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Kieran Doyle
[abandoned]
0 · 246 views · located in 
Utopia NightClub
a character in “Club Utopia”, originally authored by ibecameinsane, as played by RolePlayGateway
Groups
Description
So begins...
Kieran Doyle's Story
- Seen 12 Times • Page 1 of 1
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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 upstairsโthese 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 themselvesโwhirling and spinning and clappingโnone 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 otherโs 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 fountainโs 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.
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 upstairsโthese 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 themselvesโwhirling and spinning and clappingโnone 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 otherโs 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 fountainโs 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.
The setting changes from Brooklyn, New York to Utopia NightClub
OMIT DUE TO WITHDRAWAL
lowering my word count because people suck
lowering my word count because people suck
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S E T H . S Y K E S
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I S L A . M E D E A
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Isla dances with a fluid grace, the movements coming as naturally to her as breathing would to another. She seems largely oblivious to the movements of the crowd around her, lost in her own world that revolves around the music and getting Seth to smile. The large werewolf is not quite at ease on the dance floor. While Isla's lithe frame seems to avoid getting elbowed and pushed by neighbouring dancers, Seth seems to be a target for every stray sharp edge on the dance floor. His movements are rigid, the dancing of one who isn't quite comfortable. However he knows that he won't be allowed to escape yet, not under Isla's watchful eye.
As if sensing his rebellious thoughts Isla moves forward, placing her hands on his shoulders.
"You will never enjoy yourself if you stand there like a rooted tree." She says loudly over the music, forcing him to move in time with the beat. She was certainly persistent and her choice of simile does bring a smile to Seth's face.
"I am not a rooted tree." He retorts, leaning forward to allow his voice to reach the nymph. Her mouth quirks into an amused smile while her eyebrow rises in a look of mock surprise.
"Oh really? You had me fooled." She replies. Her eyes seem to sparkle and, removing her hands from his shoulders, she takes a quick step back. Magically the crowd seems to shift, allowing her the extra space without an attack of flying elbows. Then, with a dangerous glint in her eye and a smirk she adds in a clear challenge, "Prove to me you are not rooted in place."
Seth hesitates and with every passing second Isla's grin increases. Seth knows that the naiad won't relent and so, with his own exaggerate sigh, he begins to move. He's not exactly a master of movement, but when he wants to be he can be surprisingly light on his feet. He is nowhere near as graceful as the nymph is, but then he supposes she has the advantage of years of practice. Besides, Seth tells himself that if werewolves were meant to dance they wouldn't have paws. Despite this he's trying to get into the rhyme of the club and seemingly his odd, slightly awkward movements are enough for Isla because she gives a pleased nod before joining him in the dance.
The pair are interrupted a moment later by a denizen of the club. He appears to be in his early twenties, although that is no indication of his true age. Most supernatural beings, even if they aren't immortal, seem to age at varying rates. Isla herself appears to be somewhere between early to mid-twenties, but admits freely that she has lost count of how old she actually is. So the pair's visitor could be anywhere from twenty to several centuries old. Seth guesses him to be Fae, based on no more than his own keen smell and the sense that the visitor is neither werewolf nor vampire. The newcomer turns to Isla, a friendly smile painted across his face. Seth feels a moment of hope that this intrusion will allow Seth to make his escape back to his quiet, dark corner. However, this hope is short lived when the newcomer makes his preferred choice of dance partner clear.
Isla smiles in reply, "Be my guest." While Seth might find the newcomer's choice surprising, Isla sees it as only natural. Seth is hardly a bad looking young man after all. In her opinion, once he learns to loosen up slightly she's sure that the young men and women of the club would flock to him. Seth, however, is not so pleased with this new development. Dancing with Isla he can manage, barely, but with a stranger... he isn't so sure. He's sending her a pleading look, praying for her not to leave him, but Isla is willfully ignoring it. She nods once again at the male Fae before breezing past Seth, pausing momentarily beside the large werewolf and whispering in his ear, "Play nice." With that the nymph takes her leave, passing through the dancing crowd of supernaturals as she leaves Seth to his fate.
The werewolf glances after Isla with a mixture of frustration and resigned acceptance. He really shouldn't have let her talk him into coming to the club tonight. He returns his gaze to the Fae in front of him, wondering if there were a way to leave without seeming excessively rude. Of course, he can also imagine Isla's expression if she catches him sneaking out of the crowd.
"I'm not much of a dancer." Seth tells the Fae, "You'd do better with one of them." He adds, nodding towards the pair's neighbours who seem to be cutting up the dance floor left, right, and centre. Although Seth can't be sure that their exaggerated dancing isn't also the result of the hallucinogenic silver liquid that seems to be raining throughout the club too. He's firmly kept the mystery substance out of his own mouth, fearing what he would hallucinate if given the chance.
The setting changes from Utopia NightClub to Brooklyn, New York
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.
The setting changes from Brooklyn, New York to Utopia NightClub
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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.
