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Magnus Bane

"I was alive when the Dead Sea was just a lake that was feeling a little poorly."

0 · 1,575 views · located in Brooklyn, New York

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

Groups

The spellcasting community of Brooklyn.

Description

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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•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ••

๏ผด๏ผจ๏ผฅ๏ผน ๏ผณ๏ผก๏ผน ๏ผด๏ผฉ๏ผญ๏ผฅ ๏ผจ๏ผฅ๏ผก๏ผฌ๏ผณ ๏ผก๏ผฌ๏ผฌ ๏ผท๏ผฏ๏ผต๏ผฎ๏ผค๏ผณ ๏ผข๏ผต๏ผด ๏ผด๏ผจ๏ผก๏ผด
๏ผฐ๏ผฒ๏ผฅ๏ผณ๏ผต๏ผญ๏ผฅ๏ผณ ๏ผด๏ผจ๏ผก๏ผด ๏ผด๏ผจ๏ผฅ ๏ผณ๏ผฏ๏ผต๏ผฒ๏ผฃ๏ผฅ ๏ผฏ๏ผฆ ๏ผด๏ผจ๏ผฅ ๏ผง๏ผฒ๏ผฉ๏ผฅ๏ผฆ ๏ผฉ๏ผณ ๏ผฆ๏ผฉ๏ผฎ๏ผฉ๏ผด๏ผฅ

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A little party never killed nobody | Fergie




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{ Misnomer }
Magnus Bane

{Etymology}
The name Magnus means 'great' in Latin
and was one of the first names used among Romans.
His surname, Bane, would mean 'glorious defender'
in Slavic, however, the more appropriate translation
of Bane is 'destruction'. If his whole name is translated,
Magnus Bane would mean 'great destruction'.


{ Gender }
Male

{ Sexuality }
Bisexual

{ Species }
Warlock

{Inhuman Appearance }
His warlock marks are his yellow-green "cat-like eyes"
with vertical pupils and his lack of a belly button.
Additionally he stopped aging in the 16 century.



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{ Personality }


Being the High Warlock of Brooklyn can actually be sort of a cushy gig, when you've got the sort of reputation for magical prowess that Magnus Bane has. Unfortunately for him, his better side often drags his more practical side along for the ride, and he finds himself thrust headlong into the middle of big heroic affairs that are really not his style. This in itself is telling, however. As much as Magnus might prefer to keep from placing himself in the center of political scandal, he also has strong feelings about justice, and about protecting innocent lives. He's championed the cause of supernatural equality in his own roundabout way, trying to initiate peace through his nightclub. Behind his eyes there is a surprising joy always visible, and the truth is that for all he's seen, Magnus does relish life, and the world he lives in. His insatiable curiosity comes from a true interest in the world around him, and he quests for knowledge of the arcane world, and for new experiences.

Magnus can come off as aloof, but he's always ready with a witty or sardonic remark for any occasion. He enjoys being the center of attention, and as such, is a showman in terms of behavior, wardrobe, magical displays, and general living arrangements. Like many people who crave attention, a lot of this is in reaction to the rejection he faced as a child at the hand of his parents. There's evidence for this in the way he's made himself into the social hub of the city, but doesn't seem to have any real close friends. When you've lived as long as Magnus has, entertainment becomes a completely different sport. Much of what he does is motivated by the fact that he hates being bored: he likes being surrounded by energy, vivacity, and new things, even if he doesn't partake in the scene himself. He's had enough time to construct very elaborate ways of amusing himself, and greatly enjoys getting a reaction out of people based on his behavior or the way he looks.

The fact that he is immensely powerful means that he doesn't have to fear much. While he enjoys showing off all these powers, he also treats them with a certain amount of ennui, given that it's very rare he finds himself in a situation where he can't use his magic to gain the upper hand with ease. He does however, evince fear over upsetting political situations that will put at odds with entire groups. He enjoys being at the very literal center of supernatural culture, which means keeping on the good side of vampires, werewolves, fairies, other warlocks, etc- and it's a delicate line between not pissing them off and making sure that they respect him, while maintaining his own sense of status and power. Despite appearances, Magnus has the capacity to be immensely loyal to people who earn his respect or love. He might not always be willing to admit it, but he does care about what happens to them, and this manifests in his own unique way of lending aid when necessary. He's incredibly skilled at reading people, after all these years, and he can recognize when someone has a good soul and a good heart.

