Answering the Call Two weeks prior to arrival.

Natalia Gioccone blinked slowly, sweeping her hands to smooth the skirt of her business attire. She had never had problems with confined spaces. A good thing, she considered, because the elevator to the top floor was always the hardest part about being called to the office.

This was the most ostentatious central headquarters of nearly any business in the world. The patriarch, founder, and current CEO had a decidedly nasty habit of liking the display of power. There was power there, certainly, citing the fact that the mega-corporation has withstood decades of repeated attempts at breaking up the company. One could do that when one's clients included many national governments, world-spanning corporations, major business markets, and some of the world's wealthiest individuals. The company was also dug neck-deep into weapons contracting, research grants, studies on social engineering, education assesments, and just about anything else the CEO had a mind to guide them into.

The elevator itself was a polished steel; so well-manicured that she could see her reflection on the door in front of her as easily as if she were looking into a mirror. She peered at herself, there, black hair pulled back into a tight bun (as so often the case while at work). If it were not, it would fall in shining waves to her shoulders, and frame a face to make a blind man stare, and any man could easily drown in her dark eyes. Moderate-sized breasts; full, curved hips. Natalia had a woman's body while being neither fat, nor plump. She was merely womanly. Today, she wore a blazer and skirt; both black, and free of wrinkles, paired with stockings that ended in conservative matching pumps, and a silver silk blouse.

Appearances were always important. It was of one of the chiefest of rules for working for this man — that one remained as presentable and respectful as possible at all times.

Remembering to blink, she shuffled her feet once in the light fringe of blue carpeting about the heeled shoes. How much longer before the bell rings and the doors open"

From the outside, the company's home office here in Essex was a towering, imposing structure. Very nearly six hundred of steel-reinforced concrete made the central "tower," and all around expanded half-a-kilometer's worth of sprawling buildings and connecting walls. Also, out of sight, were the massive underground complexes beneath the central office of the company. The floors of the main building only went so high as the rest — and then the long, long elevator shaft that led up through hundreds of feet of solid concrete and steel.

She was still peering strait ahead into her own eyes when the elevator came to a stop, and a soft chime announced that she had reached her target. The doors opened into almost-darkness; just enough light to make sure you don't trip and fall on your face. The boss of the company liked it that way.

Steeling herself, she walked forward into the large, cavernous room. It took up nearly the entirety of the top of this massive structure, short from completing it only by the thick walls and cieling that surrounded it.

He liked it empty, she knew. He was a simple man of complex tastes; the duality of it haunted her nearly every time she tried to think about it. The carpet of the elevator ended, leading them to the soft click-clack of heeled pumps (black to match the rest of her suit, of course) against floor tiles of black marble. It may have been synthetic, but she doubted it.

On the far side of the room, overlooked by a massive floor-to-cieling, wall-to-wall window, was a "desk" of truly epic proportions. Three individual panels enabeled the man at the helm to control and monitor nearly every aspect of what went on in in the home office of the company, as well as make direct contact with the regional and district managers at the various branches around the world. London. Venice. Moscow. Hong Kong. Sydney. Seattle. New York. A line of monitors, controlled by a row of switches and levers and buttons that would positively make her head spin if she tried to wrap her head around using it.

The chair that sat at the controls of this massive desk/command center easily cost over ten thousand pounds just by itself. She would know.

The man that sat in that chair, though, who'se suit cost more than the entirety of her education, was ever shrouded in darkness. It's the way he liked it. Just enough light to function by.

"You called me, sir?" she asked, her voice schooled to being stoic through a lifetime of these meetings.

"Yes. I've an assignment for you, Miss Gioccone." His voice was not unpleasant. It never had been. He was young, as such things physical go. There was a reason he never appeared in public, nor allowed his picture to be taken. Nobody would believe a man in his middle thirties could amass such an empire; a testament to the megaconglomerates of old.

"I stand ready in whatever you direct me, sir."

He leaned forward in the chair, intently studying her. She had the urge to smooth her skirt again, even though she knew they did not require it. Not now, anyway; perhaps soon, though. She gripped the fabric to keep her hands at her side. The man had the unmistakable aura of Majesty that made her want to submit everything to him. In anyone else, it would make her queasy just being in his presence.

"That man...Sprocket. You will meet him in the research and development laboratory. Take what you need; you will pack for an extended trip."

"You are unhappy with my work, sir?"

"Of course not, Miss Gioccone. You've performed your duties admirably."

"Then why am I being transferred, Mr. Ionesco?"

There was silence for a time. Again, she had to suppress the urge to smooth her skirts. Questioning this man was dangerous.

"I have been told, Miss Gioccone...that there are other worlds out there. Dimensions, if you will; spirit realms, perhaps. Sprocket has a better idea of them than I do. Listening to his proposal very nearly made me hungry, though."

Her throat felt dry. It was dry. If she could, she would gulp.

The man behind the massive desk continued, his features only barely discernable and outlined by the dim light. "We are the masters of our destiny, Miss Gioccone. Of our fate. We rule this world through the power of the dollar, and the euro, and the pounds-sterling, and....well. Enough. Another world has been discovered, Miss Gioccone. One far more stable than any of the others that Sprocket man has discovered in his research."

"What am I to do, Mr. Ionesco?"

The shrouded man leaned back in his chair. He had to have grinned; she saw the rows of his white teeth reflecting what very little light there was.

"Sprocket tells me that the initial testing went well. Not perfect, but well. In one fortnight, Miss Gioccone, you will report to that imbicile and subject yourself to being transported to this new world. You will scout. Decide if the situations and governmental authorities, the individuals, the markets...can support a branch office, and would be profitable."

So. It was all about money. It always was, with Clark Ionesco. The man who would rule the world, and make everyone on it sell their soul for a loaf of bread.

"I am equal to the task, sir."

"Good. This is why I chose you, Miss Gioccone..." he rose from that expensive chair, and she heard the footsteps he made coming around that massive desk. She knew without inspecting them that they were Edward Green. The finest shoes in England, for the discerning few. Clark Ionesco was extravagant, that way. That particular pair of shoes very likely cost over eight hundred pounds.

As Gustave Flaubert would say....Style is life.

She lifted her chin as his fingers touced her face, taking that it into his palm. His aura burned into her skin; it made her want to crawl.

"You are my finest."

Her chin turned, and her eyes closed. The man who would dominate the world under the weight of their own desire for currency lowered his face to her neck, and parted his lips. A tight draw of his jaw elicited a sharp, singular whimper from her.

And then all was bliss.

Last Look at Home Six hours prior to arrival.

The packing was very nearly complete. Suitcases filled with clothes and accessories suitable for everything from a format corporate summit, to a good night's sleep. The only thing left was a last few personal items to stow into her beloved little briefcase.

That young accountant, whose sweat and pleas for mercy graced her satin sheets was nowhere to be seen, now. She had not seen him since she left him, in all honesty. The corporate world, like so many others, was a place of hierarchies; of rank, and file. Natalia Gioccone liked her station there, and would defend it quite viciously. The old lingered, moving up by the skin of their teeth or the clawing of their nails, and all the while new, fresher meat — young blood — entered the pot and began their own mad scramble to the top, scraping for position with the spoon.

The young man, that accountant, had been one such up-and-comer that she had started to feel threatened by. The best way to keep someone under you, was to keep them under you. To mount and ride like the finest of thoroughbreds. He was a fine stallion, as far as such things went, but it was truly a lesson in futility from the purely physical standpoint — as far as Natalia herself was concerned, in any case.

That didn't matter, now. He was well and firmly put under her thumb, all of which was due to a smoldering look, a light touch, a hushed invitation, and a little nibble. He was entranced now. No longer would he threaten her position there at the company.

Dressing more casual than normal, she forewent the ritual of selecting a blazer, and her normal skirt was replaced by a comfortable pair of navy slacks, matched with a soft cream blouse. The stockings remained, of course, though now hidden from the casual viewer. She had her standards to uphold, as well as her tastes.

Mmm. Tastes.

Yes. Her rather cutthroat view of the corporate world was what gave her the taste she had for the young. Any who could grow, and rise, and threaten her she felt a yearning to know, to explore, to taste, and to squash. Given the nature of the advantages offered by her heritage, it was often an easy thing to grow close to someone. Years spent in denial of the interlocking interaction between man and woman (or of woman and woman) ensured that she had a difficult time of identifying with the others around her unless she used those gifts. Empathy, the power over emotion, was useful in this regard; through those metaphysical tendrils noodling about in the psyche of those who caught the gaze of her dark, dark eyes, the Rose was able to glean all sorts of interesting ideas, thoughts, and feelings about the other person.

But that was for another time. Now was the time to report to work, as she always did. Never a dull moment, and never a night's rest — that's how Clark Ionesco demanded she work, instructing and teaching her as if he was the one who gave her the nature she had today. She didn't truly know where her mother was, but Natalia suspected she was quite well and truly dead.

A thing was slipped inside of her briefcase, tucked back and hidden behind the snapped-on card, pen, and folder holder of the open lid. A thing of latex and leather; of straps and buckles. It was a poetic sort of irony, she mused, but it perfectly described her more intimate interactions with others. Pleasure to give, and none to recieve. Not in the way the others who graced her sheets did, anyway. A symbol of control; of power — the mettle it took to rise to that position she covets so greatly, and goes to such lengths to keep.

Briefcase closed now, latches clicked shut, and tumblers of dual combination locks reset from their seperate codes into a jumbled mass of worthless numbers, she lifted the briefcase in one hand, and the last suitcase in the other. Her home was very nearly stripped of all the essentials she would need for a protracted stay in a foriegn city. Now, all she needed to do was complete her assignment, and get back to report to Mr. Ionesco.

Closing the door behind her, she hummed softly as she moved down the walk toward the awaiting Mercedes. Her final trip to the company's headquarters here in Essex was about to be made. A sidelong glance back the way she came; a lingering stare at the fine lodgings she kept for herself while away from her ancestral home in Venice.

Abandoned every bit as much as that young accountant had been, now.

...And Arrivals One week following arrival.

Existing in life beyond the reach of Clark Ionesco was refreshing. Frustrating, but refreshing. Her associates and colleagues knew who she was, and so kept from annoying her with trifles, fearful that a single word could have them removed from the employment of the company. Those that knew her heritage were fearful of even looking at her, much less being cross.

Here? Here it was not so. People seemed to thrive on either flowery words of praise and welcome, or were as vicious as wolverines caught in a box and poked with sticks. The latter moreso than the former.

Life beyond the stifling corporate world was fulfilling in other ways, too. Natalia Gioccone stretched languidly, like some kind of large, jungle cat sat laying atop a rock in the sun. Of course, realistically speaking, laying atop a rock in the sun would be foolish. She was actually laying atop a large bed, fitted with silk sheets (satin seemed to be in short supply here in this new world, more's the pity) and large, poofy pillows. It might have been considered a lover's bed, though she had known no lover yet in this place.

It took some doing, but she managed to get all of her suitcases (as well as that beloved, trusty briefcase) all into a single moving form. It did not take long before someone pointed a filthy little sausage of a finger at her, and pointed her in the direction of a place he called simply as "WestEnd."

Silly name.

Even so, it appeared to fit geographically speaking, nestled between two other, seperate districts of the city (which she has come to know as Low Town and High Town), the WestEnd seemed to flow like many of the cities she had knew of back in....well, her home. Except Venice. Venice was the eternal, beautiful flower of Italy.

Rolling atop the silken sheets of her bed, Natallia felt the compulsion to yawn, to blink, to smack her lips together and purr. Not out of any actual physical need to do any of them, of course, but just because of the state of mind it had placed her in. There was luxury to be found even here in this strange new world, and she was delighted to have a proper bed on which to rest. While the remainder of the apartments she had acquired and furnished were, at best, somewhat spartan in appearance...the bedroom, so dominated by this large, silk-wrapped bed, would be a place that could remind her of home.

Now...

To find a body warmer than her own to set down upon it; to taste all of the delicious little young morsels that this world had to offer, one by one.

Business as Usual

Clark Ionesco was not likely to be pleased if she ever found a way to send a report to him. She had been here in this place now for weeks, and had only barely begun her primary goal for the company. A branch office in this wonderful new world so filled with monsters and demons, and the sweet, sweet crooning of young flesh to grace her presence, and feed her cold heart with emotions.

Hm.

There were too many haves, Natalia Gioccone had decided. Everywhere she looked were people independantly wealthy beyond the wildest dreams of avarice. There were a few have-nots of course, but they were so far set into the other direction as to make hiring of her services or of contracting with the company a moot and stale point.

And her attempts at insunuating herself into the local culture seemed ....strained.

Still, though, the night came as it often did, and the Italian Rose would ever rise from her silken sheets, dress in her corporate finery, and set out to mingle amongst the people of this bizaare new world. She sat this night in an establishment known as the Red Dragon — a central meeting point, it seemed, very akin to a shopping mall or any of the various parks and squares that littered Canterbury or London or Venice.

Only it was more a public house. A pub with bedrooms. Most interesting, indeed.

With her pound of flesh taken from Lorelie (and the girl seemingly oh-so-willing for a renewed visit from the Rose), Natalia turned her dark, smoldering eyes for new meat to add to the herd. She came, at last, upon Charlotte Cross.

