orvillebarron

[orvillebarron]

Orville + Objects in the Rear View Mirror May Appear Closer Than They Are (Verse 1) // Meat Loaf

(Verse 2) || (Verse 3)

[orvillebarron]

"Well, with everyone here, it's turned out quite the time to get to know some people. Does that mean you're in the know, or just know there's something others do?" He asks, lightly. It sounds playful in way he really isn't, but lighthearted works best in this situation. She has a curious aura to her, to where he can't quite pin down where her loyalties lay from just a glance and a scent. "Is it important to you?"

Whether Orville means to or not, or sensed it or not, he calls her on her lie of vaguery - she's here because she's expected to be; Althea specifically had mentioned it, and with how scarce the old guard of the Fellowship have been recently, it feels important for the guild to make its face known here, even if it feels like mice going to the cat's dinner table.

Of course, she's a cat in mouse's clothes, however the shit that works.

"Same thing really." Another half-life. "I've got like three people I've hovered around since showing up. This seems kind of important, if you're in the know, you know?"

[orvillebarron]

"Oh, good. I wouldn't know enough to continue any further than that," Orville says, a willing admittance of how little he understood the clans here at all.

The witch's focus further grabs his interest. More animal...? "Animal... including human?" He asks. "I've run with some with some witches with an interest in life magicks, in the past." Life was a... choice way to describe the kinds of magic that group had dabbled in.

He gives another small smile at the compliment. "Thank you," he said. "I like to think I have good taste in aesthetics. Not so much in practicalities or comforts, but I'd rather this than a standard suit. You wear yours well, too," he adds, a slight gesture at the other man's outfit with his occupied hand. "Some people don't pay enough attention to the fabric quality. It really makes all the difference."

“I suppose I don’t know enough about the clan’s politics to counter that.” He conceded, tipping his glass towards the man in a conciliatory gesture. “Garnett’s focus is magic concerning life and nature. My personal focus is more animal than plant-related, though. It all falls under the same umbrella of life magic.” 

“You take to it well enough. The stained glass is an interesting touch.” Jaya said, nodding to the cummerbund. He figured it couldn’t be comfortable, but at an event like this, going for form over function was a statement on its own. “Seeing all of these regular black suits has been disheartening. I was beginning to fear I'd moved to a town that utterly lacked in aesthetic risk-taking. You wear it well.”

[orvillebarron]

He looks over the crowd, again. There's little to focus on in faces - there's too many, and finding one he does know feels a lot like looking for a needle in a haystack. Easier to focus on the room surrounding them, then, and to look at the art & aesthetic he can much more easily recognize.

The woman next to him has the subtle smell of magic, and looks enough at ease in this place that he feels comfortable presuming the magic is her own, and not borrowed from others like so many hunters tended to.

“Orville Barron. Pleasure to meet you,” he responds. “I was from Louisiana, once upon a time. But I haven’t been back in many years. Right now, home is here. I teach at Tidewater as of this last year. I take it you’ve been a traveler up until recently, then? What store have you settled down here to run?"

She looks proudly on at the twirling crowd around her. Juniper is dancing with a ruggedly handsome vampire. Irene is quibbling with the tall boy Thera met during the storm. Thera smiles as she takes a sip of her mocktail. The revelry in the room is practically effervescent and it’s not just because the Mariposa coven is literally creating brightly coloured bubble figures in the corner.

She could swear she had even seen Cait enter the party with AJ. An unlikely pairing but Thera was familiar with their own unique brands of ambition. In a weird way she knew they would either compliment each other beautifully or tear each other apart in a manner so devastating not even Thera knew I’d she could pick up the pieces.

But nonetheless she was happy for her people. She might be carrying around an organ that had been irrevocably torn apart and scrambled by the past month, but they should all find happiness, in whatever shape took their fancy.

She was almost too caught up in her musings to recognize when the suave man next to her acknowledged her. “The venue is lovely,” she acknowledged, “and I wouldn’t say I was from here but I’ve spent more time here than I have anywhere else.” She smiled softly, “I recently took up my aunt’s old store, so you can now call me a permanent resident.”