He also shows a cynicism with the idealism of doing good deeds just for the sake of doing good - rather, he'll do almost anything if the price is right, and he'll show no remorse for turning down aid to the 'good guys' if they're not willing to pay up. This doesn't really have to do with a sense of materialism - he actually admits himself to be happier when he doesn't own too many things, as too much wealth is simply 'boring'. Rather, his view of morality holds a lot more gray areas than most peoples, given that he's seen people with 'good' intentions do horrible things under the banner of righteousness, and he's seen 'evil' beings act in truly intelligent and heroic ways. He's learned it's usually best to simply do what's best for oneself, and let the rest sort itself out. Making certain that his services are well paid for allows him to not end up in anyone's debt, and it also does a lot to give him more of a reputation for his magic.



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{ History }


Magnus was born to a Taiwanese woman and the Prince of Hell Asmodeus in the 16th century in Jakarta, Indonesia, back then known as Batavia of the Dutch East Indies. He was born seemingly normal, only with unusual amber eyes.

Magnus was raised on a farm with his mother and her husband, both of whom raised him lovingly. However, when Magnus' warlock's mark developed and they realized that he was the son of a demon, they both feared him and Magnus despised himself, and his mother soon hung herself in their barn. When he was ten, his stepfather attempted to drown him but was instead burned when Magnus lashed out with his powers at him. He was then brought up by churchmen and raised by monks in Madrid, Spain in the 17th century.

He received the name "Magnus Bane" from them. Secretly, Magnus acquainted himself with his father, Asmodeus. Aware of his father's influence, Magnus occasionally brought up his power and notoriety and used this in his favor. Being a very skilled and powerful warlock, Magnus began charging for his services fairly young, even before he was a full-grown warlock. Though he was only less than twenty years old, he had already began lying about his age, claiming to be hundreds of years old, old enough to know historic figures such as Julius Caesar and certain oracles, to increase his clients' confidence in him.

At one point, Magnus fell in love with someone and had, for the first time in his long life, stayed with his lover for the duration of the girl's human life. Even for thirty years after that, Magnus still had not moved on from the pain, though it had become tolerable, and was still on an extended vacation, seeking adventure in places like Peru, unable to settle somewhere with the thought of his late lover still stinging.



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๏ผฃ๏ฝˆ๏ฝ๏ฝ’๏ฝ๏ฝƒ๏ฝ”๏ฝ…๏ฝ’ ๏ผค๏ฝ‰๏ฝ๏ฝŒ๏ฝ๏ฝ‡๏ฝ•๏ฝ…: #5E610B
๏ผฃ๏ฝˆ๏ฝ๏ฝ’๏ฝ๏ฝƒ๏ฝ”๏ฝ…๏ฝ’ ๏ผด๏ฝˆ๏ฝ๏ฝ•๏ฝ‡๏ฝˆ๏ฝ”: #4B610B

๏ผฆ๏ฝ๏ฝƒ๏ฝ…๏ผฃ๏ฝŒ๏ฝ๏ฝ‰๏ฝ: Godfrey Gao

๏ผฐ๏ฝ๏ฝ’๏ฝ”๏ฝ’๏ฝ๏ฝ™๏ฝ…๏ฝ„ ๏ผข๏ฝ™: Mistress of Disguise



So begins...

Magnus Bane'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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โ”€โ”€โ”€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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โ”€โ”€โ”€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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โ”€โ”€โ”€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 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.

Characters Present

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Characters Present

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

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

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

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

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

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Character Portrait: Magnus Bane Character Portrait: Rosalie Hart Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Rosalie was very much aware that she was late.

