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Marcello Giovanni

"Never let anyone know what you are thinking."

0 · 711 views · located in Modern Washington D.C

a character in “The Supreme”, as played by Scarlet Loup

Description



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N A M E
Marcello Lucian Giovanni

N I C K N A M E
Your Highness [most common] || Marc [those who know him personally] || Any nicknames from his wife & lovers

G E N D E R
Male

A G E
Thirty-six

S E X U A L I T Y
Bisexual

R O L E
High King






































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H E I G H T
About six feet, two inches

W E I G H T
A relatively light one hundred and sixty pounds

H A I R C O L O U R
A deep, oaky brown

E Y E C O L O U R
A nearly-black shade of brown

S K I N T O N E
Very light, pale tone that can burn quite easily

G E N E R A L__A P P E A R A N C E
Marcello was born to an American businessman and his Italian heiress wife. In their prime, both parents were nearly the epitome of beautiful. Marcello certainly can be seen as an excellent example of their beauty. He is almost Adonis-like in appearance, with fine, but almost-sculpted features. His eyes are thin, giving him a constant look about him that appears cold and calculating. Marc's proportions are enough to have made the greatest Renaissance sculptors jealous. Though he is not as well-muscled as he would like, his lean musculature can be seen easily through his hand-tailored suits. Often, he keeps a very light beard and his hair long enough to slick back. For more formal events, he will shorten his hair. He can attribute his dark hair and eyes to his mother while his pale flesh comes from his father who can likely trace himself back to some of the first noble Englishmen in America.










































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P E R S O N A L I T Y

Unstable ❊ Passionate ❊ Conflicted ❊ Egotistical ❊ Insecure ❊ Attention-seeking

Once, Marcello was seen as some sort of "America's Sweetheart." If only they could see him now. This model child, this perfect boy, has fallen so quickly into a life of lust and instability, far more quickly than anyone could have imagined. Though he refuses to let the public notice his descent, Marcello certainly has changed for the worse over these years.

He has maintained his youthful passion for approval and for issues he feels strongly on, but he is nearly crippled by insecurities and anxieties, driving him into a state of near-paranoia. He can talk his way out of nearly any situation that arises, but this only adds to his ever-growing ego. His charisma allowed him not only to acquire his political office but to work himself into multiple affairs that could all potentially blow up in his face. And yet he thrives on that sort of excitement. He seeks thrills in an almost-addicted sort of manner, looking to ease the boredom he has fallen into, leading an already doomed country. Perhaps that is why he was so quick to command his soldiers to go to war for the Western Coast.

Further, he seeks attention almost constantly. What he can not get from his people, he gets from over-the-top social events. What he can not get from them, he gets from doting on his wife, giving into her every wish or desire - unless it conflicts with his own. And then there is Camille, the only other woman he'd do anything for. It pains him to be attached to two very different people, two people who will eventually force him to choose sides.

In fact, his whole life seems to have turned into one conflict after another. Sometimes he wonders if it is all worth it. And then he rememebrs the rush of power he feels when he is called "King". And all of the anxiety, the mental instability, is entirely worth it.




































































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L I K E S
♥ Coffee ♥ Katelyn ♥ Snow ♥ Literature ♥ Alcohol ♥ Camille ♥ The Humanities ♥ Attention ♥ Being Correct ♥

D I S L I K E S
✘ Being Alone ✘ Rain ✘ Jazz ✘ Darkness ✘ Chocolate ✘ Feeling inferior ✘ Compromise ✘ Being Wrong ✘ Smoking ✘

Q U I R K S
๏ Smokes in public, but otherwise hates it ๏ Furrows brow when in thought ๏ Purses lips when concerned ๏ Taps his foot almost constantly in a nervous manner ๏

S K I L L S
✯ Can think quickly ✯ "Persuasive" ✯ Perceptive ✯ Plays cello & piano ✯ Tenacious ✯




















































































B A C K S T O R Y
Marcello Giovanni was born into the world as a pre-destined, pretentious asshole. His father, James Randall, came from a line of wealthy American businessmen who can trace themselves back to feudal England where, to no one's surprise, they served as barons. They were among the few who helped financially support voyages into America and, as such, state they were among the first in America - even though it was their money that made it first.

Marcello's mother, Fiore Giovanni, was equally (if not more) entitled. In fact, through his mother, Marcello claims he can trace himself to the Medici family. James and Fiore met each other at a social gathering through mutual friends. One thing led to another that night, and Fiore found she was carrying James' child. Against her father's wishes, she eloped with the dashing American on the condition that their children take her name - to which James agreed. His children would take his name later, he was positive.

When Marcello was born, he became America's poster child. His face graced tabloid covers for ages, following his life for years. His parents gave him everything he wished for and then some. And then his brother was born. Truly, Luca never stole any sort of limelight from him, for Marcello was already too far ahead to be outdone. He excelled in school, taking extremely well to the humanities - art, language, history, philosophy. His parents saw him on the route to politics and so did he.

His powers developed at some point during his college education, and from there, life only grew easier. He returned home to have a career in politics practically handed to him. And then the war became worse. Though he moved up quickly in office, he also knew the condition of the world grew worse and worse. Why else would his parents have urged him to marry that woman he'd met only once before?

His marriage to Katelyn was a slightly rushed one, but an extravagant one none-the-less. Any remaining newspapers were quick to cover it in its entirety, to distract from the hellhole that the world had become. Perhaps that's why it was so easy for him to gain the final traction he needed to practically appoint himself as High King.

Things continued normally - or rather, as normally as possible - for some time. And then he met Camille. He hadn't intended for his relationship with the young Senator to go this far. It really shouldn't have. But he has no regrets, in all honesty. And so, he juggles his lovers and a country on the brink of another war.



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F A C E C L A I M
Gaspard Ulliel

W R I T E R
Scarlet Loup


So begins...

Marcello Giovanni's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Marcello Giovanni Character Portrait: Helena Tobin Character Portrait: Katelyn Giovanni
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A certain buzz filled the air on this cold November afternoon. The season had been fairly dry and all signs of rain and snow were absent. The high overcast sky stretched over the King’s Square like a tired old cloak. It was almost as if the sky was purposely covering the sun, shielding its innocence. The air moved slyly about the Square and caused a chill for those who had come to see the affair.