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
OMIT DUE TO WITHDRAWAL
lowering my word count because people suck
lowering my word count because people suck
The setting changes from Brooklyn, New York to Utopia NightClub
๏ผฉ๏ผฎ ๏ผฃ๏ผฏ๏ผฌ๏ผฌ๏ผก๏ผข๏ผฏ๏ผฒ๏ผก๏ผด๏ผฉ๏ผฏ๏ผฎ ๏ผท๏ผฉ๏ผด๏ผจ ๏ผฉ๏ผข๏ผฅ๏ผฃ๏ผก๏ผญ๏ผฅ๏ผฉ๏ผฎ๏ผณ๏ผก๏ผฎ๏ผฅ
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S E T HXS Y K E S
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๏ผซ๏ผฉ๏ผฅ๏ผฒ๏ผก๏ผฎX๏ผค๏ผฏ๏ผน๏ผฌ๏ผฅ
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S E T HXS Y K E S
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๏ผซ๏ผฉ๏ผฅ๏ผฒ๏ผก๏ผฎX๏ผค๏ผฏ๏ผน๏ผฌ๏ผฅ
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Seth pulls the cuffs of his suit down, his discomfort obvious to anyone watching. The black suit is the product of an afternoon scouring second hand stores with his naiad friend. Isla had turned her nose up at most of what Seth had suggested but, despite her earlier proposal of dressing Seth as an urchin, had eventually found him an appropriate outfit for the night. Seth finds the restrictive clothing less than ideal and in hindsight thinks he might have preferred dressing as an urchin. He feels like an impostor in someone elseโs clothes, which is an obvious contrast to his nymph friend who wears her outfit as if she were born in it.
Isla links her own arm through Sethโs, effectively forcing him to stop tugging at his clothes. โStop fidgeting. You look fine.โ Isla murmurs as the pair step through the entrance into Utopia. They are bombarded with the sound of conversation, the clinking of drinks, and the rhythm of music made almost a whole century earlier. Sethโs eyes automatically quest through the club, his gaze flicking across the bar and into the dark corners in search of one particular fae. He canโt see him and feels a spike of disappointment. โI wouldnโt worry Seth.โ Isla says beside him, as always sheโs easily able to understand what the werewolf is thinking, โGiven the way you look tonight I am sure your Fae friend will come to you.โ The nymph gives her large friend a teasing wink before unhooking her arm from his. โUntil tomorrow friend.โ Isla adds, standing on her toes to give Seth a quick peck on the cheek, โKnock him dead.โ With those last words of encouragement the nymph turns on her heels and departs, leaving the forlorn werewolf to search the club on his own while she makes her way towards a group of vampires that have caught her eye.
Kieran trudged with his hands heavy in his pockets, several paces behind the fae in front of him. To trudge, he thought, the slow, weary, depressing yet determined walk of a man who has nothing left in life except the impulse to simply soldier on. It's a true testament to his narcissism that he musters a chuckle from his own joke, thinking blatantly that he's hardly a man at all. He's so caught up in his own thoughts that he doesn't notice how much ground he's covered between his companion and himself until he nearly bumps right into her. Immediately he sees the problem, two human boys have solicited themselves in front of the very bathroom where the club made its entrance. With one fleeting glance Kieran signals for the leanan sidhe to go forward, striding up to the boys with a mischievous grin slowly stretching his lips thin.
Sunset had long since fallen in the park. Darkened silhouettes play off of one another, throwing themselves this way and that by the will of the towering oil lamps. It's something everyone has, but no one can lose, and yet Kieran's is nowhere in sight. With the eerie grace of a fog, a shadows serpentines across the ground, dodging direct light like the plague before it reaches the boys. Large, clawed hands spread and ensnare their ankles, yanking them away from the lavatory against their will. Kieran's laughter doesn't drown out their screams of terror but it's all Aislinn can bring herself to hear.
It takes one look from Kieran before she's rushing off towards the club's entrance, ignoring the empathetic fear caught in her throat. She dreads what'll happen to those boys but she must preserve her own life first. Once Aislinn is gone, Kieran turns towards where his shadow has dragged them off to. As he approaches they beg for their lives, their tan skin gone pale with fright. Kieran spares their lives but not their memories, and it's by no act of mercy. Human misery just doesn't satisfy him anymore. It'd be a waste of his time to even consider feeding off the spoiled brats.
His shadow does all the heavy lifting, pulling the unconscious jocks through the dirt as he wanders through the trees, descending into the bowels of the park that usually housed late night hook ups, muggings, and sexual assault. Kieran had no qualms leaving the boys there, in fact he thought it almost funny. As if on que, a wide grin split the face of the black silhouette in half, revealing a smile as grotesque as his ownโcartoony almost but in the most sinister way. It blends into him the next second, mocking the appearance of a normal shadow as he makes his way back to the club.
If only by happenstance, Kieran finds himself waltzing through the threshold just as the nymph leaves Seth's side. He barely catches what was said but even if he did, it would've gone unheard. Shame, he mourns briefly, I'd wanted it to be more of a chase. Nevertheless, the chase is long forgotten. Little Red looks upon his Big Bad Wolf with feral desire, wanting his body just as much as his misery. And who wouldn't when the precious werewolf was dressed in a suit that flatters his body in such a way. Kieran doubts he's ever come across an ass so remarkable in his life.
"Who's that you're looking for there, Wolfie?" he asks suddenly, gregariously, surprising even himself. With a voice light in amusement and an expression just as blithe, you wouldn't think him to be the sociopathic murderer he actually was.
Even as Isla leaves Seth wonders if heโs made the right choice. Feeling uneasy and mildly embarrassed, Seth is suddenly wishing he had simply stayed in his apartment tonight. This is not for him, and he feels more out of place now, in the fancy, extravagant decor of the 1920s than he did in the writhing bodies of last nightโs dance floor. However, before he can fully convince himself to turn and leave a voice pulls him from his thoughts of escape.
