soleiltrembly - Tumblr blog

[soleiltrembly]

She listens to Mikala talk - that, at least to her, the key difference between people like her and hunters like the ones in the Fellowship. There's no space to listen. She was taught, early on, that there was no reason to listen. That a witch knows only lies. Roanoke had taught her different. Taught her that a Hunter can lie just the same as any vamp, wolf, or witch.

"Well it seems we agree on the broad strokes."

She makes no mention of finer points - the Garnett Coven isn't known for its mastery of death, but as an inevitable part of the nature of life, that ground is covered in their purview, and it's no coincidence that they're currently meeting in the aftermath of an attack on a cemetery used as a focus and gathering place, and there are only so many wholesome things to be done in a graveyard.

"All you can offer is all I can ask, for now, boo." Soleil says with a wink and a smile. She stands, feeling this little discussion nearing its natural conclusion. tilting her head at the last part of his sentence, before turning it to the side. "I agree! I've got such a nice profile, don't you think? Can't get that angle in a casket."

She finishes her coffee, searching around for a bin. "You keep your eye out, I'll keep my ears out, see if we can't shore up the gaps. I've hunted a lot of things before, but hunting hunters is new territory, so I guess we'll see who comes out on top."

You have the look of a cynic. There's a chuckle at that, and he uses it to soften his expression slightly, recognizing how his hardened features come across when navigating this particular subject.

Still, the coldness in his eyes remain.

"There's no distinction within their cause, as you've more or less said. What they do is cruelty for the sake of cruelty," and when did he gain the right to judge? It's a stone cast in a glass house.

Quite frankly, if it hadn't affected him so closely now, he's not sure that he would bat an eye at the attack; guilty of his own crimes, on par with the brutality of this new branch of hunters, if not worse.

Unfortunately, this attack occurred on grounds owned by a Garnett witch, forcing him into this position. Woe is the leader who chose this. Continues to choose it, even.

"Fellowship saw a dip in their numbers—more so than we did—if that's what you're asking. Names, faces, cadavers... all accounted for."

With a sigh and sincerity on display, Mikala leans forward, "You have my cooperation, love. You've had it this entire time." But, that leaves them with determining where to go next. Evidently—

"This situation is a fucking mess." Preaching to the choir. "Neither of us will reach a satisfying conclusion, not until witches and hunters alike figure out how to handle this faction. They're still establishing themselves—we'll be stuck here for some time. All I can offer to you, at least in this moment, is to remain watchful. Mutual purpose or not, it'd be a shame to see your pretty face in the obituaries."

[soleiltrembly]

It should, he says, and it does - paranoia aside, boy had good stuff. She can't blame him, or anyone really, for connecting her name to the club - she'd been warned by a friend on arrival that it would happen, and happen it did, at least once a week since she'd arrived in town and taken over the Sweetwater. "Yeah, like the club." She says, half-laughing. "Go there often?" It's a probing question asked in an unassuming tone, and the answer will be telling - not just the answer itself, but the tone that carries it. "S'a really rough spot of town."

"It should," he stated. Julian was good at rolling joints since he'd had about a decade's worth of practice at this point and on top of that he'd rolled these up for himself so of course they were going to be good.

Julian took a long drag before shaking his head to answer as he held in the smoke. "Nah, just chillin' really," he stated. He wasn't sure exactly what he was going to get up to with the rest of his night but he wasn't sweating it much. "Oh like the club," he stated. Julian was a frequent patron of the establishment. "I'm Julian. It's nice to meet ya," he said as he offered the joint once again.

[soleiltrembly]

"Interesting? Nah, Well. Few new neckbiters around town mixing in with the olds, keeping an eye on that... of course, this Siltshore thing is the talk of the night right now - I've heard tell of a few old ghosts from the other side of the fence are trying to make a power play, show us all how they want things done..." Soleil gives a shrugging shift of her shoulders, "...you know, night-cop shit."

Looking around the assembly of citizenry, she peers back then to Elias, her expression a conspiring one - Elias, when he gets that look in his eye, does have a certain sort of backwards charm. "I could bite on that, I haven't stretched my legs in quite a while. Why, you tracking something?"

Elias hums, nods and follows, eyes still searching the crowd. "I have my eyes set on someone tonight.", is his simple answer to her question, "I just haven't spotted her yet. So who knows where this night will lead me." Certainly somewhere.