Looking vampy and needy for attention that Natalia was only too happy to provide, the woman seemed stressed over her engagement to some man named Brian. The Rose never had a particular use for marriage (for the cold heart does not feel of such romantic notions), and for her to care that the woman was "officially" off the market anyway was....beneath her, somehow.

So she insinuated herself against this woman, bending her Empathy and Presence into a twisting duality of irritation, curiosity, frustration, and desire — all wrapping themselves tightly about the other's psyche.

But the hunt was interrupted this night by the arrival of Brian, her betrothed. And, just like that, every ounce of desire and lust and curiosity that Natalia had spent the better part of the last hour or so building was instantly thrown upon this man. It would be him that tasted of her arms tonight, though his own tastes were likely a bit different than hers.

A pity. Charlotte seemed so close to teetering and falling; the newest prey for this predatory Italian.

There were others, of course, that were remarked or noticed; jotted down for the future hunt perhaps. A girl of chestnut-brown hair, streaked in white, and wearing the most peculiar of skirts. Another one, younger still (deliciously young; so pliable and moldable) that held in tiny hand a tennis racquet. Another taller, somewhat older, girl of platinum hair and delicately pointed ears.

There was a fire to these three that infuriated and enticed the Rose. They were quick with the hand (as attested by the sportsgirl striking a man across the head with that racquet), and held a saucy tongue in their wit and banter. She would have them, of course — she always gets what she wants, eventually — but for now....now was the time to return to her apartments in the WestEnd.

The game would always continue. The hunt would always press on. She would have them in the fullness of time, and her kind were patient indeed when it came to such an ephemeral concept as time.

(edit: Charlotte's surname was Cross at the time, not Ravenlock. )

Statues and Cherry Blossoms

Natalia was a creature of habit. Her habits, while not normally very ostentatious, were beginning to become noticed. Perhaps it was because she was too open, or too forward, or too aggressive. She saw what she wanted, and she made moves to take it.

A thing many women were guilty of.

Still, her aggression could easily be written off to her upbringing, and her many years in the service of Clark Ionesco. The company was cutthroat, and if you did not move up then you simply stayed put, sweltering where you were at for years until somebody died or retired or....well, simply passed on in some way. The company — particularly the more shadowy side of life in the offices — was not for the faint of heart, and it was not for the meek. Natalia Gioccone was neither.

It all started when she spied with her dark, dark eyes a woman of stunning size and beauty. Long minutes of staring at this statuesque wonder of womanhood had netted the Rose a few very important details; details that she would file away for later use. This striking woman, easily topping her in height and build (the word amazon comes readily to mind), had been speaking with another one. A smaller woman, of very obviously Asiatic features. This was relieving to Natalia, as it seemed to dictate that others from her home — The World — had found their way here.

Natalia was not alone. That much was, in its own way, a relief.

The conversation had been heating up, and all the while the Rose had sat there, feeling the silk of stockings rub one against the other enwrapping crossed legs, staring. Was it to be considered rude, perhaps, this singular stare" Perhaps, but who was she to care" She, who had long ago left behind the human frailties of morality and social etiquette (save only when it was a requirement, of course). She was satisfied in her unending gaze, though, but as the night pressed on and more and more left this Red Dragon (either to public rooms upstairs, or to their own lodgings), the more she was able to eavesdrop. Until, at last, the considerably smaller asian spoke words that remarked strongly in her ears.

"Will you take me to Mistress Alma's?"

Alma.

That name.

So! These two were, somehow, associated with this lady that she, apparently, seemed to resemble - in function if not in form; Natalia was certainly not blonde as she had heard whispers of the mysterious Alma to be.

Frustrating enough, though, she could not discern the identity of the rather striking woman, nor of the delicate asian flower. The former interested her more than the latter, though. Youthful in appearance, formidible in build, and by her observations ever-ready with a razored edge drawn from....well, Natalia couldn't quite tell. Not from this distance.

The two left, followed by the unturning gaze of the Italian Rose. She considered leaving herself, truth be told, but decided against it. She was hungry for the tastes of this new world again, and would hunt. Rising out of her chair like mercury, Natalia - cherished, treasured briefcase in hand - moved into one of the far corners. It was amazing just how one did not notice, how much one could seem to blend into furniture and fixtures, when one simply did not move.

And all she needed now was patience. Glorious, everlasting patience.

The one thing she had plenty of.

Reaping What is Sown The next day, early morning

"After all we've been through, why will you not curl with me now?"

Natalia Gioccone was decadence in action. Pumps relieved for now to display the perfection of dainty feet wrapped in silk stockings, legs curled beneath her in a languid lounge against one arm of the couch there in the common room of the public house, her blazer unbuttoned. She was Venus atop her chaise, and her naked little cherub was Lorelie.

Except, of course, that Natalia was not naked; neither was Lorelie. That would come later, perhaps. Also, Lorelie was quite female, too. It is hard to think of yourself as one of the paintings of old when so many things were, in their way, different.

But we digress.

For now, all it takes a bit of stroking with the power of Empathy. It was a subtle Discipline, yes, less useful for getting people to do what you want, and more useful for getting them into the right state of mind for it. Atop of the normal sharing of emotions it allowed from the empathized one to the empathic one, it also allowed the wielder of that strange power over emotion to stroke certain feelings to the surface. Natalia herself has avoided death many times, and only with the subtle control of bringing one's lusts to override the other's rage.

And, of course, in the heated press of naked flesh, that was the arena Natalia could function best at. Even if her partner did not survive the meeting.

Lorelie did, indeed, curl onto the couch with her. The girl was naive, yes, but not without her attraction. With the exception of the rather displeasurable taste of knowing she chased the dragon and tainted the temple of her body with opium, she was still a pretty dandy when she laid her cheek upon the Rose's stockinged knee, sitting at her feet like the faithful little pet that Natalia would turn her into — and all because Toby decided to go Alpha and try to frighten her away!

Stroking her fingers lightly through Lorelie's hair, fingernails scratching against her scalp, she took in the moment with the desire to sigh wistfully. It was not often she had such moments of relaxation, after all.

And even this one would be terribly short-lived.

Moments later, Lorelie was on the other side of the room, excusing herself as another approached and wished to speak with the Rose. Natalia recognized her, barely. A vague sort of 'I think I know you..' impression one gets when one sees another in the background so often.

Wyheree.

"Sakura spoke to me about your...encounter yesterday. It caused her great distress. I ask that you not hunt her." The girl seemed to have a bit of spine in her. Natalia offered up a dazzling smile, thinking of how wonderful it would be to hear it snap, crackle, and pop when the girl broke.

The Rose's voice was soft; quiet, as it ever was, and dripping with the honey she was so known for back in the accounting offices of the company. "I do not hunt, pidgeon. I simply croon, and suggest. I just wanted to ask her a simple question....And her body betrayed her. Why am I at fault, mm' Why do I..."

Her hand extended, velvet pad of finger gracing the other's jawline in a smooth, quick draw to the chin, "...hunt?"

"I have watched you at work - hunt is the best word for what you do." Natalia noted the girl's skin felt like little nettles prickling against her fingertip. How....unfortunate.

"She makes three of my friends you have pursued. I ask why that is"

"Coincidence," with a dismissive flick of her wrist, "I don't know you from that lovely woman across the room, with those lucious legs."

Splendiferous might have been the word to use for Kairee's legs, actually, so wrapped in short skirts and tight, taut dresses. Her legs, however, were the only part of her that Natalia was even remotely interested in, and such an interest was waning at best.

Natalia goaded her, a quiet sort of attack after attack, pointing out that Sakura had been posessed by another far, far more deeper than she herself had done to the geisha. Granted, it was a fully consensual posession in that one, whereas Natalia made Sakura's own body betray her. However, these things were as ephemeral as passing fancies as far as she was concerned.

"I am well aware of Sakura's...interests. But you genuinely upset her, and I cannot let that pass." So much fire. So much sport promised behind those hard, cold eyes.

Painted lips curl into smirk, then. "And would you punish me then, girl" Bend me over your knee and redden my bottom?"

She waved her hand, and Natalia felt a pass of icy shards cut at her cheek. Her head jerks to the side, thin lines of red coursing her cheek now like fingernails' slash from a scorned lover. "I am not your girl - do not address me as such. Sakura is very dear to me, and while I cannot protect her from what she wishes to do, I can keep those who hunt her without her consent away."

Natalia turned back, relocking her dark eyes to the silvered ones of the other female. "You think you can hurt me, then?"

She croons, very nearly coming to a purr as she eeked closer, insinuating herself into the other's space. A soft, slow sort of invasion, tongue raking slowly across her upper lip. "You think you can break me....girl?"

The Rose was rewarded by another, thicker series of little shards cutting at the skin of her other cheek now. The woman's eyes were very nearly glowing. "You do not frighten me. I am not some mewling little plaything for your amusement."

She took a step closer, then, her jaw set in a prettily stubborn little way. Natalia could have simply devoured her, just for that look! "Leave Sakura alone."

Natalia did not retreat. Her lips parted as if to speak, then closed into another indulgent little smile. "Sakura has no interest to me, if you must know. She was a means to an end. I seek another— well, two others, truthfully, and she was the only avenue to take. Pleasurable little trip as it was. But....if you would not be for my amusement, perhaps I should be for yours" Imagine, if you will, the decadence I could bring to your world. All of the wonderful little hedonistic pleasures I have to offer. What say you, then" Would you allow me to submit to you....mistress?"

And see another thorn in the Rose. Many masks to wear to get what she wants, and no moral qualms to live by at all, with none so sharp a thorn as feigned submission.

That didn't seem to work either. Natalia was, again, raked with the cold chill of sharpened flakes of frost. She stepped back, then, flesh broken again by icy shards like tiny daggers. The keen eye would notice the cuts that were opened on her cheek, though, originally, were gone.

Low and throaty, the Rose's husky voice reaches out to her. It was rife with carnal desire, the promise of ecstacy should one simply throw away the chains of morality they wore. "Then you would, perhaps, offer a trade" Yourself for her" Otherwise I am left for wanting. And I do so hate wanting, pet. How far are you willing to go to keep her safe" What is the depths of your love for her?"

"I am not your pet - address me as Lady if you address me at all. Sakura is my dear friend. Leave her alone or we will test the limits of your healing abilities." She did have a keen eye, apparently. Now if she only knew the depths of that ability...

The Rose hissed, but ends it nearly in the same instant it happens. Painted lips smirk again, lifting her hand to touch at her face. Tiny cuts, so many tiny cuts, healing slowly but surely over her face, neck, and what is exposed of her chest from the cream-colored camisole worn beneath navy blazer. "You would do well, I think, in the arenas I walk....Lady. If only you would allow me to teach you, and mold you. Every lilt and motion directed like a maestro directs his orchestra."

"...But might as well go ahead and tie me to your bed — if every word of indignation I offer earns me another strike of your will, then I fear I will be quivering for some time under your ministrations. I am stubborn that way, I suppose."

That might have very well been the final straw as far as this woman was concerned. She pressed her hands together, and Natalia felt a sudden surge of power force itself against her. Her body was flung backward, striking against the couch and falling to the cushions she had just so recently risen from. Tendrils of ice wrapped themselves around her, frost clinging to skin and clothes to freeze her to the couch.

The woman's voice was harsh, cold, and steely. "Leave Sakura alone."

After a faint round of shaking from the chill of the cold against her skin, which turned the skin from dark olive to faint red, she laughed almost delightedly. "I will...when I have extracted from her all I wish. A name, and your bonnie lass will be free of me."

"I do not play games, nor do I bargain with the likes of you." Wyheree's body seemed to...ripple. The air around her steaming with the faintest hints of frost melting as soon as it was formed.

The Rose had played long enough.

And it is here that she taps into the power within herself. Dark eyes to glowing locked, an insurmountable command uttered directly into her mind through a single spoken word, surprisingly resounding compared to the normally soft tone she is accustomed to. Dominate was a power she used sparingly; it took all the sport out of the hunt.

Not like Empathy, and not like Presence — those only added to the spice of victory.

"Release...me."

And, just like that, the other began to subside. Her icy aura withdrawn inside of her, her eyes softening. The cold melted away from Natalia's body — not into water, but simply into nothingness. Wyheree took a step forward, attempting to loom.

"Do we understand each other now?"

"I understand that with every stroke of your brilliant power, power enough to make me quail beneath your hand, I desire you more and more." Natalia undulated once on the couch, working out knots that had grown from the slash of ice and the woman's fury. Lacy caps of silk stockings exposed somewhat during that melee, and the Italian looked entirely disheveled. "Perhaps I will turn my attentions from Sakura now. A far more enticing target has been brought to bear."

"See that you do." The woman turned and stalked away. The Rose took this time, then, now in respite to adjust her stockings and skirt, camisole and blazer, righting the proper appearance once more. Conservative. Corporate.

Feet slid into her pumps, and she retreated from the coming dawn to her room upstairs. She had lost some face, perhaps, but this creature with the power of ice was formidable to her. Perhaps as formidable as a kitten is to one such as she, but formidable in her own way.

As she disrobed and crawled into her bed, she came to consider this new threat to her. Attractive and powerful — a bit of an unknown, perhaps, but she did have power.