Between the Assembly Buildings was a large platform. Atop of platform was a beautiful large cylinder with a woman inside as the centerpiece, surrounded by apples and wildflowers. Behind the cylinder was another platform with a collection of half a dozen chairs filled with some of the most powerful Supreme. Their seats had delicate arms and were covered with deep red velvet. Many of these elite were Senators and Congressmen dressed in the finest furs, gold, and wool. Their long coats spilled onto the ground and their silver slippers glistened in the light. They were a pure image of opulence, lounging in all their glory. Ahead of this crowd were three grander seats, a throne and two counter pieces. This is where the High King and Queen sat, along with their guest, the Queen of the European Province. The throne was tall and slender, made of fine metal and decorated with silk and diamonds. The other seats were less magnificent with shorter backs and only semi-precious gems used to hold the fabric down. The scene was certainly strange and handsome, with everything perfectly placed, but an aching in the air made the sight nauseating.

Helena Tobin sat with her hands fiddling in her lap and her back straight as board. A fan of long dark eyelashes guarded her green eyes from the angry stares of the commoners. Her raven hair was piled to one side of her face and the large fur coat that she was wearing concealed a slinky dark blue dress underneath. Her bare back rubbed against the fur of her coat, gaining its warmth as she regretted wearing something so thin as a silk dress. However, she was particularly proud of the way that she had coyly worn a dark color in protest. The Supreme were instructed to wear their most colorful daily garb, as if to mock the commoners and their dull grey lives. Helena didn’t support the commoners by any means, but she certainly didn’t support execution.

Inside the cylinder was a woman by the name of Valarie Townsend, the leader of the Rebels. From what Helena understood the Rebels were the equivalent to what was known as the Legion in Europe; a banded group of commoners devoted to the destruction of the hierarchy created by the elite. Helena subtly shook her head, thinking about how this social problem was plaguing all of the provinces.

With a sharp dinging sound her attention refocused. The ceremony was beginning.

Below the platform was a stretch of around ten feet, bordered off and protected by a slew of police officers, all of which eagerly wielded tasers and batons. Beyond this barricade was a sea of commoners. Helena, against her own preference had attended many executions, but never before had she seen so many commoners present. What was usually a hundred or so commoners had greatly expanded into at least five thousand.

Helena’s bright eyes looked around at the scene while trying to avoid any and all eye contact. Her powers were well controlled when Helena was in her own element, but in emotional distress they worked at their own will. Water was now beginning to tease at Valarie’s ankles, slowly rising from the floor of the cylinder. Observing every small detail Helena began to see the symbols. The apples of Eve: punishment just for trying the forbidden fruit. Wildflowers: hardly a dignified way of respecting the dead. And water: a remarkable and uncontrollable source of power, a resource needed to survive but with an unforgiving way of taking life.

Soon the girl would have water up to her knees and the air inside her chamber would grow stale and hot with anxiety. Helena glanced at her hosts, they seemed to be filled with a bubbling pride for what they had found and how they were going killing it. Her eyes darted around once more, seeking Eric, but she wasn’t even sure he was present. When the crowd began their unruly protects Helena stopped her searching and readjusted her posture. Her head was held high; shoulders back, hands folded elegantly in her lap, and dominance glowing from her sharp features. She looked strong and certain, aside from the fact that her eyes were staring down.

It was then when she heard a shout. “Queen Helena!” She looked up quickly and found the eyes that matched the voice. A petite woman was holding a young boy staring directly at her, and in an instance Helena knew who they were to Valarie Townsend. They were Valarie’s little sister and only son. A rush of emotion flushed over her and a choke in her throat tugged at the water in her eyes. Red blotchiness traveled from her chest into her pale face. It took only a second for Helena to realize what had just happened to her and she quickly remedied the problem. Irritated and filled with someone else’s emotions she ripped her eyes away from the woman. With her teeth clinched Helena took to looking at the city in the horizon and pushing out all of the feelings she had previously possessed.

Helena would not need to see the progress of the water, she would be able to tell just fine by the panicked and desperate hollering of the audience. Water was beginning to inch at Valerie’s waist and the weight of her body was starting to bob toward the glass ceiling, making the cylinder ever smaller.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Marcello Giovanni Character Portrait: Helena Tobin Character Portrait: Katelyn Giovanni
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He lived for this - for the entire ordeal. Marcello Giovanni had overseen enough executions in his reign to know exactly how one went down. They waited in silence for the chosen method to begin. They would watch in silence as the rebel, the traitor, whoever it was, died before their eyes. And he would close with his own remarks. It was a process he usually kept around twenty-three minutes once it began. Sometimes longer.

Today, it had already exceeded that amount merely for preparation. There were thousands of people, gathered to watch their figurehead drown at his hands. It felt good, it felt symbolic, in a sense. Like he was God and this would be the flood that killed the infidels. A symbolic rebirth.

He looked about now, waiting for the water to begin pouring in. Helena sat to his right, Katelyn, to his left. His wife often took the former's seat, but they were hosts now, and he was merely following the etiquette of a world that was long dead.

In the midst of vivid blues and reds and whatever colors The Supremes had managed to acquire, he was dressed in a long overcoat of white fur, trimmed around his neck with an equally as captivating black fur. Underneath, he wore a blazer and trousers of a bright, vivid gold. His hair was coiffed, done up hours ago by a stylist who had similarly masked the light blue and purple of bags under his eyes. He hadn't slept well recently, but, in all honesty, when had he slept well? It wasn't uncommon to find him wandering about his residence, sipping some heavily alcoholic beverage until he could, finally, fall asleep.

But that wasn't on his mind now. The bell rang to begin the ceremony, and his dark eyes flitted towards the cylinder as pipes opened and water began to pool at the girl's exposed feet. He smirked sadistically, looking at Katelyn to see her reaction. Marcello was proud of himself and of the designers who had put effort into designing the chamber. Most of the symbolism had been personally requested by him. He felt her thoughts coming to him now, anxiety-ridden things, they were. She wanted her family. Her friends. She wanted to get out. Could she find a weak point in the glass? She had it. And yet Marcello knew she wouldn't.

He looked over at Helena, and suddenly, it hit him. His vision went blurry for a moment, and he rubbed at his forehead as a vision of Helena's thoughts came to him, pulsing through his head like a migraine. She was overwhelmed. She'd seen someone, and it was causing her to panic.