Seth turns to find Kieran dressed in red. A wry smile appears on his face as Seth recalls Kieran's parting words the previous night. "I thought you were joking about coming in red." Seth remarks, folding his arms across his chest as he eyes Kieran's suit.
"Oh I never joke, Wolfie." he purrs, "Just having a little bit of fun, is all. I quite like fairy tales." Kieran lets his eyes wander Seth's front now that he's given the chance, unabashedly admiring all that stands before him. He stands leisurely, putting most of his weight on one foot with his hands in his pockets, one corner of his mouth pulled up in a crooked smile. "Ironic, don't you think?"
While Kieran is all ease, Seth is still attempting to make himself comfortable. The naturally introverted werewolf usually takes a while to adjust to crowded situations and he's doing his best not to let it show. Even so, he's not too certain how to react when Kieran's eyes leisurely travel down his frame. Rather than answer Kieran's remark Seth clears his throat and nods towards the bar, hoping a change of scene might help him relax. "Do, ah, you want to get a drink?"
Despite his best attempts at keeping his compusure, Kieran saw right through the werewolf. Of course, he didn't let it show, humoring him instead with a slight tilt of his head and a broadening smile. "Absolutely." Taking a step forward, he turns on his heels to stride, mimicking Seth's as they approach the bar. "It's nice to get a drink here where they won't card you. I swear I don't know how the mundies do it." Once they arrive, he slips onto an elegant bar stoolโprim and proper and well suited for the night's themeโleaving one open for Seth at the end of the bar so no one else could sit beside his companion. He shrugs then, punctuating it with a grin before he shoots the other man a wink. "I look good for my age, I guess."
Clubs are clearly not where the werewolf feels most comfortable, but at least at the bar Seth can attempt to block out the other club patrons and pretend that it's just him and Kieran. He slides onto his bar stool with relief, his hand moving to signal the barkeeper that he and his companion are in need of a drink. While Seth waits for the barkeeper's attention he gives his own to Kieran. "How old are you?" Seth asks. He still doesn't know what kind of Fae Kieran is, and there is ever possibility that the Irishman is decades older than himself, despite the fact that he only looks to be in his early twenties.
The bartender mixes drinks just a few patrons down, having caught Seth's eye briefly and providing the night's specialty. Nothing would come close to what the slaugh will get from the werewolf later, he knows, but he'll humor him; the poor pup. It doesn't surprise him when he's inquired about his age but his brow cocks nonetheless, his smile eager as he reveals this little fact about himself. "Ninety-six," he replies, "I'd wager you're a lot younger. Werewolves don't exactly age the same as fae."
The bartender slides a drink down Seth's way, the werewolf catching it with ease. He takes a sip, giving himself a few seconds to mull over Kieran's admission. It doesn't tell Seth much about what species he might be, plenty of Fae and non-Fae are a lot older then they appear. "I'm twenty-five." Seth says. He knows, in both the supernatural and human world, that he's young. His grandfather had been well over two centuries old when he had died, and his father would have had the same long life had hunters not cut it short. Seth takes another sip as he pushes thoughts of his deceased family to the back of his mind.
"Ninety-six. I didn't know leprechaun's lived that long." Seth remarks, using the mystery of what Kieran is to distract him. He lets a small smirk grow across his face. He remembers Kieran's claim to being one the previous night. Seth doesn't actually know the life expectancy of a leprechaun, but he doesn't worry too much on that since he's certain that Kieran isn't one.
Nostrils flare ever so slightly at the heightened scent of the werewolf's grief. It hit him just as hard as it did the first time; the heavy aroma was hot as he inhaled it, permeating around the two of them like some expensive cologne. Kieran licks his lips slowly, a quirk of his that brought his attention back to Seth himself, quirking his mouth once more into a grin. "They actually live to be at least three hundred-..." he says, catching his own drink as it slides into his hand. Bringing the glass of silver liquid up to his lips he adds, "...-but I have a feeling you don't really buy the whole leprechaun thing."
"Not one bit." Seth replies, shifting in his seat so he's able to give Kieran his full attention. "I met a leprechaun once, he smelt like metal and Irish Whiskey. You don't smell like that." In fact Kieran didn't smell like any other supernatural being Seth had previously come across, which didnโt help at all in his quest to place him. Instead Kieran's scent was a melting pot of earthy fragrances, laced with copper and briar rose. It was equal parts comforting and disconcerting. There were certain reassuring elements, such as the earthy aromas, but the hint of copper confused Seth. It reminded him of something, although what exactly he couldn't pinpoint.
Kieran watched as his scent was taken in, taking into account the way Seth cocked his head ever so slightly, nostrils flaring. It was very canine, endearingly so, and an involuntary impulse no doubt. Can he smell the blood? he wondered, briefly, before he cast the thought aside altogether. To the slaugh, Seth's expressions were simple to read, easily translatable to thought. Something about his scent put the werewolf at ease but another brought a furrow of confusion to his brow. He opted to change the subject, if only slightly. "I'll take that as a compliment, Wolfie." Kieran jests with a smile, "I take it you've never encountered my kind of fae before."
"Perhaps, although if you tell me what you are I'll know for sure if I have or haven't." Seth replies, "It's only fair seeing how you know what I am." He adds with a smile. Seth could attempt to guess Kieran's species, and he might end up doing so if he's denied an answer, but his knowledge of the supernatural Irish population is minimal and he'd rather not admit as much to his companion.