She picked up the gentle tenor of a southern drawl on the man’s voice, though she knew from the faint thread spun about his person that he was of the undead persuasion, “My name is Thera Wendell,” she smiled more fully this time, “where would you say you are from?”

[orvillebarron]

"Skillfully applied elegance," he muses. "I consider it a sign of true artistry, to know the right level of extravagance called for." Architecture and interior design aren't his areas of creative expertise, but he is well-versed in breaking down the big picture and seeing what works, and what doesn't.

He gives a faint smile, a touch amused by the comment about the grocery store. "And the paths through Port Leiry are so very scenic," he agrees. "There's many places to get lost in, here. I've kept myself closer to campus, but I suppose it would do me some good to venture out into the rest of the city more often."

Spice Road. Orville has little use for restaurants, but it never hurts to know a little bit more about those around him. "With how some here have been going at the finger foods, I'm sure you'll recruit some new patrons with ease."

Her question gives him just a moment of pause. Worth it? He's spoken to hardly anyone so far tonight, and so little of his life felt like it was worth anything in these long, lonely years. "I can think of no better use of my evening," he says, a careful non-answer.

There’s a small shift in her posture when he speaks again —subtle, but real. Not tension, just… a touch more attention. He sounded thoughtful, and she always liked that. Not many people slowed down long enough to be. “That’s exactly it,” she replies, voice just above the hum of the room. “It could have gone over the top, but they reined it in. That kind of restraint feels intentional.” Her gaze flicks briefly across the crowd —people laughing too loudly, some posturing, others floating through with a kind of practiced ease. She didn’t judge them for it. But she knew she wasn’t one of them, not really.

The part about being new here earns a quiet smile from her, and she lifts her glass just slightly. “A year is enough to know the grocery store and still get lost on the scenic routes,” she offers lightly, her tone laced with good-natured honesty. “So I think your none of the above works.” Aylin hesitates at his question, before choosing her words with a bit of care. “A friend invited me,” she says, gently. “Said I should stop working for once and try showing up. Thought it wouldn’t hurt to let people know I exist outside the kitchen.”

There’s a soft shrug, almost sheepish. “I run a place not far from here. It’s small, but it matters to me. Spice Road. Food with a lot of history in it. I figured… if nothing else, I’d meet some new faces and maybe tempt one or two toward a late-night meal sometime.”

Her smile lingers for a moment longer, then fades into something a little more quiet, sincere. “And I guess… even if I don’t always feel like I belong in rooms like this, sometimes you show up anyway. Just to see what happens. Has it been worth it so far for you?”

[orvillebarron]

He keeps his expression neutral as she speaks. Tries to quell the frustration as foundational to him as his very bones. People did seem to regard his sympathies as being blind to the reality of a situation. A struggle his perpetual youth only seemed to emphasize. “It’s necessary for tonight, of course,” he replies, carefully. “Effective, minimally harmful to them provided everyone behaves. I’m not saying it’s bad. I just don’t like seeing a whole lot of blank faces wandering a room. That’s all.” If that makes him a bleeding heart, so be it.

Small sip of wine. Continue mild-mannered appearances. Accept the lecture with grace, as if he hasn’t observed humanity from a distance for almost a century.

“Leone,” he repeats, to help commit the name to memory. “We may have missed each other before, then. I’ve not been in town long.” He meets her wink with a good-natured smile. “Yes, it’s certainly a benefit I can appreciate. I’ve always preferred the… lackadaisical approach. I appreciate comradery, but I like to hold the strings when it comes to how I live my own life.”

A vampire with a conscience. Popular culture had done a number on the public's perception of broody, angsty vampires in the late 90s and early 2000s, and she's not sure if their image has ever recovered. "I consider it a touch better than having them shaking in their shoes for something like this," Leone explains shrewdly. "Fear can be a powerful motivator in the right amounts, but it also makes people stupid." Human behavior was largely predictable and they loved to imagine themselves as heroes, like they were anything more than ants in a world full of giants.

