azielgordy

[azielgordy]

Great.

Aziel's muscles tensed, Jack's voice enough to alert him that any peace he'd been trying to find before he returned home to his wife had been squashed beneath her boot. Albert's face paling as he found anywhere else to be. Her presence, always unsettling, shifting the room's equilibrium. He would've rather been raged at by his wife than spend more than five more minutes alone in this hellhole. He'd never trusted her, and her sudden appearance now only intensified that blood curdling, unforgiving unease.

The second his drink was there, he took to drinking it. The quicker he escaped, the easier it would be "Trouble? Me? Never." forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Just looking for dinner, same as everyone else." Aziel paused, eyes shifting to give her a slow, calculated once over.

A man of his statue had a reputation: people often expected him to be spoiled. But this was the man who'd spent countless hours perfecting his business, learning the basics and building from the ground up. "Surely, a woman..." he paused, if that's what he could call her "of your... standing should have far better things to do than eavesdrop on people's conversation, don't you think, J?."

Aziel felt a prickle, embedding itself into his skin, a slither of irritation working its way into who he was. Years brought up under a microscope had afforded him media training, but this — there were some people he struggled to hold his tongue around. He, however, knew Jack enough to be able to swallow it down. To let it be. And he didn't owe her any explanations, although playing coy could be as dangerous as outright defiance. He was young, in comparison to the other vampires he'd come to meet. Practically a new born when stood next to Sasha. He opted for a middle ground, offering just enough to satisfy her.

"Business. You know how Gordy's partners can be," he said, taking a slow sip of his drink. The warm, metallic taste of O negative slid down his throat, momentarily easing the burning hunger. "You know how it is. Can't be too careful these days."

The way that Dilan moved, in this life and the last, reflected the premise of darkness itself. One minute there, the next gone, the woman was ever an enigma and even those that knew her, never knew how to anticipate her next move. In the palm of one hand, rested the plethora of people that might have considered her being, as a way to protect herself - and resting within the blood drops of her next victim, lay the truth. Dilan simply didn't care enough to wallow upon the vestiges of a humanity she never had much of a grasp on. It left her with the ability to only be seen when she truly wanted to be. Long nights, stalking prey as hunter, and now predator, every movement was methodical and feline in nature. Each exit, waypoint and possible problem guarded among the forefront of her thoughts as she pressed onwards. Trust none, suspect all. It made it infinitely easier to give less of a shit the kind of impression she left. However porcelain smooth her choices were, the woman was as abrasive as they came. A quick point to note at the sight of the bartenders features shifting, as he adjusted the discomforting ruffle of his shoulders, "You're not making up stories again, are you Albert?" She knows the answer - and neither does she like it much as she draws forth a barstool, taking up space besides Aziel.

Hues of obsidian, with perhaps even less space for a flicker of light, catch the barman in the act, and the hinted promise that they'd talk about this later, popped up within the smallest crinkle of a smile. "And what, are you going to do with anything that you hear, Az?" Curiosity paved the way to the threat that clung to the very tip of her tongue. He was young - probably far more foolish than he considered himself at one time or another, stupidity she could work with. A dainty - dead fingertip rolled over the rim of the glass placed in front of her stained blood red and casting colored shadows across the grotty bartop. "You're not getting yourself into trouble, are you?" And by trouble, she meant business that certainly wasn't his own.

[azielgordy]

Spring 1 - Max Ritcher. Recomposed: Vivaldi's Four Seasons (2012)

The game had been intense, not that he'd shown that on his blanketed expression: each swing on his hand, a clatter of ball on wire had been enough to drive it home. Every single shot mattered whether it was framed to be a friendly, or not. He might've been Dracula sired, but his loyalty lay with one person only. His wife. Still, as Aziel had discovered: loyalty could be bought. While he appreciated the distraction it provided, playing in the realms of such a prominent figure within the vampire world, especially for someone some-what newly turned: it was both an ego boost, and a worrying sight.

Vampires did nothing without personal gain, or at least the older ones.

It did little to quell that unease that sloshed at the pit of his stomach, curdling as if it were waves in a storm. He might've known it was coming, however, the way he felt about his upcoming meeting with Sasha did little to stop the raging worry that lived rent free inside of him. Shifting his features into a practiced mask of unbridled charm. Internally, his thoughts were far from the game they'd just played, or the hand he'd served. It'd never been about that. These matches were lost and won when needed to.

Every move a game of chess, and right now...

Aziel was aware he was the pawn.

