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Dacey Bekam

"Seems they all get to die before we properly rot."

0 · 846 views · located in Utopia NightClub

a character in “Club Utopia”, as played by password

Groups

Immortal beings that thrive off blood

Description

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Cool Kids | Echosmith





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{ Misnomer }
Dacey Bekam

{ History of Dacey }
Originally, Dacey Bekam was Willis Bringham, but took on his new name at the demise of his family. It's pronounced Daisy Beckam. Some of the other species call him Flower or Princess, because of his preferred name, sexual indifference, and "pretty boy" looks. His last name works for the other vampires. The only person with the privilege of calling him Dacey is Mr. Bane.

{ Gender }
Dacey is male, but personally considers gender irrelevant. During his studies at a private university, during more curious times, he decided that it was restricting and humanly to associate his body with a gender.

{ Sexuality }
Gender is irrelevant, even with other people. His companions vary in a very wide spectrum; anyone with a vibrant blood flow and a pretty face could seduce Mr. Bekam. If anyone asks, he gives them the Bekam smile and leaves unexplained.

{ Species }
Vampire






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{ Personality }

Dacey is still the quirky nineteen-year-old he was when he was alive. Something about his young body but incredibly wise mind is somewhat uncomfortable to the people around him, but he's so nice, no one really mentions it. Dacey reminds many people of a gentle giant, not really adding much to the conversation but still included. At least, that's what you'll hear about him from the new customers at the club, or the baristas at his favorite coffee shop, or even the florist he works for.

Dacey Bekam the night owl is a silent seductor. He's known for his expertise in the bedroom, and indifference to gender or bodily appearance. He seems to be the unspoken alpha male of the vampires at Club Utopia. He's the main line from the coven in Brooklyn to the mysterious Mr. Bane. He's never seen without a cigarette either tucked between his nimble fingers or his plump lips. Dacey allows other to look at his body, along with flaunting it, but it takes a specially delicious bloodflow to get Dacey.

Dominance is not a pretty quality for him. Dominant people, or people who threaten his respect or authority, are enemies.

There is a side of Dacey that is seen by few. He is violently protective of not only the vamps, but supernatural beings, especially at the club. He has been known to be easily provoke about those specific subjects and does not hesitate to use his strength to seriously injure people. Quite a few people know of his anger issues and are careful about it.

The main cause of such aggression was during his beginning years as a vampire. He was coerced into an abusive relationship and was a shell of who he used to be. He had, at one point, stopped visiting the club and was locked in a state of constant fear of this man having control over his body. The violation of his body and the abuse he received was enough for him and he fought back, forcing this man to the brink of death. He understands now that he's the owner of his body, and he fiercely protective of it. Dacey is good at heart, he just doesn't think and merely reacts to the situations around him.

For those he loves, he'll do anything for, like anyone else would do. Love is more powerful than anything else in Dacey's mind. It was the reason he watched his parents until their death, and flies to Nevada each year.





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{ History }
Willis Bringham II was born on July 4th, 1925. He was the bastard son of actress Jean Arthur, who halted her career for eleventh months, enough to have the child and make sure the father, Willis Bringham Senior, was going to take care of him.

Willy, as many liked to call him, only saw a few good years with his father and his mother figure, Aunt Delia, before the Great Depression halted America. Economic downturn caused Delia to lose her part-time job but Willis was sure to keep their patched family afloat. Willy even took up an internship with the local butcher to bring even a few extra pennies home. The thirties were hard, but Willy held on to the neighbor radio nights, when they would listen to Roosevelt's fireside chats and keep the little hope they had in their hearts for a better America; it was also the few moments he was allowed to hang out with the neighborhood kids, between the job and eating and sleeping.

When Willy was 14, World War Two started. With Hitler's invasion into Poland, where his father's family lived, Willis was immediately in support of intervention of the U.S. and huddled around the radio when he wasn't working. Willy and his friends liked talking about joining the army, but the neighorhood mothers always gave them disapproving looks.