After long hours spent arguing against vexatious partners and investors over something as trivial as the theme of the new exhibit, Rosalie was fantastically disgruntled. Her acrimonious debate earlier in the day lasted longer than she originally anticipated, which caused her to hasten in her movements the second she entered her house. She barely gave herself enough time to truly cool down beneath the scorching streams of water in her shower and even the piquant taste of her small cup of tea could not soothe her anxiety. Only when she later made her way out doors, her heels clicking sharply on the cobblestone pathway leading away from her home, did an inkling tranquility manage to permeate the hard edge of her chagrined countenance.

Tugging the fleece fabric of her coat closer to her svelte frame, Rosalie blew out of a puff of hot air, watching it form a sort of cloud in front of her face before evaporating quickly. The cool air licked at her warm creamy skin, attempting to suck the vibrant heat from her body all for the selfish reason of getting her away from its ever chilly lonesomeness. Not that Rosalie herself was keen on staying out. In truth, on nights like these โ€“ when biting winds picked up and the distinct wintry feel began to blanket the city โ€“ Rosalie was more inclined to stay indoors, preferably in her home where there was a kettle filled with piping-hot water and tea leaves just waiting to be steeped. Where scents like cinnamon and ginger floated in the air, teasing her taste buds with their warm sweetness and soothing her nostrils with the gentle reminder of home and comfort. But then there were those other nights โ€“ the longer nights where she felt even more content and calm beneath pulsing music, writhing bodies, and the scent of sweat and lust just barely suffocating her in that oh so good way that reminded her where she belonged.

Utopia.

Magic tingled in the air she breathed and Rosalie knew without a doubt that it was Magnusโ€™ doing. Despite being a witch herself, she left the entertainment to him. Rosalie was never too keen on accumulating much attention, no matter how truly spectacular his little bursts of power were. She favored the safety behind her bar, which she just arrived to. It allowed her the chance to observe and mingle in her private little vector, not like her job. Speaking of the older warlock, she thought for a quick moment that she saw him, but then changed her mind, opting to head to her favorite spot. The insistent beat of music made her nerves dance, a positively exuberant thrum surging just below the surface despite her earlier discontent and dark disposition. A facetious grin tugged at the corner of her plump mouth and a sliver of pearly-white teeth could be seen behind her full lips.

โ€œDidnโ€™t take you as the late kind, Rose,โ€ one of her favorite fellow bartenders jested, his glare light and his shoulders relaxed as he topped a drink. A light giggle managed to escape her and her hair, almost as pale as the moonlight and reflecting the bright neon colors around them, tumbled over her shoulders delicately as she removed her jacket. Her attire for the evening was near reminiscent of what she wore for work and a quick flash of rage flitted across her face before she shoved it deep inside, opting to smile a little brighter.

โ€œMy apologies, my love,โ€ she purred in response. โ€œYouโ€™re not upset, are you?โ€

To which he retorted, โ€œAbsolutely!โ€

Another laugh, louder this time, greeted him and Rosalieโ€™s eyes, reflecting the vitreous luster of a fluorite holding the pales of blue shades beneath the ever changing lights, washed over the male. She always flirted with him, always played with the absolutely darling fae whenever she stroked neatly-trimmed nails against the heated flesh of his left arm.

โ€œThen I guess Iโ€™ll have to find some way to garner your forgiveness, wonโ€™t I?โ€ She spoke as she plucked the cherry he meant to use for the next drink out of his hand, pushing it past her succulent lips so that the sweetness finally caressed her tongue. Smirking at the rather captivated look on his face, Rosalie shoved the male away from her section with an absolutely lascivious grin on her face. โ€œGo ahead and have a little fun, love. I think I can manage without you.โ€ She said and with a flip of hair over her shoulder, turned to greet the next customer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The setting changes from Brooklyn, New York to Utopia NightClub

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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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Magnus had awoken to a cocoon of thick heavy blankets, his motionless body forming an indentation in the plushy mattress; with his hair wild and eyes ringed with day old glittery eyeliner, he looked like an Asian Jack Sparrow, Pirates of the Caribbean reject. Silence and darkness greeted the half demon that morning and it made his lonely heart heavy. He knew he needed to get up, to start his day booked to the brim with paying clients, but he didn't make a move to leave the comfort of his bed. He stayed on his side with the blankets tightly encasing him to the throat like a six foot four burrito until the hour grew late and his pounding head protested his idle state. It was only then did he venture into the kitchen, donned only in briefs, to pour himself a cup of Jamaican Blue Mountain dark roast and pop a couple of Advil before he found the den where he could stretch out on the couch.

