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Ignatius Perrish

"When you think about it, most of the good ideas came along to make sin a whole lot easier."

0 · 1,003 views · located in Brooklyn, New York

a character in “Club Utopia”, originally authored by Caged Bird, as played by RolePlayGateway

Groups

Fae
Creatures of European folklore

Description




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โ•”โ•—
"Dแดษด'แด› ส™แดแด›สœแด‡ส€ แดกแดษดแด…แด‡ส€ษชษดษข สœแดแดก แด‡แด ษชสŸ สœแด€s แด„แดแดแด‡ ษชษดแด›แด
แด›สœแด‡ แดกแดส€สŸแด… แดส€ แดกสœแด€แด› สœแด€แด˜แด˜แด‡ษดs แด›แด แด€ แด˜แด‡ส€sแดษด แด€า“แด›แด‡ส€ แด›สœแด‡ส แด…ษชแด‡:
ษชแด›'s แด€ษด ษชษดแด›แด‡ส€แด‡sแด›ษชษดษข แด˜สœษชสŸแดsแดแด˜สœษชแด„แด€สŸ แด‡xแด‡ส€แด„ษชsแด‡, ส™แดœแด› แด€สŸsแด
แด„แดœส€ษชแดแดœsสŸส แด˜แดษชษดแด›สŸแด‡ss, sษชษดแด„แด‡ แด‡แด ษชสŸ แด€ษดแด… แด…แด‡แด€แด›สœ สœแด€แด˜แด˜แด‡ษด,
ส€แด‡ษขแด€ส€แด…สŸแด‡ss แดา“ แด›สœแด‡ แดกสœส แด€ษดแด… แด›สœแด‡ สœแดแดก แด€ษดแด… แดกสœแด€แด›-ษชแด›-แดแด‡แด€ษดs."


Battles | Hudson Taylor
โ•šโ•



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{ M I S N O M E R }
Ignatius Tyrell Perrish
Nickname; Horns


{ G E N D E R }
Male

{ S E X U A L I T Y }
PANsexual
"Pun intended."


{ S P E C I E S }
Satyr

{ I N H U M A N F E A T U R E S }
Two large scaly goat horns
protruding from his forehead.




โ•’โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ••

"Iแด› ส™แด‡แดกษชสŸแด…แด‡ส€s แดแด‡, แด›สœแด‡ ษชแด…แด‡แด€ แด›สœแด€แด› แด€ แด˜แด‡ส€sแดษด แด„แดแดœสŸแด… ษดแดแด› ส™แด‡ ษชษดแด›แด‡ส€แด‡sแด›แด‡แด… ษชษด แดแดœsษชแด„. Iแด› ษชs สŸษชแด‹แด‡ ษดแดแด› ส™แด‡ษชษดษข ษชษดแด›แด‡ส€แด‡sแด›แด‡แด… ษชษด สœแด€แด˜แด˜ษชษดแด‡ss."

โ•˜โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•›



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{P E R S O N A L I T Y}


To say that questions of morality in Ignatius' mind are thorny and filled with gray while everone else's are being hammered between stark absolutes is putting it mildly. He possesses a moral framework that is so utterly alien and foreign to human experience that most can't peg him as good or evil. He isn't a Chaotic Neutral Unfettered, though he may seem to act terrifyingly randomly; nor is he necessarily a Lawful Neutral Fettered, because other beings and his understanding of 'law' as a concept are not even be equivalent. At times there might be a sembalence of logic behind his actions, he just operates with an entirely different set of values and premises with which to draw his conclusions.

Ignatius does not see the world in black and white, but rather, blue and orange. With a "Blue and Orange" morality, black and white ideals are so foreign, that such concepts can no longer be applied. At times, he may not even know what these things are, or even if he does, he will often find them confusing. The concepts are not necessarily beyond his grasp, mind you, but are just not something which he'd place any importance on.

Additional traits his personality possesses are that he tends to be ambitious, shrewd, cunning, and achievement-oriented. He has a highly developed senses of self-preservation but believes that if you are not living your life in the moment, you are wasting your time.