"Not that you're particularly hard to identify," Kieran retorts with a light-hearted chuckle, "Everything about you just screams lycanthrope," With a smile even broader than ones prior, the slaugh shifts in his seat, leaning forward ever so slightly, putting himself in Seth's space as if he were telling a secret. "You not knowing what I am makes this all the more fun. Come on Wolfie, admit it. Would you have wanted to see me as badly as you did if you knew anything about me other than my name?"
Seth doesn't reply, not wanting to admit that Kieran is right. His curiosity is one of the major factors that pushed him into coming back tonight, a move which, even now, Seth knows is startlingly unlike him. As for the other accusation, that Seth screams lycanthrope, he knows that one to be true too. Werewolves aren't particularly hard to pick out - he'd spotted the large group containing the girls from the cafe the moment he'd entered the club - and Seth has been told more than once that he has a particularly wolfie vibe about him.
"Okay, so you'll remain a mystery. But where's the fun for you since you obviously already know everything about me?" Seth says a moment later.
There's nothing in it for me except the pleasure of your company, Kieran thinks, thankful that he hadn't said as much out loud. Seth was fun to play withโnot to mention completely mouth watering in more ways than oneโbut Kieran would wager that a young man who was born into a species that hated vampires wouldn't take to kindly to being fed upon. Still-.... Reaching his hand out, the slaugh takes Seth's wrist, wrapping lithe fingers around warm skin. He hides his veins with his sleeve as he siphons some of the werewolf's misery, just a little; enough to quell his hunger for the moment. Hell, he'd practically been gasping for it. All the while he's talking to his companion, coaxing his attention with a lowered and playful tone, "We could make it into a game," he suggests. "Every day you guess what I am and I'll tell you whether you're right or wrong." Once he's gotten his momentary fill, Kieran pulls away, dragging his hand down Seth thigh until he returns it to his lap. "Hopefully you'll get it wrong, Not that I doubt your intellect, Wolfie. Truth be told, I just like having you around."
Seth is no stranger to intimate touching, yet as Kieranโs fingers come to rest around his wrist Sethโs breathe catches slightly. Part of Sethโs mind is drawn to the touching skin and the faintly dizzying, warm feeling that seems to be softly diffusing up his arm. He doesn't put much stock into the feeling, rather concentrating on what Kieran is saying instead. Heโs pleased despite himself when Kieran explains his little game, noting that it means the Irishman plans on seeing Seth again. "How many guesses do I get a day?" Seth asks, keeping his voice even as a brief hint of disappointment clouds his mind as Kieran removes his hand.
Kieran stays close, his grin softening as he hears the pang of despondency in Seth's tone, "As many as you need," he says, knocking knees with the werewolf as though he simply must touch him in some way. "There are plenty of species of fae for you to sift through. It could take weeks, months even."
Seth rests his elbow on the bar top and raises his eyebrows as he pictures spending months playing twenty questions, "I'd better start now then if I want to figure out what you are before I become an old man." He says, happy to let his own knees rest against Kieran's. "Are you an Irish species of fae? Or do I have to be more specific?"
"Oh I'm definitely Irish, love." Kieran teases, huffing a chuckle, "You'll find my species in Celtic lore though, more so than Gaelic."
Seth was struggling to recall anything he could about Celtic folklore. He made a mental note to google it in the morning. For now he'd have to make do with whatever he could scrap from the top of his mind, which was painfully little. Other than leprechauns he knew only a few Irish fae, "Are you a banshee? Only, I thought they could only be women."
Just like that, his face is split in half by a toothy grin, "You're right, banshees can only be a woman, which I am most certainly not." Kieran cocks a brow, his smile turning coquettish as he nudges Seth with his knee. "One guess a day, Wolfie. I intend on dragging this out as long as I can."
Seth does his best not to pout, instead letting a smile spread across his face as he protests the 'one guess a day rule'. "You said I could have as many guesses as I needed." Even so, Seth isn't too upset with the rule since, as Kieran pointed out, it means that their little game will continue longer.
"One a day for as many days as it takes," he corrects, smiling around the brim of his glass as he takes a sip of his liqour. "Besides," Kieran prompts, placing the drink on the bar as his tongue sweeps over his bottom lip, chasing a drop of silver liquid, "I want to talk about you, Wolfie. What do you do when you're not here?"
Seth's gaze follows the movement of Kieran's tongue across his lower lip, idly wondering what it would taste like if Seth did the same. When he realises he's been staring at Kieran's lips a fraction too long Seth moves his focus to his own drink, still sitting half full on the bar.
"I don't do anything much. Work if there's work available, get dragged to brunch if Isla's hungry." He answers with a shrug.
Kieran sees Seth's gaze shift and automatically assumes what proves to be the truth, giving the slaugh an unneeded ego boost. Watching Seth's mouth as he speaks, he only glances up when the werewolf ends his sentence with a shrug. He couldn't let himself fantasize about just how he'd put those lips to use. "Isla, huh? The nymph?" Kieran nudges him again in an attempt to gain his attention, "I hope you're not spoken for, Wolfie. I'd hate to step on any toes by flirting with you."
The nudge has the intended result and Seth glances back up from his drink meeting Kieran's gaze with his own, amused look. He can't help but laugh at the notion of Isla getting upset that Kieran is flirting with him. In fact Seth is sure that the nymph would squeal in delight at Kieran's admission that the two have been flirting. Of course, Seth hardly wants to admit that his friend is more invested in his love life than he is, so he simply shakes his head, "Isla's the naiad I was dancing with last night." Seth confirms, "And she's more like family than anything else. So you're not stepping on anyone's toes."