Natalia's tongue slid across the front row of her teeth, and her fingers slid down across the soft curves of her body as she succumbed to slumber.

Wyheree would be a very, very satisfying triumph to conquer.

Like Sands Through the Hourglass... Current Events of the Past Few Weeks

In the grand scheme of things, Natalia Gioccone might look back and admit that she had been....somewhat reckless. She might confess that she was too forward, too aggressive, too open. She might freely say that her dealings toward those around her were done with too much haste, too much alacrity.

She might. Most likely not, though.

It pained her, this creature without morals, what had happened to Lorelie. Lorelie was her first taste of this new world, after all, and having to stand by and watch as the girl became defiant and uncontrollable stung her as hard as Sakura's slap that night weeks ago. Still, her own survival is what mattered. Von Locke had tore the girl's mind to pieces, but even as her heart bled to go and comfort her, Lorelie had chosen her own path.

And now she was broken because of that choice.

Sakura herself had not crossed the Rose's path in some time. Not since that night where she had been stalked out onto the back step in the alley. Natalia remembered that night; how close she had come to posessing the geisha fully.

"What is it you want?" she had asked her, crooning gently into her ear.

"Release..." the girl had whispered. She had been feeling neglected, perhaps, by those she had given herself to.

"It can be given, if one was to ask." Lips poised near the girl's ear. How close she was to taking every part of this asian girl now!

"Please..." she whispered again, choking it out in a swallow.

Natalia Gioccone had been all-too-willing to keep her word, of course, reaching inside the young woman's robe with the expert grace of nimble and experienced fingers. She was almost mechanical, actually, so efficient and perfect in her technique as she gave the geisha the release she so desperately needed. And how close she came to nuzzling against the girl's throat and having her fully!

She was stopped that night, though, by the smell of alcohol heavy on the other's breath. It was a taint, and one that Natalia didn't truly care for. She restrained herself, deciding that the release given to the girl would make it easier to draw her to her in the future for another night.

But that was then. She hasn't seen the geisha since. Apparently, the girl's mysterious mistress, Alma, has kept her....considerably busy lately.

Alma herself has not yet taken Natalia up on her invitation to meet and play hostess in her WestEnd apartments. This bristled the Italian's feathers a bit, but she was nothing if not a patient creature. She was even more eager to meet with her, however, after spending a bit of time with another in her service - that particularly striking woman, Magenta. Magenta was a wordsmith, it seemed, and Natalia had been shocked initially into standing on her toes with the wit required in the discourse with her. Thrust and parry, duck and slash, the two exchanged verbal blows and, Natalia felt, a bit of chemistry of sorts.

It was a different manner of chemistry alltogether that was injected into the Rose's veins, though, that rebirthed long-dead feelings of true lust inside of her, and left her keeping that Tia'Ele-whatever woman begging for mercy by the time she was done with her that night.

As for Alma, though, she had other matters to attend to that required her attention more than being a congenial host, no matter how eager she was to meet with the mysterious woman.

It had been made aware to her, from watching through open windows and listening to the conversations about her, that Skyler's heart-bound little lady seemed to have been back. And what a night her homecoming had, too! She watched from that window with the detached interest of someone watching a goldfish as the battle raged between what appeared to be her estranged husband, and herself, and all parties limping away afterward.

This, she mused, could be turned to her advantage. What's more that could be pushed to her advantage, though, was what she saw so very terribly early the next morning.

Now that was a card she was going to put into full play, when she made good on her promise to bed Skyler's little lady. This Jewell was such a lovely little thing, too.

Myllyanna made good on her own promise of assistance to Natalia, though it did come with a price. Services rendered would require her to actually pay a bit more attention to everything going on about her, as she Asian seemed inclined to know the going-ons of the world. The Italian would be her ferret, she decided, if that is what it took to keep Wyheree from throttling her with cold winds and icy shards of glass.

Besides, there was a draw she felt to the proprieteress of the Onyx Lotus. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on; something as intangible and as ephemeral as the wind blowing through the trees on a cool autumn night. Perhaps she reminded Natalia of herself in some way.

...Or perhaps it was because she just really wanted to taste her. It was hard to tell, at times.

With her mind split between the games of wit and manuever she played with the lady Magenta, the humble act she had to give for Von Locke, and the interesting equality she felt Myllyanna had against her, it was hard to believe she actually had time to throw the gauntlet at Skyler over the battleground of Jewell.

Hard to believe, yes, but she did manage to make time for it. Watching the two instantly fall into chaos and tumult was satisfying in a way, and did pull a small smile from the Rose as he watched him chase after her up the stairs to manhandle her, demanding answers, with others coming to her aid.

Satisfaction guarenteed. Or your money back.

Indigestion Approximately four hours later...

It was early afternoon when Natalia Gioccone finally collapsed face-first into the pillow on her bed in room twelve. It was very, very early evening when she woke, doubled-over in pain, cramping hard in the stomach. Her head was still swimming like it was while she fed from Jewell, but now...now there were strange flashes of color and light. Flowers shot from the walls and the dresser and the nightstand, blooming into vibrant life.

She crawled off the bed, still cringing over from the cramps, and that was when the vomiting started. She felt her throat contract, her stomach suck in, and then a burst of blood shot out from her mouth, splattering all over the floor. A rainbow burst into view overhead, covering the room, and from the wall over the bed a waterfall formed, splashing into nothingness into the fine linen sheets.

The vomiting continued, and by the time she was nearly drained of every drop in her entire system most of the floor (and the nearby wall, and her clothes, and her hair) was covered in a bloody mess. Most of it was vivid and red, but some was a blacker color of older blood still held inside her system. It wasn't sickening exactly, per se, but she didn't need it to be.

She was quite sick enough as it was.

With almost all of her body purged, though, the stomach cramps continued. The dry heaving started as grass sprung up from the floor of her room, and she mucked wide-eyed through the sanguine mess all over the place to the corner. Fingernails scratchd and clawed at the wall as if trying to find solace or escape, and a sun burst into view over her bed in the corner of the room. She wasn't burned to a cinder, but it was enough to set her into the Red Fear.

And there she was: Natalia Gioccone, a gibbering, whimpering, screaming mess of blood and gore, clawing at the wall and kicking at the floor for hours and hours.

Eventually, the sun vanished from the room, the waterfall dried up, the grass shriveled and disappeared, and the bounty of flowers withered and poofed. It had all been a hallucination....but it had left her in such a state that she didn't even want to try to fix her appearance before she left.

She didn't even have the faculties to do so. There was only one thought that gripped her head, that gripped her mind.

Must.

Feed.

She rose to her feet and, barefoot, bloodied, clothes ripped and quite the mess, bolted from her room.

Frenzied.

Later on, perhaps the next day, it would become known that a few corpses had been found in the city. Much of their throats had been torn out and away, and they had been completely exsanguinated, and no attempt at all had been made to hide their bodies.

The culprit, however, remained at large. Shock news there, in Rhy'Din, eh?

Sleepy Beauty's Scorn Two mornings later...

"Let her rest."

Natalia's voice was soft, but easily heard in the early, early morning of the inn. She had appeared rather form nowhere as she so often does, but regardless of that fact " she was there now. She was standing against Alex, the former beau of the delicious-but-sour-aftereffect Jewell Ravenlock, and that green-haired little dapple of a girl that she first saw dear Katarina with. "Do unto others, I believe the phrase goes?"

They had been threatening to wake up the girl asleep face-down on the bar, but they backed away from Natalia. It was not, perhaps, because of any threatening appearance she may have had. The two seemed plainly to be lovers, though, or well on their way to becoming that.

No, they would fold into each other for now. Leaving this girl for Natalia's attention.

The girl, barely more than a slip herself, had red hair. Her eyes were fluttering, and a soft smile curled at lightly pink-tinted lips. She appeared to be snuggling to a chilled orange juice bottle as if it were a teddy bear.

How cute.

Natalia's dark, dark eyes watched as the two rose to move away. She stood like a sentinel; stoic, and liken unto a statue, until they had gone the distance they decided would be suitable to allow the other for peaceful sleep. She turned then toward the sleeping girl, there on the bar counter. It might have seemed odd for Natalia to have so protected the girl's sleep in such a manner but, as most so often do, she had an agenda.

Who, who truly knew her, would consider Natalia to be so....good-natured, after all"

She took a step forward, silent as the grave, and coo'd very-so-softly. A hand rose, stroking a band of vivid red hair away from the girl's face, and tucking it behind her ear with no more sensation than the rasp of velvet. The girl's breathing remained deep and regular. The smile she had been wearing vanished, though, as the touch descended upon her. She took on the calm, angelic expression of a child.

Natalia leened in, intently, fingers gently " oh-so-gently " unwrapping one hand from about the orange juice container. It was a slow thing; methodical. Predatory. Like a great jungle cat stalking through the brush after an antelope. A single false move and the prey would startle, and dash.

Natalia so hated when she had to chase her victims...

The Rose whispered tender, sweet little nothings to the sleeping maid. Too soft, perhaps, to even fully make out the words, but the honeyed voice saturated the slumbering one. The hand was pulled free, left exposed and out " and vulnerable. The Rose pursed her lips, pressing a soft, soft kiss against the girl's forearm. The kiss was repeated up the length to her wrist.

Painted lips paused, just briefly, parting to take in the tender skin stretched across the girl's wrist. The soft draw of cheeks marks a softer suckle against that thin skin, and the very light graze of canines.

Let us teach a lesson now, tutor to apt pupil, on the intricacies of what goes around and happens. Perhaps there is some animal instinct inside of the girl that screams 'Predator!' - but that voice was just be a whisper to the slumbering mind. A hand rolls out, velvet fingers taking long, slow, comforting and reassuring strokes along the girl's back, even as that tiny little double-prick was felt through that thin skin.

The girl....whimpered. It was a pleasing sound to the Rose. She so enjoyed the little noises girls and young women made.

The blood began to flow to the pulsing rhythm of her flexing throat, and a different sort of feeling erupted into the sleeping girl. Where once it was the pinprick of pain, now existed the vibrant, full, orgasmic flood of sensations known as The Kiss. A mottled mix of emotion and raw feeling, it was a primal sort of thing that descended upon the girl.

One wonders why some humans are such willing blood dolls to the fangs of those who would see them as food" It is because, my dear and unfortunate friends, this was one of the most intense, most addictive feelings in the entire multiverse.

The girl's breath came out in ragged, erratic pants and wheezes. Her heart was trip-hammering in her chest, and Natalia could almost feel it in the girl's pulse. Cords of muscle stood out on her neck and she....groaned in ecstacy. Her back arched, leaning fully against the hand upon her back. Her eyes snapped open, and Natalia could tell she was seeing it all. She had that expression, though " the one that said she had no idea what was happening, and had no way of understanding it. As soon as another breath was taken, it was once more wasted on another low moan.

The power of the Kiss rolled on, the sensation never faltered, never paused. A trickle or a deluge, it would remain the same. It was a trickle that Natalia fed off of, though; she had no desire to harm the girl, after all. The continued flex of her throat drew the girl-child into her body, stirring the ichor to pump in her veins as long-dead heart beneath her breast picked up the pace of Rosie's own.

The girl's eyes were rounded, much like dinner plates would have been (or, perhaps, teacup saucers). Still, she wept. She was frightened, even as her body was wracked with the unadulterated pleasure of The Kiss. She shook her head from side to side, forcing out a long, low shriek interspersed within the whimpering. "No..."

Natalia's lips grinned against the other's skin. How strong the girl must be, of mind and will, to even utter that soft, pitiful form of resistance! But, it was true; the Rose had taken her fill.

She did not, when all was said and done, have any real desire to hurt the girl permanently.

The gentle trickle ceases, and the soft rake of tongue across the other's pierced skin heals it without the traces of a mark to be left behind. Her voice was heard again, soft and gentle; barely a whisper, "Do not be frightened, little duckling..."

Yet even as the words left her painted lips, Natalia could see they would be wasted. Those green eyes widened to the point of being ridiculously huge, and the fact that she was shaking like a leaf in a stiff autumnal wind, went to show that the girl was not only frightened " she was terrified.

Abject. Horror.

No doubt she had heard of the great and terrible vampire lords that ride through the night, terrorizing peasants and feasting and bathing in the blood of the innocents. Surely one couldn't look at the lovely Natalia Gioccone, curved and womanly, and see anything but a monster, right'

Or perhaps they saw a predator of a different sort; an illusion that lent itself well to the reality of...well, what was happening now.

She crooned again, soft and low, her skin flushed with the bask of life given " taken " from the one who had been sleeping. She closed the distance between them, offering a gentle sort of nuzzle while her arms wrapped around the younger one, comfortingly.

The girl....cried softly, curling her head against Natalia's shoulder.

Natalia was nothing if not a kind and generous mistress to those she took inside of her, and cool lips press a soft, adoring kiss on the girl's forehead. Her voice was soft, gentle. Elegant and reassuring. "There, there, pidgeon...it's alright.."

Unfortunatly, the girl stiffened at that pet name. She paused for only a moment before the struggle began, twisting out of the embrace to step away from the barstool on unsteady legs, clinging to the bar for support. "No....leave me alone..."

