She's skeptical of visitors. and that is something that she will never shake. No matter how calm and collected she may appear to the outside world, beneath Mona's pretty packaging there will always be a half feral little girl. But it is inevitable that strangers will ring her doorbell. Inevitable, sure, like crime and weather, but that doesn't mean that Mona has to like it.

On the day that Caridad arrives, Mona's massive mastiff starts barking moments before the bell's electronic chime signals the presence of their guest. Both Mona and Hallah scramble onto the couch, the former peering through blinds long since destroyed by the latter's large head. The woman stands on their porch, as out of place amidst the weathered yellow and green paint as a rose growing from cow manure. Tall, slender, the creature's arms and torso are riddled with tattoos; each one faded with age (a sure fire sign that their owner possessed them before her Embrace.) Her hair is shorn short at the sides, her dark roots clashing wretchedly with bleach crisped locks. She is pale and her dark dark dark dark eyes shift ever to slowly to the faces peering at her through the nearby window. Gripping the back of the couch, both she and the dog snarling, Mona is hit with a sudden wave of familiarity.

Caridad.

Her last conversation with her bloodbrother, Isidoro, had been mildly interesting. She had learned that the newest recruit to Dom Cosimiro's crew was, in fact, a Camarilla plant. Unbeknownst to Caridad, her nature had long since been sussed out by both Portuguese Cardinals. Also unbeknownst to her, both Dom Cosimiro and Dona Emilia had made a game out of with her head. With that knowledge simmering in the back of her mind, Mona wonders how hard it would be to break through the window, wonders if the broken glass would deprive her of too much blood; blood she might need to put her fist straight through the woman's skull.

Caridad, looking at the snarling girl and her snarling dog and perhaps sensing the animosity rolling from the former, tosses her hands up in surrender. Still glaring bullets at the woman, Mona dispatches Hallah to her dog bed with a wave of her hand and slowly pries the window up. "What do you want?"

Caridad shuffles her feet from one leopard print creeper to the other, and there's enough blood in her to produce at least the pale ghost of flustered red across her cheeks. "I need your help, Mona."

Mona reaches behind her ear and Caridad holds a breath that she doesn't need, releasing it only when a toothpick is produced. It's when Mona places it between thumb and forefinger and angles it at her chest that Caridad's fear blooms anew. "You need my help?" One moment Mona is a snarling beast, the next a chilling picture of diplomacy. "You tell me why you need my help, traidor, and you make it quick."

Caridad's eyes widen with confusion. "Traitor? Mona, you misunderstand. It is Cosimiro that has turned against me. He thinks I am Camarilla."

You are Camarilla, you lying bardajona.

But then it occurs to her that Caridad doesn't know that she knows. When Mona doesn't say anything, Caridad continues. "He told me that you had defected, so I thought you would understand.."

Untrue, all of it, Mona will do nothing to dissuade that. She's part of the game again. Still glaring daggers at Caridad, Mona drifts to the door, opens it and steps to the side. "Come in. You sleep in the guestroom and you do not touch my things." Things including Bart.

"Oh Mona! Thank you so much. You have no idea what this means to me."

The dark haired Toreador falls into a lean against the door and rolls her eyes.

Mona takes great pains to keep Caridad around Bart as little as possible. For all he knows- in his mind if not his heart- is that she's a vampire, she's staying in the guestroom and though clean, he wouldn't touch her with a ten foot pole.

She teaches the names of the animals to Caridad, though not a one of them- not even sweet Curacao the hyacinth macaw or Hallah, who is made of love- care for her. Batata stays locked in his cage when Caridad is around and for good reason; their first and last meeting had ended with the ill-tempered bird relieving Caridad's cheek of a chunk of flesh.

When Caridad is out, Mona promises her menagerie that it's almost over, that they'll each get special treats for being such good little babies. Her pale horse, his name affectionately transliterated to 'Monkey', seems to be the only one that understands.

Where Caridad goes, Mona hasn't a clue. She always returns though with a little present for her hero; gifts in the forms of slippers, costume jewelry or animal specimens floating in jars of alcohol.

Mona almost forgets that Caridad is the enemy. Almost.

Now more than ever, Caridad does not want to be here. The visit from the redhead has drilled a darker doubt into her bones, and the cheap burner of a cellphone, one of many she has since used to contact The Inner Circle, doesn't seem to get reception here. Or anywhere else in Rhy'Din.

