val--dupont

[val--dupont]

...

Val listens and can feel the nerves radiating off this poor boy. Jude, as he introduces himself, seems to be a bit of a powder keg. Interesting though, that he's here at Infamy. Alone, maybe?

"It's lovely to meet you, sweetpea. Listen, ignore my last question, aye? Silly, really. I'd much rather get t'know you, so let's switch gears. Y'like staying at home, an' yet here you at Infamy on a busy evening... what brings you here? Did y'come with friends? Shootin' your shot?" They lean their head into one hand, soft milky blue eyes glinting in curiosity, even if they can't focus on the boy in front of them.

The witch crosses one leg, and fixes the skirt of the hunter green dress just a bit with one hand.

Oh, he's been put on the spot. This is - not great. Jude's stomach grumbles with anxiety, and he tries to tap at his leg to get himself to chill the fuck out for a second. Human interaction isn't really his forte, much preferring to talk to people through a screen or watch things play out in movies or games.

He can literally feel himself taking poison psychic scarlet rot whatever damage as he tries to formulate a response.

"Uh. Well. I mean - I wasn't." Hm. "I wasn't really looking. Sorry, I, uh - I don't really get out in all this often. Or, uh, at all. Really. I usually just - I like staying home." Oversimplification, sure.

"I'm Jude."

[val--dupont]

Surprises are different than they used to be. A 300 year old witch should be able to catch things quick, with the wealth of experience they have, going back before electricity. But losing their sight has made some things harder to parse.

Thankfully, the brief seizing of their heart and quickening of pulse is short-lived. Lara's voice and warmth and... just about everything that makes her her draws them into immediate excitement.

Hands cradle their face, and Val laughs, kissing at the palms and the fingers they can feel on their cheeks. "You startled me, my angel... my sweet, perfect wonderful gorgeous-" They could keep going, but Lara is still asking questions and so they must move on.

"Broken hearts? Oh, please. It's you with the trail of suitors in your wake, sweetpea. In my wake? Only chaos and ruin. And a few too many bottles of vodka." It's Val's turn to feel for her, fingertips brushing a long neck and a jaw, thumb along her chin. "I've been writing, and concocting, and dancing... and drinking. But more importantly, what about you? What have you been up to?"

closed starter for: @val--dupont

Time for vampires is a little weirder than most - but she can still tell when it's been too long since she's seen a friend. Instead of walking up and greeting them like any normal person might, she slides her arms around their waist and squeezes tightly - "Boo."

Maybe a little much, but Lara honestly doesn't care. She presses a kiss to their shoulder and slides around to cup their face to get a good look at them. "I thought that was you, roaming in and stinking up the place."

A laugh, then. "You look as beautiful as the day we met, baby. How are you? Tell me what you've been up to. Who's hearts have you broken?"

[val--dupont]

....

They cradle their drink against their chest while the other hand holds Kore's arm - an anchor so Val can keep some idea of where they're at, even in the throng of dancers and club-goers. "Is that what you're drinkin', darling? I would've gotten some myself, had I known! S'pose my Long Island will have t'do." They're giggling, leaning into Kore a bit to listen to the description.

"Sounds gorgeous... but let's compare. Is he as stunning as you?"

Val can't help it, giving her arm a little squeeze as they keep swaying to the beat. They're sure it's probably beautiful neon lights and bodies all around them. The energy is infectious, even if they can't see it all. Enough to twirl and bounce around and keep drinking.

Kore similarly lets their body move to the bass thudding through the club as they sip at the cocktail in their hand. "Thank fuck this place started stocking soju," they say with a satisfied sigh. "All right, imagine for me, if you will, Paul Newman meets Harrison Ford, but no older than mm..." The witch tilts their head as they survey the target they are describing. "We'll say no older than a cool 36, and they're to your four o'clock."

Kore smiles and gives the unsuspecting clubgoer a little wave from across the room before pointing at Val and hyping them up soundlessly. "Based on the way they keep staring, I'd say that if you don't get their number with how much they're practically begging for it, then I call dibs."

[val--dupont]

...

Val adores closeness. A warm body against theirs is their favorite thing - especially when it's someone who smells so lovely, who seems to crave the witch's affection right back. So it's easy to slip their fingers along Jasim's trim waist, rub his side.

Their life? A challenge. The witch is grinning at that. "Oh? Does the idea of peeling away my clothes really awaken something that feral in you, love? Isn't that interesting."

The drink is raised to smiling lips. Val slips a hand lower to give Jasim's arse a teasing squeeze. "And you ask so nicely, angel. And where should we go after I finish my drink? Can you tell me where you'd like to go?"