Always, this happens. Really, you'd wonder why Natalia even bothered to try, and not just stay up to watch a sun rise.

She tries to be nice.

She tries to make her pets feel as good as they possibly could.

She was the crazy old woman with the dog she fed steaks to for every meal.

Beloved. Adored. Protected. Safe. Until they become defiant.

As the girl began to shrug her way free, Natalia's gentle, comforting, barely-there touching hold became something not unlike a steel vice, and entirely too-strong arms drew the girl back, close, crushing breasts to breasts with painted lips near the other's ear. She whispered something, then, dark and soft and low. "Your strength is mine now, little dove, for as long as I choose to keep it. Speak not a word of what has happened, for every uttered syllable is a lesson in pain that will be inflicted. Mm'kay, pumpkin?"

The two found their way to the couch. The girl was seated, curled up, gathering her thoughts perhaps and trembling a bit. Natalia was standing, leaning her full hip against the armrest. She reached out, sliding her perfectly-done fingernails tenderly across the girl's scalp.

An adoring gesture; a scritchscratch like one does a beloved cat, or dog. "Do not be frightened overmuch, youngling. It was your first time...?"

The girl didn't long tolerate it, though. Jerking her head from under the scritching, she glared up at the Rose. Anger, fear, disgust, shame, guilt " these things mixed curiously on her tear-stained face. "Get away from me."

Natalia watched for a few seconds, then gave a curt nod. She was no rapist, nor was she an overruling, dominating bitch who gave people no choice. "As you like it, my pretty precious. Know that you have been warned, but know also that my arms would remain open if ever...ah...you felt he need for surrender again."

She curled her lips; the malicious smile of a predator.

Like that of a snake peering at a trembling mouse. She turned, sliding smoothly off the edge of the couch, and the Rose moved away.

She did, after all, try so hard to be kind and generous and adoring. Feeling the pangs of humanity claw at her heart, even now, the Italian woman vacated the room, vanishing upstairs to her home-away-from-home. What she wouldn't give for the comfort of her silken sheets in her WestEnd apartment.

She falls in love this way every morning, every time she sinks her fangs into another pretty little thing. She awakens to a broken heart every evening, every time she faces the scorn of one who would chose defiance instead of sweet, sweet submission.

Today, it seems, her heart will bleed for Rosie O'Del. But for tommorow" Who'se to say, gentle readers" Who'se to say?

Melting the Ice A few moments later...

The air started to become chilled. Natalia could sense this fact based on the contracting of her skin, as all things do when they become cooler. A swirl of mist built up from the floor, and shards of ice were visible in the cyclone of cold white. Up and up it went, widening out until it was a veritable hurricane in small scale.

When it cleared, Wyheree was there. Her eyes swept the hall, burning to a spark and flash as she sees Natalia....sleeping" Quiet slippered feet moved the mage over to Natalia's prone form, curiosity etching her face.

When one did not breath, it was hard to tell the difference between sleep and relaxation. She was hardly asleep, of course, for the Rose was merely enjoying a few moments of quiet and solitude - something she didn't get very often lately, it seemed.

Still, Wyhere wasn't exactly a ninja, now was she"

In absolute silence, a mortal could hear the sound of their own heart beating dutifully in their chest. They could hear the sound of air moving against itself in the ear canal, and even - if one listened closely enough - the background "hum" of the body's many little noises that were made just by existing.

Natalia knew of the other's presence.

Wyheree slipped closer, her lips parting slightly as she crept. Certainly she should have been acutely aware of the power that Natalia wielded (she was, after all, on the recieving end one night when she actually inspired the Rose to a state of frenzy), and was accordingly cautious. Still, curiosity was her hallmark expression of the night, and most likely it had something to do with Natalia's apparent new-found ability to resist her magical incantations.

Natalia doesn't move. Like a certain sort of sea serpent that lies very still on the bottom of the ocean waiting for their food to draw close and take little nibbles, she waited.

Her eyes were closed, her hands folded.

She would wait just a little bit more. Wyheree slipped closer still. Not quite within arm's reach, now, but almost. Almost....

Dark eyes opened.

It wasn't a horror movie-esque snap, just the slow lifting of lids, like the curtain-rise of a broadway production. Her voice was to come next, then, dripping honey with the gentle, soft revirbirations of what might have been a purr. "You have come to me?"

For her part, Wyheree stopped in her tracks as if frozen to the very spot her feet had been in. Her voice was steady, but Natalia was a keen judge of the telltale physical aspects of the human body. The elementalist was nervous.

"I will admit you have awoken my curiosity," she said, slowly.

When it came to Natalia, it was easy to at once be bewitched and slain by the warm, moist cave of her mouth, lined with faultless white teeth and immaculate pink gums, and organized around a tenderly-coiled tongue. Those neat front teeth were exposed with a broad smile, and the extension of a hand.

It was half-beckoning, perhaps, as if to wrap fingers about fingers should Wyheree make the gesture to reach back. "It is curiosity that keeps us excited in our lives, Lady. That allows us to push on when others - fate, time, and circumstance - would push us into the unending tedium of mindless mediocrity. Lie with me. Tell me of your....curiosities."

Wyheree hesitated only a moment before she took a careful seat by this hunter, stiff as a board and clearly not relaxing a bit. Not one single iota. "You have...changed ..from the first time we met."

The Rose was lounged so luxuriously over that couch. Her feet were nearly sat upon, but they were moved. One was anchored now down between cushion and couch, the other curled around the back of Wyheree's hip. It was such an innocent little position to be in, wasn't it'

"I have changed" How so?"

The elementalist, this so-called Queen of Ice, scooted forward just a touch to give Natalia room for her trapped foot to move. "I have noticed certain changes in you, changes in how my magic reacts to you, and I am curious as to why this is so. Elemental magic is by its nature very difficult to resist.."

Natalia's chin dips, and it soon becomes apparent that she has no desire to relieve herself with that trapped foot. Indeed, stockinged foot - her shoes were neatly laid upon the floor at the base of the couch - does move, but only to curl against the Elementalist's backside again.

Honeyed words and velvet voice went out again to her, "Why should I tell you? It leaves me at the disadvantage and you have...displayed a certain hostility toward me. Unwarranted, you'd see, if you had taken the time to ask questions. But still — the fact remains.

Natalia continued, "With only a few questions asked, you would find that any who have come to my tender ministrations have never been left for wanting. It is not pain I inflict in my bite, lady."

There was a slow, deep breath from the mage. She scooted forward again, and her tense appearance became even more rigid. Icy. Natalia could only offer up a little shadowed smile. She had seen such rigidity before. Katarina held it, too. Wyheree, clearly, was....mm...unfamiliar with a woman's attentions.

"Would you not defend those you love as fiercely if you felt they were threatened?" she asked, finally, turning her silver eyes back to the lounging, languid form of Natalia.

"Yes," she replied, coyly, "and I have. Rosie herself, as a matter of fact. I am not so evil as you might imagine me to be, lady. I have needs like anyone else; it is my own graciousness and, dare I say, sense of humanity that compels me to sate my needs in the gentle ways that I do."

Natalia leaned up from her lounge there on the couch. A cool, velvet-textured hand reached out to slide fingertips oh-so softly against the equally-cool jawline of the elementalist. She had to remind herself that Wyheree's chilly skin was not from the fact that she was dead.

"Is it that I have changed so much in your eyes, lady?" she asked, her voice barely above a sultry whisper, "or....perhaps....your eyes are opening?"

Wyheree....blinked. It was obvious just from watching her expression, the tense line of muscles running down her neck, the cords in her shoulders, that she was distinctly uncomfortable at having the Rose so close, and certainly no more comforted by her gentle touch. Even so, she managed to form words.

"I am surprised that you would defend Rosie. I thought you meant her serious harm, and would not care if she was hurt or not," she said, and Natalia could see the struggle to maintain neutrality.

Wyheree was being uncharacteristically civil for some reason. Natalia knew it most likely had to do with the pendant given to her by the Mistress of Shin'Ka.

"On the contrary, my dear lady....I am viciously protective of those whom I would take inside of me. She is defiant, perhaps, but beloved nonetheless." Painted lips curl into a sultry smile, to match that heated voice, "It is not a romantic love, capisca, but....well, it is hard to explain, giving the limitations of verbal language. It is something you would have to experience."

Considering Natalia's words, the elementalist was not quite sure what to make of them. This confusion was clearly shown in her eyes. With her eyes still downcast, Wyheree spoke again - though her voice was a little bit softer.

"I fear I do not understand. I saw the pain in their eyes, and I could sense they were upset. How can this be, if they were not harmed?"

"It is shock," she said, "Fear in the unknown, perhaps. I do not advertise what I am, and....yes, sometimes my touch is not recieved willingly. In all cases, though, I am there to comfort. I told you that, but you were not listening to me then."

She offered a little smile, and a subtle, chiding tone of voice, "You had only murder in your eyes. I do not simply attack and sieze like some pillaging viking, lady..."

The hand was there again. This time it was a curled craddle of the other woman's face, and no mere slide of fingertips. Cool touch to cool skin, and the Rose moved. Legs were drawn up and beneath her, and she was closer now to the elementalist than she had been before.

"I am no monster. A surprise, yes, at times....but no monster."

The truth was far more complex, but there was no need to advertise that either, now was there" The more humane types of vampires could almost be described as nice, but that would be a foolish assumption. They're not. They just realize that, at this point, it made a great deal more sense and was far, far more safer to coexist and try to work through the mortals than it was to fight them. The wise mortal would never, ever be fooled into thinking that they were the 'good guys.'

They simply had more uses for humans alive than dead.

The sudden movement came as a surprise, and Wyheree slid back along the couch to replace the lost distance between them. Natalia could feel the woman's skin beginning to prickle beneath her hand like the gentle brush of nettles.

"I was angry," she said, "and wanted revenge for my friends. Now...I do not know what to make of you - there is nothing like you in my realm."

The Italian Rose released a melodic sort of laugh, then, husky and low and dulcet of tone. It was a brief thing before she made a rather pointed look back to Wyheree. "The best way to learn..." she said, slowly, "is by experience."

Her painted lips part to reveal; to show. Canines were there, but they were the normal human teeth. Pointed, yes, but not necessarily sharp. From the gums above, though, protruded the Rose's thorns. They slid out from the gums like a snake's might, sliding and fitting down snugly over the other teeth. When next she spoke, honeyed drawl of her Italian accent was given a soft lisp from the now-restricted tongue movement.

"The question is asked, though....how far are you willing to go to gain..."

A decadent smile pulled at those lips framing her fangs, "...understanding?"

The mage's silver eyes widen as Natalia's fangs slide down over her teeth. She is frightened now - Natalia can read it in her eyes like words upon a page in a cherished book. Absently, the Rose could feel a kind of subtle breeze pick up, cold and foreboding. It was not a harsh cut of winter blast, though it was enough to notice. Natalia disregarded it.

"I would make a poor meal for you," the other woman said softly. Perhaps reality had set in now, hm?

"My hunger is satiated for the time," Natalia shot back, dipping her head just a bit. "But I would do this for you."

She shook her head briskly, and somewhere in the depths of her imagination Natalia could almost hear the crunch of ice as she did so. This woman was entirely too rigid. A cold block of ice in dire need of being melted a bit. "You frighten me to the point my blood does not flow."

"You are mortal..." she said as she rose up onto her knees, 'walking' forward a bit. Her hands both come to rest upon Wyheree's face, craddling her as a mother might to a daughter. She croons and coos, leaning her head down. The dead do not feel temperature as the living do, and so Natalia Gioccone has no problem with the touch of foreheads, one to another, and the bristling spikey sensation of cold against her skin. "...And so your blood flows. Do not be frightened of me, Lady....nor of the feelings I might inspire in you. Relax. Breath..."

Her head curled to the side, inching lower. Her lips parted even when she wasn't speaking, and she leaned in toward the other's throat "...and just be."

Between Natalia's palms, Wyheree's head shakes again. She tensed up even more than she was before (if one could think it even possible!) as she was held, and the skittish woman was unable to relax at all. Her skin stung Natalia's soft hands, but she didn't release that touch upon her face.

"Mortal I may be, but I am not entirely human. My element flows in my veins. Please....do not do this."

It was somewhat satisfying to listen to her plead.

Natalia paused. The hands on the other's face lowered, dropping to her shoulders before Natalia removed them entirely as she sat onto her heels. She looked a touch forlorn, perhaps, but not upset, angry, or even saddened.

"As you wish. Know that my offer is always there for you, though, mia bella, if ever you had a mind to...ahh...truly know what I do to all of those I draw into me."

The mage took a deep breath as Natalia released her, turning her silver eyes to Natalia's own dark ones. Suprise now danced across those bright little irises of hers. Shock, perhaps, at Natalia backing away. "I do not know if I would ever be able to accept your offer. However...you have shown me that you are not a monster, and for that I thank you."

A solemn and wordless nod was offered in response.

Rising from the couch, Wyheree took a few steps away from it. Her pace was...controlled. Natalia thought it was from trying to control her fear, and to maintain an outward air of confidence.

"It seems I have learned even more than I expected this evening. Good night, Natalia."

"Arrivederci, lady. Live free, and suffer."