โ•’โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ••

"Wแด‡ แด„แด€ษดษดแดแด› แด…แด แดกส€แดษดษข; ษดแด‡ษชแด›สœแด‡ส€ สœแด€แด แด‡ แดกแด‡ แด€ษดส แด…ษชsแด˜แดsษชแด›ษชแดษด แด›แด แด…แด ษชแด›, า“แดส€ แดกแด‡ แด…แด ษดแดแด› แด‹ษดแดแดก แดกสœแด€แด› ษชแด› ษชs."

โ•˜โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•›



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{ H I S T O R Y }

Ig is a Satyr, and like all faun before him, he has a special magical talent for getting to the truth by way of song. Any time Ig plays music, specifically from a pan flute, humans feel a sudden compulsion to blatantly express their ugliest and most animalistic urges, desires, and opinions to him. Moreover, when he makes skin-to-skin contact with mortal individuals after playing, he immediately learns their identities and some of their darkest secrets. The humans forget about their conversations with him as soon as they're over, as well as forgetting about the abnormal horns on his head. He also can make mortal people give in to the ugly urges they haveโ€”in fact, the horns pulse in a pleasurable fashion when he does soโ€”but he cannot make them do things they do not already want to do. Satyr's are not the small, bearded children of fairy tales that stay drunk on wine and chase mortal women but rather, dark and twisted spirits of mischief and strife who desire to know all of your secrets merely for their own entertainment purposes. They are usually good friends of the Fae, their gifts not dissimilar to the fae curse, and also by reason of a similar sense of dark humor.

Ignatius Perrish was born in midsummer and immediately given over to his parents Satyr clan to learn to hone his talent like all faun before him. All faun children are the responsibility of the herd rather than just the two parents, so he grew up traditionally as far as Satyrs go. He had little to do with the humans of the world, living in the wilds that belonged to those of the supernatural world. It wasn't until he was 13 that he ventured out at the herds behest to practice his influence over mortals. He learned many secrets and caused much chaos and returned triumphantly to tell his herd all that he had learnt. However, the field where they resided was empty. His whole clan had vanished without a trace. Ignatius suspects that a recent feud with a certain warlock is to blame. Now Ig is 16 and lives in the city, not able to bear living in or near his forest home. He hunts the warlock that wiped out his clan and takes out his angst and frustration on the poor unsuspecting human populous.



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{ Face Claim }

Daniel Radcliffe

{ Played by: }




So begins...

Ignatius Perrish'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 upstairsโ€”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 themselvesโ€”whirling and spinning and clappingโ€”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 otherโ€™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 fountainโ€™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.

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โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€
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IGNATIUSXPERRISH
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The black night was a starless one in the city, a veritable concrete jungle pressing around Ignatius like the buildings were cold silent sentinels of Hell, meant to thwart his escape. A woman brushed by Ig on the street in her mad shuffle home, her shoulder colliding with his as she darted past. With that small contact of skin, Ignatius knew that her name was Allie Letterworth and that for the last four months sheโ€™d been sleeping with her golf instructor, meeting him at a motel six miles from her apartment, ironically dubbing his 'member' the five-iron. Last week they had fallen asleep after an episode of strenuous sex, and Allieโ€™s cell phone had been off, and so she had missed the increasingly frantic calls from her daughterโ€™s summer day camp, wondering where she was and when she would be by to pick up her little girl. When she finally arrived, two hours late, her daughter was in hysterics, red-faced, snot boiling from her nose, her bloodshot eyes wild, and Allie had to get her a sixty-dollar Webkinz and a banana split to calm her down and buy her silence; it was the only way to keep Allieโ€™s husband from finding out.

He recoiled from the touch, shivering and disgusted.

There was a reason most Satyrs lived with their own kind in the deep recesses of the forest, they could learn just who a person was and the dark things they did from a simple touch. It was an interesting gift to have, perfectly suited for causing mayhem, but there was no relent from the onslaught of information in the city. Ignatius was berated by it day in and day out, on the subway, in the diner, in his apartment building, and on the streets. Brooklyn was a place so crowded, you couldn't help but touch the grubby stranger next to you. He learnt all kinds of things he'd rather not know. Ig pulled the hood of his jacket tighter around his face, hiding the twisting gnarled goat horns from public view. Mortals were not alarmed by the sight of the inhuman feature and would forget they saw them the moment he was out of sight. It was part of Satyr magic, it was no Fae glamor, but it was effective enough.