"It's brilliant...isn't it?" he asked her redundantly, his question punctuated by a spasm of pain. "Truly...overdid themselves." And then it was gone. Helena had pulled herself away. Marcello looked away from her now, looking back out at the crowd as the water came to the woman's shoulders now. The crowd was shouting now, pushing against the guards on the floor, and Marcello knew they'd have trouble silencing them enough to give his address.

"If you will excuse me," he said softly, standing and wrapping his overcoat more tightly around him with white-gloved hands. He stepped forward, walking up to the cylinder as The Supremes behind him stood out of respect. He stopped before the cylinder, making eye contact with the woman as the water lapped at her chin.

"Bon voyage, my dear," he breathed, blowing her a kiss as she swam up to the edge of the cylinder. She slammed her fist into the glass, her tear-streaked face contorted with rage.

"Burn, you bastard," she spat, loud enough that it carried back to the other members of the elite. He looked away for a moment, a look of disgust in his face which he quickly tried to turn into a smirk before turning his attention back to her.

”Not until you do, love,” he returned in as much of a snarl as she had used to him. ”That is...only if you aren’t too soggy by the time they fish you out.”

He continued on his way, hands at his sides as he approached the podium. Any speech he had thought of had been thrown to the wind with Valerie’s remark. He coughed softly before leaning towards the microphone that had been preadjusted to his height.

”A house divided against itself cannot stand.”
He spoke slowly, allowing each word to echo through the square until it was almost quiet. He moved back into for his next words before the clamor could begin again. ”There is a role we all hold in society and when certain members are threatened, society crumbles. The woman you see before you today is one such threat to society as a whole, a scourge that must be eliminated to consider the United Provinces, the world safe. Consider this a rebirth of peace. A rebirth of freedom.”

By the time he’d finished, shouting had started again. If he listened, he might have noticed they had begun chanting a variety of refrains. One of which was the name of the rebel leader. But he turned now and began walking back towards his seat, past the girl as she struggled less and less against the water, into the applause of The Supremes.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Marcello Giovanni Character Portrait: Helena Tobin Character Portrait: Katelyn Giovanni Character Portrait: Camille Van Bueren
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Sitting amongst the select Supreme was Camille. Third from the farthest seat on the left she was positioned diagonally behind Katelyn. The annoyance of literally being overshadowed by the Queen tugged at her jealous strings, but the ability to see all of Marcello’s facial expressions made it worthwhile. Wrapped around her like a luxurious blanket was a large wool coat of a glittery canary yellow, and it was so large that it billowed onto the floor. While standing the coat had a long train, a stiff collar, and looked rather graceful. While sitting, it looked like magical yellow skin swallowing her up. Under this cumbersome coat Camille wore a bright red dress. It was made of spider silk, a rather strong fabric with a mild sheen, and had an low ‘’V’ neck that nearly touched her navel. Even for the most morbid of events she needed to draw some attention to herself. She found that dressing a little too well for an event and showing off a little too much skin usually did the trick.

Camille sat with her pointed golden heels crossed and her body leaning against her left arm. In this position she was able to gain just a few more inches of the sight of her beloved High King. Her brown eyes traced over the features of Marcello’s face. As far as she was concerned he was constructed by the gods to become a god. The young Senator began to nibble at her pointer finger as her eyes wandered and devoured every inch of him. Never was she more attracted to Marcello than when he was in his element, addressing the people and standing up for his rightful place on the throne. Camille made a mental note to reward him for his gallantry the next time they were alone.

Lost in her thoughts Camille jumped at the sound of the execution bell. Realizing that she was daydreaming she quickly composed herself and regained the sleekness that she had possessed prior. A flush of red embarrassment powdered her face, but it was nearly impossible to recognize though the makeup she had on. The execution was beginning. Camille had a flutter of excitement course through her. She, unlike most humans, looked forward to execution days. They were a brilliant and edgy way of teaching everyone a lesson. The other Supreme who sat with her remained neutral in their body language and facial expressions, none of them wanted to have the High King or the commoners to notice their true feelings. These powerful individuals would only show expression when Camille prompted them with a smile. A pity, she thought, that they could not enjoy themselves as much as she did.

Multiple minutes had passed by before Marcello left his seat and made his way to the podium. When the High King rose she and the other Supreme also stood, it was a sign of respect and following. Camille wrapped her coat close to her and beamed at the High King as he spoke. He was truly a man of great inspiration and power. She admired him more than she had admired anyone in her entire life. Camille let his words wash over her and within moments she was consumed. She closed her eyes and faintly listened to Marcello's voice drone on. His voice danced her head and she began to manipulate it in her mind and imagine herself as the High Queen. She would have the power to do what she wanted, be praised by all, and be Marcello’s wife. Then her life and her love would be secure. Being High Queen would mean that she would be the begin all and end all of Marcello, and there was nothing more in the world that she wanted.

When Camille opened her eyes she drew in a deep breath and saw that the girl in the tube was nearly finished. Valarie’s arms were over her head, pushing her body down to prevent from hitting the ceiling but also keeping herself afloat just enough so that her mouth and nose could receive air. Camille could see that Valarie was beginning to strain her neck in order to take one last breath before succumbing.

Marcello’s speech was over. The girl was storing water in her lungs now, but still thrashing about and causing a stir. Soon Valarie would be drifting into an eternal sleep. Camille grinned and she smacked her hands together enthusiastically, showing the utmost pride she had in her people and her leader. It was common knowledge that Camille was a huge supporter of the king, but their affair was underwraps. Remembering this she moved her gaze from Marcello to those around her and nodded in approval.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Marcello Giovanni Character Portrait: Amelia Parrish Character Portrait: Helena Tobin Character Portrait: Theodore Wilkins
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Throughout the ceremony, Theodore remains silent. He sits among the more powerful of the influential, strong enough to snap many of their slender necks, hung heavy with bright and festive jewels. These are the times which test him the most, which tempt him to break the facade and escape to his family, to the ruins of DC beyond the homes of the nobility. A small genetic abnormality, a bit of chance, and he is up on this platform while his flesh and bone stand angry among the crowds below. Stand angry watching his execution- this performance. That is all this is, truly. The nobility dress in their finest garb, in bright fanciful colors that stand a cruel contrast to the draining flush of the day's victim. Of the day's act. There is a slight twitch in his jaw, the only giveaway of his resentment towards this. The king speaks, a peacock strutting proudly before common sparrows.