A swirl of mist built up from the floor, again, shards of ice once more visible in the cyclone of cold white. Up and up it went, around Wyheree, encompasing and hiding her figure.

When it cleared, Wyheree was gone.

For Natalia, she sat there on her heels, hands pressed to her thighs. Her head had followed the mage's movements until she ceased her retreat. Dark eyes remained unblinking as the icy mists entered and swirled, engulfing, enshrouding, and taking the mage back to....wherever.

And then....she was alone again.

Natalia rose to her feet, and slid her palms over her thighs to smooth her skirt. Lightly, she stepped into her heeled shoes that were resting peacefully there at the base of the couch, then turned and walked away.

Her body had begun to thrum again from the closeness, and the stark, vivid scent of the elementalist's ice-cold blood so close...

It seems she would hunt tonight after all.

Marcella Giovanni Thirty years prior to arrival

Natalia Gioccone was everything a well-bred woman was supposed to be. Elegant and articulate, she was the wealthy daughter of a prominent Venetian family, tainted as her own particular line was from her mother's...indiscretions. Quick-witted, attractive, and business-minded, she knows and loves the intricacies of financial transactions like the womanly curves of her own body.

Unfortunately, she was not everything a well-bred Ventrue was supposed to be. Clark Ionesco had left the Traditions behind him, and had become a notorious powerhouse in the vampiric community of....well, the entire world. Backed by the power of his world-spanning company, and his seemingly never-ending supply of money (no matter how often those troublesome Justicars tried to relieve him of his resources) Ionesco himself was entirely untouchable.

He was also something of a mystery.

While not openly at war with the greater bulk of the Camarilla, Clark Ionesco had almost no stock for the rest of the world. His notoriety went hand-in-hand with his prestige, though. On one hand, he would be known for single-handedly bringing his mighty resources to bear against Sabbat incursions into major Camarilla-held cities (when the entire east coast of the United States hung in the balance of New York City, it was Ionesco who sent the trained personnel, advanced equipment and military hardware used to repel them time and again), while on the other hand he was a notorious diablerist, thumbing his nose at the oldest of Cainite custom and tradition. He was no longer a part of vampiric society, as he would tell it.

Despite the many Blood Hunts called against him by petulant Princes (some of whom's reign he had saved from the onslaught of the Sabbat), so long as he remained within the solitude of his commanding office atop the imposing company headquarters in Sussex, England " he was invincible.

Natalia Gioccone was one of his agents, and had been since he diablerized both her sire and her sire's sire, both of whom were within Clark Ionesco's own lineage. She was young then, as things went, when Ionesco decided to end his involvement in the Jyhad (the great and eternal game, played in darkened halls and open battlefields, spanning the long centuries since Noah's great flood) and press her into his service.

She quailed beneath the aura of sheer power he exuded, and he, her great-grand sire (to put a mortal familial reference to it) directed her growth and actions. She, too, was left out of the Jyhad, moving about in the private jets and limousines, spending time in Elysium and boardroom; his eyes, hands, and voice to the world.

"Miss Gioccone," he once told her, "how long has it been since you have been home?"

The question caught her by surprise as he sat there in his hallowed office behind that massive desk from which he could dominate his empire, and she lifted her chin in a show of respect. "Venice, sir" It has been many years."

He nodded. It was a deep, slow, deliberate gesture. Rising to his feet, the man in the impeccable suit turned and walked to one of the windows. They were called windows only because you could see through them. In reality, they were almost sixteen inches of transparent Plexiglas, framed in steel, and reinforced with some manner of special compound from the bowels of the company's R&D department. Ionesco enjoyed the safety of a fortress, be it protection from arrows and catapult shots from the dark ages of his mortal birth, or from bomb blasts and artillery shells of the modern nights.

"There is business in Venice, Miss Gioccone. How well do you know the Giovanni?"

"Clan, or family, sir?"

"Either. Both."

"I have known one, Marcella Giovanni, for many years now, Mr. Ionesco. I could give her a call; see if there's some line of communication to be formed."

He turned, staring back at her. He was old, and it showed in his features. Sometimes, Natalia thought he might actually be mistaken for human, though it was a subtle thing. Cainites of his great age so often lost their humanity in spades as they simply grew bored with continued existence, eventually succumbing to the mindset of a gibbering beast " little more than ancient, powerful, vampiric murderers.

"Excellent, Miss Gioccone. Make your call, and report to Mr. Atkinson for your travel documentation. Your instructions and goals will be sent to you shortly."

She dipped her head respectfully, then straightened her spine. Despite his very old age, Clark Ionesco did not cling to the old ways as some did. There was no bowing, no scraping, and he certainly didn't want to be called "Baron" anything (as was the title he held in the dark ages).

Turning, Natalia Gioccone fished the slender mobile phone from her pocket as she left his office and boarded the elevator leading down. It would be several, several minutes before she could make the call, but she had not spoken with Marcella since they clung desperately to each other during the destruction heaped upon Italy during the second world war. Natalia was not a vampire then, but Marcella Giovanni was " perhaps this trip to Venice would be both profitable, as well as....inspiring.

Natalia Gioccone so loved rekindling old ties.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Natalia, Natalia, Natalia!" Marcella Giovanni was an earthy woman. More slender in figure than Natalia herself, she wouldn't tell anyone that her covetable willowy shape was given credit to the fact that she was starving to death at the time of her Embrace. Still, her hips were robust and her blouse well-filled in comparison to her actual frame, however skinny about the waist she was. It was something that men in the modern nights desired, though, much as Natalia herself considered Marcella to be permanently emaciated.

Marcella continued on, casting an appraising look at the more womanly Natalia's body. "Come, let us look at you. Ah, you haven't aged a day!"

Behind her, the door to the Learjet-24 was closed. The deepest of black paint covered the entirety of the plane, save only the bold and vibrantly red company logo on the door, wings, fuselage, and, of course, the G-Number on the tail.

Marcella's comment of the appearance of age very nearly pulled a smirk right out of Natalia, but she refrained. Now was not the time to show cheek to an old friend, and a future business associate. Still, it was good to hear only the lilting, dulcet tone of the Italian language again. Natalia responded in kind, forming the words fluidly. It was more art than language. "My dear Marcella, you are as radiant as I remember you."

"Surely you're joking, darling, but I will take your compliment with all the grace in which you offer it." Marcella grinned, displaying faultless white teeth between full, painted lips, "I'll have you know, though, that it is difficult for one to look their best when hiding from the sun, curled up beneath another even while American bombs rained down upon us. But let us not speak of dreadful old times, Natalia."

"Indeed. My trip here has been long, and I've a desire to never wear these insufferable high heels again. Mortals decide upon such bizarre fashions, Marcella."

"Ah yes...they do. Just be thankful you're not in America, my dearest Natalia," she looped an arm around Natalia's shoulder, drawing her along off the ramp of the private airport. The company learjet's engines rose to a dull whine as it taxied off toward the storage hanger. "Else it would be platform shoes and bellbottoms in floral print."

"We've got those in England, too." She cast a wry little smile at the slightly shorter woman.

The two Italians continued speaking for some time, discussing old times despite Marcella's earlier desire not to, discussing European politics and finances (the Soviet Union was a particularly sore spot for Natalia, as it happens, having nearly met her Final Death in the escape from that country after a business deal gone sour. She was even half-sure her vampiric nature had been determined by the KGB, but she managed to escape their patrols long enough to get past the wall in Berlin), and the latest fashion trends from Paris and Milan.

Later, with her heeled shoes indeed removed and relaxing comfortably on a lounge, the two women had changed clothes. The finest robes, spun from Turkish wool, and bearing the crest of the Giovanni family embroidered on the upper back. Natalia Gioccone appreciated the opulence and comfort; it had been entirely too long since she had come home to Venice, Italy.

"I must confess, Natalia, my dear..." Marcella leaned forward, intently, setting her hand upon the armrest of Natalia's lounge, "I was surprised to have received your call. I did not expect an agent of the....preeminent Clark Ionesco to contact me with a desire to do business with the Giovanni family. I was even more surprised to learn it was you."

"I am in his employ, Marcella. As are several dozen other Cainites, in various places. I'm not entirely sure where, nor how many. It is a secret that, I suspect, only Mr. Ionesco himself knows."

That was just the truth. Clark Ionesco knew he was a hunted man, even for all of his unstoppable power. He would never be an incautious creature, and so none of his agents knew of the others' identity. Merely that they existed.

"Mm. He was always walking the edge, my dear friend. He has made just as many enemies amongst your Camarilla as he has amongst the unpredictable Sabbat, has he not?"

"He is a powerful man, and the powerful garner enemies. Has mortal society throughout the ages not taught us this?"

"Indeed, fair Natalia." Marcella Giovanni took on a shadowed smile, lowering herself to sit upon the edge of the lounge that Natalia was laying upon. Her voice trailed off, but what she said had a tone of finality to it.

It caused Natalia Gioccone to raise an eyebrow.

"What is it, Marcella?"

A dazzling smile erupted on the Giovanni's face, and her hand moved to rest upon Natalia's thigh. "Nothing at all, Natalia. Nothing whatsoever."

Natalia was not so convinced. "You're sure?"

"Of course I am sure, sweet Natalia. Come, come, you must be famished! What sort of hostess would I be if I did not offer you sustenance" And, of course, being so honorable a guest would require sustenance of the highest order." Marcella Giovanni took on a sly sort of look, narrowing her eyes slightly as she deft fingers began pulling at the fabric about her wrist to pull the sleeve of her long robe back up to her elbow.

"I would do this to show you trust, Natalia. Do not mistake it for otherwise, my old friend."

Her small smile commanded nothing but absolute honesty. Reaching out to take the offered wrist tenderly within her fingers, Natalia parted her lips and fed on the sweet and potent nectar of vampiric blood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AJ MacKenley was an elderly-looking gentleman, well into his middle years. His hair was salted with gray amongst the darker strands of brown, but his eyes were nearly black. He, like Mr. Ionesco, favored impeccable suits - everyone who worked for the company were always expected to look their best at all times, especially those in the upper echelons as he was.

AJ MacKenley was Clark Ionesco's chief of staff. He was the effective second-in-command, although he existed outside the conventional hierarchy of control in the company. The members of the board wheezed and ranted, but it was AJ's word that was law, save only second to Clark Ionesco himself.

AJ MacKenley was an elderly-looking gentleman, but one should not be mistaken by his fatherly appearance. Broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, one might have considered him to be a retired prize fighter. He was strong, agile, and fast - and so was his mind. Keen and sharp, like the finest of folded steel, he had held this post as chief of staff almost since Clark Ionesco founded the company in the late 1500's. It was smaller then, of course. Considerably smaller. The company's first objectives was to find gold in the New World, a task that was met with very moderate success. The company's name had changed many times throughout its history as employees would grow older, die, or retire, then some imagined cataclysm would force the company to close, apparently bankrupt. Clark Ionesco (known as J. Andrew Clarke when he first started the company) would wait for some months, then begin anew. It took its current form in the early part of the 20th century, solidified as a true corporation, at a time when many companies stayed in existence for years. Like Sears.

AJ MacKenley was as immortal as Clark Ionesco was, but he was no vampire. And he would only stay immortal so long as he continued to be fed from Mr. Ionesco's veins. AJ was a ghoul, and incredibly old even for one such as they. Why Mr. Ionesco hadn't embraced him yet was the subject of some speculation amongst the Kindred in the employ of the company, but nobody questioned Clark Ionesco. His word was law.

"Is it done?" Clark Ionesco asked, shrouded in shadows behind his massive desk within his massive office.

"It is," AJ started, clearing his throat, "Miss Gioccone arrived late last evening, and was met at the ramp by one Marcella Giovanni."

"Is she who we seek?"

"Yes, sir, by all accounts. She is part of the coterie of the Giovanni Clan there. The tracking device provided to us by the Union slipped entirely past Miss Gioccone's awareness, as well as that of the Giovanni bodyguards there to protect Marcella. We have their location now. It's an ancient manor in Dorsoduro, one of the boroughs that make up the historic core of Venice."

Clark Ionesco was silent for a time, folding his hands over his lap in thought. AJ MacKenley did not speak during this time; he simply awaited instructions.

"Make the call, AJ. I will show these whelps how action is taken. Be certain that it is swift, merciless, and brutal."

AJ MacKenley knew what was happening. Word had filtered in from one of thousands of spies, ferrets, and contacts all around the globe that the Giovanni Clan was about to make a move against the company, and against Clark Ionesco. Ionesco was a loose cannon, of a sort, equally hated, feared, and respected for what he's done. If you asked him, he would simply say that he has finished with Kindred society and now serves his own ends - but the Camarilla wanted his head for his blatant violations of the Traditions, and the Sabbat wanted him dead for thwarting their plans on city after city, sending the necessary personnel and equipment used to arm the Camarilla presence there to throw them back.

What better chance for the Giovanni Clan to raise their status and influence amongst both the warring sects, Independent as they were from either" Bring down Clark Ionesco, and forever solidify one's place in the world of the vampire's nightly games.

Or so was their plan, in any case. Ionesco knew of their schemes, and had taken steps to obliterate them (another violation of the Tradition of Destruction, for which the Camarilla will, no doubt, issue more vehement words at a conclave over), but had needed only one key ingredient.