"What about you? Anything interesting you worked on lately?" Elias has been feeling a little bit cruel recently, for no specific reason. Or maybe there is a reason. Maybe the scars on his leg are a constant reminder for a failure he needs to replace with success. Maybe being helped out by a witch wasn't exactly on his daily agenda.

"Or maybe you'll ditch the bar and join me in a hunt tonight."

[soleiltrembly]

"Fair enough." She says. "Everything is a lot."

The Fellowship in Port Leiry is a lot, even for her. The Brotherhood has enjoyed relative calm between themselves and witches for some time, and Soleil, though largely in the supply and intel end of things these days, would like to avoid open conflict between Hunters and Witches. Port Leiry is an anomalous intersection where a delicate diplomacy exists, at least currently. Having rabid dogs in town is dangerous for everyone, up to and including the humans that Hunters are, on their face, meant to be protecting.

"No need to be nervous," Soleil says. "I ain't Jack the Ripper."

She takes a seat on the edge of the bench, slouching back and looking over to the witch. "You're newer in town, huh? I don't recognize you, and I'm pretty good with faces."

“Oh I’m fine, just awkward after a long shift and regretting some of my life decisions” she responded instinctively, a little too honest, she never was good at deception. “I’m Chamomile, but everyone calls me Cham. I think I’m just a bit jumpy with everything” she finished, sticking out her hand in a handshake before realizing that unacceptably strange and turning the movement into a vague gesture to the surrounding night air.

“I kind of love the weather when it’s like this, if I’m being honest. The air full of moisture, mist through the trees, the ground just damp enough for planting but isn’t going to soak totally through your pants while you’re kneeling down…” she trailed off, realizing she was babbling to a stranger again. “Sorry, should have mentioned I ramble when I’m nervous” she finished lamely, clasping her hands behind her back and twisting slightly side to side.

[soleiltrembly]

They let him have his, to get the lashes out, lord knows the Hunters aren't above reproach or fault, and when he finishes his questions, his judgements, Soleil lets the quiet hang between them with a sip of coffee.

"I don't speak for the Brotherhood, but I do speak for myself, and I didn't get in this game to butcher people who get by without treating the world like a giant sheep's pasture."

Resting their chin on folded hands, Soleil speaks, conspiratorial and quiet. "I could care less what the optics are - I took bullets for the witches at Roanoke and I'll take bullets for the witches here, same as I will for any wolf or even any neck-biter who tries to make a go at life without hurting anyone who ain't got it coming - mock it if you will, you have the look of a cynic even if you avoid the tropes of it, but that's how I've always tried to operate." "But you're right. The Fellowship damages anything it touches - they're the worst kind of rabid zealot. They do the kind of hunter's arithmetic that defeats the whole purpose, if you catch my meaning. If they opened up on us? Right now? Here? It wouldn't matter how many of these people aren't witches, as long as they get all the ones who are. I think that's cause for a little bit of co-operation, no?"

Sol leans back. "As for what to do, specifically? Pfuh. Still figuring that out, s'why I'm here - see if you know if the Witches took as many heads as they gave at the Mausoleum the other night. Heard they might have."

"And what does the Brotherhood intend to do about this, love?"

It's a bold question, nearly as bold as it is for a branded hunter to enter a space operated by witches, and yet. He feels entitled to ask, even if his entitlement dwindles at the possibility of an answer.

"It's merely to save face, isn't it? To nip this in the bud," he repeats Soleil's words with a vague gesture of his hand. "Whatever that means." Still, there's no hostility in his tone. It serves neither of them if this topic were approached with aggression.

"The Fellowship damages the hunter image," and contrary to popular belief, to instincts, Mikala has a vague respect for hunters. Such respect doesn't exist for the aforementioned guild, however.

"What does the Brotherhood need of witches to correct this?" Or, of the Garnett coven at least, though he assumes that goes without saying.

[soleiltrembly]

Soleil smiles, takes the spliff, and takes a drag, letting it fill up and filter down before she passes it back. "So long as it hits god." She says with a smile, smoke billowing from her mouth like some sort of dragon.

Relieved of it, she leans back on her blanket, soaking up pleasant weather and, covertly, keeping an eye around for anyone unfamiliar; something is rotten in Port Leiry of late, and with witches going missing, it smells like an already terrible precursor to something even worse; she can't expect whatever it is to go on hiatus just because MUNA's in town.

"You here waitin' on anyone?" Soleil asks, genuinely; or just out for the vibes? I'm Soleil, by the way - charmed."