The club lights blinked in the distance, distorting the pale faces eagerly awaiting to gain entrance. His pan flute, deep in the recesses of his pocket, called to him like a siren. If he could but pull it out and play...everyone would be giving into their animalistic urges and desires. He shook off the temptation, he was not here for pleasure, but rather on business, he had a murderous warlock to find. Ignatius had been hunting his clan's killer for nigh three years now, a warlock that had been feuding with the Satyr family when he was thirteen. It was nearly impossible to find a warlock that didn't want to be found, but it was widely known that Magnus Banes night club was a safe haven for all supernatural folk. The killer would grace the club with his presence in time, he just knew it.

The scintillated glow made his already pallid skin look sickly and sallow, the dark circles underneath his effulgent blue eyes all the more stark and pronounced. His shoulders slumped forward like they were weighed down by bags of sand, his head bowed in the effort not to draw attention to himself until he was folding down the stairs into the bowels of the building to Utopia where he could remove his hood.

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Character Portrait: Ignatius Perrish Character Portrait: Isla Medea Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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#, as written by Cloud

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The nymph feels little to no remorse for having abandoned Seth on the dance floor. Despite his pleading eyes and obvious reluctance, Isla can only grin as she winds her way out of the enthralled crowd of dancers, pleased that she's been able to push Seth into having fun. One might wonder how a friendship between the two developed, given the relative introverted nature of the werewolf and the slightly perkier attitude of the nymph. It isn't quite a matter of opposites attract, although that does play a minor part too. The two met just over a year ago. Seth would have been happy to for their first meeting to be their only, but Isla's persistence had a hand in maintaining their relationship until a friendship could develop. Well, Seth also began to feel that if he left Isla alone she would invariably cause some trouble in the human world, not that Isla is aware of this aspect of their friendship.

The nymph casts a last glance back into the crowd, feeling her smile stretch as she sees the two draw closer as the music take a slower tone. Feeling rather happy with herself the nymph drifts towards the bar, in need of a refreshment. She squeezes into a space and manages to flag down a worker. He leans across the bar top, all the better to hear Isla as she makes her choice. The club has a large variety of drinks available and Isla is sure that more could be made on request if desired, however Isla isn't after anything special or even alcoholic. Instead she opts for a freshly squeezed juice.

As she waits for her drink to be poured Isla turns her gaze on her neighbours at the bar and finds herself face to face with a stunning Fae. The woman is gorgeous, that much is evident. Her dark skin seems to gleam in the club light, flashes of lights from the ceiling showing intriguing patterns playing across her arms and shoulders. Isla isn't sure whether the patterns are natural or drawn on, but finds they aren't nearly as intriguing as the female's eyes. Isla's own blue orbs make contact with a pair of irises so light that they almost melt into the whites of her eyes.

"Aren't you a pretty little fae." The woman purrs, her accent clearly painting her as foreign. "Might I inquire into your subspecies, or should I buy you a drink first?" The woman's lashes flutter, her gaze slowly travelling down Isla's body. Isla feels her cheeks flush slightly. It feels like she's being stripped naked by those stunning eyes alone. Isla's had plenty of romantic partners before and is no stranger to flirting, but there is such a seductive air to this woman that it is clear Isla is rather out of her depth.
"I'm a nymph actually, a naiad." Isla answers after only a brief pause, her voice is strikingly lighter than the sultry tones of her companion. The woman leans forward, her hand reaching forward to gently brush against Isla's arm.
"I've never met a nymph before. Tell me, do you really bathe naked in your springs?" The woman says, her hand tracing small circles across Isla's skin. Isla feels her breath hitch and is suddenly finding it difficult to focus on what the woman is saying. The woman oozes sex appeal, not simply the flirtatious air that younger creatures might bare, but pure, uninhibited sex. It's distractedly intoxicating, and going straight to Isla's head.