And once it was over, like the good little lap dog he'd been turning into for a year, Aziel barked and followed his new master. If that's what he was: because they both had something the other needed. It wasn't an eye for an eye in the case; it was a potential that both parties could offer. There were gains for both of them, and still, age was a huge factor in the vampire world. Watching him move, each ticking hand on the clock, meant that the humans could say one wrong thing.

And they truly would be dinner. It was that part that Aziel hated.

"Good game, Peter." a shake of hands, all formalities, all part of this excessive bullshit game. "Carl, I'll see you at the next match," the constant balancing act that was to be had when it came to things such as business, and the needs of the elite (and Sasha was exactly that.) If caught? By the Dracula's — her face flashed to the forefront of he remind, and he quickly reminded himself exactly why he was here, and doing what he was doing. Even if it meant she'd give him the cold shoulder once he got home...well, sometimes he had to take the risks in order to save his marriage.

Because — eternity without her? No.

His thoughts turned inward, berating, assessing the stakes/ Was it worth it? Yes. Did he know what this conversation was regarding? He knew, and of course, tonight's conversation with Sasha would bring forth the question of what he'd get in return.

Simply hearing the mention of Sasha’s name sent shivers down his spine — so when they'd met. Checkers, calculated minds and conversation that transcended intellect. Class was hard to come by in this day and age, and yet, before him was the embodiment of it. As the new Generation X, and baby boomers before him, it'd been pushed out of society, and with class came some sense of...understanding, he guessed.

However, he stiffened in his spot when Peter grumbled. Eyes sliding to the face of a man he wouldn't dare speak of in such a manner. Albeit, the guy didn't realise he could hear, but that wasn't the point. People really needed to stop poking lions. Because eventually, they bit.

Literally.

Sasha's words were enough to have him bow his head, only slightly. "See you shortly." Aziel had never been a man to speak more than was necessary, although out going around his friends, when it came to business he kept it strictly professional. Of course, unless he was divulging information to the opposition. Desperate times called for desperate measures, right?

The clink of metal and the faint hum of conversations around him barely registered, walking through the clubhouse without a thought for those around him. His mind was elsewhere: Sasha, his wife, the company that now felt more like a ghost than his family's legacy. By the time he reached the locker room, he shed his clothes like they'd been an extra layer of skin, sweat slick to his body as he heaved out. He had but a few minutes alone before his conversation with Sasha was set to take place. Information that could be told by word of mouth, or the brown manila envelope that sat in his locker. He'd been a vampire for only a year, and still, he was adjusting to the heightened senses and the constant undercurrent of predatory instincts. His gums hurt, he was hungry and that meant he'd be out later — which only translated to the fact that his wife would have something to say about it. Tonight's meeting was crucial.

Tonight, Aziel needed to prove himself yet again, to show that he was more than just an un jeu bien joué.

Making his way to the steam room, Aziel's mind raced — reminding himself to remember the business strategy his father had taught him as a fresh intern. Planning, preparation, progress, P.S, and product. Celeste, that piece of work, was Dracula's pit bull for all intents and purposes, and if they were to have any hope -- she needed a stake through the heart and to be burned piece by piece. It was a dangerous game they were playing, but if he was going to pay it with anyone, it'd be Sasha.

"Check mate," he heard, a faint memory of their first encounter.

A towel wrapped around his waist, he finally found himself stepping into thick, suffocating heat. He'd never been the biggest fan of steam rooms. Still, he didn't have a choice as he sat down, forearms. The steam curled around him, parting to reveal that Sasha was already there.

"Celeste? She's cautious, but there are cracks in her armor. She hasn't grown complacent, but If I can get close to her... I believe I can exploit that." He paused, waiting for Sasha's reaction. "The company's new stock is also going to one specific location. One that I didn't approve..." looking around the room to check who was there. "I think they might be trying to move products that...the containers? Huge. We don't need anything that big."

Pause, momentarily, he gulps.

"Sasha...I have solid proof they're funnelling money into a cause. I brought a file..."

Who: Sasha Voskresensky & Aziel Gordy When: 6 June, 1989 Where: Racquet & Tennis Club, NYC Type: Closed

Concerto No. 4 in F minor, Op. 8, RV 297, "Winter" (L'inverno) III

The ball connects with the face of his racquet with force, sending it cleanly back across the court. Sasha quickly returns to the balls of his feet, poised and ready for the anticipated return volley. But it never comes. Instead, the ball is swiftly smashed toward his partner's racquet. Sasha doesn't need to call out; he knows instinctively that it will be met with the same determination and precision as his own shot had been.