Only those watching Theo would see him look away, unable to watch any longer as this man mocks the death of a friend. He has a reputation for a soft-hearted nature that seems ironic against his inhuman strength, and thus any nobles who do see it may simply excuse it as him having little stomach for violence. Still, they may scoff at his weakness. He, a member of the elites, and yet sensitive to the death of rebel scum. But even in ancient Roman times, there must have been patricians who did not enjoy the gladiator sports.

"A well made tomb," murmurs a noble behind him, a fair young man with a rather loud silk tie that is reminiscent of a yellow canary. His blonde hair is pointed upwards in a way that only enhances this image, another bright and stupid bird on the perch. "But I do think a burning would have been more suitable," he is speaking to the young woman next to him, one with bright red hair and a cardinal-red blouse to match.

"But then we have have breathed her in or something- that's disgusting," she shoots back, nose wrinkling like a child faced with a plate of green vegetables. Theo turns in his seat to give them a silencing look, and immediately they are quiet once more. He may have a reputation for being easygoing and cheery, but it is still not desirable to be on the man's bad side. Not that the nobility even realize how large his bad side is or that they already maintain residency.

His eyes return to Valerie. From where he is seated, only her back is visible. Still, he doesn't need to see her facial expressions to observe the struggle- thrashing arms, lungs desperate for unavailable air. There should have been a rescue. Why was an arrow not piercing the glass and releasing her like in a movie from previous generations?

"We've already lost men trying to get her out when she was first captured. I've been through every possibility- it's hopeless. She knows that."

"We can't just let her die."

"There is nothing else we can do. Theo, you can't save everyone. Besides, at least with this they'll feel safe for a while. They'll relax. She won't die for nothing."

"Fuck you."

"I'm not going to try and reason with you when you're angry. Goodbye."


There would be no attempt to save Valerie. Not now that she is on the stage for all to see. Theo does not allow himself to look away again, save a brief glance at the European Queen. He wonders what she thinks of all this. If this is how they punish rebels in her kingdom. He prays otherwise.


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At least one person is looking at Theo. Easily overlooked in the crowd, able to move through it without disturbing the positions of others, a young woman watches him for any touch of wavering. To make sure that he keeps control of his thoughts, given the presence of the king. Hers are safe within the roar of the crowd, furious and in constant agitation at this execution. The king believes he is setting an example, is settling fear within the hearts of the people to maintain his order. But he is creating a martyr, a martyr with a now orphaned son that will be cherished as the child of a hero. A martyr that Mel will use to push forth the unrest until no one is content with oppression any longer.

He may be drowning her, but there is a flame around Valerie all the same. Mel is all too glad to fan it until it is a fire that will turn everything his people have and cherish to ashes. Until their opulent dresses and intricate hair styles are burnt away leaving blackened flesh, no stronger than those that they have stepped on for so long. Valerie tells the king to burn. Mel will ensure that it happens.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Marcello Giovanni Character Portrait: Helena Tobin Character Portrait: Damian Marciano Character Portrait: Katelyn Giovanni Character Portrait: Camille Van Bueren
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{In collaboration with Scarlet Loup}

Katelyn wasn't in any rush to go to the execution ceremony, she stayed in her room, eyes peered down to everyone gathering below. She tugged slightly at a necklace wrapped around her neck, one that Marcello had given her the night before. A soft sigh escaped over her parted lips as she turned away from the sight that was seen outside of her window as she was fully dressed but debating in her mind whether she really wanted to go to this event, well execution or not. She sighed again as a knock came upon her door and entered a servant, who bowed before speaking. "Lady Katelyn, Your Majesty is requesting your presence."

'Of course he is.' She thought to herself while raising up to her feet, standing upright now as she straightened her clothing out by running her hands over the fabrics. Katelyn took a simple step forward then made her way down towards the ceremony. She had arrived and people bowed as she crossed their paths. A warm smile curved among her lips as she greeted her people then saw Marcello and she still had that smile but saw his smirk and rolled her eyes.

Once she was seated in her appropriate seat, to Marcello's left, the bell rang out as she gasped. It seemed as if they were waiting for her to get there before they began the ceremony, the execution. It was completely sickening to her but she wouldn't say that out loud especially to Marcello. Instead, she sat there with a smile as everyone else, watching, waiting and anticipating. Once the water started gushing out, Katelyn didn't bother to turn her head, knowing it would disappoint her husband, The High King, Marcello. She looked at him as he had looked at her then turned her head back towards the sight.

Katelyn stood up just as Marcello did as he excused himself as she nodded her head then sat back down. Her eyes followed him closely as she watched his actions and simply shook her head. Once he walked over towards the podium, the first words he had spoken moved her. Since it was true. She continued to listen to his speech then looked as Marcello started to walk back over towards them. Her eyes followed him as she didn't really have much to say right about now. Instead, her eyes looked back at the girl in the chamber that was filling up with water. The water had probably reached her lungs by now as it wasn't long until her fate was sealed right before their eyes.

Her eyes flashed over towards Camille as she looked at her throughout the ceremony once or twice. She only nodded her head towards her when she was to look her way. Katelyn stood then looked down at Marcello then back towards the people below that wanted to tear him apart. Katelyn knew something like this would happen as she looked back down at Marcello, as she reached her hand out for him to grab.

"I assume we must celebrate this execution, as well?" She asked innocently while awaiting his response as she started to smile a little.

He did not sit again as he returned to his throne. Instead, Marcello waited at the foot of the ornate chair and watched the girl's last death throes before she finally ceased struggling. The only movement now was the swirling of her hair and the decor beneath her bare feet. Marcello made eye contact again with Helena, but he looked away out of boredom and searched among the assembled Senators for her.

He found Camille quickly and smiled her way, but he knew not if she noticed his attention, for now the crowd was fighting against the police, and Marcello instinctively looked forward. The Supreme behind him began to scurry off, leaving the open and hurrying towards cover in either the reception hall or their own rooms if they were not fortunate enough to receive an invitation. And now he noticed Katelyn's proffered hand, hearing her question despite the clamor.