"Oh good," Kieran feigns a sigh of relief before dipping into another topic, "It's a shame we'd never cross paths while you're on your way to family brunch." Though as nonchalant as it sounds, he really means it. If he could get Seth alone outside of Utopia, he'd be able to feed without the threat of getting caught. Not that he ever cared, he just didn't want to deal with the hassle most of the time.
Seth gives another shrug, doing his best to appear casual as he speaks, "I mean, if you're interested we could always meet over brunch." He's taking an unusual risk, actually inviting another being to a social event. It's not something he regularly does, and he quickly continues lest he lose his nerve and retract the invite, "Isla's always saying I should invite a friend and she'd be happy to meet you. If you want to come that is..." Technically Isla always told Seth that he should get other friends, but he's not too concerned about specifics. While he waits for Kieran's answer he takes another sip of his drink, fighting the urge to nervously down the rest of the liquid.
As Kieran watches, the slaugh becomes lost in thought. Was it really worth losing sleep over? One sparse glance was all it took for him to fall back on the affirmative. If he could just get a few moments alone with the werewolf, he'd be set for a full day. Even if they sat next to one another Kieran could probably make an excuse to touch him, hold his hand for the duration of the meal at least. He'd lose sleep but he'd gain a meal. Not to mention it was almost cute watching Mister Big Bad Wolf squirm under a few flirtatious remarks. "I'd be honored to come if you'd have me." he says, his greed making the decision for him, "Besides, I'm curious to see if you're even more gorgeous in the daylight anyway."
A wide smile splits his face as Kieran agrees to Seth's offer, "From what I've been told I am." Seth replies with a sudden burst of confidence. He cocks his head to the side as a new question drifts to mind, "Do you have a cell phone or some way I can contact you?" Seth grew up partially integrated into human society, but many supernaturals don't and he's come across a few, Isla among them, who have yet to understand the usefulness of some modern technology.
With a chuckle he watches Seth's shift in conviction with endearment, answering him right away, "I don't but I know Brooklyn like the back of my hand." he replies, with conversational ease, "Just name a place and a time, Wolfie, and I'll meet you there."
"Alright, The Garden Club at ten." Seth replies, naming the cafe he and Isla had visited that morning. He knows the nymph will want to come, both to meet Kieran and because she's recently become obsessed with brunch, so he makes a mental note to let her know the time.
"It's a date then," the slaugh says with a wink, his gaze never fleeting as he downs the rest of his drink. Standing, he takes the werewolf's hands in his, grinning from ear to ear as he gingerly draws the strife out of him, "Come on Wolfie, how's about you take your Little Red on the dance floor. I want to see how you fair in a fast paced song."
Despite knowing how terrible he is at dancing Seth finds himself nodding in agreement as Kieran takes his hand. He gives a sheepish smile, "I apologise in advance for my horrendous moves." He says, standing as he speaks. His head spins slightly, which he merely puts down to his drink being stronger than he expected. "Come on, before I decide I'd rather not embarrass myself." He adds, leading the way towards the dance floor as Kieran grins in reply.
Isla links her own arm through Sethโs, effectively forcing him to stop tugging at his clothes. โStop fidgeting. You look fine.โ Isla murmurs as the pair step through the entrance into Utopia. They are bombarded with the sound of conversation, the clinking of drinks, and the rhythm of music made almost a whole century earlier. Sethโs eyes automatically quest through the club, his gaze flicking across the bar and into the dark corners in search of one particular fae. He canโt see him and feels a spike of disappointment. โI wouldnโt worry Seth.โ Isla says beside him, as always sheโs easily able to understand what the werewolf is thinking, โGiven the way you look tonight I am sure your Fae friend will come to you.โ The nymph gives her large friend a teasing wink before unhooking her arm from his. โUntil tomorrow friend.โ Isla adds, standing on her toes to give Seth a quick peck on the cheek, โKnock him dead.โ With those last words of encouragement the nymph turns on her heels and departs, leaving the forlorn werewolf to search the club on his own while she makes her way towards a group of vampires that have caught her eye.
Kieran trudged with his hands heavy in his pockets, several paces behind the fae in front of him. To trudge, he thought, the slow, weary, depressing yet determined walk of a man who has nothing left in life except the impulse to simply soldier on. It's a true testament to his narcissism that he musters a chuckle from his own joke, thinking blatantly that he's hardly a man at all. He's so caught up in his own thoughts that he doesn't notice how much ground he's covered between his companion and himself until he nearly bumps right into her. Immediately he sees the problem, two human boys have solicited themselves in front of the very bathroom where the club made its entrance. With one fleeting glance Kieran signals for the leanan sidhe to go forward, striding up to the boys with a mischievous grin slowly stretching his lips thin.
Sunset had long since fallen in the park. Darkened silhouettes play off of one another, throwing themselves this way and that by the will of the towering oil lamps. It's something everyone has, but no one can lose, and yet Kieran's is nowhere in sight. With the eerie grace of a fog, a shadows serpentines across the ground, dodging direct light like the plague before it reaches the boys. Large, clawed hands spread and ensnare their ankles, yanking them away from the lavatory against their will. Kieran's laughter doesn't drown out their screams of terror but it's all Aislinn can bring herself to hear.