Her head inclines just the barest amount as he gives her his name. It's only familiar to her because she makes it a point to learn those who are loosely connected via the clan they share. "Leone Kennedy," she replies, and she waves off both his apology and offer of a handshake in one motion. "I've been away from the city for some time, long enough to smooth over any nuisances I may have left behind in my last jaunt through the city. If you don't know my name, it means I've been gone long enough," she says with a conspiratorial wink. "The benefits of a clan like Kanemaru is that no one bothers you about the details like they do in Pretorius or Reardon."

[orvillebarron]

He gave a small nod at that. "I hope they pay well enough to make it worth putting up with us all here." It was what he’d figured, but this wasn’t the place to make any assumptions out loud.

“No, I…” Orville dwelled on it for a moment. He’d heard whispers of the Conclave since he was meant to be a hunter, but being in the room was something he’d never dreamt of. His father never would have trusted him to a room of supernaturals (for good reason, in retrospect), and he’s steered clear of any since turning because… he couldn’t put his finger on why. (Because he couldn’t bear the empty space beside him, having no one hanging off his arm and murmuring witty comments in his ear all evening.) But it had been far too long of closing himself off, and it was hard to pass up the opportunity when it came up so conveniently like this (and with a topic like daylight jewelry at the center).

“It’s my first,” he finished, after that moment’s pause. “And it’s the first time I’ve had a clan to come with. I'm really here to meet more of them." He swirled the wine in his glass gently before taking another sip. "You know, I thought I’d enjoy an excuse to dress up, but I’m learning that fashion has the issue of practicality in a way art does not."

“Working.” Lucas answered, looking the stranger up and down. Glass in his clothing didn’t look comfortable, and from the way the stranger was holding himself so stiffly, it wasn’t one of those little bait and switches where something’s secretly not as pointless as it looks. He wondered why someone so clearly uncomfortable with the social parts of this thing would opt for being physically uncomfortable, as well. Must be one of those things that happened in the minds of someone who’d give enough of a shit about the politics happening here to show up and ignore the party parts.

“You’re not alone there. This place is full of people here who ain’t used to this kind of thing.” The man smelled enough like that almost-rot that seemed to follow vampires around that he didn't bother asking whether he was a bloodsucker or not. "You come to any of these before with your clan?"

[orvillebarron]

Her response gets a laugh from him, short but real. “Perhaps it’s not to everyone's taste,” he says. “But beauty is beauty, is it not?” She seems more flustered than anything, and though he’s done his best not to show it, it’s a small relief to see he’s not the only one feeling overwhelmed by the magnitude of the evening.

“Just about a year as well,” Orville responds. “I came to see the people. It’s an awful big city, and a year’s not long to meet many of them. What, exactly, are you curious about here?”

(He’s curious about the people, of course. But he’d be a liar to say he wasn’t also intrigued by the talks of daylight jewelry.)

"Oh, yeah it's fantastic if you like hoity toity stuff yeah." She looks around. "Not that hoity toity is like, bad, just. You know." She gestures, vaguely, as if he should, well, know. Cleofe's a rookie. She's a newbie on both ends of the candle she's burning. Waverly knows her on the werewolf side, and and... Althea knows her on the hunter side, and then just barely.

Why the hell's she here, she wonders. It's flirting with disaster and, yes, she does love flirting, but generally its with things that are a slightly less lethal sort of entertainment. Hard to pick up the subtleties that are present in quieter environments. The old heartbeat-sniff-check is tough in a crowd this big and this full of monsters.

"Uh, I been here about a year," she says. "Heard about this from a friend of a friend. Kind of curious, I guess. And you?"

[orvillebarron]

He smiles at her, only somewhat interested in who she was representing here tonight. Her voice is a welcome change from the more prominent voices he’s heard clips of tonight — warm and soft, contrasted so sharply by the thrum of more lively conversations filling the rest of the room.

“I agree,” he says. “It’s beautiful, not quite ostentatious. A thin line to tread.” She had a friendliness to her that he knows better than to trust. If it’s a mask, it’s not worth believing. If it’s true… she wouldn’t mean it if she knew what he was.

Still, he could never bring himself to be anything less than warm & polite to someone with such friendly airs. “It’s a lot more than I’m used to, too,” he admits. “And I’m local, with quotations, as you put it. Just been here since last year. This is my first event like this, and I’m here for at least a few more years. So, I suppose… none of the above?” He says, with a touch of humor to it. “May I ask what brought you here tonight, to something that’s not your corner of things?”