Her attention is brought back to the club as the bartender places her glass of juice loudly on the bar beside her. He appears to hesitate, but then makes up his mind and opens his mouth to speak, "You'll want to be careful with this one, love. Succubi aren't always gentle with their lovers." Despite not knowing what a succubus is, the warning is clear and helps to break the spell cast by the succubus opposite Isla. Curiosity is certainly a strong feeling and she has to admit that she's interested in what it would be like to be with a succubus. Yet Isla also holds a dislike for creatures that use emotions to manipulate their prey so, with every ounce of self-restraint she has, Isla nods a farewell to the succubus and quickly makes her exit.

She spots Seth making his way into an empty alcove and sets her feet towards the booth, planning on joining her friend. Her path is a maze though, with club goers littering the floor between her and her destination. Given that Isla's mind is also somewhat captured by the succubus behind her, she's not paying particular attention to the route in front of her. In fact she's so concerned with wondering what a succubus actually is, that she doesn't notice the solid figure until it's almost too late. She glances up just in time to avoid colliding with the man, who sports a pair of large horns. She loses hold of her drink and watches as if in slow motion as it drops, spilling it's delicious contents across the floor. Isla doesn't know if her drink has spilled on the horned man or not, but feels the need to apologise just in case, "I am so sorry. I hope you escaped the liquid."

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ignatius Perrish Character Portrait: Isla Medea Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Ignatius edged around the tumultuous crowd, trying to find a hole or empty alcove to hide out in. He knew all it would take was one brush against the wrong person to bring about certain mayhem, and while maybe that was usually his idea of a good time, he had other motives in being there that night. Unfortunately, with so little space to move around in and more than one intoxicated patron sloshing about, it was bound to happen sooner than later. A blonde vampire in glittering gothic apparel, looking blissed out of her mind, stepped right into his path, her back colliding with his shoulder.

โ€œI feel like I just have to say something,โ€ spoke the vampire, looking past Ig at a Fae and his centaurian date. He rolled his eyes, here we go. It didn't matter he had not prompted a conversation, she would have volunteered this information freely, they all did. โ€œI know itโ€™s not appropriate and kinda species-ist to think but how could a gorgeous fairy guy show up here with a horse?โ€ Ig glanced at the Fae in question, his skin in a subdued pastel hue and his completely blackened eyes as big as saucers. He then checked out his date, a beautiful cinnamon colored centaur mare looking as if she felt a bit out of place in the tightly packed club moving about with a horses arse. โ€œSure,โ€ he said, experimentally. She opened her mouth, then hesitated, looking anxiously to Ignatius for reassurance. โ€œOnly thing is, I wouldnโ€™t want to start an ugly scene.โ€ The tips of his horns pulsed with a sudden unpleasant heat. Some part of him was surprised that she hadnโ€™t immediately given in when he offered his permission. โ€œWhat do you mean, start one?โ€ he asked, tugging restlessly at the little small patch of facial hair he was cultivating. Curious now to see if he could make her do it. โ€œThey've made a scene themselves. Itโ€™s amazing how low Fae standards have dropped lately...He's going with a Centaur when there is a perfectly attractive vampire girl here all by her lonesome.โ€

The vampire grinned: a vain and somehow grateful expression. At the sight of it, he felt another sensation shoot through the horns, an icy thrill. She glanced past him, to the couple in question. โ€œMaโ€™am?โ€ she called. โ€œExcuse me, maโ€™am?โ€ Ignatius found the vampiric penchant to be polite even when rude amusing. They were all very full of theirselves and their pompous customs.

โ€œYes?โ€ said the Centaur, looking up hopefully, probably expecting that the vampire was a waitress or bartender who had finally made it around with their drinks. He felt sympathetic towards her, but not enough to intercede.

โ€œI know you can't really help it, but do you think you could show some fucking consideration to the rest of us and get your wide ass off the dance floor so we can have space to move about?โ€ asked the vampire, smiling her plastic stapled-on smile, fangs peaking out. How quickly all pretense had been dropped. The color drained out of the girls face, leaving a few hot, red spots glowing in her waxy cheeks. She held her date by the wrist. The Fae's face was a hideous shade of crimson now, and he was pulling to get free, digging his fingernails at the centaurโ€™s hand.