It takes one look from Kieran before she's rushing off towards the club's entrance, ignoring the empathetic fear caught in her throat. She dreads what'll happen to those boys but she must preserve her own life first. Once Aislinn is gone, Kieran turns towards where his shadow has dragged them off to. As he approaches they beg for their lives, their tan skin gone pale with fright. Kieran spares their lives but not their memories, and it's by no act of mercy. Human misery just doesn't satisfy him anymore. It'd be a waste of his time to even consider feeding off the spoiled brats.
His shadow does all the heavy lifting, pulling the unconscious jocks through the dirt as he wanders through the trees, descending into the bowels of the park that usually housed late night hook ups, muggings, and sexual assault. Kieran had no qualms leaving the boys there, in fact he thought it almost funny. As if on que, a wide grin split the face of the black silhouette in half, revealing a smile as grotesque as his ownโcartoony almost but in the most sinister way. It blends into him the next second, mocking the appearance of a normal shadow as he makes his way back to the club.
If only by happenstance, Kieran finds himself waltzing through the threshold just as the nymph leaves Seth's side. He barely catches what was said but even if he did, it would've gone unheard. Shame, he mourns briefly, I'd wanted it to be more of a chase. Nevertheless, the chase is long forgotten. Little Red looks upon his Big Bad Wolf with feral desire, wanting his body just as much as his misery. And who wouldn't when the precious werewolf was dressed in a suit that flatters his body in such a way. Kieran doubts he's ever come across an ass so remarkable in his life.
"Who's that you're looking for there, Wolfie?" he asks suddenly, gregariously, surprising even himself. With a voice light in amusement and an expression just as blithe, you wouldn't think him to be the sociopathic murderer he actually was.
Even as Isla leaves Seth wonders if heโs made the right choice. Feeling uneasy and mildly embarrassed, Seth is suddenly wishing he had simply stayed in his apartment tonight. This is not for him, and he feels more out of place now, in the fancy, extravagant decor of the 1920s than he did in the writhing bodies of last nightโs dance floor. However, before he can fully convince himself to turn and leave a voice pulls him from his thoughts of escape.
Seth turns to find Kieran dressed in red. A wry smile appears on his face as Seth recalls Kieran's parting words the previous night. "I thought you were joking about coming in red." Seth remarks, folding his arms across his chest as he eyes Kieran's suit.
"Oh I never joke, Wolfie." he purrs, "Just having a little bit of fun, is all. I quite like fairy tales." Kieran lets his eyes wander Seth's front now that he's given the chance, unabashedly admiring all that stands before him. He stands leisurely, putting most of his weight on one foot with his hands in his pockets, one corner of his mouth pulled up in a crooked smile. "Ironic, don't you think?"
While Kieran is all ease, Seth is still attempting to make himself comfortable. The naturally introverted werewolf usually takes a while to adjust to crowded situations and he's doing his best not to let it show. Even so, he's not too certain how to react when Kieran's eyes leisurely travel down his frame. Rather than answer Kieran's remark Seth clears his throat and nods towards the bar, hoping a change of scene might help him relax. "Do, ah, you want to get a drink?"
Despite his best attempts at keeping his compusure, Kieran saw right through the werewolf. Of course, he didn't let it show, humoring him instead with a slight tilt of his head and a broadening smile. "Absolutely." Taking a step forward, he turns on his heels to stride, mimicking Seth's as they approach the bar. "It's nice to get a drink here where they won't card you. I swear I don't know how the mundies do it." Once they arrive, he slips onto an elegant bar stoolโprim and proper and well suited for the night's themeโleaving one open for Seth at the end of the bar so no one else could sit beside his companion. He shrugs then, punctuating it with a grin before he shoots the other man a wink. "I look good for my age, I guess."
Clubs are clearly not where the werewolf feels most comfortable, but at least at the bar Seth can attempt to block out the other club patrons and pretend that it's just him and Kieran. He slides onto his bar stool with relief, his hand moving to signal the barkeeper that he and his companion are in need of a drink. While Seth waits for the barkeeper's attention he gives his own to Kieran. "How old are you?" Seth asks. He still doesn't know what kind of Fae Kieran is, and there is ever possibility that the Irishman is decades older than himself, despite the fact that he only looks to be in his early twenties.
The bartender mixes drinks just a few patrons down, having caught Seth's eye briefly and providing the night's specialty. Nothing would come close to what the slaugh will get from the werewolf later, he knows, but he'll humor him; the poor pup. It doesn't surprise him when he's inquired about his age but his brow cocks nonetheless, his smile eager as he reveals this little fact about himself. "Ninety-six," he replies, "I'd wager you're a lot younger. Werewolves don't exactly age the same as fae."
The bartender slides a drink down Seth's way, the werewolf catching it with ease. He takes a sip, giving himself a few seconds to mull over Kieran's admission. It doesn't tell Seth much about what species he might be, plenty of Fae and non-Fae are a lot older then they appear. "I'm twenty-five." Seth says. He knows, in both the supernatural and human world, that he's young. His grandfather had been well over two centuries old when he had died, and his father would have had the same long life had hunters not cut it short. Seth takes another sip as he pushes thoughts of his deceased family to the back of his mind.