"Try to sound enthusiastic, dove," he said, taking her hand and placing his fingers between hers before giving her hand a light squeeze. He returned her smile with one of his own and leaned forward to place a kiss on her forehead. The shouting began to grow louder, and he could see the mob surging, outraged by such a casual display of affection before a sight so gruesome. "Come on now." He tugged at her hand and pulled her after him as security filed in on either side of the couple. He'd be lying if he said he did not worry for himself at events such as these, but it wasn't worth worrying Katelyn.

The hall has already filled with Supreme by the time the couple entered. Conversation halted for a moment that was just long enough to ensure Marcello and Katelyn had been noticed but without detracting from the joyous atmosphere.

A servant came for his fur coat and Katelyn's before he extended his arm, bent slightly at the elbow.

"Shall we?" he asked.

Katelyn looked at Marcello as he took her hand, giving it a light squeeze. She couldn't help but blush when he place a kiss upon his forehead then looked at him while taking this as an opportunity to respond. "Sorry, my love. Just ready for this day to be over and done with." Katelyn bluntly said while following right beside him now as security piled up on their sides.

She was a little worried about how today's events were going to effect them going forward but she tried not to let her worry show as they entered the hall now. Everybody seized what they were and noticed them as they came in, bowing respectfully as they passed them. When the servant took her fur coat, she was taken by surprise and gasped softly before taking Marcello's hand again, smiling at him.

"Yes, we shall." She remarked while walking beside him again as they would take their respective places in their seats, overseeing everyone else before them. Once a servant poured them their drinks, she took the goblet and took a small sip before leaning back into her seat, occasionally glancing over at Marcello.

He had pulled her chair out for her and then pushed it in once she sat. In the same manner, he pulled his seat out and then slid it into the table by himself. Marcello reached for his goblet then and took a long sip of the wine within as he looked about. His people spoke in a lively manner, exchanging gossip and their opinions with an enthusiasm he had hoped they would share. It was good to see them like this, going along with his ideas, accepting his absolute rule. He needed to mill about, make sure they saw enough of him to keep them in this blissful sort of state.

"I'll be back," he whispered, reaching over the brush his fingers against Katelyn's arm. "I have a few people I ought to speak with. You could come with me if you'd like." He didn't give her enough time to come with him though, for he had already placed his goblet down and pushed his chair back out.

As he stood, he took note of Damian and nodded at the soldier. He would get to him in time, ask him about the front line. Marcello looked about now, searching out a target, and his gaze fell on Camille again. He couldn't approach her now though. Not in front of the rest of the Supreme. But the young woman approached Helena now, and he realized this was his opportunity. And so Marcello struck, picking up a flute of champagne as he walked over to the two women and Eric.

"Pardon my interruption," he began, clearing his throat gently. "Helena, have you met Miss Van Bueren yet? One of the finest young women in the Senate." He looked towards Camille now, taking her in just long enough to sate him for the moment but hopefully not long enough to look odd.

Katelyn eyes looked at Marcello just as he pulled his chair back and muttered that he'd be right back. He had offered her to come but his gestures didn't seem like she was really invited as he left without her. So, seated she stayed as people came over to greet her with a bow and such.

"Your Majesty, how do you feel about the execution?" Someone had asked her as she turned to look their way and shrugged her shoulders. She wasn't really going to comment as her eyes were peered on Marcello but she suddenly lost sight of him. "I'd rather not speak on today's events, or execution. It's in the past now and what happened, happened." She nodded her head firmly after speaking those words then rose up from her seated position.

She wanted to dance now and so she went over to the dance floor, everyone applauding as she picked the closest male and started dancing with him. This action might make Marcello a little bit jealous but he sort of did leave her alone so what was she suppose to do - Be bored? Katelyn despises being bored and she was definitely showing it now as more people joined in the dance with her.

As she danced, she was smiling and laughing, enjoying herself as everyone bounced from dance partner to another dance partner. Once that dance was over, she curtsied towards her partner and applauded everyone as she glided back over towards her seat, sitting down while catching her breath.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Marcello Giovanni Character Portrait: Helena Tobin Character Portrait: Eric Orr Character Portrait: Katelyn Giovanni Character Portrait: Camille Van Bueren
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ImageThe brown orbs in Camille’s head eagerly preyed over the High King, soaking in every last inch of his body and wishing they were nearer to him. This concentration was broken by the not to subtle looks of the High Queen. The blonde woman obviously had a wandering eye that needing correcting. Perhaps a sucker punch, or maybe a clumsy spoon, would do the trick. A flash of violence leapt through Camille’s mind. She rolled her eyes at herself and chuckled before settling farther in her seat.

The ceremony was over way too soon for Camille. She would have liked to revel in glory of a little torture, but the High King had his reasons for each and every execution. God, Marcello was a brilliant man, she thought. Just thinking about his creative process when it came to planning executions made Camille excited.

The young European Queen brushed past Camille, she noted that the Queen was rather nervous and eager to flee the scene. Camille watched her for a moment before turning her attention back to Marcello. At this point he was fawning over Katelyn, loving her as a loyal husband ought to. If only the High Queen knew.

Bent out of shape, Camille surrendered to escorting herself to the gathering. Her large yellow coat was gracefully taken from her when she entered the large glass hall. Her curious eyes glanced around the small crowd that had gathered. There was no one that Camille found particularly interesting, so she resorted to standing with a flute of champagne and sipping at it while watching the door.

When the Queen Helena entered the hall there was a stirring. The painted lips of the Supreme flapped with rumors and truths, stimulating a low buzz of voices. There was plenty to speculate about the dear European Queen, but it was especially interesting that she should choose to have her right hand man escort her to such an event. Camille’s vicious eyes scanned over the odd couple, gathering just enough information to create believable gossip. Camille was not acquainted with either of the two but she knew the man’s name was Eric. It was then that Camille decided to make herself known to them.

ImageStanding at the sidelines she waited for the perfect opportunity to approach the Queen and her escort. “Truly a beautiful display,” Camille said referring to the execution. “Though I dare say that you, Queen Helena, have been blessed with beauty yourself.” Helena looked Camille over before nodding her head in thanks and smiling half-heartedly. Helena was not in the mood for such empty displays of affection. “Thank you,” Helena finally said in response. Camille had expected the Queen to return the compliment, hearing of the Queen’s personable politeness. A slight frown captured Camille’s face as she moved on to the man. “It doesn’t hurt that her Highness has a scrumptious fellow at her side.” As Camille said this her wild eyes inappropriately scanned over Eric Orr, appreciating him.