โ€œExcuse me?โ€ the mare asked quickly followed by a prompt โ€œFuck you!โ€

โ€œโ€”if you had any regard for anyone elseโ€”โ€

โ€œShove it up your ass!โ€

โ€œโ€”youโ€™d take that donkey behind of yours and drag it the fuck outโ€”โ€

โ€œYou dried-up twat!โ€

Ignatius, despite himself, smirked. He moved to slink away from the scene when a nymph narrowly escaped impact with the Satyr just in the nick of time, her drink and his threadbare once yellow hoodie being the only collateral damage in the exchange. He held his now soaked arms out, looking down at his sticky clothing with a leering disgruntled expression. Why was it no one could keep their wits about them in this environment? How hard was it to not steam roll over the other clubbers and hold on to your alcohol? "Nope, I think it's safe to say that I was not so fortunate. It's fine. Just forget it." He stated hastily, not wanting to actually be in an altercation of his own as opposed to starting one between others.

The setting changes from Brooklyn, New York to Utopia NightClub

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ignatius Perrish Character Portrait: Isla Medea Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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#, as written by Cloud

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Her drink appears to have fallen partially on the man, as evidenced by the dripping arms he puts forward in demonstration. He is clearly displeased.
"I apologise for my clumsiness, I was distracted." Isla says, feeling the need to apologise again despite having already done so and despite being told to forget about it by the unfortunate soul in front of her. "If it were water I could possibly help, but juice has always proven a difficult liquid to control." Isla mutters, more for her own benefit than for that of the satyr in front of her. Nymphs have a small control over water, made that much stronger when the water in question is from the nymph's origin. However, away from her river Isla's abilities are minimal, and rather non-existent with regard to other liquids. However, that doesn't stop her from helping him as a human might, and she begins glancing around for a waiter. Perhaps if she's able to flag one down she can ask for a napkin or paper towel to wipe the satyr down?

Although she hasn't asked him for his species, she is more than sure that he is a satyr. The horns are a rather large giveaway and, despite never having seen one before, she is certain that a Satyr is indeed what he is. As a child Isla was warned away from the horned species, her elders still holding a prejudice against the others from times long past. While the various warnings still ring in Isla's head, she finds that louder than the stern voice of her grandmother is a string of curious questions, not to mention a desire to make it up to the satyr.

Still, before she can voice a question Isla spots a passing waiter, a tray of empty glasses perched precariously in his hand. "Hold on won't you, I will request something to clean you." Isla says as she waves over the waiter and asks for something to help clean the juice. She has to almost shout over the music as a particularly loud song has just come on. Yet the message is passed and the waiter disappears off into the crowd with the promise of returning with a towel. "He is returning with a towel to clean..." Isla hesitates, indicating the juice on the satyr and the floor. She is sure that he doesn't wish to linger with the nymph who spilled juice all over him, but she does want to apologise. "I have a friend across the way, perhaps I can ask him to lend you his jacket?"

The setting changes from Utopia NightClub to Brooklyn, New York

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Character Portrait: Ignatius Perrish Character Portrait: Isla Medea Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€
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The doe-eyed girl flagged down a member of the waiting staff to bring him a towel or something of the sort to clean up with, and the faun couldn't help but contemptuously note how any number of the warlock's in this joint could have ShamWowed him up a clean hoodie with relative ease. They were a generally selfish bunch though and didn't extend favors to penniless Satyrs. He sighed heavily, a megalith of grief sitting on his chest, weighing down the mood.

The waif like supernatural unfortunatley kept extending the conversation too, obviously bereaved to have committed such a party faux-pa. Ig was about to tell her it was fine for a second time until he actually processed some of what she was saying to him, "If it were water I could possibly help, but juice has always proven a difficult liquid to control."

"Control?" he interrupted. headless to the fact that she had since moved on and had changed the subject to a change of clothes. "You control water? Are you some kind of Fae? You're obviously not a witch..." He eyed her up and down, his piercing baby blues genuinely curious for the first time upon entering Utopia. Many of the nature wielding creatures were closely related to Satyrs, all in tune with the earth and less with the people plaguing it like a disease. She had his interest peaked.