Willy sneaked into the army at 17, when America started drafting troops. His best friend Dara, a first generation Irish immigrant, wanted to be in Europe once more, and snuck in with him; the rest of their friends were old enough to sign up. They were deployed in the European theater, and Willy found himself in an aircraft carrier helping with air strikes and bombing. The rest of his friends made it into the army, so he had to make new brothers in the air force. And that he did.

Those air force boys were more to him than even his father, as much as he hated to say it. The trust it took to be up in the air, flying, with them was seriously big.

Willy was the first pilot of his squadron to die.

Willy crashed after his plane was hit. The initial crash didn't kill him, with was a miracle on it's own, but he was captured by enemy forces. He was tortured endlessly for a month, until he escaped with a group of other P. O. W. One of them was Francesca, a politically powerful British woman who he found an attraction to. She found an attraction to his bloodflow.

Francesca was the vampire who bit Willy. He contracted a harsh type of pneumonia and was quickly dying. For the next twelve days before his death, she nursed into his body enough blood to transform him into a fledgling; he died the day after, a young nineteen years.

Francesca contacted his parents, feigning as his British girlfriend, and promised them a funeral in their hometown of Ruba, Nevada. What she didn't promise was the permanence of his burial. She sat by his grave for hours, even into the night, waiting for him. Willy's parents worried for her but she assured them this was her coping method. When Willy finally broke free, she would be waiting to help him. Willy immediately wanted nothing more than to kill her for doing this to him. He didn't want to stay on this Earth, he wanted to go to Heaven, the beautiful place he'd heard about from his Aunt Delia. He spent months trying to kill Francesca but couldn't find the strength to take someone's life.

Willy started begging her to kill him. He didn't want to be on this earth, especially when his father died, mourning his "death". He continued to think this way until his aunt died in the seventies. With no mortal family left, he tried to start over, make himself a new identity. He left in the middle of the night and flew to New York, where his mother had her career.

Willy joined a community college under a pseudonym, and created a small group of mortal friends who he hung out with and helped him discover life in America during the eighties, a time when he would've been settled down and retired, if he'd survived his deployment.

He found out about the club from a hushed conversation at his favorite coffee shop. With his college experience finally over, he decided to check it out. With the name Dacey Bekam, he became a regular and all but halted his interference with human life. His college friends moved on and he made sure to cut them out of his life. He has become a major executive at a company flooded with supernaturals in hiding, and has a large amount of money. He makes sure to wear suits as much as possible. He's been happy ever since.





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{ Face Claim }
Max Irons

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So begins...

Dacey Bekam's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Magnus Bane Character Portrait: Ignatius Perrish Character Portrait: Rosalie Hart Character Portrait: Trevor Lawson Character Portrait: Dacey Bekam Character Portrait: Errol King
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The streets of Brooklyn were cold and dark that night, the only pedestrians out being the sort that knew how not to lose themselves in a twisting labyrinth of ever narrower, Stygian streets and alleyways. Utopia was waiting for them right around the next bend, forever roaming; the only constant in it's surroundings being the fat, impregnated moon peaking through thick cloud cover hanging overhead.

Magnus Bane's smalt hair reflected the changing neon colors of a human club sign: the words Ecclesia Peccatoris lined in Carmine red, Indigo blue, and metallic gold. This nightclub consisted of a big, tightly packed space that's bare bones resembled that of an ancient church, though that was from design for no church had ever been built on the corner of Amity and Court. Stained-glass windows rose high up in the walls, painting everything beneath them in hues of rose. Darting colored spotlights picked out the blissed-out faces of dancers in the churning crowd, lighting them up one at a time in shades of Amaranth pink, Harlequin green, and Mauve violet. There was a DJ booth along one wall, and trance music blasted from the speakers. The music pounded up through his feet, into his blood, vibrating his bones. The room was hot with the press of bodies and the smell of sweat and smoke and liquor.