Somehow she manages to convince Mona's brother, wary of her since her seduction of him, to let her use his phone. But no one answers, and in the end she passes the phone, its battery drained, back to Nathan and thanks him. Nice try at least.

She sits on the couch while Mona is out and stares at Bart's door. He's not rude to her, nor is he openly friendly, but he seems the sort to ask too many questions, so asking him for help is out of the question.

Mona returns around midnight, reeking of sweet smelling flesh not her own. Caridad peers over the back of the couch at her, at her sweet, dreamy smile and half lidded boo boo eyes. A monster built to disarm, and suddenly of Cosimiro's trio of paladins, Mona is the one that unnerves her the most.

She watches the girl circle the couch twice before she actually sits down, and Caridad considers, briefly, coming clean with the little demon perched next to her. Perhaps if she knew how badly she just wants to be home then she would show mercy...

But mercy is for the Camarilla, not the Sabbat, and Mona can crow all night and all day about how she's no longer in their fold, but Caridad knows the truth. A wolf can pretend to be a dog, but it will forever be a wolf.

"...did you have a nice night?" Caridad asks, and Mona sets those large amber eyes upon her face.

"Oh, sim sim," comes Mona's reply, and she raises a hand and regards her Bang Me Red painted nails with a fond examination, but it isn't long before her eyes are once again on Caridad's face. "I have for you a present. One finger on the Hand of Cain to the other."

Caridad swallows hard and Mona watches the delicate line of throat intently. Too intently. "Thank you, Mona, but you didn't.."

"But I did," and Mona's eyes flash in the dim light of the room, her tone insistent. "You bring me gifts all of the time. I returned the favor."

Caridad closes her eyes and smiles despite her better judgement, despite the storm brewing in her gut. "Well, my thanks. That is very sweet of you."

And Mona looks her over, slow and scrutinizing from head to toe. "Wait until you see it, Caridad. Just wait."

It takes two weeks for Caridad to actually become comfortable in Mona's home (if not around Mona).

It takes two weeks for her to royally *bleep* up.

One of her handlers back home finally reaches out to her, and she has grown so used to Mona being out and about that she doesn't realize that the dark haired little Cainite and her keen ears are currently tucked away in her basement room, well within earshot of Caridad just yards from the wall, curled up with her phone in the lee of a sand dune.

And the idiot is broadcasting the conversation via speaker phone. It's almost insulting.

"I understand that, Reggie, but you have to give me a break. I couldn't handle two Cardinals and all of those lapdogs on my own."

"You failed, Caridad. We sent you there to gather information, that is all, and from what you are telling me, they knew exactly what you were about the moment you opened your mouth."

"But.."

"But what? Did you think we would welcome you back with open arms after this? You're done with. You're over. Come back now and you'll be gift wrapping yourself for every vampire around."

Mona's eyes grow wide, her cheek pressed against the cold stone of her basement room. A Blood Hunt. They've called a Blood Hunt on Caridad. Mona's guts twist where they lay, and she feels a pang of sympathy for the rabble woman. It is, thankfully, to be as short lived as a bout of gas.

Caridad is trying not to sob. Mona can hear the tinny hitch in her voice, can almost imagine the beads of opaque blood dotting her eyelids.

"Please. Please," Caridad cries, giving voice to her desperation. "I can make it up to you."

"I'm hanging up now, Caridad.."

"No! Please, no! Just please hear me out!"

"Five seconds. You have five seconds."

"Mona Oliveira! I can bring you Mona Oliveira!"

Mona's fingers curl into the stone so quickly and with such force that a few meticulously tended to nails loosen in their beds. She bites back a hiss, owns that pain, and quietly moves to the door. Caridad is so upset that she doesn't hear it as Mona pushes it open, and the sand dune keeps her from seeing the faint sliver of the Iberian's pale face or glimpse the bit of her body exposed by the crack.

"Mona Oliveira is dead, idiota. You going to bring us some bones? Some ashes?"

"Nononono, she isn't dead! Please, I can prove it to you! I can bring her to you, alive! I've been staying with her!"

The laughter that rushes forth from the phone's speaker narrows Mona's eyes, and she bares her teeth to the night.