Ig shook his head with vigor, holding his hands up in a placating gesture, forcing a soft, kind smile on his lips. "Don't worry about the clothes. Shit happens." He shrugged. "I'm Ig by the way, Ignatius Perrish. I don't think i caught your name though..." He extended the least sticky of his hands to her and grimaced, he knew he must have been an awful sight not too many would long to be familiar with at the moment.

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.

The setting changes from Utopia NightClub to Brooklyn, New York

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Character Portrait: Ignatius Perrish Character Portrait: Embera Armitage Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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The cafรฉ walls were a dark goldenrod color and lit up like Chernobyl when the sunlight hit them. Golden like hope, like the sun, like the future of unstained children. Ignatius squinted at them, he hated these walls. He slumped against the uncomfortable contours of the ornate iron chair. The sun burned his pallid face and made him sweat; adding a seeping, dangerous lethargy to his weakened limbs. His hands, when he curved one of them around his tiny mug (He had atrocious late day coffee traditions), trembled and he had to lean forward to keep from sloshing the scalding black drink all down his chin and into his lap. He banged it back like a shot to wash away the taste of his last stale cigarette, the flavor of cloves lingering around as a reminder of his many vices.

He squandered away another fifteen minutes waffling between panic and sleepy resignation, drumming his fingertips rhythmically against the underside of the table.

The side effects of being a woodland supernatural creature trapped in the concrete confines of the city were a bitch. Apart from the physical symptoms, which consisted more or less of his body racing to fall apart before his sanity, he'd begun suffering from the sharp and sudden onset of acute existential uncertainty. His fingers were always tapping along to songs he didn't know. He found himself answering questions he hadn't been asked. Ig knew his classical literature, and the traditional consequence of knowing too much was always some form of blubbering, wise insanity. And really, Ig was happy being a blubbering pedantic idiot.

The waitress made her rounds to his quaint little outdoor table and offered to refill his cup, to which he declined. She wasn't human herself, but a half Fae girl living off tips and working her way through a college nearby. He hadn't asked, but like always, he hadn't needed to. Everyone, even those from the mythical world, told him just about everything without provocation. The girl excitedly pulled a folded up slip of paper from the waist band of her apron, and slid it across the table to him with an overbearing and eager grin on her face.

"An A+, can you believe it?! My friends thought I had to charm the professor or something, get a warlock to hex him but no, I managed all on my own!" She squealed, expecting to glean some type of reaction.

Ignatius spared it a bored, disinterested glance before he returned it to her. "Here. I suspect your mother will want to put it on the refrigerator or something."

The waitresses expression turned wistful. "Yeah, she saw these scores and her head spun around and exploded."

Ig rubbed his heavy eyelids with his finger tips, too exhausted to engage in conversation at the present. "I've been around you Fae lot too long. That was metaphorical, yes?"

She snatched up the paper and returned it safely to it's hiding place, dramatically rolling her eyes in the process. "Yes, grumpy. She's Fair Folk, not the little girl from The Exorcist."

He fished around in his jean pockets for the correct amount of change, including the tip, and spilled it across the glass table top; nickels and dimes chasing each other in tightening circles. Ignatius' fingers were achy and itchy. He flexed them, curled them into his hair, pulled his hair, and popped his knuckles, but the feeling persisted. His ankles were sore for no reason, so were his knees. He needed to do...something, anything but sit there for another second longer. Why was he suffering this place, slogging through the quagmire of his own thoughts and the thoughts of others, when he could devote every waking second to finding this killer? He was slowing every day, finding monotonous routine instead of recklessly abandoning the comfort of tedium to find purchase in his search. He grew more weak willed and worse for wear for each day he spent there, he needed to move forward.

"...and it's roaring twenties themed tonight, so if you're going, you'll need to have something made-" The Fae rambled on, heedless to the fact Ignatius had just been a mentally a million miles away.

"Wait what, I missed that last bit. Back up." He demanded rather than asked, but she seemed pleased to have finally caught his attention.

"Utopia, the theme tonight is like the twenties or thirties or something. It's all very Gatsby, which is all very Magnus Bane. It's sure to be glamorous if not a tad bit off color." She explained patiently. "The entrance is in the park, in some horrible restroom stall. Not where I would have placed it, but I suppose it wards off a human element."