He propelled forward, through the dancers; the mortal crowd seemed to part like the sea around the hull of a ship, people looking up to glance at Magnus, then dropping their gazes, backing away out of instinct though they knew nothing of his power or otherworldliness. Something was to be said about mankind and their intuition. On the far side of the room, there was an archway that all of the human club goers seemed not to notice or pay any heed to. Through it a set of stairs led downward, curving away into darkness. Magnus descended steadily, graceful and sure-footed, not worried about slipping on the age-smoothed stones. The air grew cooler the further down he traversed, and the sound of the pounding music faded. The only noise left was the sound of his own breathing, devoid of company save for his shadow thrown, distorted and spindly, against the walls.

The new music bled into his hearing before he ever reached the bottom of the stairs. It had an even more insistent beat than the music in the mortal club. A small cock-sure grin stretched across his face as he entered his Utopia.

Everything was stone, the walls bumpy and uneven, the floor smooth beneath his feet. Huge marble fountains sprayed sparkling water; Electric blue rose petals drifting on the surface. Explosions of color and light burst like cherry bombs throughout the room, nothing like the artificial light upstairsβ€”these were beautiful, effervescent like fireworks that floated on the air, and every time one burst, it rained down a glittering shimmer onto the dancing crowd below. The dancers themselvesβ€”whirling and spinning and clappingβ€”none of them were human.

Even a mortal would be able to sense the nonhuman-ness of the people in the room, the vampires with their pallor and their swift and languid grace, the werewolves fierce and fast. Most were young, dancing close, writhing up and down each other’s bodies. Another explosion of colored light lit up the darkness above them. Metallic drops rained down; catching in their hair and shimmering on bare skin like mercury. Magnus swiped at the silvery liquid that mixed with his hair and skin, painting him in metal as he watched the elated crowd with darkened eyes. The faces of the dancers around him to any human might look vulpine and faintly frightening, but to him they were just darkly beautiful. They were venerable and entranced. The platinum droplets were a mild hallucinogenic, the effect being like that of a cross between ecstasy and mushrooms if it got into your mouth. It was something he had whipped up with the use of some Fae blood, charitably donated of course to cover some old debts owed to him by a Fae lord.

Magnus drew toward one of the fountains in the middle of the room, and sat down on the wide marble edge, leaning over and studying the smooth dark surface of the pool. He could see his own face reflected back at him, his normally yellow cat irises turned an array of fractured colors by the peculiar light in the club like the bright pieces inside a kaleidoscope, his eye makeup smudged like bruises, his hair artfully unkempt. The water shivered apart, his reflection distorting, unrecognizable, the surface broken by a kelpie serpentinely smiling up at him. They were small, and could easily fit in the palm of your hand if you desired to scoop one up...but Magnus knew better, they were all shark sharp grins and razor teeth and like pixies, they had quite the temper. She had an upper body that resembled a human's but her lower half was like that of a seahorse. The incandescent creatures hair spun around her like the filaments of luminous jellyfish as she played with one of the floating blue rose petals, dancing with it like it was her partner.