Throwing her picnic blanket down, it's clear to Soleil that they've just jumpscared somebody, to which she offers a smile;"Please, keep your spare and just share that one" She says, scoffing, before giving a wave of her hand.

"It's 2024, love. Where do you think we live, Texas?"

Soleil sits, mostly because her ankles are killing her - she may have overdressed for a day out but sometimes you just need to let yourself go off. Most of the music hasn't been her thing, but the atmo' and the vibes have been, especially for Port Leiry, immaculate. They set down on the grass next to him and stretch out, soaking in Summer air. They're not too late for the headliners, but it looks like she's too late to find a seat that isn't in the metaphorical nosebleeds - ah well, at least nature's nice.

[soleiltrembly]

"Well, as you might imagine, the Brotherhood circles are positively a-squawk with all kinds of talk. An unsanctioned attack is one thing, but an active Fellowship isn't good for anybody, fuzz, fang, or fancy folk like yourself."

She takes a casual drink and licks the froth clear, restoring dignity. Its a tough subject for her, having come up in and been taught by the Fellowship, but she was wise enough to smell their bullshit before she took a spoonful. Still, it's sensitive work - Soleil is not bloodthirsty, even by Brotherhood standards she's not as hard nosed as she ought to be.

"The Fellowship's a rabid little liability, not just for us but for everyone. I'm just doing my groundwork to make sure we can try to nip this in the bud before they get tempted to try again."

She sits back. "Even when they might not want it or not think they need it." She shrugs again. "Look man, I'm just trying to be neighborly. Genuinely."

"Of course," he repeats himself; another unfortunate agreement between them. "However, your values align with theirs, do they not? Whether or not you agree with this attack is irrelevant to me."

It's experience and common sense that have taught Mikala that he can't fully trust a hunter. He knows their goal, as ambitious and admirable as it is, and that it doesn't serve his best interests. Now more than ever, he has to care. To watch and protect, in his own way, at least when it comes to the members of his coven.

Another sip of coffee and then, "Mikala." He nods in a belated greeting. "Mr. Seabrooke is far too formal for my liking."

Soleil, however, is decidedly more pleasant than the other hunters he's had a brush with in recent times. A natural tension that persists despite the calming ambience of the café and casual conversation, he can put to rest at least some of his wariness for now.

"What exactly is it that you wish to check in about, love?" He tilts his head. "We already knew it wasn't the work of Brotherhood. It was far too sloppy and chaotic."

[soleiltrembly]

"No, kinda, and always." She says, in answer to all three tone matter-of-fact but diplomatic; Elias is a tough nut, an older member of the Brotherhood who does not share the younger generations softer touch when it comes to working with or even for those who skirt the bounds of mortal natures.

Turning to him, she sips on something carbonated, fruity, and a hint of alcholic bite. He seems irritated, though that's hardly out of the ordinary.

"I do have to head out in an hour or so, check on the bar, make sure there aren't any reports of something else lighting on fire, but until then..." She offers him a courteous grin. "...I'm free. Whats up- and, walk with me while you talk with me?"

( @soleiltrembly -- at the tidal pavilion before sundown, late )

His silver ring taps against the plastic cup he was given with his drink -- tasteless, he thinks, both pollution-wise and in terms of class. He's dug an old outfit out of his wardrobe, an orange satin shirt he used to wear a lot in his twenties, when he used to party a lot with Oz. It doesn't hide the color of blood well, and he feels weird, wearing it. Great start to a night that's meant to last long. He's seen some strange creatures wander around already, but barely witches.

Soleil is a familiar -- of course she is. Taking a sip of his Cocktail, a funky fucking whatever in an obnoxious pink color, Elias leans over as she passes, "Running from anything, or after anything, or got a minute?", he asks.

[soleiltrembly]

Throwing her picnic blanket down, it's clear to Soleil that they've just jumpscared somebody, to which she offers a smile;"Please, keep your spare and just share that one" She says, scoffing, before giving a wave of her hand.

"It's 2024, love. Where do you think we live, Texas?"

Soleil sits, mostly because her ankles are killing her - she may have overdressed for a day out but sometimes you just need to let yourself go off. Most of the music hasn't been her thing, but the atmo' and the vibes have been, especially for Port Leiry, immaculate. They set down on the grass next to him and stretch out, soaking in Summer air. They're not too late for the headliners, but it looks like she's too late to find a seat that isn't in the metaphorical nosebleeds - ah well, at least nature's nice.