It all feels too public, suddenly. As if the neon lights of the club are beating down exclusively on the two of them, hot and unrelenting. Jasim knows that's not the case, yet with Val so close and trading flirtations with him, he aches for privacy.

He aches even more to tear right into them.

"D'you think it's smart to gamble with your life like that?" It's a tinge of ego, however it's all rooted in his insatiable nature. A hunger that could never be quelled or cured, only a cold emptiness. Even now, he's trying to fill that painful void, with another gulp of whiskey until the glass is near finished.

"Hurry up with your drink, yeah?" It's a demand, yes, but he eventually softens it with a, "Please."

[val--dupont]

"I bet you could pull it off better than I could. Has an easy zipper in the back to do just that." Val can't resist it, as Jasim begins to let his hands roam. They slip around the witch's lithe waist and it makes it so easy to lean in further, until Val can wrap an arm about Jasim's neck.

They use this new position to play with Jasim's hair. "It is longer, isn't it? Such a pretty boy. If only I'd brought Junie with me so I could see it properly, aye?" They giggle, and brush their nose against Jas's cheekbone. "Am I not worth taking a risk then, darling? You cut me so deeply."

"Copying your style, huh?" There's a bit of laughter at that, amusement settling into his features, while his hands so unabashedly begin their exploration. Following the curve of Val's body, along that soft dress that complements their pale skin begging to be marked. "I don't think I could pull off this dress nearly as well as you do."

Jasim falls silent for a moment or two at that question, grateful for the arrival of his whiskey and stealing a hefty sip of it. It has more of a flavor than other drinks he's tried in the recent past, however it's that pleasant burn he chases.

Warm and stinging down his throat, even if it's not in the way he desires. Speaking of—

"Dunno if I'd be able to stop if I started," is what he lands on, soon enough. Honesty, even if he's just as unfond of this as much as he is restraint. It's the unmistakable scent of power that elicits such truth, as if a mere droplet of Val's blood could be enough to hex him.

Still, he wants, and wants, and wants.

"I suppose my concern is that the risk may outweigh the reward."

[val--dupont]

( @luciamazzoni )

"It's just not fair." Val drops back into the armchair behind them, a flurry of clattering pendants and messy curls as they settle. "Y'know darling, I'm so tempted t'have you bite me properly, turn me, just so I can taste blood how you do. Bet it's a fuckin' dream. An' meanwhile, I drink it and it's like... hot vomit's been stewin' in an old metal pot for 50 years." They sigh, maybe a bit over-dramatically, swirling red wine in a glass. Close-by, a black Newfoundland is lying calmly on the floor, half-asleep. "I just can't win."

[val--dupont]

The confidence that Val holds is as easy as spring rain. It's something that has always been - the casual purse of lips as they listen, a tilt of the head and a soft laugh. It would be almost too easy, to dab extravagant bloods to their wrists like a fine cologne, to rouge their cheeks and keep such vampires arriving at their side.

But there is no need. It is the undercurrent of something else that catches vampires like a mouse in a spring trap. Except Val has no intention of breaking any necks... only perhaps, someone biting theirs.

"Well, do remember for next time." Val comments as fingers slide up the sweater to Jasim's neck, to find those curls he had mentioned had grown out. "Do we match? I hope you're not copying my style, lovey." And yet, Val's fingers twist a curl or two around them as milky eyes stay vacant. Once a lovely hazel, with a pointed glare and a fiery gaze. Now they hold a different kind of power. As Val slides closer on their stool, a hand slips around Jasim's waist to tug him possessively closer. A smile growing that could light up the sky.

"I am? Then why haven't you tasted me yet?"

"I'm so sorry to disappoint you, babe, I'll be sure to bust out the harness next time." It's so natural to be playful with them, never mind the unease that holds tight to his bones; growing tighter still, as being this close to them only causes him to focus on that smell.

Rich and enticing with the magic coursing through their veins, yet there's always been this off quality. It serves to only pull him in, lingering for just a bit too long near their neck, then their mouth. A nod that can be felt, before he pulls back some.

Fuck, he hates having to show restraint.

"Just a whiskey," he repeats finally, once he waves the bartender over, then his attention is right back on Val. "Cosmo's all yours. You're the only sweetness I want a taste of, anyway." Bold with double meaning. At least he's honest.

[val--dupont]

A hand settles on a chest with a soft sweater and Val touches the fabric curiously. "Mm. A sweater to the club. So posh and chaste, love, aren't you?" And of course the witch has to tease - it's half of their personality, after all.