Magnus turned from her as she swam away and leaned back, his hands braced behind him on the fountain’s edge, his smile like the edge of a straight razor and devilishly wicked. He had done well with his choice of setting tonight, he was pleased with the over all effect. Another ball of colored light burst above his head, scattering silver, drops of the metallic liquid spangling his thick eyelashes. He decided to remain there and study the moving crowd for a short while, watching couples of twos and threes vanish into the shadowy alcoves that lined the walls. There were dozens of these circular alcoves, some armed with small loveseats in a lovely deep shade of royal blue, others with circular velvet beds but they all provided the clubers with a heavy curtain that could be pulled closed to provide a modicum of privacy. It also succeeded in discreetly muffling the pounding music outside, though by no means did it make it inaudible. He felt a pang in his chest, a stab like a knife being drug against the insides of his rib cage. How many years had it been since he had taken a lover? How long had it been since he slunk away to the nearest hiding place so that he might just steal a second alone with someone? A warlocks curse was, you either outlived everyone or they lived just long enough to distort themselves into something unrecognizable.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Magnus Bane Character Portrait: Dacey Bekam Character Portrait: D. Hugo Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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The fingers in the natural sunlight bathed in every stray beam that wandered over their tiny wrinkles and patches of smooth skin. They lazily drew in meaningless curls and lines over the cream linen sheets that laid over the nude corpse; well, not a corpse exactly, for the bare chest littered with tiny blonde hairs rose and fell of its own accord, not that he needed it. Dacey could longer linger over that warm, curvaceous figure that'd taken to bed with him the night before, her temperature plunged as her lungs felt no need to make oxygen and her veins laid to rest. One strand of curled brown hair, in shades of chestnut and caramel alike, carefully looped onto her sunk cheeks, once full and rosy now sunken and full of the pallor of death. The Twilight book that had been hugged to her voluptuous breasts now shriveled on the floor, somewhat burned and somewhat torn apart. Even some of her rich, burgundy blood pooled around it. With a quick glance in the mirror, Dacey came to notice that her veins had overflowed in his mouth and raced down his neck, like one would expect a human dressing up as a vampire for Halloween would conjure. He scrubbed at it with dry, scraping nails but to no avail.

A quick shower would do nice before he disposed of his lovely companion of the night, though her pleasurable melodies still rung in his head.

Streams of water fell onto the head of Dacey Bekam as he stood under the raining shower in his master suite. The mansion was lovely but quite boring unless lit up with the hungry passion and animosity that only a Bekam party could supply to the dull Bekam Estate. Though even it paled in comparison to Ecclesia Peccatoris, the lovely misnomer for Club Utopia, where his coven of Brooklyn vampires frequently gathered. There was another guest, waiting for her time in dreamland to end. D. Hugo, one of the few banshees to frequent Club Utopia, had become quite attached to Dacey since they met at the death of his lovely Aunt Delia. He could imagine Hugo know, draped against the couch quite seductively, though still peacefully asleep. Sure as Hell's fire, he found the mythical creature hanging quite provocatively off the couch, in mid-stage of her glamour and true form. "Looking a bit ugly, my dear." It was a code for her to realize when she was subconsciously letting her glamour fade. Her half-grey eyes shot up, and with a clear mind, muddled back into the young beauty he'd met during his years of solitude and death-wishing. How fickle days.

"I hate that, why did we choose such a condensing string of words? But it's good to see you in a robe, my prince, do you mind if I have a peek?" Her hand danced dangerously close to his private area before she teetered on her toes to ruffle his blonde hair, once slicked back with its moisture now spiked up rebelliously. He tisked at her, while forming his hair back to the neater slick-back look he often preferred when he was planning to wear a suit, much to the frisky banshee's displeasure; these pants were too expensive to have every slutty creature of the day and night crawling around them. Glancing over at the clock, he realized the late night before had taken a toll on him, for it was already three in the afternoon, and he would be escorting Hugo to the club soon. He usually liked to be there most every night, considering he was Magnus Bane's link to the vampires. Being a coven leader had it's advantages, especially since the famous, or infamous if put in a certain light, Club Utopia owner was quite attractive and made an appearance on most nights. Dacey wasn't loud or bold like some of his coven members, he preferred an elegant, suave fashion of conversation, but he held an authority with his cold steel eyes that none could match. Plus, his frequent companion, who many thought he married years ago and committed to an open relationship though vampires are notoriously jealous and possessive in relationships, could force death upon other creatures.

He returned to Hugo's condescending remark about the banshee code, and he smirked with a baritone chuckle, almost seductively. "What else could you call that creature that lives inside you? It's sure as hell not pretty." Dacey wasn't one to cuss, but this was special circumstances. Hugo rolled her eyes, removing herself from the room to get dressed. Passing by her room, Dacey had to linger over her pale flesh in the tender sunlight, clear of scales or bumps or anything deterring from the idea that her glamour made her look... absolutely human. Dacey had to refrain from thinking of her under his teeth, precious veins leaking a blood so viscous and scarlet- it wasn't a good habit to have. He instead tucked a cigarette between his two tender lips and sauntered out to his garden to smoke it. It was the only place he would allow anyone to smoke.