Open starter for anyone Location: The Tidal Pavillion

Julian had always loved a music festival. It was a cheap way to see a bunch of acts and spend a day. He hadn't come with anyone in particular but he knew of a couple coworkers attending the festival that he planned to meet up with at some point in the day. Right now he was seated towards the back of the pavillion away from the crowds as he pulled out one of the joints he'd rolled for today's festivities.

He was just about to light up when someone happened to walk by causing him to pause. "Don't mention this to one of the volunteers and I might have one of these I can spare," he offered the stranger.

[soleiltrembly]

Sipping at their coffee, confident in its contents, or at least in her ability to detect anything untoward, the Hunter's curls bounce along with the tilt of her head. "Well, I take life like my coffee," Soleil chirps, setting the cup down and folding her fingers. "Soleil."

He comments on the unfortunte spill unfolding before them. "Right. And nobody to blame but himself for that, sippin' away without a lid." "Consider my honesty a white flag, if you want. I'm not here for trouble, I'm here to ask around - no good what happened up at y'all's cemetery, Mr... Seabrooke, right? We're just checking in at a few places, make sure you jewels know it wasn't our people did all that."

He's something of a known quantity about town, at least in the right circles, this Mikala; after all, she's run Sweetwater for a while now, and the place trades in intel. Funeral parlor on the front, who knows what on the back - but finding anyone in this cafe one an make a few assumptions. Still, she isn't one to judge or jump to conclusions without making sure she's got a place to land. She cut ties with the Fellowship over that kind of bullshit, she's not about to start popping off at the mouth now.

"Of course," and how often will he find himself like-minded with hunters? When do pleasant conversations and nebulous companionships turn to shameless treason?

Mikala supposes he's dipping into it now, with one so proudly displaying her mark in a café owned by a witch. At least she's Brotherhood—he'll count his blessings, as few and far between as they are.

"Bold," he comments, and it nearly sounds like a compliment, before dark eyes shift from the glyph to her face. Gazing out of pure curiosity, before he looks away altogether.

"Silk, too," in reference to the mishap entertaining both of them. "What a nightmare it is to remove stains from such a delicate material." The silence after is used to sip at his hot coffee.

[soleiltrembly]

Long night. Long night and coffee is the only cure - Brewed Awakening is known spellhead territory, and its probably stupid and probably in less than good taste to show up in Witch-Ville sporting a Brotherhood Glyph this soon after Siltshore, but Soleil is nothing if not undeterred, and unlike the feral psychos that populate The Fellowship, the Brotherhood has been around long enough to see reason; to know that a witch is a valuable ally in making sure the real monsters out there stay in line. And so when Mikala Seabrooke catches her staring, she smiles, mostly pleasantly, before she swings from her table and into a seat at his, watching the unfortunate mop coffee and foam off of an overpriced silk shirt, trying very hard not to snort out an ugly bit of laughter.

"Life's little pleasures, hm?" She lifts her own cup to take a sip - displaying the mark on her hand without hesitation - best to get that out of the way first.

OPEN FOR: Anyone and everyone. WHERE | WHEN: Brewed Awakening, late morning.

People watching—it's a hobby that Mikala has damn near perfected by this point. As such, it's proven far more entertaining than the book he's brought with him, set near his cup of coffee for the time being.

He's subtle about it. Really, he is. Except, the flash of amusement in his features is evident to anyone watching him, prompted by him witnessing a stranger experience one of life's ultimately harmless misfortunes.

He looks away before he can be caught, though his eyes find the gaze of another, and he tilts his head—

"Won't you sink to my level and engage in some casual schadenfreude?"

[soleiltrembly]

CHANGED

Storms are still raging around Roanoke, a tempest called in by the coven to apply pressure to the Fellowship's intended offensive. Soleil tastes the iron and copper-penny taste as blood finds its way from the cut on their cheek and into the corner of their mouth, and the dull orange roar of a glow can still be seen as their car tears down the rain-slick road that will carry them Westward. Bare handed, Soleil wipes the blood from her cheek, wincing at the sharp burn of it and tries not to think about how everything they've been working towards has just gone up in smoke. About how the person they've seen as a guide and a mentor and a friend for over half their life is lying, half dead, handless, and broken under a pile of shattered wood and steel. They try not to think of what to do next, because that's overhwelming. Right now they just need to drive. To get out of Dodge. She only hopes her word of warning reached the Roanoke coven soon enough; the storm, she assumes, is indication of that.