"You know what? Okay. You have two nights to bring her to us. You don't do this and we'll hunt you down, you got it? We're not playing with you, Caridad. You got one more chance, clear?"

"Crystal."

By the time Caridad hangs up, gathers herself to her feet and wipes away dust, Mona has already disappeared. The house, save for the parrots and the dog and the horse that watches her with chillingly pale eyes from its paddock outside, is empty.

Flip. Redial. Ring ring, bitches.

"I hope to god you're calling me because you're on your way back with Oliveira, Caridad."

A man's voice, smoke raspy and low. Mona snarls at the phone and moves it to her good ear, the one not currently declaring war upon her.

"Caridad cannot make it, babaca."

Silence. Good. Choke on it, Reggie Whoeverthe*bleep*youare*bleeping*cufflinkinsomebiggerjackoff'ssuit

Cooly the voice returns. "Mona Oliveira? How lovely it is that you're still with us."

"I was never with you, but Caridad? She had incredible faith in you..right before I chopped her *bleeping* head off."

"She was..dispensable. As for you? We could hunt you down, wipe you out.."

"Boa sorte with that. I am dead, remember?"

"We can find you, Oliveira.."

"Try, please try. I know you exist now, Reggie and so will the Portuguese Cardinals. I will give you directions to where I am. Se n?o fosses a ot?ria que ?s I would feel sorry for you."

More silence. Mona rolls her eyes.

"This isn't over, Oliveira."

"Whatever, Reggie."

"Good da.."

Mona cuts him off by hanging up the phone, which she crams into her pocket. It will eventually end up in the ocean, but not before she writes down each and every contact it holds.

(Taken from play with Tegan's awesomepossum player!)

A mere day after The Unfortunate Incident has passed, and though her hearing has returned in her left ear, that side of Mona's face is still a hodgepodge of nasty bruises and scabs. Her recovery has no doubt been aided by a few sparse meals, and she sneers when she hands over the hastily scribbled list of contacts to Tegan Milburn, close(ish) friend and Sabbat Inquisitor. So long as there is disdain in her little body then all is right(ish) with their world. "The idiota had these in her burner phone. I will not tell Isidoro of these. It is up to you if Dom Cosimiro should know."

Tegan seems to be of a completely opposite disposition to her companion. Her hair has been piled into something of a beehive bun with enough loose in the front to hide the tips of her ears, and glasses more befitting of the mid-20th century rather than the late-19th rest on the bridge of her nose, bringing out the rarely-expressed softness in her features that seem so very apparent in her sympathetic pout to the wounds on Mona's face. Her arms remain bare to the shoulder, the rest of her is tucked into a slim, night-sky-blue dress set with faint star-bursts of sequins and faceted stones, while still tromping around in knee-high combat boots. Her slender fingers unfold one at a time before dipping down to take hold of the paper, offering no force to draw it near until Mona loosens her own grip. "This, I believe, is a matter for the Inquisition itself. The Cardinalship need not find burden in knowledge of it."
Regardless of her obtaining possession of the list, she tips down her chin with a half-step back to show her eyes, or more appropriately the vexed shape of them in the corners and across her brow, to Mona. "But how fare you?"

"Estou envergonhado but that is how it goes when the universe delivers stupid to your doorstep." Betrayal, even the inevitable sort, stings the ego. Mona peers into the lenses of Tegan's glasses but quickly diverts her gaze to the side, her bottom lip curling into a terrible pout and her brow furrowing.
"Your help is appreciated," Mona continues. "There is a name on there. Reggie? Do me a favor, menina bonita, and shove something long and pointy and sharp up his cu for me?" She bats her long lashes at Tegan, the sclera of her left eye stained a vivid red.

For as incompetent as she was, Caridad was stupidly strong. She would have been a force indeed given the right handling.

"Idiocy often drags those around it down to its level and beats us with experience, dear Mona." With a quick glance to the left and to the right, seeing the street clear of people, Tegan plucks her sunglasses from her nose with her free hand and folds them up, hanging them from her neckline as she looks down the list, now fully in her grasp, to spot Reggie's name. She narrows her eyes slightly and nods, underlining it with a crease made by her thumbnail. "The Amazon has a multitude of creatures which may find succor from the indefensible interior of undead flesh. Colette and I will, likely, be brushing up on our etymology." As much as she still feels the hit to her overweening empathy from the blood staining Mona's eye, she still raises a shoulder and puts on a coy little smile before turning her head away and down.

