires are up to somethin' fishy."

Rook ran his hands along the paneling of a garden toolshed. He searched for a lever, a switch, a hollowed out panel of wood -- anything out place. There had to be a lockbox or passageway where they kept their bloody ledgers. Gut instincts warned him the vampires wouldn't be careless enough to leave incriminating evidence outside. But, he really, really didn't want to have to break into the home of the undead.

He stopped his search to glance at the rattling bone man and hold back a grimace. "Between you and me, I think she just wanted to air out the office," he whispered. "That boy don't smell right."

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Her magenta heels, matching the leather of her belt and briefcase but contrasting with the deep sage of her pantsuit, clicked across the uneven marble flooring as the Lawyer strode with intense purpose towards her charge. Josefine thanked the heavens for her sisters meddling, for once, her distraction halting the execution for just long enough for her to arrive. The shade rounds into the path of the crossbow right after her sister steps out of it, lifting her sunglasses up onto her head as she plants herself firmly in the way. "Gentlemen, don't tell me you were about to conduct an unlawful execution of my client without fair trial?" she pulls a piece of paper from the back pocket of her briefcase, holding it out to the captain of the guard to take. "Article 5 clause C of the Fair Treatment of Humanoid Creatures Act states that any being with humanlike intelligence is entitled to a fair and unbiased trial. You'll find this writ signed by the Head Justiciar Caorden Brightwind himself- who was most unhappy to be awoken at the ungodly hour I had to arrive at his house to get here in time, by the way, placing your charge under my authority until the trial is held and fair judgement has been passed." Relieved of the paper, Josefine steps back and gestures towards the goblin in the cage behind her "Ms Bogstink is officially my client from this moment onward and I would appreciate your men standing down and releasing her into my custody at once."

@ofthcshvdes || sister shenanigans

Dottie didn't even want to save the goblin. It was the subject of a scathing burn book entry; its stick-straight hair deep fried from a terrible herbal berry dye job, pieces of human flesh wedged between its teeth, blood seeping out a split in its lower lip as it taunted the guardsman. Just because she found the creature in need of a spa day didn't mean it deserved to die.

That's how she found herself standing in front of the iron cell, a crossbow pointed at her forehead. "You can't just like, shoot someone point blank!" she said. "One: that's like, probably illegal. And two, there has to be a way to talk this out!"

Dottie felt it were the righteous thing to do. She was the only person in their circle willing to stand up for the goblin with an unflattering side part. And it made her feel heroic, like a pure-hearted damsel in a theater play. Before she could throw in a rousing speech and a few well-timed flutter of her lashes, the guardsmen screamed at her.

All at once.

She flinched as the chorus of screaming aimed at her intensified, a dozen differing orders barked to her face. Doing the right thing was not as rewarding as the stage plays made it seem. Dottie sidestepped the crossbow's path.

"Well, like, forsake your soul or WHATEVER..."

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@chocalafolie || just a little breaking and entering - Gabs & Rook (& Joon)

"I should have known it wasn't Ms Jian who texted me" Gabs grumbled, staring down the head of Beltran with an irritated glare "that stuffy old shade doesn't know how to text, she would have sent a formal e-mail or a fucking pigeon mail or some shit." she sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose with pearlescent pink painted nails, shaking her head slightly, her voice was low, mostly talking to herself as she mentally kicked herself for her stupidity at believing a text message signed Josy Jian asking her to meet in the gardens of one of the most prominent vampire houses was actually from her families lawyer herself and not a ruse. "Whatever, my main question actually" she opens her eyes and looks to Rook once more "what the fuck is he doing here?" she jabs a finger towards their unsightly companion, the rattling figure of Ms Jians overly attached assistant, pale white skeleton hand shining in a sliver of moonlight pouring from between the clouds.

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@babygirlhq || Delia & Domi - Land Legs

Strolling through the streets of Selphia, Delia always felt a little out of her depth when she was on solid land. She always felt the air at ground level was too heavy, it felt as though it laboured her lungs to breathe when she was down here., however, she endured it for the sake of meeting her friend. Entering the bar, it's full of rowdy adventurers all drinking and discussing their latest escapades and trying to one-up each other. The pirate makes her way to a quiet corner and takes a seat, hailing a passing waitress to order a beer and await the arrival of her friend.