Disappointed. Disappointed in her?! For what, refusing to kill off a bunch of people trying to protect a place? Because they were doing it in a way then Fellowship doesn't approve of? Nah, that sounds too familiar to a queer like Soleil. That isn't justice or protection, that's punishment. She's not here to punish people trying to do the same thing she is. The highway stretches on, into the night and past the morning. East, always to the east.

Days pass. The random freak storm in Roanoke, unseasonable and with no visible cause, has made the waking world's news cycle and, given its lack of visible carnage, passed out of it as quickly as it came. But Soleil won't ever forget it. They sip coffee as they drive through some small intersection of a town in Colorado, looking for signs that call out to Hunters or to horrors, and wondering just what constitutes the difference between man and monster;

[soleiltrembly]

"I mean..." Soleil looks around and up. It's dark. Its kind of cold for this time of year, and it's foggy as hell, sea-wind pushing the thick stuff in of the water as the morning begins the very early rumblings of its waking.

"...I kinda think it sucks."

She slides up a single sidewalk panel, looking Cham up and down, they don't recognize them immediately as any of the local covenry. Interesting. Writing that down in her little book of things to know.

The strange timbre present in Cham's voice does give rise to a questioning brow though, and, keeping her hands shoved in the pockets of the cropped red leather jacket keeping her shoulders warm.

"You good, love?" She says - overly familar, but she knows a witch when she sees one, and she knows what all's just gone on down by the Cemetery.

Closed starter for @soleiltrembly

Location: dark street well past midnight

After hearing about the attack at the mausoleum Cham was twitchy, her stomach tight as she considered, not for the first time, the danger she was in being covenless. The smart thing to do would be find some fellow witches to team up with, stay in one of the 24 hour cafes for a few nights or make some sort of alliance for protection. But instead she was walking alone, well past midnight, to her crumbling just barely no longer abandoned house in the woods with a dead cellphone and no flashlight to speak of.

So when she saw a figure ahead in the light of a flickering street lamp it took she fought the urge to turn and run. But instead she reminded herself that chances were they were just another person out too late at night for their own personal reasons much like herself, and that walking past them would be totally fine. And caught sight of the Hunter tattoo as she came into closer proximity, but by that point she was too far to bail, and besides how hypocritical of her would it be to just assume the Hunter would attack her with no evidence to support that fear.

“Lovely weather we’re having” she called out once they reached speaking distance and then immediately wished the earth would swallow her up. Weather talk? Really??

[soleiltrembly]

i assume you won't think twice about killing a bloodsucker

"Nine outta ten times? Sure. But I've met a few willing to work against instinct, cling onto their humanity a bit. Few and far between, yeah, but those are the strong ones, if you ask me. But c'mon now - biting peoples throats? It's 2024, love - we have bloodbanks, use some of that freaky superpower to steal a few bags, damn."

[soleiltrembly]

They're striding in, two cups from a nearby cafe in hand, when Nova's sing-song greeting sounds off and she scrunches her face up. "I'm gonna go against my better judgement," Soleil says, reaching across the counter, placing the second cup down and trading by way of snatching a cookie up, "... and give these a try. But if I get sick later, it's your ass."

Soleil bites into the cookie, crunches briefly, and then pulls a seat away from a nearby folding table and takes a seat herself.

"Checking in on your end of town." She says, knitting her fingers together into a hammock on which she lovingly drapes her chin, smiling to Nova.

"Might have news."

OPEN / closed for everyone

location: wash tub laundry (any time of the day or night, girlie works odd hours)

Boots were kicked up onto the front counter of the laundromat, leaning back in her chair as she read her newest book purchase. Death on the Nile by Agatha Christie, she was nearing the halfway point already as the bells on the door signaled the arrival of a customer. Swinging her shoes off the counter, she bookmarked her place and closed it with a hum. “Welcome in! If you need any help just let me know. And also if you need a machine kicked back into working order, I’ll do the honors so you can’t be held responsible.” Nova greeted with a soft chuckle. It was more of a joke than anything, the laundromat in good working condition. But still. “Also I made cookies, if you want a snack.”