She hadn’t expected anyone to approach —not with the way she'd stayed tucked along the edge of the crowd, half-hidden behind a tall floral arrangement and a half-sipped glass of something she couldn’t quite name. The music was soft enough to think through, and the lighting kind enough to pretend the whole room wasn’t glittering in every direction.

Still, when the voice lands beside her, she turns without hesitation.

“They did,” she says, voice easy, laced with that gentle warmth that seems to come naturally to her. “It's… elegant, but not overwhelming. I think that’s hard to pull off in a place like this.”

A brief smile follows. It’s the kind that lives in her eyes before it ever reaches her mouth.

“I’m local,” she adds, after a beat. “Sort of. Long enough to stop using air quotes around the word.” Her fingers tighten around the glass just slightly. “I usually keep to my corner of things, though. This is... a lot more sparkle than I’m used to.”

She glances at him then —curious, but not in a way that presses. Just a quiet, kind invitation.

“And you? Are you a just passing through type or pretending this isn’t your tenth event like this?”

[orvillebarron]

He ducked his gaze back to his glass for a moment, somehow left feeling embarrassed by the sentiment he had spoken with. He wasn’t a flirt by nature. But the glimmer of those eyes in the light of the venue…

Candles light the small room he’s allowed to see. He keeps quiet and just observes. Searched the handful of faces until he finds that remarkable golden brown in the flickering firelight. Their eyes don’t leave him as the questions begin, though they say nothing throughout the interrogation. Every time he catches them, they’re just as intent on him. It should unsettle him, being the center of such persistent focus, but instead… Instead, when he returns home, he finds his brush again and starts anew. More than just color remains with him this time as he draws on memory of that face in the candlelight. Loose features frame those irises, adding in the deep tones of their skin, the sharp ivory of the makeup so carefully painted across their face.

Orville hadn’t painted in decades, but the person stood before him had fingers he’d long since lost itching for an instrument they could no longer wield.

He let out a laugh at the jab, low and soft, and raised his glass in return. “You say grungy, I prefer free-spirited.” He took a small sip of his wine before continuing, “I’m glad to know I don’t come off too poorly. I wasn’t exactly raised in high society.” His family had never been particularly well-off, and it had taken a few decades to get his feet under him in any meaningful way. “Garnett, you said? I’m afraid I’m not too familiar with the covens in the area. What exactly do you… specialize in?

Was there anything more obviously catered to his presumed tastes than a vampire with a cliche line, spoken with just enough sincerity that he almost believed the man meant it? He had to stop himself from glancing around, half expecting to see Cait half-hidden behind one of the sculptures, watching to see if he would lean into it or abstain as he’d promised, and deciding how much homework he would owe her depending on his course of action. 

The drink in his hands was saying that a few compliments had to be worth an essay on ritual structures. It wasn’t like he was wrong, either. Vanity wasn’t something he shied away from, and there was something in his tone that reminded him enough of another vampire waxing poetic about how he might chance a few seconds in the sun just to see it caught in eyes that the moon did no justice to. He couldn’t be faulted for letting a smile slide easily across his face. Excuses, excuses...

“So I’ve been told, though I suspect I’ll never grow tired of hearing it.” There. Neutral, accepting the compliment and laying out the groundwork to receive more. He tilted his glass towards Orville in a half-toast. “Kanemaru, aren’t those the vampiric anarchists? I wouldn’t have expected such a grungy ideology from a man dressed so sharply. I suppose looks can be deceiving.”

[orvillebarron]

The other man was quite a sight, draped in purple and gold. The fabric was decadent, rich. Tonight was all about opulence, clearly (he himself was no different), but the man carried himself with a confidence that completed the look. Like a painting, carefully composed.

But those eyes were what drew his attention. The color, the gleam, the life behind them... it felt familiar.

The first thing he sees as the blindfold comes off are the most beautiful set of eyes he’s ever seen in his life. Shimmering, rich brown. Tiger’s eye. Embers in a dying fire. Mystical, stunning… magical. When he makes it home the next morning, set loose in the woods near his father’s house to make it back (show us you can survive, hunter, the witch whispers), the only thing he can think to do is take out his paints and shut himself up until that color is echoed across the canvas.