Ig frowned. He didn't own anything other than threadbare tee-shirts and hoodies; like three pairs of blue jeans and one very worn out pair of sneakers. Finery wasn't something he cared for nor trifled with. Fearing he'd be turned away at the door in his current dress though, he made his excuses and farewells and shuffled off down the strip to a shop where he could at the very least collect a cheap, ill fitting waistcoat and a button up shirt and tie that would class up his jeans. He had to pay the vanishing nightclub a visit again, it was his best chance at catching a lead in his case.

All around him were tourists and ambitious locals and screaming children, he feared them as much as they would've feared him. Monsters beneath a peaceful clamor; they were smiling and chattering and belching out the black mist that began to fog up his mind. And Ignatius, who wanted nothing more than to curl up under a blanket somewhere and close his eyes and let himself be taken by the beasts, knew he wasn't searching hard enough. His murderer was still so far away, he was practically unreachable. Ig would have to press hard at Utopia tonight, he couldn't let another opportunity slip right through his fingers least he let this city and it's people become such a distraction that he never found the object of his hunt.

By the time he had made his purchase's and brought them back 'home' to change, night had stolen over the sky. Ignatius meandered around the park after that, dragging his feet a bit so he could smoke one last cigarette. A red headed werewolf slipped past him into the restroom then with a gaggle of friends at her heels; they were disgusted by the entrance glamour but pressed on anyway, the promise of a party proving to be too alluring. He made a mental note to get her attention once inside, after all there werewolves were as much about family as the Satyrs. He stamped the remnants of his cigarette and tucked what was left behind his ear for later before slinking after her into Utopia.

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From the corner of Emberaโ€™s eye she noticed a young man stop and stand no more than four feet from her at the edge of the dance floor. He seemed to be observing the revelers on the floor as well but Embera could see him stealing glances in her direction perhaps debating whether or not to initiate a conversation. He had a dark brooding look about him with blue eyes that popped against his unruly dark hair still swept by the autumn wind. There was the stale cloying scent of cigarettes on him that she disliked but it was tempered by warmer scents of coffee and cloves and then another lingering scent.. The true scent she liked to call it. Everyone had one. In technical terms it was a pheromone. It was the scent buried beneath all the extra layers of other smells like perfume, laundry detergent, and whatever someone last ate. His true scent was very subtle to contend with the other strong aromas on him and she could barely pick it up. It smelled earthy though.

Normally she wouldnโ€™t have instigated a conversation with a complete stranger, especially without any certainty of what species they were. So far the only two things she knew for certain he wasn't was a werewolf or vampire, the two categories she could spot, smell, and sense a mile away. They were practically the only species her kind cared about, everyone else was lumped into broad categories like fae or demon-spawn. The horns strongly swayed her opinion towards demon-spawn. Even so, for some odd reason she felt the impulse to introduce herself to him despite her hesitation. Perhaps the alcohol was taking affect?

She took two steps sideways so she was standing a little closer to him and could be heard introducing herself over the Big Band playing.โ€œIโ€™m Embera.โ€ She extended out a hand to shake, only to accidentally be pushed from behind by a couple making their way out onto the dance floor. She stumbled forward a bit and her grabbed his arm instinctively to catch herself. "Sorry!" she heard one call back as they still continued on their merry way. Now she was in such close proximity to the horned stranger she could now smell that subtle scent she was having such a hard time picking up before. She straightened back up looking the man directly into his eyes now she spoke, her thoughts coming out like pages being ripped out of her mindโ€™s diary: โ€œYou kind of smell like cigarettes and used clothes. But I can also smell coffee and cloves and... Trees. I like those smells. Theyโ€™re pleasant and remind me of Fall. If you dropped the smoking habit you would be more attractive.โ€ When her mouth finally stopped her cheeks and points of her ears were left stinging red as her hair. โ€œUh.. Uh. Iโ€™m sorry.โ€ She croaked absolutely mortified with herself, โ€œI donโ€™t know why I just said all that. That was so weird.โ€ She wasnโ€™t used to being the one nervous in a conversation and it was an entirely new humbling experience for her. She rubbed the back of her neck looking around for an escape from the awkward situation. โ€œYou probably donโ€™t want to talk to me now so Iโ€™ll just go..โ€