When the game ended and they emerged victorious once again, he smiled, "Now, now, Carl. We mustn't let our prehistoric natures get the better of us." He watched as Carl glared, facing away and mumbling what he thought Sasha wouldn't be able to hear, but Sasha did. Such a shame. He didn't enjoy drinking from such dirty mouths. Profanity really was such a cheap modern thing, contributing to a coarsening of discourse and eroding standards of civility. So, no, he wouldn't enjoy drinking from him later, but he'd definitely enjoy taking one more potty mouth out of New York's elite society.

"I hope I can still count on you to attend dinner next weekend. It'll be such a shame not to have Helen there as well; Merida was really looking forward to meeting her." Taking Carl's subtle acknowledgment as agreement, he turned his attention to Peter, Carl's partner. "And are you absolutely certain you can't make it, Peter?" If Peter declined, another seat would need to be filled, a decision he would leave to the events of the upcoming week to guide. "Aziel, I'll meet you in the Steam Room in twenty. But first, I need to cool off…" It was an ironic statement for a vampire to make, but old habits, even ancient ones, were always the hardest to change.

After shedding his tennis attire and slipping into his swimwear, Sasha gracefully made his way toward one of the club's two indoor swimming pools. His movements were deliberate, clean, and precise, a reflection of the meticulous nature ingrained within him. This was his time to ponder the impending meeting with Aziel. Earlier discussions with Merida had solidified their mutual agreement: Aziel needed to ingratiate himself further with Celeste. If they hoped to succeed in their mission to eliminate Dracula, disposing of her first was imperative. They couldn't afford to face him with Celeste, his ever-loyal guard dog, by his side—or partner, depending on perspective—still obstructing their path.

Reaching the end of the pool, Sasha paused for a moment before effortlessly hoisting himself out and draping a towel around his waist. After swiftly rinsing off the pool chemicals, he re-toweled himself and headed toward one of the steam rooms tucked away at the back of the club—the one where he always met Aziel. Sliding onto a bench beside his fellow vampire, Sasha took a moment before addressing him. "So, what do you have for me tonight, Aziel?"

[azielgordy]

VAMPIRE

Character Biography: Aziel Gordy

Character Name: Aziel Gordy Character Faceclaim: Michael B. Jordan

Age: 39-Year-Olds.

Current Location: New York City.

Affiliation: Dracula.

Occupation: Joint-Partner of Gordy Technology conglomerate.

What ties them to Salem?: His wife is from Salem.

TIMELINE

Aziel Gordy was born into his family's tradition without much of a say for how his life would go: the oldest male child of Michael and Anette Gordy. His father, Michael, was a successful businessman. Known for his classic stoic demeanour, tempered by a deep, if not always visible, love for his oldest son. Anette was a devoted stay-at-home mother, dedicating her life to raising her children, with a big emphasis on good manners and a strong moral compass. Their household was one where church was the cornerstone of family life, Sundays reserved for worship and prayer. As a child, Aziel often spoke about becoming a priest when he was older. It was a childish notion, or at least, it was in his parents' eyes. They harboured different ambitions for him. And while his siblings would get to follow the lives that they wanted…

Aziel would always have his path lay out for him.

Michael knew his son would become his successor. There was no doubt in his mind. As soon as Aziel was old enough, he began shadowing his father, learning about the corporate world for what it was: money, reputation and a lot of double-talk. Aziel had always excelled academically, becoming a straight-A student and earning a full-ride scholarship to Columbia University, where he studied Economics. It was during his time in Manhattan, where the music in greenwich village had been the only time he felt truly happy, a rare slice of joy.

Graduation came, and life finally kicked into gear, joining the family business, as the plan had always stated. Although it wasn't the path he would have chosen, he found himself increasingly drawn to the challenges, and he couldn’t lie – the benefits were worth it. He’d always thrived on the need for intellectual stimulation and over time, he finally began to appreciate the legacy his father had built. It was during this period that Aziel met his future wife, a woman whose qualities he could only ever aspire to emulate.

The marriage came quickly – not even six months later. It’d been something for the newspapers to talk about, some wondering if it was because he’d knocked her up — in all honesty, he would've married her tomorrow. No questions asked, regardless. But finally, outside of work, he finally felt like he had something that was his. Something tangible and real. 

Aziel's career was all smooth sailing until it wasn’t. Atticus Hempstead was a rising media mogul with the desire to acquire stakes in the Gordy Conglomerate. The meeting set off a chain of events that would alter Aziel's life, and he very quickly learned one thing – read the FINE PRINT. 

A hostile takeover, threatening to wrest control of the company from the Gordy family – they’d break it up, selling it off piece by piece until it was but a shell company. Everything his father had worked for, gone. Without as much as a thought to what it’d do to the employees.