"Orville," he said, as his mind scrambled to catch up to his mouth. "Orville Barron, of Kanemaru. I teach at Tideview, as of this last year.” He took a sip of his drink, the memory of those irises burning at the forefront of his mind. Glass clutched close to his chest, right arm stiff at his side, he once again looked the man in the face. “I’m sorry, I… you have the most beautiful eyes,” he said, softly, reverently. Like he couldn't help the words falling from his lips.

“I moved here recently.” He looked the stranger up and down. Smartly dressed, with a lean towards cohesive materials that seems to suggest knowledge of aesthetics. The drink in his glass was too thick to make out if it was mixed with blood or not, the red-wine deception proving to be a common thing at this event. The hand that Jaya almost brought up to adjust the high collar of his outfit, almost to remind himself it was there, stopped at his chest, adjusting his necklaces instead. Wary, but open. He was trying to be safe, not standoffish and rude.

“Jaya El-Amin, formerly of the Phial branch in Dubai, currently with Port Leiry’s branch of Garnett now. A much better fit for my talents. And you?” The easy admittance of his coven affiliations was just another way to prompt the stranger to voice his own loyalties. He was drunk, but not so drunk that he was forgetting the politics of the evening.

[orvillebarron]

Orville's fluttered around the edge of the crowd so far tonight, failing to find a reason to say any more than a brief hello to someone he's bumped into. He's not shy, but this whole event has him out of his element. Everyone else seems to know how to act and who to talk to (or at the very least, they can fake it a hell of a lot better than he can).

He leans back against the wall as much as he can - the glass cummerbund isn't very amenable to an attempt at bad posture. He's hoping to spot a few familiar faces here, to make for an easier jumping-off point into the fray, when the man next to him speaks up. Orville's prosthetic is straight and stiff at his side (the downside to the aesthetic - manual adjustment was needed to operate the joint). The wineglass in his left hand is half-full.

He glances over at the man, who's dressed like event staff and smells of wolf. After a moment, he says, "No, not sick of it. Just don't quite know where to start. Everything's so... high class. It's a whole lot different from what I'm used to." He tilts his head slightly. "Are you attending or working?"

Who: Open (3/5) When: Conclave, Cocktail hour

Lucas wasn’t stupid. He knew a werewolf-specific job was probably for something shady that he didn’t want to get involved in, but... uprooting his life and road tripping across the country to freak out and procrastinate meeting his only living family was expensive, and he needed the cash. Besides, how bad could it be? He’d thrown on something decent enough to not look like he’d wandered in off the street, cleaned up his appearance, and even got a haircut instead of just doing it himself in a mirror.  

Keep to the edges of the room, look vaguely intimidating, and keep an eye out for hunters who might cause trouble and any human that attracts it. Easy money.

Or, it should be. The last person to get on his nerves clearly mistook him for a waiter, snapping their fingers at him and watching him expectantly like he was a dog that was taking too long to learn a new trick, their drink order getting lost and jumbled beneath the sound of the music and the hum of the crowd. He wasn’t above pulling the deaf card to get out of that, cocking his head to the side and tapping his bad ear with a practiced look of regret on his face, the kind that said Oh I’m so sorry, there is nothing I would have wanted more than to hear your drink order instead of Snap at me like a dog again and I’ll take your glass and shove it so far up your—

Deep breath. Whatever. The asshole had wandered off without a fight, thankfully, and he was back to watching the crowd, leaning against the wall. He only spared a glance when someone came to lean on the same wall, taking a break from the crowd. They were on his good side, at least, so he didn't have to turn too much to hear them. 

“Sick of it already?” Lucas said, turning his head to the other person to try to get a read on them "Party's only just starting." 

[orvillebarron]

Who: Open Where: The Conclave When: Towards the end of cocktail hour

He times his late arrival well, and gracefully slips past the red carpet set-up. Despite the care he presents himself with, he’s not one for preening before an audience. He loves art and aesthetic, not the stress-headache of attention that tends to accompany it.