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The lights in the club grew brighter as the earth lurched away from the sun and the evening transformed into night. Along the walls, there was a bar that wrapped itself around--practically hugging--most of the room, and near it rested a giant fountain sat on a table, shooting up champagne in high arcs. Within the depths of the glass base, an array of colored lights shone through the sparkling citrine alcohol. Champagne was hardly a bootleg liquor seen in that era, but apparently this Magnus Bane would not substitute quality for authenticity. However, plenty of high-proof white lightning moonshines could be found being served by the tenders for those club goers that felt a little less elegant than usual. With the band was in full swing, the crowd's laughter came more easily minute by minute, the opera of voices pitching a key higher and spilled with prodigality, tipped out at a cheerful word. And the groups changed more swiftly as well, swell with new arrivals, they dissolved and formed in the same breath; creature's gliding on through the sea-change of faces and voices. It was all a bit overwhelming to someone so simple like Ignatius, who was wandering around alone, rather ill at ease among swirls and eddies of people he didn't know.

Much to his luck, he needn't approach the wolf girl himself at all. He soon found her stumbling in his direction to introduce herself before she was knocked off kilter by an impenitent vampric couple in their haste to get on the canvas dance floor. Embera clutched onto his arm to balance herself with a nervous apology, looking embarrassed though it was no fault of her own. She began rambling on about scents then, his orphic Satyr's gift taking effect with the contact. He sighed, despite the effortlessness at which he could gather information that was sure to be truthful this way, he had hoped he could talk to someone, anyone, without the use of this...compulsion. Ignatius shook his head and offered up a wan smile."No I appreciate your candor. I'm Ignatius but you can call me Ig. It's much shorter." His speaking voice, a gruff husky tenor, added to the impression of fractiousness he conveyed as his gaze trailed after the offending fanged couple who had now joined older appearing men pushing young looking girls backward in eternal graceless circles, superior couples holding each other tortuously, fashionably, and keeping in the corners โ€” and a great number of single girls danced individualistically.

"If you become a vampire do you automatically become a very sharp dresser, or is that a skill that you develop over time? Are there novice vampires meandering around in aeropostale shirts and khaki pants?" He asked in a joking manner to lighten the mood up a bit and put her at ease.

He returned his eyes to his counterpart and noted the disparity between their outfits, her dress being not only stunning and glamorous, but also likely authentic; the flappers fringe giving out a continual rustle as she swept about. "You look lovely by the way, much too attractive to be seen slumming it with me." He laughed, his wrinkled shirt and loosened tie adding to the over all effect of his dishevelment.

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The horned figure let her comment roll off his back like it was nothing, moving along and introducing himself as Ignatius. That was an unusual name.. Then again hers wasn't all that common either. There was something old world and mystical about his though and her noggin kept trying to put together what creature he might be between the horns, his scent, and his name. He cracked a joke and she laughed with her head tilted back, beginning to feel more comfortable with him. At least he had a sense of humor and was easy going, whatever he was, and she was glad he let her slip of tongue go so easily.

She grinned wolfishly at his compliment and looked up and down at his rags. โ€œYou can just tell people youโ€™re going for the shabby chic look. I like it.โ€ she said with a light chuckle. As far as Embera was concerned she had nowhere to go but up in this conversation, figuring she couldnโ€™t do much to embarrass herself any more than she already had. She smoothed her hands down the front of the antique dress feeling the sequins. โ€œHonestly Iโ€™m not a fan of formal wear but the dress goes with the theme. Thanks.โ€ She had the compulsion of plucking at a little loose bead on the waist of her dress, her claws making it even easier to pull, but she stopped herself remembering this wasnโ€™t her dress to pluck.

She held her hands behind her back to keep them from ruining the dress and they surveyed the dance floor wordlessly for a few moments before she spoke again. โ€œSo Ig..Whatโ€™s your, er, species?โ€ she asked curiously looking up at him and tapping her head in reference to his horns. โ€œIโ€™m sorry if that seems like a stupid question. I havenโ€™t really gotten the chance to be acquainted to that many other supernatural creatures. Us wolves tend to stick to our packs you know..โ€