Their location.

And now he had it.

"As you wish, sir. The call will be made immediately, so the raid should begin in approximately," with a glance to the Hublot Chronograph on his wrist, "sixteen hours. Local time there should place it at nine o'clock in the morning."

"Excellent, AJ," Ionesco said, nodding grimly. "See to it that these fledglings learn what happens when they attempt to usurp their betters."

"It will be done, Mr. Ionesco." AJ MacKenley turned and began to leave.

"AJ?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Do ensure Miss Gioccone's safe return."

"Of course, sir."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Natalia Gioccone's thirst had been quenched. Marcella Giovanni not only opened herself for Natalia's bite - a gesture of extreme trust amongst vampires, given the danger of diablerie - but she had provided others for Natalia's fangs as well. It was a strange thing, these mortals that so willingly offered themselves to an absolute stranger, but Natalia was never one to look askance at hospitality.

"My dear friend, my sweet Marcella," she began, lounging lazily back against the settee she was seated upon like some kind of fat, lazy, contented housecat, "would that all people had friends as you are to me. The world would be a far friendlier place, I think."

"Yes, Natalia, I am inclined to agree."

Marcella Giovanni did not feed upon Natalia. The Giovanni were afflicted with a particularly strange aspect; a curse, if you will. Whereas most vampires delivered pleasure and ecstasy in their bite, the Giovanni delivered only pain, and horror. She would not subject her old friend to such a thing.

She was, however, fully vulnerable to the Kiss from another vampire. The two women were curled one against the other, cuddling there upon the settee. Natalia's skin was flush with life from the ingested blood, but it was both women who were as relaxed as kittens from the mutual exchange of sensation and emotion and pleasure from the bite of Natalia Gioccone.

"So tell me, my delicate rose," Marcella continued, "what is it that Clark Ionesco wants with the Giovanni, hm' Still trying to open a chapter house in Venice, is he, and he needs our support?"

"Mr. Ionesco requires no one's support, Marcella, you should know that. And he functions by no one's leave, either. I will confess, though, judging by the nature of the instructions given to me, I believe he wants the Giovanni to help in making the process go more smoothly."

"Mmmm....perhaps the Giovanni can even provide such assistance, if the price is right."

"The price is always right, my old friend."

"May it be as you say, dear Natalia, but I fear it is not entirely up to me. I will bring it to the attention of the family heads, though, and it will be put into consideration. We are ever seeking to expand our power base and an....hm....an alliance with Clark Ionesco and his mighty company would be a powerful gesture, indeed."

"We will speak of alliances later, Marcella, my mandate is very simple and strait forward. Alliances are the work for others with a more diplomatic mind."

Turning her head into the other woman's chest and grinning against the fine, Turkish robe, Marcella Giovanni crooned out a low, throaty sort of laugh. "Oh, I think you've been very diplomatic so far, Natalia."

Fingertips lightly stroking through the other's hair, Natalia took in the moment with relish (but no mayo). Marcella Giovanni was a vampire as she was, and so was not a warm body to curl against. Still, the Kiss was a thing of potent emotion and sensual energy, and even the dead enjoyed a good cuddle from time to time.

So long as they were not so far gone into the world of the beast-within, in any case.

The two women stayed like that for some time, wrapped in each other's arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"We can use her," said a man's voice.

Marcella Giovanni responded fiercely. "No. Out of the question."

"We should use her," another voice said. This one was distinctly feminine. "She is our link. We could use her to draw Ionesco out into the open."

"She is my friend, Isabella. I cannot."

The one named Isabella Giovanni turned to the man. The three were seated around a table - Marcella on one side, the two on the other.

"What do you think, Fernando?"

"I think.." Fernando Giovanni said, speaking slowly as he leaned his chin forward into his palm, "that Marcella has forgotten that the family comes before all."

"She is the reason I am even still alive today. Such as it is."

"We have heard your story, Marcella. Her service to the family in the past is not at question. I think—"

"No. Not the family. She did it for me. We are friends!" Marcella protested, cutting the elder Giovanni off rudely. Isabella took note of it with the slight raise of a finely-crafted eyebrow, but said nothing.

"There is only the family, Marcella. Remember that." Fernando's voice was low, and dangerous. Marcella Giovanni very nearly slumped in her chair when he finished speaking.

Isabella spoke up after a few seconds, "Perhaps, Fernando, it can be arranged that the woman comes to no harm. Taken quickly and quietly, as it were" Interrogated gently?"

"You're growing soft, Isabella."

"Oh, please, I beg you. I could never see her come to harm. Please, Fernando, consider what she says."

Fernando Giovanni growled, rising to his feet and moving a few feet away. He paced to and fro, his brow furrowed in thought.

"Very well," he said at last, "I will make the arrangements. Your friend will not be harmed, Marcella, but be certain that she stays out of the way when we move against Ionesco."

"It will be done, Fernando. I will blood bond her if I have to, but I could never stand to see Natalia be harmed."

"She is not the thrall of Ionesco?"

"No. Near as our spies have been able to tell," Isabella said, turning her head to regard Marcella even as she spoke to Fernando, "the only creature on this planet that tastes of his ancient vitae is his ghoul and confidant, one Andrew Joseph MacKenley."

"No doubt so that his Cainite subordinates do not grow a fondness for it, and attempt a diablerie. Very well. Make her your thrall, Marcella, then keep her in a dark place until Ionesco is brought down. After that, do with her as pleases you best."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, Fernando."

Standing and leaving the room, Marcella Giovanni moves out of the conference room to return to her own quarters. Natalia's binding will begin tomorrow. For now, she will give her friend one more day of peaceful sleep. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dawn came as dawn does. The sun flitted over the horizon of Venice, and the world came to life from its quiet slumber. Merchants with carts of fruit and vegetables and goods and merchandise hawked their wares, offering the best of white and red wine for one's drinking pleasure to the shouts of "Vino, vino, vino!"

Gondolas traversed the many canals that criss-crossed the city, and somewhere near the great mansion within the Dorsoduro district, a trio of instruments played a peaceful tune.

The crackle of a radio was heard by the off-site observers. One of the members of an elite combat unit reporting in to execute the operation.

"Front door. Ten seconds."

A lifted and gloved hand struck three times against the surface of the door leading into the foyer on the ground level. The butler, a long-time servant and trusted confidant of the Giovanni within, moved to the door and swept it open in a grand gesture. His eyes nearly closed, nose in the air, his Italian was perfect as he spoke.

"Yes?"

"Cheers."

He was answered in distinctly British-accented English, and the shock of it all made him open his eyes. There on the front step on the other side of the threshold was seven men in black, hooded, masked, and goggled.

And all holding what appeared to be machine guns of some kind, affixed with strange devices on the tips.

The man who did the speaking squeezed back on the trigger, and with the quick staccato of silenced bullet fire, zipped the butler open from his thigh to the middle of his chest. He fell with a sickening thud, and the raiding party flowed inside nearly as one, bent over, gun barrels up and ready and facing the direction that they are. Ready to fire.

Upstairs, another team of similar make-up had just entered through a cut-open window, and had already killed two of the mortal bodyguards and another servant. This was not a mission they had been assigned to that declared civilians were off-limits. Every man among them knew what was at stake, and they would defend those stakes violently.

And they did.

Spreading out and apart, half of the first team moved up the stairs, the other half through the kitchen and into the living areas. Servants and guards, caught entirely by surprise, spilled their blood and other fluids onto the lush carpeting and exquisite rugs.

"Second floor bedroom one, twenty seconds."

A nod was all it took to declare the other members of the now-three man team ready and that the hallway was clear and secured before a booted foot raised and battered at the door. One strong, singular kick was all it took to nearly break the ancient hinges and the three moved inside. Isabella Giovanni, wakened by the sudden noise, shot up to her feet beside her bed in an instant. Her eyes were half-lidded and her movements sluggish from the daylight hour.

"What is the meaning of this!?"

She was outraged. No less outraged, though, than when two of the black-shrouded men opened fire, riddling her undead body with bullets. Guns were greatly ineffective against vampires (citing the fact that they had no internal organs to speak of to rupture, leaving only the physical jolt of the impact) but two machine guns spraying bullets into her was enough to leave her as a pile of bloodied clothes and bloodied skin.

The third man ran to her side, sliding a black burlap bag over her head and pulling hard on the zip string. It would need to be cut off - it only went in one direction - and as soon as it was on he bound her ankles and wrists separately with kevlar bands, then flipped her over and used another kevlar band to bind her wrists to her ankles.

"Isabella Giovanni down and bound, second floor bedroom one."

"Roger that. Continue on, green unit."

The three turned and moved out of the bedroom, flowing down the hallway as they entered a pitched gunbattle with a group of guards that had been on their way to Isabella's chambers.

If one knew what to listen for, they would easily hear the high pitched whoosh of air that surrounded the silencers, each one of the spinning rounds wrapped in only a hot sheet of air that sounded more like the noise an exasperated child would make, followed by the sound of a soft sucking cheek. But if one didn't, they would only hear that sigh too late, and too little to put the knowledge to good use.

The interlopers, these invaders, were trained and efficient, and their military hardware was top-of-the-line. Better than that. Many such designs wouldn't be available to world governments for their own military for several dozen years, and yet these men - the fists of Clark Ionesco - held them now and put them to grisly use.

"Third floor bedroom four, west side, twenty seconds."

On the next floor up, the second team battered down a door and swept inside. Four men stayed outside to cover the hallway, while three went into the darkness of the room, guns raised and infrared goggles switched on.

Fernando Giovanni was awaiting them.

"Impudent mortals."

The first man that entered the room was given a spray of bullets in his upper chest, courtesy of the old Italian carbine the vampire held. Much to their dismay, their fallen comrade - dead when he hit the ground - lifted his gun again. Under the Necromantic control of the Giovanni elder, another spray of bullets riddled the invaders, and the second man was critically injured before the gun was out of ammunition. Taser lifted and fired, Fernando Giovanni grunted as the electricity coursed through his body, numbing what was left of his nerves and sending him into a convulsive, autonomic spasm.

After that, a three-round burst of 5.62mm bullets in the back of his head put another vampire out. Again, it wasn't near enough to send him to his final death, but he was very incapacitated now. Another black bag was taken, affixed over his head and drawn tight at the neck, and he, too, was hogtied by the kevlar bindings.

"Fernando Giovanni down and bound, third floor bedroom four, west side. Two casualties."

"Roger that. Recovery team en route. Continue on, blue unit."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Natalia Gioccone, lying comfortably in the lush bed provided for her by Marcella Giovanni, was stirred from the depths of her slumber by the door slamming open, banging hard against the wall with such force that it chipped the expensive mahogany panel.

"Natalia!"

"Nnn..." she blinked, sleepily, rubbing the back of her hand across her eyes. She could barely keep them open, and the weight of daylight sleeping was heavy upon her.

"Natalia!"

Marcella Giovanni, wearing a robe that she didn't take the time to belt at the waist, trudged across the room to her side.

"Natalia, please awaken. We must hide!"

"Wha— ...what is it?"

"The mansion has been attacked. Isabella has been captured, and I don't know about Fernando. Natalia, they're even killing the cooks and maids. We must hide!"

"Marcella, I do not underst—"

Her words were cut off when her half-lidded eyes spied two men in black uniforms move into the room, guns lifted and ready. She recognized the guns from the latest additions out of the R&D department with the company.

More, she recognized the patch on the upper arm and the front of the helmet that both of the men wore. A large red "V," set behind a red and gold scepter. Clark Ionesco's insignia, and the trademarked symbol of the company.

"No....no..." was all Natalia could mutter as the men opened fire on Marcella. She rose to her feet as bullets ripped through the air at her, but more than half seemed to simply bounce off. Marcella was strong in the vampiric power of Fortitude, and her ability to withstand such damage was obvious. The robed Giovanni female lurched forward with fangs bared, fingernails morphed into claws, and her eyes glowing a fierce red.

One of the black-uniformed men fell to the ground as her claws found his neck, tearing his throat out in a single slash. Two more figures in a black uniforms came in, lifted their weapons, and began firing as well.

She hissed and thrashed, but in the end Marcella Giovanni fell under the hail of automatic gunfire from the three men. Natalia watched in sleepy horror as a black bag was fitted over her head, zipped tight about the throat, and they began to bind her ankles and wrists.

"No!" Natalia rose to her feet, feeling the pangs of rage and the urge of frenzy. The beast-within clawing at what very little control she had.

But Natalia was not a creature practiced in combat. She attacked the only way she knew how. One of the men was grabbed, and she grappled with him very briefly before her extended fangs sank viciously into his neck. He groaned under the weight of her Kiss, for it was a power that is undeniable regardless of how it is given.

The crackle of a radio could be heard again, but it was a distant thing in her ears. The only thing she knew was the blood.

"That's her. Get her!"

A man came to her side, attempting to pry her arms from around her victim's body. He grunted and strained, but her grip was like a vice, and her vampiric muscles might as well have been made of steel.

Another man appeared now behind her. He lifted his weapon high and brought it down across the base of her neck. She yelped at the impact, fangs tearing loose as she staggered from her place. She turned, blinking, still feeling the pressure and need for sleep.