"Ninety-six. I didn't know leprechaun's lived that long." Seth remarks, using the mystery of what Kieran is to distract him. He lets a small smirk grow across his face. He remembers Kieran's claim to being one the previous night. Seth doesn't actually know the life expectancy of a leprechaun, but he doesn't worry too much on that since he's certain that Kieran isn't one.
Nostrils flare ever so slightly at the heightened scent of the werewolf's grief. It hit him just as hard as it did the first time; the heavy aroma was hot as he inhaled it, permeating around the two of them like some expensive cologne. Kieran licks his lips slowly, a quirk of his that brought his attention back to Seth himself, quirking his mouth once more into a grin. "They actually live to be at least three hundred-..." he says, catching his own drink as it slides into his hand. Bringing the glass of silver liquid up to his lips he adds, "...-but I have a feeling you don't really buy the whole leprechaun thing."
"Not one bit." Seth replies, shifting in his seat so he's able to give Kieran his full attention. "I met a leprechaun once, he smelt like metal and Irish Whiskey. You don't smell like that." In fact Kieran didn't smell like any other supernatural being Seth had previously come across, which didnโt help at all in his quest to place him. Instead Kieran's scent was a melting pot of earthy fragrances, laced with copper and briar rose. It was equal parts comforting and disconcerting. There were certain reassuring elements, such as the earthy aromas, but the hint of copper confused Seth. It reminded him of something, although what exactly he couldn't pinpoint.
Kieran watched as his scent was taken in, taking into account the way Seth cocked his head ever so slightly, nostrils flaring. It was very canine, endearingly so, and an involuntary impulse no doubt. Can he smell the blood? he wondered, briefly, before he cast the thought aside altogether. To the slaugh, Seth's expressions were simple to read, easily translatable to thought. Something about his scent put the werewolf at ease but another brought a furrow of confusion to his brow. He opted to change the subject, if only slightly. "I'll take that as a compliment, Wolfie." Kieran jests with a smile, "I take it you've never encountered my kind of fae before."
"Perhaps, although if you tell me what you are I'll know for sure if I have or haven't." Seth replies, "It's only fair seeing how you know what I am." He adds with a smile. Seth could attempt to guess Kieran's species, and he might end up doing so if he's denied an answer, but his knowledge of the supernatural Irish population is minimal and he'd rather not admit as much to his companion.
"Not that you're particularly hard to identify," Kieran retorts with a light-hearted chuckle, "Everything about you just screams lycanthrope," With a smile even broader than ones prior, the slaugh shifts in his seat, leaning forward ever so slightly, putting himself in Seth's space as if he were telling a secret. "You not knowing what I am makes this all the more fun. Come on Wolfie, admit it. Would you have wanted to see me as badly as you did if you knew anything about me other than my name?"
Seth doesn't reply, not wanting to admit that Kieran is right. His curiosity is one of the major factors that pushed him into coming back tonight, a move which, even now, Seth knows is startlingly unlike him. As for the other accusation, that Seth screams lycanthrope, he knows that one to be true too. Werewolves aren't particularly hard to pick out - he'd spotted the large group containing the girls from the cafe the moment he'd entered the club - and Seth has been told more than once that he has a particularly wolfie vibe about him.
"Okay, so you'll remain a mystery. But where's the fun for you since you obviously already know everything about me?" Seth says a moment later.
There's nothing in it for me except the pleasure of your company, Kieran thinks, thankful that he hadn't said as much out loud. Seth was fun to play withโnot to mention completely mouth watering in more ways than oneโbut Kieran would wager that a young man who was born into a species that hated vampires wouldn't take to kindly to being fed upon. Still-.... Reaching his hand out, the slaugh takes Seth's wrist, wrapping lithe fingers around warm skin. He hides his veins with his sleeve as he siphons some of the werewolf's misery, just a little; enough to quell his hunger for the moment. Hell, he'd practically been gasping for it. All the while he's talking to his companion, coaxing his attention with a lowered and playful tone, "We could make it into a game," he suggests. "Every day you guess what I am and I'll tell you whether you're right or wrong." Once he's gotten his momentary fill, Kieran pulls away, dragging his hand down Seth thigh until he returns it to his lap. "Hopefully you'll get it wrong, Not that I doubt your intellect, Wolfie. Truth be told, I just like having you around."
Seth is no stranger to intimate touching, yet as Kieranโs fingers come to rest around his wrist Sethโs breathe catches slightly. Part of Sethโs mind is drawn to the touching skin and the faintly dizzying, warm feeling that seems to be softly diffusing up his arm. He doesn't put much stock into the feeling, rather concentrating on what Kieran is saying instead. Heโs pleased despite himself when Kieran explains his little game, noting that it means the Irishman plans on seeing Seth again. "How many guesses do I get a day?" Seth asks, keeping his voice even as a brief hint of disappointment clouds his mind as Kieran removes his hand.
Kieran stays close, his grin softening as he hears the pang of despondency in Seth's tone, "As many as you need," he says, knocking knees with the werewolf as though he simply must touch him in some way. "There are plenty of species of fae for you to sift through. It could take weeks, months even."
Seth rests his elbow on the bar top and raises his eyebrows as he pictures spending months playing twenty questions, "I'd better start now then if I want to figure out what you are before I become an old man." He says, happy to let his own knees rest against Kieran's. "Are you an Irish species of fae? Or do I have to be more specific?"
"Oh I'm definitely Irish, love." Kieran teases, huffing a chuckle, "You'll find my species in Celtic lore though, more so than Gaelic."