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Her eyes flick from the road ahead to the wing mirror, keeping an eye on whether they were being tailed or not. "You do know how to keep the party going" she retorts, smiling as she relaxes into the seat, keeping her attention tight on their surroundings as she did so. There's a nod from the merc, her elbow leaning against the door as her hand cups her head gently "are we ever anything less?" she queries her friend, almost genuine curiosity tugging at her words "I say I take point and you deal with any liabilities. Does that sound good?" Ever since her deal with the dimension witch, she felt a little uneasy dealing with any who weren't on her list to be executed. Even the slightest exposure to her skin could be the reason a civilian doesn't make it home to their family. Min felt no sympathy for those who kept company with her targets, but she knew that an exchange was just that, and unnecessary death only made things more complicated. She unlocks her phone and scrolls through the information that had been sent across to the both of them "seems pretty standard, should be easy enough to bypass or distract them and eliminate the target. Looks like a five person protection detail. What do you think?" She liked it when they bounced ideas off each other in the car en-route to jobs, it was good to make sure they were on the same page and could complete their work seamlessly and without any hiccups.

⸻ Wade grinned at her, her dry humor and composed demeanor something he'd admired. Her readiness mirrored his own as they prepared for the night's work ahead. "You know me, always finding ways to keep things interesting," he replied with a nod of appreciation as he navigated the sedan through the city's labyrinthine streets.

As they merged into the flow of the late-night traffic, his expression turned thoughtful. "Tonight's job's gonna need finesse. High security, tight timeline," he said, his voice low and focused. "We'll have to be ghosts—quick, quiet, and precise." Taking a glance over at her, a glint of anticipation in his eyes. "But you and me, we've danced this dance before. I say we get in, do our job, and slip out like shadows in the night."

Adjusting his grip on the steering wheel, his confidence radiated through his every move. "What's your read on the security setup?" he asked, his voice betraying a hint of curiosity. They were a team forged in the crucible of countless operations, each knowing their part in the intricate ballet of their chosen profession.

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She drains the rest of her glass and pushes it to the edge of the bar without looking, whereupon is is swiftly refilled by the bartender who in turn offers the bottle to her companion in indication for a top up of his own beverage. "Well then, I truly feel pity for those folks." She responds coolly, brow slightly arched "family is the most important thing to me. I couldn't imagine life without them." Another olive is plucked with blush-pink painted nails and she bites it in half, chewing slowly as she regards the morsel thoughtfully. Eyes flash back up to him, staring with a steely coldness as she now considers him a threat, her hypothetical hackles are raised and she's tense in her chair. The heiress is lucky for she's the one who knows all the secret exits and entrances in this place, but she also doesn't want any kind of scuffle to ensue and ruin the reputation her family had built so hard to maintain. And thus she sits pretty, enduring this tactical conversation armed with envenomed small-talk. "This isn't my empire, it's my grandfathers. And it was built many decades ago." she replies nonchalantly, eating the other half of the olive "it's true, one day I will inherit it all. But my Mother has made it clear I'm a long way away from that honour yet." she sucks a droplet of juice from her finger and reaches for her glass "so you can carry that information back to whomever would find it useful- and remind them that whilst I'm the only undead in my bloodline, it's the living they should be truly wary of." The fresh glass of prosecco is raised to her lips and she doesn't break eye contact as she takes a sip, measuring his reaction to her rebuttal. "Were you looking to join the race? Or will you be an observer for the rest of your life?" her head cocks and she smiles at him, although her eyes are still cold and emotionless.

"Not everyone gets along with their family," he said. "Some people lack that familial instinct, I'm afraid." Olivier could name the queen of the cursed bloods, for starters. The only instinct she had was the best way to cut someone down with her teeth.

"To get to know you," he said, lightly. "I'm quite interested in your business acumen. The Ryu's have their fingers in just about everything these days. There are some families that might see a young vampiress building an empire and feel threatened."

He took a sip of wine.

"Of course, I have no horse in this race," he said. "It's merely interesting to watch a star being born in real time."