The last thing she saw was the man behind her swinging the butt of his machine gun again, and the sharp impact of it striking her across the cheek. She crumpled to the floor, dazed, and all light was extinguished as a black bag was tugged down over her head. She felt the pressure of the zip-tie taut about her throat, and mortal hands began to bind her ankles and wrists together.

Somewhere, on another world perhaps, heard through someone else's ears in someone else's head, the crackle of a radio could be heard once more.

"Second floor bedroom two, north side; Natalia Gioccone and Marcella Giovanni down and bound. Two casualties."

"Copy that, red unit. Extract the vamps there and meet at the rally point for their transfer to the airport. Mr. Ionesco wants them as alive as can be for interrogation. The recovery team has already extracted the other two, and all casualties are off the field. Set the demolitions and get your people out of there."

"Affirmative. We're moving out now."

"Good work; mission accomplished."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Wake up. Wake up, Miss Gioccone."

"...Nng..."

"Wake up."

Clark Ionesco was hovering over her face. That was the first thing she saw as she forced her eyes to open. Her head throbbed in a very vague way - vampires do not feel lasting pain from such blows as mortals do. Merely the knowledge that the wound had (mostly) healed itself. The equivalent of soreness after a strenuous exercise.

"Not to imply that you've been sleeping on the job, of course. No one deserves rest as much as you do, but your services are once again required."

"...Sir" What happened?"

"There was a group of Giovanni vampires with delusions of grandeur. Though I will, no doubt, become the target of angst from the Camarilla as well as the Giovanni Clan as a whole, I felt it necessary to make an example of them. Fortunately, your friend was a member of that group, and so I had an easy method of locating them."

"Mar— Marcella?"

"Yes."

"Is she alright?"

"For now. Come."

Someone helped her to her feet from the cold, metal table she had been lying upon. It wasn't Ionesco that helped her up, of course; perhaps one of the employees. A quick look around assured her of where she was at. It was a medical laboratory by the looks of it, but she recognized it soon enough. She was back in Sussex, in the headquarters.

Staggering only once, she regained her footing. Bare feet were considerably more stable than heeled shoes, but she still had to move quicker than she would really like to, to keep up with Clark Ionesco as he moved toward a heavy steel door. Lifting his hand, he slid the metal plate away from the view port, and allowed her space to peer inside.

Marcella Giovanni, naked and bound. She looked....feral.

"We had to bleed her, of course. She was less than enthusiastic about cooperating with answering the questions, but in the end....well. It is in our nature to desire one thing above all others. She gave us every answer we wanted when her eyes were bulging from the hunger."

"Marcella...no.."

Ionesco turned away, glancing at a clock mounted on the wall. He nodded to himself, then looked back to Natalia, who now hand a single hand pressed up against the door.

"Let her go, Mr. Ionesco. Please. I will take full responsibility for her, but please..."

"Are you begging, Miss Gioccone" Tsk. That's beneath your station."

"She is my friend."

"She is?" He sounded amused, "She who would feast upon my blood and offer me up as a sacrifice to the Camarilla and the Sabbat' You have poor taste in friends."

"What is going to happen to her?"

"The same thing that has already happened to her clanmates. I'm afraid Isabella and Fernando have already met with their final deaths, but Marcella here was the last to be questioned. Her time is borrowed, at best. I felt it would be best that you were here to witness the consequences of your friend's betrayal."

"Natalia..." Marcella whispered, hoarsely. It was little more than a rough rasp of air pushed out of her throat, "...please. I protected you from them, as you protected me once long ago."

"Mr. Ionesco, if she's speaking the truth.."

"Of course she's speaking the truth. But that doesn't stop what?s about to happen." He dipped his head off to her right, and she turned her eyes. A single lever mounted into the wall, large and heavy. She looked back to Clark Ionesco questioningly.

"Pull the lever, Miss Gioccone."

She felt the weight of his Majesty. Simply thinking about going against his wishes took an expenditure of willpower, but that was all she had now anyway. She forced the words from her lips.

"Mr. Ionesco, please, reconsider..."

"Do it, Miss Gioccone. Pull the lever."

From within the cell, streaks of crimson bled down from Marcella Giovanni's eyes. Heavy chains rattled as she tried to move.

"Natalia...please....help me. Please.."

"Marcella..."

Natalia's hand lifted, gripping the lever. She felt like she was going to wilt against the hard, hard stare of Clark Ionesco.

"Sir....I beg of you..." she said, barely a whisper.

"Pull. The. Lever."

Marcella's voice again, out of that tiny viewing portal. "Natalia...please...don't..."

With her eyes shut tightly, Natalia gripped the lever with her other hand now. "Marcella. I'm sorry."

She had no more willpower left to resist with.

She pulled down, and there was the heavy clank of machinery being pulled into position. High above, vents turned on their axis and dawn's lethal rays flooded the chamber. Clark Ionesco slid the steel plate back over the viewing portal, protecting himself from the burning light of the sun.

Natalia could only weep scarlet tears of blood, wracked from the emotion and angst as she heard Marcella Giovanni cry out in agony. The whipping sound of flames licking up from her skin within the cell, crackling, breaking flesh to expose red muscle and pale bone beneath. She thrashed and writhed as she was consumed, howling with what was left of her voice until it became a hollow, tinny thing barely worthy of being called a sound.

Within moments, there was no noise at all.

Cold, callous, monstrous, inhuman - Clark Ionesco turned a bright smile to Natalia. His expression was without remorse or humanity. "Well done, Miss Gioccone. Your service to me is as well-done as ever. You're going to be promoted, you know. The accounting department needs a new head, and I think you'd be prime material for the job."

Natalia could only stare in disbelief at what she had just did. She, unlike him, felt a great deal of remorse for pulling that lever. "Th....thank you....sir."

Turning to leave, Clark Ionesco spoke to one of the men in the white coats on his way out the door and toward the elevator leading up to his office and haven. Dawn pressed upon him as it did any vampire, and he now had the urge to sleep.

"Get maintenance down here with a broom to clean up this mess," Mr. Ionesco said as he passed, vanishing out of the otherwise sterile environment.

Natalia Gioccone sobbed fully, collapsing to the ground at the base of the door. A fisted hand beat impotently against the heavy steel frame, and all she could see was the face of Marcella Giovanni, smiling at her.

The complete and utter betrayal of her only friend for the last thirty-six years took less than thirty-six seconds.

A great deal of remorse...

Author's Note: Very mild adult content within. Reader's discretion advised.

Visits at Midnight In the Red Dragon...

The nights had been dragging on, but Natalia very wholly enjoyed the view. She did so enjoy watching Fiera. From one to another, she could even admire the subtle effort the girl was putting into it. Not quite so aggressive as Natalia herself, but effective nonetheless.

She watched as the girl plied her own brand of the art in a quiet, slow, casual sort of way. The way a wolf might hunt when he knows he's going to be fed. A slow leak of the pipe instead of the opening of a floodgate, but it was entertainment for her nonetheless.

She had seen Fiera before, long before. The girl had caught her eye immediately. Natalia...decided to help her. She maneuvered things in Fiera's favor. Heading off other males who would distract her from her quarry; even giving the girl the key for Room Twelve. Natalia's room at the Red Dragon was awfully empty these days, after all; Natalia stopped sleeping there during the day after the incident with Brian Ravenlock and the elementalist, Wyheree.

What she learned later is that Fiera seemed to take up residence more and more in the room Natalia gifted to her.

But we digress. Tonight" Ah, yes. Tonight.

Natalia turned as the girl decided she had had enough of her protracted and silent stares. Painted lips curled again in a self-posessed sort of way.

This was her testing. Her weighing and measuring.

The younger had started to show a distinct lack of fear to her, now, as those she associated with so often did after the first few meetings. In a way, it was both bane and boon. Having one trembling beneath your eyes served its purpose, but only for so long. Having one showing too much spine led to defiance, and Natalia had quite enough of that for her liking at the moment.

Striking the middle ground would be what was required. It was a delicate balance, this fine-line walking, but one that she had walked many times in the past. She had only to find the right string to pluck.

She followed her out of the bathroom, wrapping herself up in the folds of Obfuscation to, again, become an Unseen Presence in the common room. Patron's eyes seemed to flow off of her, their minds forgetting her presence even as they didn't see her.

It would be the same with Fiera, had she a mind to turn about.

Natalia followed her up the stairs into room twelve. She watched as Fiera stopped at the door, pausing for a moment to glance back toward the stairs, as if hearing a noise. Natalia was patient as the key was withdrawn from the waistband of Fiera's loose-fitted sweat pants and used to unlock and open the door, and Fiera's own mind didn't even register the fact that she had held the door open and slid just to the side, just enough, to allow this Unseen Presence passage inside.

Once within, Natalia made herself comfortable in a seat, delicate chin perched atop faultless knuckles, the Rose watched as Fiera went about her rituals for the cold embrace of oblivion in sleep.

Fiera went to sleep alone, curled up on Natalia's bed on Natalia's linen sheets in Natalia's room. In a way, it was even a kind of poetic irony...

Natalia remained hidden and enshrouded, watching as the girl bedded down for the night and falling into her deep slumber. She had waited for almost two hours before she finally rose from that chair and stepped forward, leaning over the edge of the bed like some kind of looming shadow. Velvet hand slid lightly onto the girl's forehead, and she felt her warm, blood-filled skin.

Vampires had a keen nose, but none so keen as the Ventrue. She could smell certain hormones or toxins in blood from small distances away, and there were hormones coursing this female's blood that belied her age to Natalia. She was not so old as she made out to be, and Natalia knew it. She couldn't place it, exactly, but she knew. She had watched Fiera drink beer in the Red Dragon public house, and she knew in that instant, being this close to her, that she should not have been old enough to do so.

She had seen her smoking cigarettes, too. With a grin, Natalia wondered about how old the little darling really was. Young enough to shape, perhaps, to teach and guide in her growing"

Perhaps. Perhaps.

Natalia's velvet hand slid down, lightly, softly, gently. The goal was to live vicariously through watching and observing, not to wake her up and cause her to scream from molestation in the night.

Expert hands did what they did best, and no doubt filled Fiera's dreams with hedonistic pleasures from the darkest corners of her mind. She enjoyed watching, you see. Her own body was dead after all, but her mind" Oh, the mind was truly a devil's playground here. The girl twisted, she turned, she gasped and made breathless whimpers...

When Fiera awoke, Natalia was nowhere to be found. She had left sometime in the night, making her way back to the WestEnd apartments.

And there, folded neatly on the edge of the bed, would be those loose sweat pants she had gone to sleep in, and laying atop them the delicate little panties she had been wearing.

Even more disturbingly, perhaps, was the sweat-soaked pillow her head had been laying upon. The sheets themselves" Soaked, yes, and not just in sweat.

Oh, yes. Natalia had paid a little visit in the night, and perhaps — just perhaps — those dark imaginings in her dream were not such a dream after all, but the way her mind responded to the physical stimulation of cold fingers, and gripping hands, and lashing tongues..

Girlish Delights Some nights afterward

Bases touched with Myllyanna, Natalia Gioccone turned her attention back to her own affairs.

There was a thing about the winter that she enjoyed more than anything else in her life. As the world spun away further from its orbit around the sun, that twice-damned ball of burning death began to hide its face just a bit earlier every night, until the depth of winter's heart had the days at their shortest. This was perfect for Natalia, who prowled at night with grace and poise and neatly-pressed suits.

Tonight, another early evening. She had gone to the public house of the Red Dragon in search of....something. Whatever it was she felt like she needed to go there for, it wasn't to be found. After nearly an hour of listening to boring conversations (including one couple who went on and on about their undying love for the other) and sipping at a stale-tasting bottled drink that seemed to match her palate, Natalia decided to part ways with the inn once more and head on back to the WestEnd.

And that would be when she noticed Charna approaching up the sidewalk. She looked a little dowdy, like she had just gotten off work, in her simple denim jeans matched with the t-shirt and a light jacket. In truth, she had seen the Vixen look better — but it would have been rude to declare her as anything but an utter delight to the eyes.

Sweeping Charna up, Natalia laced arm-in-arm and decided to invite Charna along on a little....a little side-quest, such as it was. While she had intended on going straight back to her WestEnd apartment to give some attention to her woebegone violin, a new idea had suddenly sprung to her mind.

And so it was that the Rose and the Vixen entered the Marketplace, which was a short but brisk walk from the Red Dragon itself. Streetside musicians, plying their talents for a few silver crowns to be left behind in a hat, filled the air with a myriad of tunes, and the further they entrenched themselves into the still-bustling marketplace, the more Charna herself seemed to grow...

Well. 'Giddy' wouldn't be too far off the mark, as a matter of fact.

Passing stalls and wagons and carts, Natalia Gioccone turned her nose up to the common fare to be found. Her goal was a boutique on the far side of the marketplace; an upscale establishment that she had discovered by happenstance and, afterward, shopped at with a great amount of relish (but no mayo). Her presence darkening their doors was a thing noted by many of the shopgirls that worked there, though they knew well enough by now to leave her alone. Natalia patronized the establishment quite well, spending very generously, but she kept her own counsel on what would look best in what colour. After all, she did have the years of experience on her side...