She joined him only a few minutes after, stealing the ciagrette container from his robe's pocket, and taking a cigarette for herself. She lit it with his already lit cigarette and gave a delicious exhale into the cool mid-afternoon air. "ALl your neighbors believe I'm your mistress, but I don't think they realize how much I despise you." Hugo chuckled at the thought of hating such a beautiful, kind man who took her into his home, but said it for that lovely, melodious chuckle that would escape his lips, the equivalent of bells. "Well I believe I cannot stand you for another second longer, and the thought of our fornication is hideous." Dacey bantered back, his tongue just as quick as the linguist's. He turned to face her, taking in her luscious brown hair still mangled with sleep hovering over a sleek black cocktail dress that seemed to be paint and not actual fabric. He took her hips in his hands and for a moment, they were mesmerized in a primal pleasure begging for one consummation of love. Unfortunately, Dacey returned to his room so he could dress for the club tonight. He obtained a new suit recently, one of a maroon color which fit him quite handsomely. Returning with said suit on, Hugo poured them both a glass of expensive wine before they would head out.

"Let's toast to love, Dacey." Hugo was completely and incredibly serious, so he had to oblige. Their glasses made a vibrating sound as they clashed together and then both creatures downed the wine quickly. Once replacing the bottle in his fridge, the two started on their way to the club now that it was dark.

The two walked with Hugo's elbow tucked in Dacey's, as one would expect of an escort. Drunk humans stumbled out of the way and those who were strangely sober were harshly intimidated by the two superior mythical creatures who had their heads held high. It was strange to see a cocktail dress and suit in the human club, with sweaty bodies packed like sardine cans, which Dacey found disgusting. Sexuality was a gentleman's sport, not meant for such vulgar use. This was why his companions were usually not human, because they defiled the sanctity of sex and he did not enjoy the act in that form. Sex is so much more than what humans have made it and walking through the arch into Club Utopia was a crashing wave of relief. His "beta" of the coven, a handsome boy named Jax, lingered up to Dacey and pressed his voluptuous lips to the soft skin of his palm. Dacey watched as Hugo disappeared into the crowd, and even lingered longer than he was supposed to on Magnus Bane at the fountain, but returned his gaze to Jax, who stuck to his side.

"The fae have become quite populous, especially here. Not that I can complain, they're quite attractive beings." Just as Dacey spoke this revelation, a glowing blonde fae drew close to Jax and cornered him into one of the curtained rooms. She was certianly one to watch out for, though she had sunny rays, the set of teeth behind a woman like that were usually not too pleasant. Dacey himself was a mostly solitary creature, keeping to companions after the fun of the club subsided. But a few people caught his interest now and again, equal in both genders but all quite attractive, as most supernatural beings were.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Magnus Bane Character Portrait: Dacey Bekam Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Magnus' pupil slit cat eyes scanned the dance floor, where slender limbs clad in scraps of silk and black leather appeared and disappeared inside the revolving writhing mass of creature people. Girls tossed their long pale hair, boys swung their narrow hips, and bare skin glittered with sweat and silver droplets that covered them like rain. Vitality just poured off the crowd in waves of energy that filled Magnus with a pleasant high.

He took note of a Nymph and her Werewolf partner locked in the center of the mob; trapped in a space between a group of Vampires in metallic corsets and a young Were couple who were making out passionately, their appendages tangled together like vines. They were dancing, or the nymph was at least- with the wolf it was simply a lot of swaying back and forth with occasional lunges toward the floor as he was jostled too hard and lost balance. He was obviously horribly uncomfortable and being held there against his will. Magnus stifled a chuckle, the younger beings could be so awkwardly adorable when out of their natural element. Magnus had lived long enough, as had many of his companions, for there not to be an element unknown or of ill ease to him. He was almost envious, missed that rawness to life...to be young. Which was odd of course as he pretended to be more ancient than he really was.

