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[mk-scrawlings]

J’vett wove a path through the dimly lit tavern-turned-nightclub. The few individuals who had drawn his attention all seemed to be there with a partner already and as much fun as it could be he wasn’t in the mood for trying to steal a date.

The evening wouldn’t be a complete bust though, this did seem like a good location to visit, especially on a busier weekend night. “Let me have a house special.” He smiled at the bartender and glanced down the bar at the individuals filling out the stools. “Hey there handsome.” J’vett flashed a grin at the dark-haired miqo’te sitting next to him. “You have any plans this evening?” His winning smile continued to hold even if he expected to be shot down any moment now.

“I think I have an opening.”

J’vett’s brows raised in response a momentary surprise growing his smile even wider.

“You are talking about a tarot reading, aren’t you?” The dark-haired man turned his gaze upward and J’vett was met with a striking set of odd colored eyes. Pale green and lavender.

“I’d love one.”

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The church grounds were wide and sprawling, but unlike many would have you believe they were not all hallowed. Nothing, holy or otherwise, impeded Rook's passage through darkened gardens on the cathedral's southside this evening. There was no crunch of grass or audible footfalls as he walked, the sounds of his movement were dampened, just one of his clan's many gifts.

Halfway across the cut-stone patio, which happened to be halfway to the unsuspecting nun, he dropped the focus on that particular gift. Three steps more, and his hard-soled boots clipped the stonework below him, halving the distance again and making the woman spin in surprise.

She turned to see a man adorned in a black cassocks trimmed with white—or was that silver?—cording. "Oh! Father, you frightened me." The cloistered Sister held her hand to her chest attempting to calm her heartbeat. "I didn't realize we had visitors this evening. Were you here for the evening mass?"

"Forgive me Sister, I didn't mean to startle you," he apologised with a smile, "and no, I am afraid I missed mass this evening. In truth I just arrived. I had hoped that Father Stacy might be around?" He clasped both hands in front of himself, resting his gaze softly upon her.

"Oh, friends with our new Archbishop?" The woman's smile was genuine and she relaxed in the minister's company. "I'm afraid he's not here at the moment. He had to leave on business just before the sun went down, but he probably won't be too long. Would you like to come inside and wait?" She took a half step towards the cathedral's nearest side door and extended a hand in a polite gesture.

"I thank you but I really couldn't. Not even if I wanted to, you understand." The invitation was appreciated, of course, but his own choice of words caused a wide smile to creep across his face. "I just happened to be passing this way but no, to answer your question, I am not acquainted with the good Father Stacy. I heard about his new appointment and had hoped to correct that oversight." He smiled for her once more, his words dripping with saccharin sweetness. "You would perhaps do me the kind favor of letting him know I stopped and asked after him?"

"But of course Father… Ah. I'm sorry, I'm afraid I didn't get your name?"

The vampire smiled, but with the practice afforded a man of his age, did so without the unnecessary display of fangs. "Father Mikhailov. Sister Anna, was it?" He questioned with a knowing grin.

"I- why yes, Father. Have we met?" At that moment she couldn't remember if she'd introduced herself or not. She was sure she hadn't. The smile he offered before changing the subject had been almost wolfish, she could have sworn, and the man's sudden coolness made her uncomfortable.

He relished that feeling for just a moment, letting silence hang in the air several beats too long."I really must be going now, before the night sets in too deeply. You too should get yourself safe inside. Don't forget my message for the good Father." A final radiant smile graced his lips, any hint of dread he'd caused brushed away in an instant. "Oh." He stopped short before he could turn to leave. "Also ask him if he likes to play chess." He paused only long enough to see the woman comprehend his addition before taking his leave.

He couldn't help but wonder, as he walked out past the church's lands, had he read the good Father correctly? Would he be up for a little game before one of them decided it was time to cut to the chase? Hopefully, in his own way, he would accept the invitation for entertainment.

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Rook tugged on the sleeve of his robe, then twisted his wrist a few times. The stone tile clicked beneath his hard-soled boots as he passed down a hallway normally reserved for servants and laborers of the Lady’s keep. A sharp right took him into a well-lit corridor where his steps fell silent on the elaborate woolen runner. He paused briefly before the oversized door that ran into the keep’s main hall. He wore dark robes not unlike those of the theocracy but with ornate silver accents and an unmistakable lack of the black and white priests’ collar that would have denoted him as a part of the clergy. His long white hair was slicked back, cut just below his shoulders. He tucked a few loose hairs behind his ear and with both hands pulled the doors open. The main hall’s court wasn’t empty, as much as he would have preferred it that way. He walked with a purpose down the center aisle offering no gaze to either side. It was with some dark blessing that just as many of the Lady’s guests likewise ignored him. All but those with a penchant for gossip. Stopping short of carpet lined stairs, he knelt before a chair cast in darkness. With one fist on the ground and his head bent low, he waited. Several strands of white-silver hair slipped and gathered by his cheek. The unnatural darkness that gathered on that end of the room dissipated slowly revealing the Mistress of the keep. “Speak.” She offered no greeting or preamble and watched the childe at her feet. “My Lady. Heir Atkinson is no more. He fell prey to a hunter only this night past.” He paused only briefly before continuing. “The legate recently appointed to the northern diocese.” The woman had turned her attention to the idle chatters of the court as he spoke, only looking back to the bowed and kneeling man once he’d finished speaking. “Tsk. I will have Nessy send my condolences to his progenitor. The legate – will he be a problem?” Something in the corner of the room caught her attention. “I believe he will, My Lady. He seems like an archbishop with undeniable expertise in his field. Dangerous.” She continued to look at something in the corner that no one else could see. “My favorite kind.” Her gaze fell once more on Rook. “What are your intentions with the man?” “Only to observe, My Lady.” “Do as you wish, but don’t disappoint me. Remember the rules of the game, My Rook. Dismissed.” He stood and offered another bow before turning to leave the court. Whispers went across the room like a wave as the end of the court darkened once more and the Lady retreated to observe once more. The game of course had been chess, and rook his assigned piece.

In chess at the opening of the game bishops are often more powerful than rooks. Rooks can usually be counted as more powerful in the middlegame. A bishop versus rook endgame however, all comes down to player skill.

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Rook held no illusions to the fact that if the hunter hadn’t seen him, he had certainly sensed something more was there. Why he hadn’t investigated further would remain known only to the black-clad priest. Rook had no intention of trailing him, the same as he’d had no intention of stepping in on the other vampire’s behalf. In fact, Rook believed, unlike the hunter, the vampire hadn’t even noticed his presence.

This is where his thoughts lead, while the candle flames flickered in the small lair the vampire had carved out for himself. A heavy wooden table sat before him piled with papers, books, scripture, and a small collection of bottles. He leaned heavily on one arm of the chair he had settled himself into, his cheekbone pressed firmly against his curled knuckles. He thought with his eyes closed, and recounted the hunter’s succinct ferocity.

The other vampire hadn’t been a pushover. He was no young blood, however anyone watching wouldn’t have known. The hunter had dispatched his prey in a cold, quick, and almost calculated manner. There had been barely a sound to draw attention to their brief scuffle but it was the look on the hunter’s face that made him worth remembering. Unless Rook was mistaken the man had worn coy zealot’s grin the whole while. Did he enjoy his work?

Rook was familiar with the man, at least by name and station. An archbishop of the nearby diocese. Capable, sharp, unbending…and perhaps just a mite bit cruel. It was an all too familiar group of descriptors – a dangerous group, even. “You will cause needless and endless trouble for me, won’t you, Father Stacy.”