His sitting room was decorated in tastefully subdued tones of gold and rich red. Ornamental brass lamps with opaque shades rested upon antique mahogany end tables, and shined down on a rose-colored wool carpet bearing a vaguely oriental floral design, beneath the elaborately carved wooden moldings running along the borders of the ceiling that depicted historical scenes from as early as the Qing dynasty. Heavy velvet curtains of deepest burgundy were strategically draped on the maroon walls to give off the illusion that windows were existing behind them. It was somewhat maddening to have to conceal yourself completely from the mortal world you know; if you didn't at least pretend you weren't trapped in a magical roving box, you'd suffocate on the idea alone. All and all, it was old world elegant in theme and somewhat bordello, which was just the way Magnus liked it. Even his 'house' gave off an air of sensuality which suited the cat eyed warlock perfectly; he was, if anything, a preening sybarite more interested in epicurean pleasures, so a brothel motif was the way to go.

Magnus spent the rest of the wasted afternoon loitering in these luxurious surroundings, lounging indolently on a plush velvet divan with his greatest companion, Chairman Meow; a bug-eyed, long haired munchkin cat with a perpetual scowl that was zero indication of his cuddly tendencies. His short dachshund like legs were folded beneath him, completely unseen, as he napped on the warlock's bare chest so that he resembled a fluffy, tricolored, snoozing lump. It was shaping up to be a lazy and uneventful day until into his well hidden lair stumbled a boy with dark hair and bright blue eyes, falling flat onto his back ungracefully in the middle of the floor. Magnus should have been startled or even alarmed, the guy was obviously mortal, but he was only intrigued. He had youthful features but he had to at least be college age. His doe eyes appeared innocent initially but as soon as they raked over Magnus' bare chest, he saw he obviously wasn't everything he seemed at first glance. Most human men would be terrified at finding themselves in the middle of some peculiar looking, mostly naked, strangers living room when they had believed only a moment ago they were in arguably the world's most disgusting lavatory, but this kid seemed to roll with it like it wasn't even the strangest event in his day.

"Uhh-...Well this isn't a bathroom. Whoops."

Magnus' brows climbed his forehead curiously as he huffed. "Well obviously not, so you'd better not go on my carpet. That's hand woven Persian, I'll have you know. Not cheap stuff." He had no clue how long this calm state would last before the boy ran off howling and screaming, but he was going to have fun with this while it did. There was no door to go dashing out of anyway, the house was an inescapable maze to those who didn't know how to navigate it. He could always fairy dust the memory of the warlock's pad away and drop him off somewhere public for secrecy purposes. It was then that Chairman Meow did the most peculiar thing, after a brief examination of the stranger, he made an ungainly pounce off of Magnus' lap and waddled over to meet him. His purring sounded like gravel being rolled around in a plastic container as he rubbed his disproportionate head against his ankles. Now it was really getting interesting.

The setting changes from Brooklyn, New York to Utopia NightClub

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The setting changes from Utopia NightClub to Brooklyn, New York

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Embera Armitage
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Embera and her friends finished their breakfast and headed out of the cafรฉ and piled into Emberaโ€™s new car. โ€œSo tonight, we have something big planned for you.โ€ Her friend Rachel said. โ€œOh dear should I be nervous?โ€ Embera asked sarcastically turning on the chevy with a roar -- although honestly she was slightly nervous given her friendโ€™s penchant to do crazy things. โ€œClub Utopia.โ€ Were the only two words that her friend said next. โ€œSeriously? You figured out where itโ€™s going to be tonight?โ€ โ€œYEP, my cousin was there last night and told me. And the club is going to be completely 1920โ€™s themed. My grandma said that is so DARB and that we should dig in her storage for something to wear.โ€ Rachel rolled her eyes laughing at the period slang. It wasnโ€™t unusual to have relatives that were as old as the 1800s, although werewolves tended to have a shorter lifespan compared to other supernatural, in some ways being the strongest but having the most weaknesses. So they drove to Rachelโ€™s, another multi-generational brownstone home where they tried vintage dresses out of Rachelโ€™s grandmotherโ€™s trunk. There were anything from old boas and pearls to fringe dresses in the trunk. Embera donned a black beaded dress, which her friends thought was a little too vampy looking but she settled on anyway.