Helena clenched her jaw, starting to feel uncomfortable about Camille’s unforgivable boldness. Just before an odd silence would have washed over them the High King Marcello joined their small band. He went on to introduce Camille, looking at her with respectable affection. A flash of a passionate past rushed through Helena as she made eye contact with Camille. Helena didn’t like to pry into such things so she gave them the benefit of the doubt and assumed they worked closely together and thus had a dear friendship.

“Oh yes. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Senator. I’ve heard good things about your work,” Helena said. This was a lie of course, Helena had never actually heard of Camille Van Bueran. But the Queen’s instincts told her that this woman needed positive attention in order to be a friendly ally. Pleased with the compliment, Camille bowed her head in thanks. “And this is Eric Orr, my right hand man,” Helena added in politely.

“A handy man he must be,” Camille said with a suggestive brow and a slight giggle. Helena ignored Camille’s comment and stretched a hand out to rest on Marcello’s elbow before sincerely saying “A grand ceremony, your Highness.” Helena didn’t want to go so far as to compliment the brutality of it, but she wasn’t lying when she said that it was grand.

From the other side of the room Helena heard the wailing sounds of the dance music begin. Soon the Supreme would be bubbled up and dancing with the gleeful heat of alcohol in their faces. Helena caught sight of the High Queen Katelyn and looked back at Marcello. “I suppose your wife doesn’t like being ill attended to,” Helena noted, seeing that the High Queen had taken the first dance with another Supreme. From what Helena could remember it was customary to give the first dance to your spouse or loved one, but she could have been mistaken.

“Perhaps you should take the lovely Camille out,” Helena suggested only so that the King wouldn’t ask her to dance. Helena truly enjoyed these events, including the dancing, but she was far too moody to be a pleasant dance partner. A prick of suspicion tapped Camille and she shook her head. "Oh, I beg to differ. The two royals are a much better match for this dance. I'm more suited for the handsome Eric here, or even that war hero Damian everyone keeps talking about."

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Marcello Giovanni Character Portrait: Helena Tobin Character Portrait: Eric Orr Character Portrait: Damian Marciano Character Portrait: Camille Van Bueren Character Portrait: Theodore Wilkins
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No execution would be complete without champagne and finger foods to wash the blood down. It was an extravagant chaser suitable for the king, though not really agreeable to the stomach of the strongest man in the room. Following the execution, the man had gone gladly to change into a darker, more subtle suit. Bright colors are demanded at the main event, but for dessert people are free to dress in any way they please. If only there had been time for a shower- he feels a striking need for one that burns hot enough to sear skin. On days such as this, he almost regrets not taking up the offer to join the Alphas, to distance himself from this gilded zoo. At least on the battlefield the consequences of such a lifestyle are not hidden behind pretty baubles.

But he can be of little use there, not to the party that he swears genuine allegiance to. No matter how many times the king's general, the intimidating Damian Marciano, calls him a coward for remaining in the capitol and rubbing elbows with the pomp and circumstance crowd, Theo knows that running to the battlefields would be a greater act of cowardice. Here, he is surrounded by enemies. There, he'd at least have a few brothers in arm about him, and very few foes of actual consequence against his supernatural strength.

As he enters, Theo actually catches sight of the King's man, probably back from another bloody battle over another pointless square on the king's chessboard. How could he fail to notice him- muscles and a look of discomfort, the man sticks out like a sore thumb against the white-palmed patricians. Theodore may be the strongest man alive, but Damian does a much better job of looking the part. He even manages to look taller than Theo, who in reality stands two inches over him. It's not a man that anyone would do well to get on the bad side of- not that Theo isn't already a card carrying member of that lot. Without a doubt, he'll have one eye on Damian throughout the night with the intention of keeping him at a two yard radius. Theodore isn't in the mood for being called spineless yet again.

He's going to have to find a way to confront the champion eventually, of course. Mel is adamant that he is an important piece to her movement for equalization, and is somehow convinced that he may be convinced to join the rebellion against the king. Theo, less inclined towards the belief that people change, is certain that they could never engage Damian in yet another war. The general may not always be the king's biggest fan, and he may have a gym that unites royals and commoners alike, but these are different things entirely from taking part in the usurping of an empire.

Theo walks quickly away from Damian's line of sight, now on the lookout for Queen Helena and her guard. He's doing a rather shoddy job of liaison to foreign diplomats at the moment, given that he hasn't spoken to the foreigners all day. He finds her standing between Camille Van Bueren and the king- a very precarious place to be, if certain whispers he's heard around the palace are to be believed. The royals are inclined to forget that the staff are little more than moving furniture, making them fountains of information.

Putting on a large, easy smile, he walks up to the frightening trio (there is a notable gap of room allowed between them and the other patricians). "Your Majesty, Your Majesty, My good sir, My Lady" he greets them each respectfully, still smiling with all the sincerity in the world. To the outside eye, he may seem completely ignorant to the thin layer of tension simmering between some of the world's most powerful players. There will always be some when such people come together. "I realize I'm not very good at my job if I don't say hello at least once tonight- ah, am I interrupting something?"

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Marcello Giovanni Character Portrait: Helena Tobin Character Portrait: Eric Orr Character Portrait: Katelyn Giovanni Character Portrait: Camille Van Bueren
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Eric had grown accustomed to Helena's way of forcing him out of the normally spartan lifestyle he kept. It hadn't been met with much pleasure when he had started out at the Palace, but there was not much he could do with him being passed onto her as her adviser.
She had done that with his living quarters back in the European Provincial Palace (he settled for her idea of austere) and the way he dressed (she won on three occasions, convincing him to have bespoke suits made that he could wear to royal functions). There was no coercion, no blackmail, and no threats in the way she did it. The both of them knew each other too well, worked together for too long for that. All protests he might have made, friendly or not, died on his lips and made his tongue their graveyard. Yet, the way she asked somehow eased the discomfort.
He let out a sigh and smirked at her, a mix of resignation and familiarity on his face that in lieu of its verbalisation behind closed doors.
"Of course, ma'am. But please give credit where it's due. Hayes was on your detail that day. You have him to thank for escorting him from your presence." He gave her a nod, swiftly took her arm as if he were the one to initiate, and reluctantly made their way into the grand hall.