Val's head tilts as they listen, and then that smirk grows tenfold when Jasim's voice gets closer to them. A whisper, a puff of air against their ear. "Whiskey? No underwear and whiskey?" They ask, and turn their own face rather quickly, so noses brush. So that warm exhale from Jasim is felt against the witch's mouth. "You're all over the place, aren't you? Such an enigma, wrapped in an enigma... sure you don't want to try my Cosmo? It's fruity. Just a taste?" Val licks their lips.

"Slow down a bit there, baby," he purrs out, long fingers reaching up to wrap around their hand and hold it to his chest. "One thing at a time." But, it's the exact type of pacing Jasim needs, his mind often running at a thousand miles a minute.

"In detail... yeah, okay. Uh," he glances down at himself as if he's forgotten what he's even thrown on before coming here. "It's chilly out at night—" Not that it matters to him, always colder than the average person. "So, I'm wearing a sweater. Black, knit. These wide-leg trousers, dark grey, pleated a bit." A pause, looking back up to Val's face. "Haven't cut my hair in awhile, either."

Finally, he leans that much closer, murmuring into their ear, "No underwear." Because he just has to tease, a cheeky grin evident in his tone. "Now, how about that drink? Could go for another whiskey..."

[val--dupont]

[val--dupont]

"Probably?" Val giggles at the long pause. Maybe there's an answer the witch is looking for- but at the same time, it's a good test, isn't it? Who's confident enough and interested enough to just say it's them? And who sees a specific person somewhere and hypes them up? Interestingly enough, this person says neither. A vague statement instead.

Val sips at their drink and their eyes dance with mischief. "For sure? To whatever person over there is the hottest one? Y'didn't even give me a person. No one over here y'find attractive enough to call them the hottest?"

The witch leans against the counter with a good-natured smile. They twist a curl around fingertips and their head stays facing the direction of the others voice. "I'm Val. Who might you be, angel?"

Infamy's not exactly his scene - but he's trying. By god, he's fucking trying to get out there, be less y'know.. pathetic. It's not the best place to like - talk to people - but he's having a good time just watching. You'd never catch him dead on the dance floor, too awkward, too scrawny, too white to have an ounce of rhythm.

The person beside him is just moving and grooving to the music, and Jude feels very out of place. Even if there's too many attractive people for him to keep his attention on one at a time.

He nearly jumps when they talk to him, and he gestures to himself at first, as if making sure - then realizes that their eyes are unfocused and he swats his own hand away from his chest. As if caught in a stupid act. When he speaks, he has to speak a little louder -

"Uhh. Well." Don't say you. Don't say me. Don't even make a fuckin' reference to - "They're.. I mean, they're probably over there dancin' with a bunch of people all over 'em." That's worse.

"I mean - Very likely, though, I think. You're, uh, you could do great at that. For sure, for sure, foooooor sure."

[val--dupont]

Perhaps the witch doesn't have their sight in most cases, but there is a familiarity that comes with the scent of vampirism. The undercurrent of something just as unnatural as them- a born witch with dark magick pulsing to their fingertips. So those pale, sightless blue eyes already dance with familiarity as they turn their head more in the direction of someone they know.

"Only a fool would say that's the wrong answer, lovey." They reach forward easily, finding fabric against a chest, and tracing fingertips over it in curiosity. "And an even bigger fool would say I wouldn't score." Then they giggle, shrugging one shoulder. "Now, could you explain t'me what you're wearing? In detail, so I can paint a proper picture? An' tell me how you've been, while you're at it? An' maybe I can buy you a drink too, aye?"

Nightclubs are one of the few places Jasim can put his frenetic energy to good use, especially ones like Infamy. He can dance, drink, hunt. All of which he's been doing tonight, only having returned to the bar to order another largely flavorless drink and survey the thrumming area of club goers.

He doesn't expect a familiar Irish lilt—not to mention an uncomfortably familiar scent—to interrupt this plan, wide eyes flitting over to them and taking them in.

"Well," he responds with a tone that indicates contemplation, dragged out just slightly, stepping closer to Val so they can hear him over the loud music. "Is it the wrong answer to say me?" Foolishly confident as ever. "I'd say you're pretty likely to score."

[val--dupont]

STATUS: Open LOCATION: Infamy

Val rarely stands still. The witch is always shifting to some imaginary rhythm, a slight sway to the way they walk and an air to them as if there's music playing in their head. And maybe there is, after so many years of life, with the sheer force of magic thrumming through their veins to keep them here... perhaps one thing that keeps them alive is music.