โ€œNow show us your nails.โ€ Rachel demanded. Embera held out her newly painted and lacquered nails proudly. โ€œI just got them done two days ago.โ€ โ€œWell thatโ€™s too bad. Youโ€™re going to have to get them redone.โ€ โ€œWhat? Are they already chipping?โ€ Embera inspected her nails but then her friend held up her hand flashing elongated pointed claws in front of her. It was then she realized all of the other girls had their claws out as well. โ€œDonโ€™t worry, guys like the wild look where weโ€™re going. Yours look too tame.โ€ Embera felt a pang of adrenaline and nervous excitement. She was so used to hiding everything not human about herself even the idea of wearing her claws out in public excited her. She closed her eyes and concentrated wincing as the claws broke through her flimsy human ones, growing into one inch points. โ€œThere we go. Now I think weโ€™re ready.โ€ Rachel grinned, patting her on the shoulder. The bloody remnants of her human finger nails were thrown in the trash bin and they left.

โ€œHere, here, here!โ€

Embera stopped her car abruptly along the sidewalk next to the dark deserted park, now completely empty in the evening time. โ€œAre you sure this is it?โ€ Embera questioned. โ€œIt better be or someoneโ€™s getting a pounding when I get home. He said it would in the boyโ€™s bathroom.โ€ Embera looked skeptically at her friend but none the less got out of the car with the rest of her entourage and followed. The air outside was cold enough their breath came out in puffs of steam and they walked closely together trying to keep warm in their skimpy fringe dresses. The cinderblock structure that was the bathroom in the middle of the park was eerily dark and quiet and they stood at the entrance, their sensitive noses absolutely appalled by the smell emanating from within. โ€œIsnโ€™t there another entrance?โ€ โ€œNope. After you. Second stall to the left.โ€ Embera scowled at her friend before going inside with her nose plugged. Her light sensitive eyes easily found the graffiti riddled door of the determined entrance stall and pushed through.

For a moment there was a disorienting darkness as she stepped inside the stall. A sensation as if she had missed a phantom step caused her to almost fall, putting her hands out in front of her, only to find herself on the other side of a completely different door in a completely different setting. Her hands caught a marble hand railing in front of her and she was staring over a one story balcony down at a dance floor where big band music was playing. โ€œWhoa.โ€ She swallowed and stood upright, looking around to gather her bearings. Her friends came in behind her less dazed than herself as they had grown accustomed to the portals. โ€œYou okay there? Come on.โ€ They guided her down the stairs to the main floor. Embera was simply overwhelmed by the amount of supernatural in the club, many in their true forms the way she had never seen them before and soon was back to being quietly excited.

Tables to the left of the bar had been invaded by a hoard of wolves already, glowering at any other supernatural creatures that tried to take seats around them. โ€œI thought it was just supposed to be us.โ€ Embera whispered to her friend, stopping short. โ€œIt was.. But I may have let it slip to a few people where you were going to be tonight.โ€ They continued forward and were hardily welcomed by the pack, members not only from Brooklyn but a few others as well. They melded into the group, Embera making her rounds to greet and thank everyone who came (invited or not) and it wasnโ€™t long before the drinks started pouring in. A pack of wolves could drink a whole bar dry with their fast metabolisms making it hard to get even the teensiest bit tipsy. Once it seemed everyone was having a good time, Embera took the opportunity to slip away for a little bit and stand by the edge of the dance floor looking curiously over the other supernatural creatures present in the club. It wasn't only the variety of supernatural that surprised her but that they all seemed to be getting along just fine talking, laughing and even dancing with one another. It made her realize how sheltered she really was since she very rarely interacted with species outside her own. She wondered what the consequences might be if she started a conversation with another creature or God forbid -gasp- dance with one. She smiled mischievously to herself at the thought. Wouldn't that be a riot?

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