As per his duty to protect her, he made it a point to do a more-than-once-over on anyone who interacted with his Queen. There were those among the well dressed crowd that were familiar, some of them people who had interacted with her more than once during her state visits. Others he had been acquainted with through his background checks. Members of the legislation, judiciary, and military were in attendance, all dressed in their gowns and suits and livery (or barely, in the case of the unfortunate inflated fellows who appeared to have underestimated their portliness). To help ease through the event, he ordered a snifter of whisky and a flute of champagne for him and his Queen respectively, thanking the waiter quietly after.
A particularly interesting character had come up to them. Not entirely unexpected at functions like these, he thought to himself, and took a brief sip from his glass to steel himself for this one. Camille Van Bueren, senator. There were (extremely faint) whispers in the palace about her questionable placement in the Senate, and about her much deeper connection to the High King. Scanning through the crowd, he had noticed her glancing in the direction of the High King and Queen, though didn't think it a particularly important detail unless he could confirm all speculation. Carefully, he readjusted his gentle hold on Helena, occasionally glancing towards her as Camille initiated conversation.

Helena was distant throughout, as she did when she had no patience for concealing the emotional burden, and didn't receive Senator Van Bueren's niceties with the same finesse as she normally would have. The public execution had worked its way into her skin even worse than he had anticipated.
He shifted his jaw slightly at Senator Van Bueren's too-blunt remarks about him. Whilst he could ignore them and enjoy his drink and mutually commiserate with Helena about not wanting to attend this farce of a victory party, it was the way the remarks were given, almost as if he merely existed as Helena's plaything. The masquerade-like interaction could only intensify with the arrival of the High King. He gave a polite bow in his direction and watched the exchanges with wary eyes.
"Thank you for the consideration. However, I'm sure there are..." He paused to better word his response and offered her a small smile. "I'm sure there are finer specimens for you among the guests, Senator." He lightly and discreetly tapped Helena on the wrist. "That, and I promised ma'am a dance."

Just then, a man who should have come to the meeting earlier that day during the execution joined them—one Theodore Wilkins— and he greeted him accordingly.
"Not at all. Mr McCarthy informed us you would not be coming to the meeting." He shook his hand. "Introductions were made. It seems there's room for one more. Ma'am, this is Theodore Wilkins. He works for the High King's council. Foreign liaison. I'm Eric Orr. Right hand man. I work mainly to prevent her from developing frown lines."
Before further conversation could be made, the ensemble were preparing for their next song.
"Excuse us. A dance was promised." He gave them all a polite nod, letting go of Helena's arm to proffer his hand to her, and led her to the dance floor. Just as she led him gracefully into the hall, he led her gracefully across the dance floor, exuding a sort of finesse of his own despite his status.

"You were bound to give yourself away. You needed a distraction," he said quietly, using the sound of the music to mask his comment. "Pleasant woman, Camille Van Bueren. I'm sure you'll be fast friends." He chuckled lowly. "That aside, did you see anything in her of note?"

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Marcello Giovanni Character Portrait: Helena Tobin Character Portrait: Eric Orr Character Portrait: Katelyn Giovanni Character Portrait: Camille Van Bueren Character Portrait: Theodore Wilkins
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He smiled to himself, watching as the two women exchanged pleasantries before him. Marcello slipped his right hand into his pocket as he sipped at the champagne in his left, keeping himself out of the conversation so that he had a moment to let his eyes wander over Camille once more. He wished for, longed for, her in that moment perhaps more so than ever before. He could have closed the gaps between them in just a few steps, taken her in his arms and --

Marcello cut himself off now, blinking quickly for a moment as he refocused himself. He needed to stay focused, damn it. No one else would do it for him. In fact, he knew that many were just waiting for him to lose his focus, to give them the opportunity to strike. Marcello couldn't, wouldn't, give it to them.

He came back into the conversation suddenly at Camille's remark as he nearly choked on the champagne in his throat. A soft cough cleared his throat, and he looked away now from his mistress, focusing instead on Helena as the woman touched his elbow.

"Thank you very much," he returned, placing his right hand over her hand now, smiling back. "I am glad you could be here for something so...significant to the people of the United Province." Marcello's expression soured quickly, however, as she spoke of his wife, and he pulled his hand away while a harsh frown crossed his lips.

"I had no idea you were familiar with married life," retorted Marcello. "My wife knows how to care for herself. I trust she will approach me if she requires me." He looked over his shoulder now, following her gaze. "And it appears she is quite content with her dance partner."

After her remark, he hadn't even considered asking her, but now he wondered if he ought to.

He heard another voice now, that of Theodore Wilkins. "Oh no, not at all," he replied, his tone changing very quickly as he let his hand fall once more to his side. He voided his face of expression, and instead, Marcello smiled quickly with a corner of his mouth. "It is a pleasure to see you here."

Marcello gave an obligatory chuff of laughter at Orr's remark, but otherwise, he showed little sign that he had noticed anything Helena's right hand man said. Instead, he finished his champagne and placed it on a passing tray. He didn't insert himself into the conversation until Eric whisked Helena away. And now he, Theodore, and Camille were left. "Well, again, it is always a pleasure to see you, Theodore." He took Theodore's hand in his and shook it firmly, clasping over the back of his hand with his left hand in a showy, overly-friendly manner.

"I, however, am ever obligated elsewhere." Marcello looked to Camille now, dropping Theodore's hand as he stepped towards the woman, keeping his expression one of civility rather than the love and passion he wanted to show. "Would you give me this dance, Senator?" He had already seized her hand and placed his left hand on her waist, finding the curve of her waist almost too quickly, too familiarly.

But he didn't care now, he couldn't care. Marcello busied himself in leading her on to the dance floor, spinning her about gracefully. "How did it look?" he asked, referring to the day's display of power. He used the opportunity to look at her again, hoping he would meet her eyes. And now he pulled her in, moving in a way that seemed natural with the music. "I want to see you tonight, my dearest." Almost as quickly as they had pressed together, they now drew apart again. An outsider wouldn't have noticed any change. They would have been too busy reacting to the sudden blasts.

"Fuck!" he cried as a chunk of ceiling fell next to him and the glass at his feet began to crack. The crack spread now, and the sound of it must have been deafening, but it was drowned out but the sound of water cascading on to the floor and the assembled Supreme screeching. He gripped Camille and pulled her away from the cracked floor, but Marcello began to slide on the wet glass. His hair had fallen in front of his eyes now, and he brushed it back, giving him an almost crazed look as he moved towards the walls.