Once within, the pair split up and went about their seperate ways. She perused the racks of clothing, finding a skirt that truly struck her fancy. A deep burgandy, knee-length, it was everything most other clothes in her wardrobe was. Except that it was looser, of course, and clearly not designed to be worn as a part of a business suit. She tried on a lilac top to see how it matched, but decided it was truly rather dreadful in the end with that skirt.

Natalia isn't too sure what, exactly, came over her to think the two could be paired together to begin with. It very nearly hurt her eyes to look at herself in the small mirror of the dressing room.

Slipping back into her own clothes, she folded the skirt across her arm and left the confines of the little room. Charna, she saw, was over near the evening wear and she went to join her. The Vixen, near as Natalia could tell, had launched herself at the shopping trip with a keen enthusiasm that she had not seen very often in others. Natalia couldn't quite place her finger on the reason why, naturally, but did not press the affair. If she had fun shopping, then Natalia was more than happy to oblige.

That's when she saw it.

A dress.

And not just any dress. It was bold. It was strong. A powerful dress, meant to be worn by a powerful woman; a woman with confidence would wear that dress. Red, cut low in the front, and exposing the whole of the back save only the halter-tie on the nape of the neck and a thin cord of red fabric that tied across the shoulder blades beneath the arm, it did nothing but demand attention. With a slanted waistline, it would make the wearer appear taller. Or longer, perhaps, depending on how one looks at it. With an uneven hem line, and slits up either hip, Natalia Gioccone decided it held a vaugely spanish accent, but that it would also look absolutly marvelous on Charna herself.

It took a little bit of coaxing, but she did finally manage to get the Vixen into the dressing room and stripping out of her clothes. When she announced she was ready, Natalia peeked in through the crack in the door, and grinned.

"You look radiant, my darling. Absolutly stunning." Charna's reaction, of course, was to blush and give her thanks for the compliment.

A few minutes later, there was a small but very heated discussion about that very same dress. It fit Charna well, if not perfectly, and with the fair tone of her skin combined with the dark colour of her hair, Natalia decided it was just perfect upon her. The problem' Natalia herself insisted on buying it.

Charna Lyndria was hesitant, at first, refusing the generosity she provided, but after a bit of cajoling and more than few gently-spoken repeats of "I insist," it had been folded and bagged (by Natalia herself, naturally; she didn't trust the shopgirls not to keep wrinkles out of it before Charna could get it home) and slung over a shoulder as the two women exited carefree. One with a bag containing a skirt, the other with a much larger bag holding the spicy red party dress.

Even though the sun set sooner, and this allowed the Rose to do a fair bit of shopping, there was one problem. These stores did not stay open all night. She had a particular target in mind, a particular item she wanted to buy. She had seen it once, and had been keeping an open mind toward whether or not she was actually going to buy it or not. Since she had Charna here" Why not"

The next destination' Oh, Charna blushed again, but it was none other than Frederick's of Rhy'Din.

Though the selection of naughty bits and bobs of lingerie and dirty costumes made her lips twitch in pale amusement, Natalia behaved herself. She wasn't here to buy the latest style of embroidered silk stockings, after all, no matter how sexy they were. She went immediately to the front counter, and looked over the many bottles there arranged on the shelving. Personal lubricants, warming gels, massage oils, and— Ah-hah!

Natalia gave up a very self-satisfied little smile as she scooped up the dark blue bottle, and unscrewed the black cap. She took a deep, deep breath of the liquid inside. It had a scent; it smelled faintly of some kind of....berry. She couldn't place what kind, though.

Screwing the cap back on, she turned it over and read the back.

=Pure Instinct= A gender-friendly fragrance, designed to demand the attention of either sex and formulated to stimulate sexual appeal. Elevates confidence, enhances moods, awakens the senses. Wear as you would any fragrance. For a special treat, add to bath water.

Contains: A generous blend of pheromones and essential oils.

Perfect, Natalia thought, turning around to offer it up to Charna for her opinion on the scent. If it had the desired effect upon the Vixen that she wanted to, then she'd buy it on the spot. Even if something that was less than one ounce cost nearly thirty crowns.

Pricing gouging these days. What can you do, though, eh?

Charna sniffed at the bottle handed to her, and her eyes rounded out to tiny little saucers. Afterward, she had nothing but a bright smile upon their faces.

"I've never heard of something quite like this. Perfumes, yes...but...this sounds very interesting. And it smells delightful. I like it." Charna punctuated the statement with a nod, and then handed it back.

"I'll take it," Natalia said to the cashier behind the counter, who'se hands began to move in a fierce little frenzy of motion to ring up the order properly.

The trip home was not very exciting. Charna with the dress that Natalia had bought for her (and the Vixen's body language in the boutique said she'd be going back later, no doubt to take a second look at some of the other fineries within), and Natalia herself with her Frederick's bag and another one with the skirt within, they stopped at the gate leading up to Charna's home. A quick kiss stolen from either cheek, in the old ways of Europe itself, Natalia watched as Charna Lyndria turned and made her way up the walk and vanished inside.

Then she herself returned home.

Sometimes, it's nice just to partake in a few girlish delights.

Reloaded

Steam rushed from over the opaque door leading back into the shower from where she came. The water had been shut off, of course, but the air was still thick with the leavings of the hot water. It had to be hot; it was the only way for her cold skin to feel anything at all. It never scalded her, though, no matter how hot she made it. It just left her tingling from her scalp to the soles of her feet, and that meant she felt something.

Dabbing away water from her pale skin, Natalia Rosalina Gioccone stood with one foot daintily arched onto the short stool set into the corner of the bathroom. It was a large space, and beautiful with white marble tile in the floor and fixtures worked in gold. From the walls to the cabinetry to the ceiling overhead, everything was kept painstakingly and meticulously clean. Not by her, of course. The best part of having money was not what you could buy, but that you could pay others to do the work for you. And if there was one thing Natalia understood, it was finances.

She had been back on earth for many months now. Her memories of the striking woman, Magenta, had faded in those many nights. It wasn't that the experience with her in Florence wasn't memorable — the soft flesh of her throat, the strength of her arms, the bold, vibrant taste of her blood — but it was all too easy to forget any one particular mortal amongst the great many that surrounded her day in and day out. It had been memorable for how long she had coveted it, and she was not disappointed when she came through back to earth with Magenta at her side, and spent several nights with her, giving her the grand tour of all that the great city of Florence had to offer. And every night that she had her, she tasted of her soon-to-be-inhuman flesh until it started to feel downright decadent. And then she tasted again.

All told, however, the week was just one more week in her existence, and she parted ways with the striking Austrian woman with well-wishes and cheek-kisses, and now she was back in England where she belonged.

The slim, black mobile on the white-marble countertop chimed softly, and Natalia scooped up the wireless earpiece with a deliberate arch of her fingers. Her skin still tingled from the heat of the water, and she wanted to make sure she didn't drop the thing.

"Natalia Gioccone," her voice was drawled like it always was; like honey dripping off a plate. The voice on the other end of the phone wasn't who she expected it to be, but it wasn't an unwelcome one, either. Mr. Clark Ionesco didn't often call her directly, but when he did it was usually of some importance.

She listened to him as he spoke, and as he went on she lowered her foot to the tiled floor and her posture grew rigid. By the time he had finished, she had actually dropped the soft white towel to the floor at her feet.

"Mr. Ionesco, sir, please....you— you can't be serious."

"Sir, I know, but—"

"Sir—"

If she had breath in her lungs, she'd have heaved a sigh. A very heavy sigh.

"Mr. Ionesco, certainly there are others. Someone else who would be more appropriate, better equipped, surely. Less likely to go insane."

She gritted her teeth, and shut her eyes tight. It had nothing to do with catching sight of her own glorious naked body in the mirror; she held no shame about nakedness in general, and while her body was never made for the catwalks of Milan, she knew that she was a beautiful, earthy woman. No, it wasn't that at all. Clark Ionesco was a forceful man, a man wrapped in layers of strength with an aura of power, and a presence of majesty. Attempting to physically harm him was beyond the question, and to try it would have likely sent her to her knees begging forgiveness. Just trying to disagree with him, too, was an effort and a struggle all in itself.

"I understand, sir. When are the arrangements being made?"

Her eyes opened, and very nearly came to popping out of her head. Lifting her arms, she returned to her task of leaving her shower by drawing her hair up behind her and reaching for a towel to wrap it in.

"And....if I may ask, sir, why' Surely you don't think to—"

"But—"

Her hands dropped to her sides again, and she turned to lean the smooth curve of her hip against the vanity set into the wall, also of white marble accented with gold.

"As you wish, sir. I'll get my effects packed, and will go see Sprocket tomorrow evening just after dusk. Will that suffice, Mr. Ionesco?"

She flinched as he gave his curt response, and the line disconnected with a soft click in her ear. Dropping the earpiece onto the counter with considerably less care than she picked it up, she buried her face in her hands and groaned softly.

Natalia Gioccone was being sent back to Rhy'Din.

The Deep Breath Before the Plunge...

Natalia Gioccone let out a breath of air, pushing it from her lungs as if it were a long sigh of contentment. Her fangs traipsed down the center of the young woman's chest, her skin looking all the more darker because of how pale her own was.

"Pet," she murmured, and she turned her head toward her. Her color was a little off from when she had first met her, but then so was her blood count, too. For three days, the young woman - Michelle, she thought her name was - had been her guest, and her fangs had found many wonderful places on her body in which to sink.

She smiled at her, but it was a lazy thing of her lips that greeted her. Her strength was almost used up, she was sure. It would be time to put her down soon. The thought saddened her, but only for a moment. Michelle was a trifle, a diversion, nothing more.

On her other side, a young accountant that Natalia had met some years ago lay, just as naked as the young woman and Natalia herself. She had taken him as her own a few years back, using him with every intention of abandoning him to whatever his fates may be, but she had grown lonely during her time in London, and had arranged for him to be sent to her office. The bottom line wasn't affected, and she had amusement once more. Everyone was happy.

She had left him once before, just like this, the first time she had gone to Rhydin. He could care for himself in her absence. As a matter of fact, the more she thought about it, he must be well-accustomed to being on his own; she never took him on her business trips.

The cool satin of her robe settled onto her shoulders as she rose, covering her nakedness with a thin veneer of pastel floral print.

"Leaving again?" he asked. Really, he was so cute sometimes.

Natalia bent at the knees to brush her fingers across his young, handsome face, and then turned to leave. She owed him no explanations.

She dressed in a most unusual way: direct and utilitarian. For Natalia, choosing what she was to wear was almost a game, a choreographed display of art, with each piece weighed and measured to absolute perfection. It could take hours. This time, it took only minutes. She already knew what she was going to be wearing. She already knew where she would be going. She already knew where she'd be sleeping tomorrow morning if everything went according to plan.

It wasn't going to be here.

Before she flipped off the light, she glanced back over her shoulder to him. "Be good, duckling," she said, "Lock the door if you throw a party. And get rid of her."

He laughed. She left.

Dust and Rust

It took a few nights, but Natalia managed to finally find the landlord that she knew from her previous time in Rhydin. It seemed that the man had lost an eye during her time away - when she inquired about it, he was rather evasive as to the how of the matter - but otherwise hadn't changed much except for gaining a few more lines on his face. Easily old enough to be her father, she had no interest in him.

Save for one little issue.

The door's lock was rusted shut when she first turned the key, but she was stronger than she looked. After a second attempt, she muscled it open with a hideous metallic shriek, leaving the key slightly bent but also leaving the door opened. The Rose stepped inside, but didn't take in any air; this was not a scent she wanted to revel in, as other things had been. The room was much as she had left it, the settee and the sofa, the glass-top coffee table, the lamps and the tables were all where she had left them. In truth, she only left them behind because they were too big to easily move - the paintings, the drapes, everything she could carry easily or fold up to carry easily had been taken with her back to England. She spent good money on those, you see, and she was loathe to waste anything. The walls were still a beautiful shade of deep, dark, passionate red, though someone had clearly done some kind of damage to the far wall by the kitchenette: the wall had a trio of claw marks gutting out part of it, chipping and peeling up the red paint around the little trenches.

Easily fixed.

The furniture itself was draped in large rectangles of thick plastic, and they were covered with two years worth of dust so that the upholstery itself didn't have to be. She'd have to invest in new paintings, of course, as well as new clothes to hang over the lamps. When she had first come here, this was her seduction pit, with every step, every breath that was taken by whomever had stepped into her web, every nuance of the place had been designed to incite the senses and raise the sensations of desire.

All the better for her, even, if they were a little aroused before she sprung the trap.

She clicked her tongue in irritation at the state of the apartments that she had once so-meticulously cared for. Dust covered everything that wasn't metal, and rust covered that. She didn't even want to look into the bedroom, or into the bathroom. Surely, the state of the enormous tub that she had installed would almost be enough to move her to tears.

Sometime tomorrow, she knew, the power and utilities would be turned on. She'd return tomorrow night and get to work, though she anticipated several nights of labor before her apartments were in livable condition.

The thought brought a smile to the Rose's lips. That meant a few nights more to be spent under Chandra's roof.

That, at least, was always a pleasure.