One of Magnus' older aforementioned acquaintances filtered into the room with his Banshee companion, looking all to the world, quite bored and vaguely disinterested. The warlock took this as a sign to approach, after all, Vampires were creatures of tradition and the higher clan members might've seen it as disrespectful if not greeted by the host.

Dacey's skin was as pale as untouched fallen snow and his hair shone like freshly reaped wheat, like the threads of gold, brighter than any halo; and almost too perfectly highlighted to be natural. He possessed a terrible beauty. Magnus took the Vampire leaders hand and bowed deeply, moving to brush his lips across the cold pallor skin. His eyes remained fixed on Dacey's own though, never blinking or breaking contact. A constellation of Metallic Fae blood spread across his dark lashes, glittering like a hundred razor sharp daggers glinting violently in the muted light. This was all a formality, an indulgence if you would, for Warlocks really bowed to no one other than the greater demons.

"Ah, my old friend, how are you? Enjoying yourself? Might I offer you a drink?"

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Magnus Bane Character Portrait: Dacey Bekam Character Portrait: D. Hugo Character Portrait: Kieran Doyle Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Alone, Dacey was a shadowy figure on the outskirts of the city of dancers, sipping on a small drink he had no desire to remember the name of. He passed the empty glass onto a vampire underling only a few moments later. Just as he zoned out into the beat of the tantalizing music, a figure approached.

Sharp amber eyes, framed perfectly by dark lashes coated in the metallic concoction dripping from the heavens of the club, graced Dacey's own colorless orbs as Magnus Bane performed a deep bow and kissed the vampire's aforementioned hand. Those once disinterested eyes lit up with a special interest, considering the loveliest person in the room was standing in front of him. Dacey temporarily considered if the warlock's handsomeness was enhanced by the magic flittering about the club, like a fae or similar creature would use their glamour, or if he was truly that delectable. "If I hadn't known you, I'd believe you'd order a sex cocktail. But you haven't taken a companion since I've known you. I'm absolutely wonderful myself, Mr. Bane, how are you?" Dacey's graceful tongue littered a slight Southern accent, but whether that was from his former life or an addition of his own volition, no one could tell.

And though the warlock and vampire were good acquaintances, and Magnus himself had bowed to Dacey, they both had full knowledge of who was really superior to the other. Dacey made sure to keep keen attention to Magnus, considering he wanted to stay on the warlock's good graces.

Magnus was a gorgeous man, cat eyes meticulously lined with dark ink, fitted under a shade of equally dark hair, all above a fresh suit. It was no wonder that this man led the most popular supernatural club in Brooklyn, hell, New York; vampire leaders and werewolf alphas alike bled into one group on the dance floor. Dacey would stay in his company as long as possible. He was more accustomed to the elegant ballroom waltzes, or the west coast swing of his soldier days, and did not fit into this style of sweaty, passionate dancing unless he was in the mood for a night of sexual pleasure, which wouldn't happen again soon, considering the night before he'd wanted nothing more. Tonight, he wore his new suit to deter his thoughts from vulgar but pleasurable ideas such as that. Seduction was nothing if you couldn't control it. In human clubs, that was fairly obvious, the violation of the natural and gearing into primal, a place kept sacredly to the bedroom. Maybe that was just the forties man inside him, crying out for the sanctity of sex. Though even Decay Bekam's own actions would be quite scandalous. But that was then, and this is now.

A slow, sensual vibe caressed the room as a noticeably slower song trespassed the sound waves of the club. It still moved to the place of a club, and slowly couple after couple became one on the dancefloor. Dacey took a daring move and extended his pale fingers in invitation to Magnus. "May I have the honor of dancing with you, Mr. Bane?" A smile played at his plump lips.