But then he stopped, standing in a slight crouch as he looked about the Supreme, searching in particular for his wife. "Katelyn!" Marcello skirted around the edge of the room now, calling for his wife until he found her. And then he moved quickly off of the wall and grabbed her by the forearm, yanking her far-too-forcefully towards him.

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Character Portrait: Marcello Giovanni Character Portrait: Katelyn Giovanni Character Portrait: Camille Van Bueren
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Camille was too enchanted by Marcello’s finessing hands to care about any other inappropriate body language. He, the High King, the most powerful man in the world, was finally touching her. Then he began to lead the dance, signalling only with his fingertips where he wanted her to follow. Given the opportunity, Camille would have followed Marcello wherever he dared take her. Even if that meant she had to live in squaller, below the palace and without luxury.

Their bodies moved smoothly across the dance floor, almost too gracefully, almost as if they had done this very dance a hundred times before. Camille’s pride filled eyes were glued to his magnificent face when he asked of her opinion. “It was simply perfect, your Highness.” she said politely, trying to keep up appearances. In actuality, there were endless amounts of details that she wished to praise him for, but she knew that those words and rewards were meant for another time. The swift movement that brought them closer had Camille ducking her head under his chin, touching chests together in the typical fashion of the dance. His scandalous words had led to Camille’s head popping up as they parted. Those were the words that she had been searching for all of today and day before. Excited by the prospect Camille grinned suspiciously at him, “Nothing would plea-”

Horrifying noises interrupted Camille, a large shard of glass fell from above and crashed just inches away from her as she screamed. The initial shock sent Camille forward to find comfort in Marcello’s embrace. Marcello’s reactions were too quick though and Camille found herself being dragged to the edge of the madness by his force. With huge eyes she watched as Marcello transformed from High King into a crazed beast.

The deafening screeching distracted Camille’s gaze, letting her witness even more destruction. Several of her peers were injured, seeping scarlet red blood and displaying fear for the first time in years. The sheer terror that echoed from wall to wall was enough to make Camille lose her head.

The floor continued to crack until the weight on some of the glass was too much to bear. Both the injured and the unafflicted were beginning to sink, joining the fishes below. Those who were trying to hoist themselves up from the water were doing nothing more than slicing at their torsos. Blood began to run in the water like a decorative display. Camille watched the streamers of red twist below her feet. It was then that she realized there were sharks in the tank.

Aghast, Camille brought her left hand up to her mouth as she watched the chaos. Miss Van Bueren was both too terrified and inthralled to ensure her own safety and remained in her position. Her back was pressed against the glass wall that had been shattered. It was perfectly planned so that the explosions would affect the floor while keeping the height of the walls to prevent climbing. Her eyes darted around the room, Marcello had already moved on to find his wife. A pang of jealously, despite all of the situation around her, swept over Camille. She half hoped that the High Queen would find her grave in this water. Then Camille realized that wouldn’t be quite as fun.

Shards were still falling from above but Camille paid little mind to them. Her concentration was back to the poor souls in the water, bloodied either by the floor or the fallen glass. Cringe worthy screams came from those realized their fate was in the hands of the sharks. Pathetic sobbing and frantic swimming became the way, and many of the ‘land’ Supremes who were finding their exits were too afraid to help. Accidentally killing yourself in pursuit of saving another didn’t quite ring heroic to the Supreme. Camille herself felt no desire to help the ill fated ones, after all she had a life to accomplish.

Another large crack trailed across the glass floor, making travel across the hall even more vulnerable. A wave of sheer panic came over Camille. She was going to die. Camille Van Bueren was going to die without having accomplished any of her dreams, without the approval that she so desperately seeked, and without the comfort and true love of Marcello. Intensity was rising in her as she searched for a exit. Everyone was pushing through to the only exit available, and soon there would be no floor there at all. A brazen fire of emotion came over her and Camille could no longer control herself.

Swiftly she grabbed a small chair and began swinging it with all her strength against the glass wall. Unbeknownst to her the glass she was trying to break was bullet proof and the wits that she normally possessed had completely vanished. While the High King and his wife would be ushered forward she was nothing more than a pawn in Marcello’s palace. Perhaps that’s all she had even been. A simple toy.

Infuriated by her own thoughts Camille began to pound with all her strength. Tears, mixed with hatred and jealousy and sadness, began to stream down her face. Like an animal, she was recklessly and stubbornly attacking something that would never become.

Her tantrum ended with blackness. Unconscious, Camille Van Bueren lay with a head wound and complete susceptibility to the terrors around her.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Marcello Giovanni Character Portrait: Helena Tobin Character Portrait: Diego Silva Torres Character Portrait: Damian Marciano Character Portrait: Katelyn Giovanni Character Portrait: Camille Van Bueren
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Predictable. That was the word to describe every last one of these occasions Damian was commanded...er...invited to attend. Every time the High King would find himself surrounded by the prettiest women in the room and every time his Queen would show that she was not jealous by finding a horny soul to fuck with until her King came back. It was worse than a novella. Damian stood with his back to the cold glass wall with the even colder aquarium thriving beneath him. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about the night but assumed the guards did their rounds and everything was fine. If Kristopher were here and this was war he would be saying, "I have a bad feeling about this battle." Honestly, Damian would have probably listened to him this time around. He felt so naked without his two comrades. Without them he was still a guy you didn't want to piss off but he wasn't "The Snake" without Manny's abilities. Damian knew that if anything happened while he was in DC he would have to rely on himself, like the old days. But odds are this party would begin, middle, and end just like the others he's been too. DC, land of predictability.

Damian noticed a shift in music which could only mean that Queen Kate has latched on to a new victim which also meant...Damian's eyes scanned the room for pretty women because he knew that's where he would find Marcello. And just like clockwork that's where he was, chatting it up with a newly appointed Senator and The European High Queen, arguably the two most attractive beings in the room. Damian eyes stopped on Queen Helena and her silk dress that just begged for men to fantasize what was underneath. Her jet black hair falling over her shoulders and onto the dress contrasted so well and was soothing to look at and Damian didn't mind looking. An abrupt and awkward looking motion by the Senator took him off guard and Damian chuckled to himself. