Los Angeles, 2019

Niko von Lunkhofen - FC: Aidan Turner - Hex Code = #BF0000

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Los Angeles - 6:30 PM - Tinsely Villa

The Tinsley's Villa was all made up, Lord Tinsley spared no expanse for the lavishness of the evening. Everything gleamed with the class and accomplishment of a family of their age and wisdom. works of art, by the old masters, hung nearly to every wall. A wise historian or artist could appreciate having so many of the greats together in one place. Despite living so very long, Niko did not see the true purpose of displaying so many expansive works in the same place, besides simply showing off. As guests poured into the Villa, Niko hung close to the walls trying to keep his mind busy. He was to be married the next day, and his courtship with this young lady wasn't quite usual. In fact, he'd hadn't even met his bride yet, only witnessed her beauty in the portrait her father sent him, enclosed with a letter of his demands for her hand. No doubt the money he paid Groumond went to much of the funding of this party and the festivities tomorrow, which he wasn't privy to the planning off. He wasn't even permitted to add names to the guest list, not that he had anyone to really invite other than Gregoire and Elena. They have been his only true companions these past few decades of isolation and atonement. That's the life, you lead when your family has been killed off over the course of four centuries.

His eyes wondered the party, looking for any familiar faces, he was able to recognize several gazes and glances attached to rather painful memories for him. 'No, I mustn't think of that right now. he thought to himself, 'This is a happy event, they expect you to be the joyous bridegroom not the sullen widower' He parted he left the wall, he'd been so comfortable against and found a window to lean near, his eyes looking at a large ornately decorated portrait. His eyes widened, as he examined what looked like him dressed in traditional garb, holding out his arm for a young woman that he could only presume was he to be the bride. He was told they were having a wedding portrait done but he'd never sat for it. They must have just used an old oil painting from nearly three hundred years ago, for the man in the picture did not properly represent the man he was today. My God, my hair hasn't been that long in two hundred years. "Niko!" he heard a male voice approach him, followed by a female French voice. He flung around to, see Greg with a giant smile from ear to ear. Elena, nestled in Greg's arm spoke coyly. "Ce lot est plutôt flamboyant oui?" Niko nodded at his remark, "More then one can expect of Gregoire's relatives." Niko responded. Greg laughed not bothered by the remarks, "Well, we all must aspire to be greater than our family." he said and kissed Elena on the cheek.

"So Niko," Greg started, "Have you met your blushing bride yet?" Niko shocks his head, in response, he hadn't been introduced to Celeste yet. "Only to depictions of her." he pointed to the painting. Greg looked at nodded, "Aw, you saw your wedding present then, I'm told my father had one of the premiere artists paint it for you both, he spared no expense."

Niko looked at Greg in shock,"And yet didn't think to have me sit for it." he shook his head. 'Or he just wanted to show how merciful he is, depicting me as a peasent, and his daughter as a Goddess.' She did look stunning in the portrait thou, and it did excite him a little to finally meet this girl.

"Come Niko," Greg said pointing to the crowd, "They are gathering at the table for dinner, you will meet my sister there," he said as the three of them walked into the dining room.

Greg and Elena took their seats, far from Niko, he had been placed towards the head of the table to the left of Groumond himself. The man hadn't arrived yet, but the place settings indicated Groumond's place at the head, his wife Narissa's place at his right, Niko to his left, and Celeste Lianne Tinsley was seated to Niko's left. He would meet his bride soon, and they would have an entire dinner to talk before their marriage, not Ideal but what can you expect from Pureblood vampires?

"This is...." Celeste took one step, her rage building as her deep blue gown fluttered around her feet, "Absolutely...." And another, closing the gap between herself and the third poor soul sent to fetch her that evening, "ABSURD." Finally, she begins to shriek. With no shame or care for the guests two stories below, Celeste was hellbent on letting the poor innocent maid know just how much she resented this arrangement. She had kept quiet and submissive on the matter for far too long, but finally, the seal had broken.

"I thought this was a JOKE. A rouse, something Daddy schemed up to make me play nice for a night or two, but to send me off, truly, to a stranger?!" Celeste shrieked again, causing the nameless maid to tremble in fear. Fangs barred, Celeste Tinsley was quite a vision in this state. Her ballgown was made of the finest materials, imported from Italy, her hair had taken 5 hours to finish, each curl delicately adorned with black pearls. She was a vision, and she was furious. Ignoring that she had months to prepare for this evening, it all seemed to hit the woman at once. She stomped across her bedroom, her brute strength causing the floors to creak, likely causing flakes of painted drywall to break and fall into the room below.

"Do they not acknowledge my freedoms? My artistic whims that cannot be confined by a MAN!" Celeste spoke passionately, gloved arms thrown about with each syllable. Her hair was everywhere, creating a manic halo around her head. The perfect vision was beginning to break. This was the perfect example of Celeste's notorious fits, and the impossible wrath held inside the vampyre woman.

"Mam, I just... I'm sorry but I'm just here to tell you that drinks are being served." The maid cowered in the corner, as close to the door as possible. Celeste did not bother to recall her name, at this point her emotions were pushed past their point of no return.

"DRINKS?!" With impressive speed, Celeste hurls herself across the room to her four post bed, rips down one of the posts, and uses it as a stake; launched from the far end of the room, the maid had just enough time to dive out of the way, slipping through the door and out into safety. The makeshift weapon lodged itself into the wall, and stuck out rather comically. "Argh!!" Celeste yells again, unsure if it's in triumph or agony.

Moments later, another knock falls upon her door. "I swear, the next weapon I throw will strike true!" Celeste growls, turning away from the door to throw herself onto her now destroyed bed. She hears the door creak open, but does not move to investigate. Alternatively, she curls into a ball of despair, regressing in age to about 100. Small, moody, vulnerable.

"My daughter.... what has gotten you into such a state?" A soft yet powerful voice called into the room. It was her father, Lord Groumond Tinsley. The only man that could tame her. She looked up, to see him in his finest suit. She shook her head, a nonverbal signifier between the two that she was too emotional to speak.

"Our guests are arriving, and your future husband is here, he's quite handsome, so the maids are saying. Join me downstairs." He coaxes her out of the bed, fixing her curled hair and straightening her dress. As the youngest daughter, Groumond always babied Celeste, even at 300 years old. "You know, I could hear you from my quarters, your wrath is not unlike your mother's..."

"Why must you make me do this?" She finally asks, putting on a childish pout, ignoring the commentary about her late mother. It was still too painful to address, their relationship had never been strong and her death came long before they were able to fix their relationship.

"You'll understand after the first 100 years or so, you'll even grow to love each other, I'm sure." Lord Groumond said with a knowing smile, eyes flashing as if he remembered something he could never mention.

"You can make me marry him, but you can't stop me from loathing him." She said defiantly, obviously defeated. Celeste finally stood, throwing a look into the mirror of her vanity nearby. Together they left, arm-in-arm, and made their way towards the dining room.