[soleiltrembly]

fabula:: Soleil Trembly

Name: Soleil Trembly Occupation: Proprietor of Sweetwater Age: 33 Sexuality: Pansexual Pronouns: She/They Species: Hunter Cult: The Brotherhood Hometown: Brooklyn, NYC Relationship Status: Disorganized

Persona:: A self-sufficient hunter of poise and assured confidence, Soleil knows their worth and their skill. They stride through life, dominating their space and knowing full well their worth. Learning from a young age what it meant to be alone, they spent their childhood being worn down by circumstance, jaded and cynical and rubbed raw by a world that would rather she be invisible, so that by the time adolescence arrived and a helping hand was extended, they had already grown thick calluses on their soul that allowed them the hardiness required to undergo the rigors of hunter training. While they are ready, willing, and capable of doling out a Hunter’s Justice, they aren’t cold or merciless. Those dead who walk above the soil and the moon-cursed wolves, more often than not, were victims in their own right, and while it rustles the feathers of Brotherhood Leadership to no end, Soleil is sympathetic and doesn’t kill without good reason that which isn’t posing a threat to humans. Wolves who keep to themselves, Vampires who keep to feeding off animals, they live a wretched life enough. But Soleil does view herself as one of mankind’s protectors, and thus their mercy isn’t limitless.

Historia:: [tw; brief implied homophobia / transphobia ] “The Fellowship is my Lover. The Fellowship is My Mother. My Father. The Fellowship is my Family. My life. I will bring balance to nature by exterminating Those Dead Who Walk Above The Soil. I will bring order to nature by exterminating the Moon-Cursed Wolves. I will bring serenity to nature by exterminating those who weave it into Chaos.”

Even though they’ve long since ditched the Fellowship, the rite and ritual that was to earn Soleil the mark on the back of their hand is seared into the spaces in their brain, because it was day one in a second life. It stlll pisses them off that they never got to speak it. Nascence:: Born in New York, Soleil came into the supernatural world after the banal intolerances of the mundane world pushed them out of their home. A mother and father who couldn’t tolerate their child’s quest for authenticity and happiness. A system who couldn’t tolerate a youth who didn’t fit into its carefully crafted boilerplate and niches. All of it conspired to see them on the streets, in with the wrong crowd, and ultimately, with a vampire’s teeth at the crook of their neck. Saved from a life of undeath, they were taken under the wing of one of the fledgling Fellowship’s founding members who hailed from the guard of Old Hunters. She took the rescued child in, saw them initiated into the Fellowship and built up into a warrior against the Dark Things in the world.

Rebirth:: Living under the Fellowship was regimented, but not in the way life had been before; Soleil was, for the first time, given leave to be themselves, free from judgement or persecution. The Mission was what mattered. Humanity was to be protected from the wicked things that walked the night. The myriad dogmas and outdated divisiveness of the modern world was an institution that did not concern either The Fellowship as a whole or Soleil’s mentor. Soleil loved. Soleil grew. Soleil learned. Revelation:: Everything was fine until Roanoke. When it came time for them to earn their mark, they tasked with removing a coven of witches alongside their mentor, Soleil uncovered that the witches, far from the wicked things they’d been lead to expect, were using their magic to protect a local town from expansion of Vampiric territory using an alliance with a local wolf-pack, whom they were helping resist their feral urges in exchange for muscle to be deployed against the invading Vampire clan. The Fellowship was tasked with clearing out all three factions, with the witches to remain until they were no longer of use, and then burned out at the roots. When Soleil questioned this, they were chastised heavily, and sent away from the entire operation, dubbed a threat to the entire plan. Seeing the Fellowship in a new light, they became increasingly insubordinate, and everyting came to a head when their mentor was tasked with making sure Soleil did not return from Roanoke. The resulting attack left Soleil with a handful of fancy scars, but it had cost their mentor her Hand. Escaping narrowly, Soleil went to groun, working as an independent Hunter for a time, until running into a sect of the Brotherhood in their mid twenties. Nouveau:: The Brotherhood offered Soleil a place, recognizing their talent, though they mandated that special treatment would not be freely given, and that they must complete all necessary trials and challenges. Soleil’s early days were met with suspicion and often distrust from the Brotherhood, given their origins with the Fellowship, but they slowly, surely, earned that trust and pull. Earned yet another new family. And finally, some years after earning their mark and their place eventually were given an allotment on the Pacific Northwest. They invested it in a business, and now the Sweetwater is open from Dusk Til Dawn, a bar to most people, but those in the know are well aware that it’s hunter territory, run by a known fixer who can help set fellow hunters up with intel and supplies.