And as such, a club is their reprieve. A boozy cosmopolitan in one hand, a long flowy hunter green dress and pendants off a long pale neck perfectly twirling with the beat. Messy curls and pale, milky blue eyes - unfocused, unseeing, as they get a good sip out of their drink. "Alright, lovey - where's the hottest person here, what d'they look like... and how likely am I t'score their number?"

[val--dupont]

[val--dupont]

( @laurestcphens )

The walking path in this gorgeous garden has Gus slowing down, taking in the surroundings. It's been a trying day - exhausting at the university, and then he faces the empty little apartment he's gotten in town. He'd rather just walk. And so often, that's what he does. Just walks, for ages, with his little chihuahua Chelle tucked into his jacket.

His feet tire before his will does, but eventually he has to settle onto a bench. The ASL professor has definitely never seen this spot before, and he sees someone walking along the path nearby. He has a bright smile on despite how tired he looks, and the scarred up man bounces a leg against the ground as he looks up. "Absolutely beautiful, isn't it? Hell, wish I'd found this place sooner. Just too bad it's a bit far away from home... but that makes it worth it, if you don't see it as often, right? Makes you appreciate it even more. Kinda like a treat. Like a peanut butter and fluff sandwich."

[val--dupont]

( @ghostinthewalls-zahir )

It happens so quick that Gus doesn't even see them coming - a few gruff men coming out of a bar, walking down a tight alleyway that had seemed quiet. Perfect to take a shortcut... especially when Gus's hip has been bothering him. Phantom pains from old injuries, always lingering... and suddenly the harsh blossoming of pain, laughter, a little snarled "good to see you again, agent"... and he's sinking down onto the damp concrete. A few fluorescent lights shining back from puddles, and then the ichor of his blood- far less reflective. He's been stabbed. By what... well, based on that growl, that voice, he can only imagine some kind of claw. And his head sinks back, eyes blinking and looking around slow for someone.

He's out of it. His head is lolling... he sees someone, just a silhouette. "You... y'got a... uh..." He doesn't even know what he's asking, because currently he's a scarred up, small man bleeding out on the pavement.

[val--dupont]

( @hauntednigts )

"Luther! You'll never guess." Gus plops his ass down on a stool, already seeing the bartender giving a gruff smile and getting the professor's drink started. The human's a regular by now - a familiar kind face who always tips well.

And that kind face is exactly what's beaming as he settles beside Luther, already striking up a conversation with the... friend? Confidante? Hook-up? What does he call Luther? In reality, the former FBI agent doesn't think about it too much. Scarred lips are beaming, dark messy hair brushed behind a messed up ear, covering up more long scratch-like marks that have faded with time, but stay raised, slightly discolored against his tan flesh. And yet Gus sits, rolling up his sleeves. "I finally got through to the English department. They're willing to actually hire an interpreter. Like, pay them and everything. Small victories, right? Oh thanks Chet!" He grabs up the vodka cranberry slid over to him.

[val--dupont]

Mordecai's been sitting in on every meeting since the classes began. And yes, of course it's kind of him- but Gus also knows that a lot of the ASL is harder. He can't see it. And that means even more to him- that the man sits there and listens to his teaching, not able to get the hand movements but still seeming invested all the same.

The smile on the other's face has Gus beaming and he nods quickly, adding audibly, "Yes! Every new class, it seems to pull a few more in... it's amazing, it really is." Gus teaches at the university, as well as interprets for lectures, events... he reaches out gently for Mordecai. "My arm is right here if you'd like to take it, Mr. Killian. I was going to um... see if you'd like to grab coffee. With me. If you're free."

LOCATION: The New Moonlight classroom STATUS: Closed for @gus-amado

Mordecai always made sure the New Moonlight had a few different classes offered to its patrons. How to interview for jobs, some basic college and high school classes, how to do taxes, job fairs....inviting hunters in to teach about how to defend ones self, having wolves give demonstrations on how to shift safely, and vampires to share resources along with witches teaching simple charm and potion classes. Mordecai was always on the look out for new teachers to have on a regular basis, and when he had a family who had a child who was recently diagnosed as deaf talking about their struggles in learning, Mordecai searched for an ASL teacher. It was how he met Gus. The man was immediately charmed by the other, finding his kindness warm and inventing and his passion contagious. Mordecai would sit in the back of the class and just listen, saddened that he couldnt participate as it would blow the careful cover he had made for himself but still enjoying the energy Gus brought. Once it was wrapping up, Mordecai waited until he didnt hear any more people speaking to Gus before he moved to stand from his seat. "It sounded today was a good turn out, yes?" he hummed with a smile, cane tapping the ground as he mapped his way towards the front of the classroom.