Seth was struggling to recall anything he could about Celtic folklore. He made a mental note to google it in the morning. For now he'd have to make do with whatever he could scrap from the top of his mind, which was painfully little. Other than leprechauns he knew only a few Irish fae, "Are you a banshee? Only, I thought they could only be women."
Just like that, his face is split in half by a toothy grin, "You're right, banshees can only be a woman, which I am most certainly not." Kieran cocks a brow, his smile turning coquettish as he nudges Seth with his knee. "One guess a day, Wolfie. I intend on dragging this out as long as I can."
Seth does his best not to pout, instead letting a smile spread across his face as he protests the 'one guess a day rule'. "You said I could have as many guesses as I needed." Even so, Seth isn't too upset with the rule since, as Kieran pointed out, it means that their little game will continue longer.
"One a day for as many days as it takes," he corrects, smiling around the brim of his glass as he takes a sip of his liqour. "Besides," Kieran prompts, placing the drink on the bar as his tongue sweeps over his bottom lip, chasing a drop of silver liquid, "I want to talk about you, Wolfie. What do you do when you're not here?"
Seth's gaze follows the movement of Kieran's tongue across his lower lip, idly wondering what it would taste like if Seth did the same. When he realises he's been staring at Kieran's lips a fraction too long Seth moves his focus to his own drink, still sitting half full on the bar.
"I don't do anything much. Work if there's work available, get dragged to brunch if Isla's hungry." He answers with a shrug.
Kieran sees Seth's gaze shift and automatically assumes what proves to be the truth, giving the slaugh an unneeded ego boost. Watching Seth's mouth as he speaks, he only glances up when the werewolf ends his sentence with a shrug. He couldn't let himself fantasize about just how he'd put those lips to use. "Isla, huh? The nymph?" Kieran nudges him again in an attempt to gain his attention, "I hope you're not spoken for, Wolfie. I'd hate to step on any toes by flirting with you."
The nudge has the intended result and Seth glances back up from his drink meeting Kieran's gaze with his own, amused look. He can't help but laugh at the notion of Isla getting upset that Kieran is flirting with him. In fact Seth is sure that the nymph would squeal in delight at Kieran's admission that the two have been flirting. Of course, Seth hardly wants to admit that his friend is more invested in his love life than he is, so he simply shakes his head, "Isla's the naiad I was dancing with last night." Seth confirms, "And she's more like family than anything else. So you're not stepping on anyone's toes."
"Oh good," Kieran feigns a sigh of relief before dipping into another topic, "It's a shame we'd never cross paths while you're on your way to family brunch." Though as nonchalant as it sounds, he really means it. If he could get Seth alone outside of Utopia, he'd be able to feed without the threat of getting caught. Not that he ever cared, he just didn't want to deal with the hassle most of the time.
Seth gives another shrug, doing his best to appear casual as he speaks, "I mean, if you're interested we could always meet over brunch." He's taking an unusual risk, actually inviting another being to a social event. It's not something he regularly does, and he quickly continues lest he lose his nerve and retract the invite, "Isla's always saying I should invite a friend and she'd be happy to meet you. If you want to come that is..." Technically Isla always told Seth that he should get other friends, but he's not too concerned about specifics. While he waits for Kieran's answer he takes another sip of his drink, fighting the urge to nervously down the rest of the liquid.
As Kieran watches, the slaugh becomes lost in thought. Was it really worth losing sleep over? One sparse glance was all it took for him to fall back on the affirmative. If he could just get a few moments alone with the werewolf, he'd be set for a full day. Even if they sat next to one another Kieran could probably make an excuse to touch him, hold his hand for the duration of the meal at least. He'd lose sleep but he'd gain a meal. Not to mention it was almost cute watching Mister Big Bad Wolf squirm under a few flirtatious remarks. "I'd be honored to come if you'd have me." he says, his greed making the decision for him, "Besides, I'm curious to see if you're even more gorgeous in the daylight anyway."
A wide smile splits his face as Kieran agrees to Seth's offer, "From what I've been told I am." Seth replies with a sudden burst of confidence. He cocks his head to the side as a new question drifts to mind, "Do you have a cell phone or some way I can contact you?" Seth grew up partially integrated into human society, but many supernaturals don't and he's come across a few, Isla among them, who have yet to understand the usefulness of some modern technology.
With a chuckle he watches Seth's shift in conviction with endearment, answering him right away, "I don't but I know Brooklyn like the back of my hand." he replies, with conversational ease, "Just name a place and a time, Wolfie, and I'll meet you there."
"Alright, The Garden Club at ten." Seth replies, naming the cafe he and Isla had visited that morning. He knows the nymph will want to come, both to meet Kieran and because she's recently become obsessed with brunch, so he makes a mental note to let her know the time.
"It's a date then," the slaugh says with a wink, his gaze never fleeting as he downs the rest of his drink. Standing, he takes the werewolf's hands in his, grinning from ear to ear as he gingerly draws the strife out of him, "Come on Wolfie, how's about you take your Little Red on the dance floor. I want to see how you fair in a fast paced song."
Despite knowing how terrible he is at dancing Seth finds himself nodding in agreement as Kieran takes his hand. He gives a sheepish smile, "I apologise in advance for my horrendous moves." He says, standing as he speaks. His head spins slightly, which he merely puts down to his drink being stronger than he expected. "Come on, before I decide I'd rather not embarrass myself." He adds, leading the way towards the dance floor as Kieran grins in reply.
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