As charmed as Mona is by Tegan's sudden turn as a coquette, the mention of Collette's name sends a quick shiver up her spine. She would pity Reggie, as she now pities poor Caridad, if she didn't wish him all of the harm in the world. She hitches herself up on tiptoe and traces Tegan's shoulder with a brush of her fingers, her frown suddenly, utterly sad. Tegan's hand turns up to trace her own fingertips against Mona's digits on her shoulder, her face dropping all undue expression for a reflective, if encouraging smile. Mona returns the smile with a faded facsimile.

"I think I am too old for all of this, Tegan. I just want to be here and play with my dog and pick out my outfits." With a sigh, the former (current?) paladin removes her hand from Tegan's pale flesh and plunks herself down at the Kiasyd's feet, legs curled indian style and her face resting in her hands. "I would have helped her if she had not turned on me. I cannot abide that, you know?"

Tegan smooths out the skirt of her dress and bends first at the waist, then at knees in a heels-together crouch before Mona, her chin perching atop long, laced fingers. "Tis not always a comfort to be such an instrument of death, yet inevitably, we hunger too strongly on a given night, or a word strikes us wrong, and we cut a person's cord in the tapestry of life. You acted, perhaps in a round-about fashion, in self-defense, and I'd venture that your dog, your birds and your outfits are no small part of what you sought to defend."

Bart's name, of course, goes unspoken, mostly out of respect, yet partially out of wishing not to call a jinx upon the poor lad. But Bart's name rings regardless inside of Mona's head, loud and piercing; a tool that her wounded Beast uses to taunt the Human. She presses the heels of her hands against her eyes until light explodes behind her lids. "Ugh. I understand this, these things you say. I do not mourn Caridad. I mourn the situation. She called me a dog. Cosimiro, he has called me a dog before, and what you described..that is what dogs do. Wild dogs. I cannot be a person if I am a dog." She peers over her fingertips at Tegan then. "So what am I, Tegan? What are we?"

Tegan takes in a deep breath as her index fingers curl against her bottom lip, leaving the top to settle as a gentle roof over her knuckles as she ponders Mona's questions and quandaries. "If I may, you have many of a dog's better qualities. You've an ability to work with others to handle situations, and the ability to cultivate yourself to learn. Wild dogs adapt, yet?" She brings her hands down and her elbows closer to her sides, letting her wrists hang limply before her knees as her head bows. "? a dog never questions its motives. If I dare to contradict, most of what we call people kill, in some fashion, every time that they eat, even if it's as oblique as clear-cutting forests to grow soy or forcing indigenous peoples to starve as their main staple becomes the latest trend of the bourgeoisie-bohemians. We are merely people who have been placed in a position of intimacy with such an idea, who happen to be in an organization of peers that wears the brutality of it on its sleeve out of fundamental insecurity."

"This is new to me," Mona mutters, but she seems eager to keep the conversation going. It helps, even if her tone masks her gratitude for the strange, freakishly tall creature before her. "This human thing. It is so confusing. When I was a girl, we were seen as inhuman because of what we believed. These things you say about human cruelty, I can understand these, but the rest, it will take some learning for me. These things you say separate me from a wild dog, they are new, Tegan." Then without a word, Mona creeps forward and drapes her arms around Tegan- as much of Tegan as she can reach- and she rests her head on her knees. It is only then that she remembers that she is grateful. "Obrigada, menina bonita. You help so much. I love you."

Tegan's shoulders open, then relax, some odd variant that replaces deep sighs for her. Once more, she comes to silent reflection, yet before she can formulate any words, Mona has her in her grasp and has her head atop her knees, which she dutifully tilts to better accommodate the little Iberian's noggin while balancing her weight through the balls of her feet. Her lengthy arms encircle Mona, draping like a shawl around her shoulders as she rests her lips on her companion's crown. "You're quite welcome, Mona?" She swallows next, trembling as the opportunity comes to bring out the truth of her affection. "? and.. erhm? I--I l-love you? as--ahm?"

As she sputters from nearly becoming overwhelmed with the admittance, her arms simply cradle Mona tighter, her slim, long palms gliding up and down her back as if following subtle trails of energy inside of her.