Hugo had her own company, a sexually ravenous fae who was having a hard time resisting his urges. "How cute, my little Dacey courting such a prestigious man. I'm so proud." Hugo murmured facetiously, curling her precious, manicured fingers into the blonde curls of her suitor. He was a young one, bright blue eyes dancing with passion and delightfully hidden by his golden curls bouncing with sweat. Their bodies mingled at a slow, sensual pace, so much that her little fae was releasing a light haze around them, lightening her mind in a way that was quite similar to a "high" off of a narcotic. His lips explored the curvature of her neck, but she was hardly fazed. Hugo wasn't the one for displaying something like that on this dancefloor. Her adventures in human clubs were quite different, as most supernatural beings were, but her affection for humanity was quite peculiar. Either way, it was quite enjoyable to have a partner at this moment, and she would cherish it.

Once the song came to a close, the fae craved for more than just their rendezvous, and Hugo seriously contemplated joining him. His hand took guest at her waistline, dangerously close to an area only she gave and maintained control of. She took his hands in her own and led him towards one of the alcoves, body against body in passion. He pushed through the curtains of one of the lesser-used rooms. Unfortunately, someone was already in there, a regular named Kieran. She pushed the blond fae out of the curtain, where she was about to join him momentarily. "Sorry gorgeous, didn't mean to spoil your solitude." Hugo purred, hanging against the very entrance of the alcove.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Magnus Bane Character Portrait: Dacey Bekam Character Portrait: D. Hugo Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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"Much better now that I have you to keep me company." Magnus replied in a silk smooth voice, a coy smile teasing his lips. He took the vampires hand as it was offered to him and spun out onto the dance floor, diving into a tempest of frenzied activity, the crowd inexplicably making room for them to slide into the fray. He tried to lose himself to the beat, the bass line keeping time with his steady heart but Dacey's words continued playing over and over in his mind, like a broken film reel that just kept spinning. "But you haven't taken a companion since I've known you." It was true, he hadn't, not in long time. Magnus had had his flings here and there, the occasional one night stand with a bar maid or a Fae or two, but nothing of substance and not with anyone he'd drape over his arm and make a show of.

Despite Dacey's obvious lack of comfort with this atmosphere, his body remained fluid and sensual. It was a predator's grace he danced with though, not learnt from any mortal experience. "How cute, my little Dacey courting such a prestigious man. I'm so proud." The vampire's Banshee compatriot voiced as she and her partner slid into view. A lesser Fae clung to her as ivy clings about an oak and Magnus arched a curious brow as she allowed it, despite the obvious disinterest there on her part. Banshee's were such fickle creatures, she'd more than likely dispose of him soon enough. Still he couldn't help but think that she ought to tread carefully. A jilted Fae was not to be trifled with.

She was soon buried in the crowd again, lost amidst a sea of sweat slick bodies, leaving Magnus more or less alone with his partner discounting the wall of people that blocked them in. "Tell me something my dear Mr. Dacey, how is it a man such as yourself finds himself out without a date on a night such as this?" Magnus posed, voice carrying over the music with ease. "Despite the general grandeur of all my parties, by and by, you don't really seem like the type to enjoy a good carousal." Vampires were a very elitist crowd who preferred decadence to debauchery...well, ideally they preferred neither to be mutually exclusive but if made to chose, decadence always won out. He was no fool, he knew there must have been a driving force behind Dacey's presence at the club besides the pleasure of Magnus' company.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Magnus Bane Character Portrait: Dacey Bekam Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Once Magnus took his hand, they were sealed in by a barrier of dancing couples, and the center of the dance floor was open to them and them only. He had to admit, the warlock was extraordinarily fluid on the dance floor, but then again, he owned every inch of this club, which included the dance floor. Plus, the high warlock was much older and had more time to achieve this swift grace. Dacey's grace was predatory but not in this type of setting; still, he could hold his own with Magnus. That didn't mean he wasn't entranced by Mr. Bane's charm and enticing amber eyes. Dacey was easily led through this sensual song that he wasn't exactly familiar with. The center space allowed for the owner and his partner was incredibly intimate, despite the wall of people surrounding them, and it almost felt as if they were the only two in the room. Dacey was sure he was one of the few people who could experience a thing such as this, but he was also a vampire, almost forced to believe such pompous things.