This is a world he isn’t used to. He wasn’t raised with the wealth on display here tonight, not by far. The politics underlining it all, he’s somewhat familiar with — very much against his will, at the time, despite his father’s best attempts to interest him. Socializing is what’s important here, at least in his eyes. He still feels too unfamiliar with the residents of this town, even those of his (relatively) new clan.

His left hand is occupied with a glass (blood-infused wine) that he plans to nurse over the course of the night. Really, so far, he’s bided his time along the edges of the crowd to take in the interior of this center for the arts. It would be easier to pass the night like this… but that would be a waste of this opportunity here.

So he steels himself, takes a sip of wine, and turns to the first unoccupied person he sees. “They’ve picked a lovely venue,” he says, not clear himself who the they he’s referring to are, exactly. But with the range of guests here tonight, it’s better to start off on a neutral topic. “Are you visiting, or from the area?”

[orvillebarron]

“I know,” he says softly. He takes a sip of his own drink to break the momentary eye contact. “I’m just not all that used to seeing so many… compelled folks walking around. Takes some getting used to.” He knows he’s got no room to judge another vampire for getting blood (especially in such a clean, polite manner), and he’s not. The environment here is just… unsettling to him. Watching servers move through the room, compelled, unaware of the crowd they’re serving doesn’t feel right to him.

But, then, perhaps he’s still holding too tightly to a standard of humanity that doesn’t apply. The event needs servers. The humans can’t be allowed to remember what they’ve seen tonight. It’s… sensible. He takes another sip of his drink and just hopes that they’re being well-compensated. That feels like a very un-vampiric concern to be having in the midst of an event like this.

“You look familiar,” he says, attempting to break himself out of this strange, sudden moral crisis. “I’m afraid I’ve never gotten good at remembering names, though, even with a century of practice. Orville Barron. I… would offer a handshake, but…” (but I’ve got a glass in one hand, and the other is a glass hand.)

Who: Open Where: The Conclave

Port Leiry is one of those places that seems to change every time she leaves, yet remains entirely the same in many ways. On the surface, details morph and faces shift, but the horror that lies underneath is ever present. It's partially why Leone established the city as her home. When she heard about the Conclave being held here, she considered it a lucky coincidence. Her fingers drum along the marble-carved bar as she flags down one of the compelled servers. "An old-fashioned if you please, don't skimp on the bourbon." She smooths a hand down the human's face and pats it gently. "Drop a little of your own blood in there before you bring it back. From your wrist is fine." As she watches the server walk away to fetch her drink, she meets the eye of the person next to her. "Oh, don't give me that look. They regenerate the stuff."

[orvillebarron]

Orville Barron at the Conclave.

Orville does his best to avoid the chaos of the red carpet, and arrives about fifteen minutes into cocktail hour. Not trying to be fashionably late, just normal, under the radar late. He's not exactly dying to be here, but one doesn't simply skip out on an event like the Conclave. Despite his lack of enthusiasm, he's taken care not to show it in his style. His tuxedo is a deep burgundy, with a black shirt and dress shoes. A white ascot tie & pocket square provide simple contrast against the deeper colors of his jacket & shirt. Blood-red cufflinks peek out from his jacket sleeves, coordinated with the main event of his ensemble: a stained glass cummerbund, a delicate piece of art glinting red where it rests at his waist. His right arm tonight is similarly beautiful but impractical - a solid glass piece, with no function beyond aesthetic (well... one probably wouldn't want to have it swung at their skull, but that was less intended function and more improvised weapon). His makeup is a black liner carefully blended out into a rich red eyeshadow. He's avoiding what drama he can for tonight (and certainly steering clear of what hunters he can clock), but keeping an eye out for fellow Kanemaru, other vampires, and any others that he feels drawn to... or that may feel drawn to him.

[orvillebarron]

( David Jonsson / Male / He/Him ) — Orville Barron has been living in Port Leiry for 1 year. They currently work as an Arts Professor at Tidewater, and are 98 23 years old. No one is sure if they’re actually a Vampire or if they’re connected to Kanemaru. They tend to be quite melancholic and unambitious, but can also be passionate and centered. — ( Bec / CST / he/they / 23 / none )

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