His father looked like he was ready to give up. To let the company go, even if he could see it killed him. It was in that fire, with the rage of hell in his stomach, that Aziel sought out another buyer, and hastily signed a contract with Niram, another corporate name, in which he’d previously done business with. Of course, in his haste, Aziel, without fully understanding its terms, signed his death warrant. Buried in the fine print was a clause that meant one thing: Aziel would become a vampire of the Dracula bloodline by midnight.

A meeting was called at the head office in New York City. It was meant to be a celebration, a cheer to all the good work the company had done, and of course, to their new leader Aziel. 

But Aziel had no control, not that he or they knew that yet. Once the office had cleared and Niram and Aziel discussed the terms of the contract, the other lunged. It happened so fast; he had no way of reacting, or knowing what he’d done when he signed.

He might as well have done it in his own blood.

The transformation left Aziel lost, a pawn in the hands of the Dracula lineage. With his father having just transferred control of the company to him, Aziel found himself trapped in a nightmare, a horror film, that had jumped out of the screen and become his reality. He might’ve ‘saved’ his company, but he’d traded his soul in return. Not only that, but his home life began to suffer. Sneaking out at night to feed led his wife to suspect he was cheating, and arguments that had been barely non-existent before were now a common occurrence. Meanwhile, the company pressed him for increased profits, and the need to feed only grew.

Good traits: Loyal, Morally right & Diligent.

Bad traits: Inflexible, Resentful & quick-tempered.

[azielgordy]

WHO: @thecursed-starters WHEN: 31st of May, 2024. Type: For Vampires. Vampire only bar. WHERE: Elliot's Bar, 5* Plaza — New York City. (NOT ATTENDING CARNIVAL)

The rain-soaked asphalt stuffed itself up his nose, the outside of Elliot's looking inviting after the day he'd had.

The off-kiltered, dingy orange neon sign flickering, the grime of the years passed clinging to the light. Just a year ago, he would've never stepped foot inside a place like this. Had no need too, but even now he could feel that burning fire in his throat, the way his skin felt a little too tight, too dry. There were a few places where his kind could come, where it wasn't acceptable to drink — to take what he needed.

He'd never wanted this life, but albeit, he wasn't ready to forfeit it.

Aziel hadn't long left work, his muscles ached, not from over-exertion but from the similar aching in his gums, that endless stabbing pain -- alerting him to what he already knew. He was hungry, starving, even. Dressed in a three piece off-grey tailored suit said what it needed too, that a corporate man was entering the facility. But here, it meant jack shit. In this world, tapping power came from age and alliance...the corporate world still held weight, especially when two vampires were partnered together. Still, Aziel moved with as powerful a stride as he could muster, jaw tight as he pushed through the doors to the bar.

Walking in, the hum of conversation dipped momentarily, eyes flicking towards the new arrival. Aziel was no stranger to such scrutiny; his life had always been a performance, a delicate balance of power and perception.

Sharp features suited Aziel perfectly, but it'd never been that way before. Back when he'd been human. At 39, he carried the weight of his crumbling life, the way each day felt like a battle to keep hold of something he'd once had. His father’s stoic teachings,his mother’s moral compass shaped him into the man he was today, yet the foundation of conflict that had settled within him had been from the actions to save his father's business: a hostile takeover was no easy feat. But he'd done it. At his own expense.

His wife, his strength, deserved better than the monster he feared he was turning into.

"O negative, please." the words falling from his mouth, turning to lean his back against the bar, his lips setting into a thin line. "Any news?" the words were quiet, although he was aware of his current company. Silence, momentary, passed.

"Not for a week. I heard that there was another shipment in a week." The bar man, Albert, stated while preparing the drink. They'd met a few times, easygoing and laid back was how he seemed nintey-five percent of the time. But if you looked a little deeper, there was something different. Darker, more intelligent.

"They're trafficking blood, Alb. That's..." He still had a moral compass.

"I know, Az."

Aziel scanned the room, noting the varied clientele – a mix of regulars and drifters, all seeking something their craving. He was just another one among many, each with their own battles, their own stories. How many had been turned against their will? How many were there like him in here alone? Or who'd made the choice for a life of eternity. His wife, no doubt, was looking at the clock, imagining all kinds of scenarios in her head. But what could he tell her?

That he was a fucking vampire? No, he thought, not. He'd been normal. Once.

The bar offered no answers, just his meal. Tomorrow, the world would demand more of him – his company, the hunger, the façade he attempted to maintain. But for now, in this small pocket of time, Aziel allowed himself to simply be. A man, a husband, a son.

"Let me know if you hear anything -- " He stopped, lips parting. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

[azielgordy]

CREED III (2023) dir. Michael B. Jordan