"Tell me something, my dear Mr. Dacey," The vampire in question perked up, returning his eyes to focus, "how is it a man such as yourself out without a date on a night such as this?"

Dacey's eyebrows perked with interest. This coming from a man who usually went without. Dacey had to ask himself the same question. "Despite the general grandeur of all my parties, by and by, you don't really seem like the type to enjoy a good carousal." Dacey's darker chuckles permeated their close space. He could be a bit more, excuse the french, slutty, when he wanted to but generally did not come to the club for such activities. "Well, I'd be lying if I said I had no attraction towards you, lovely Mr. Bane," Dacey purred, snaking his arms around the warlock's neck suggestively, "But if I may be honest, I could not let my little banshee pet go without an escort. It's quite scandalous otherwise, and I will not be associated with that." Even though many of the newer vampires were adopting more contemporary habits, he could not deny the habits of a forties man. An un-escorted woman is just as bad as a promiscuous one. Especially the women of this age. A woman as old as Hugo know better, part of the reason he chose her as his companion. No matter what anyone else tried to convey, including Hugo, she was his, no doubt about it. They acted as a married couple without the romantic antics, which were things that they left to primal instinct.

After all, everyone needs a little sex once in a while. His little banshee was especially fickle, more attracted to mundane humans than mythical creatures such as herself. That didn't mean she wouldn't go for a lower fae or something of that nature. His standing in the club did give her some advantages. His thoughts conceded, and he was back in real time, still center stage with Magnus Bane. "So tell me, Mr. Bane, are you going to let any of these delectable creatures hang under your arm? You know we're all dying." Dacey winked, flowing through the sensual song just as before.

The setting changes from Brooklyn, New York to Utopia NightClub

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Magnus Bane Character Portrait: Ignatius Perrish Character Portrait: Rosalie Hart Character Portrait: Trevor Lawson Character Portrait: Dacey Bekam Character Portrait: D. Hugo
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The night bled into day as all the creatures intermingling in the underground club partied well into the morning hours. Ignatius Perrish discovered he had made an unusual contact in the form of a nymph, and left the bar not feeling quite as dejected as he'd of had had he made no acquaintance. Any new contact was a step in the right direction on the search for his family's killer, and if he was being completely honest with himself, he felt a tad less lonely having shared the evening with someone other than his guilty conscience--even if it was only for a short while and at the expense of his coat.

Magnus Bane had spent a socially acceptable amount of time with the ever incorrigible Mr. Bekham before he concluded his own night on the dance floor and ventured into one of the many sealed doors in the backroom of Utopia where a king bed rested with proverbial open arms, waiting to envelop the warlock, inviting him to sleep. Exhaustion weighed heavy on him that evening, more so than it had in a millennium and it had nothing to do with his vigorous dancing. So many questions that vampire had posed, all about Magnus' solitary life style. It felt as if Magnus was made to poke his tongue over a hole where a tooth had once been, reminded of it's absence in a sore fashion. He flopped on the mattress with a doleful sigh, surrounded by a mountain of feathered pillows and lost in the rolling waves of his crimson downy duvet he finally found rest.

There had been heated arguments and passionate elicit exchanges made in Utopia that night, but then again their always were. This was not a place of quiescence even if it acted as some sort of haven to the supernatural society. As the elated and blissed crowd funneled out into the streets with twilight blossoming overhead, dawn fast approaching, there was a sense of excitement over what the next night would offer up. The club would be of a different theme, as it always was, and be in a new location; ever changing like the fads and times around widely the immortal beings. One thing was for certain though, there would never be a dull moment if the High Warlock of Brooklyn was throwing a party. What sensation wasn't plaguing the lascivious clubers however, was the impending sense of doom...they had no idea what was truly just around the corner and what it had in store for all of the mystical creatures of New York.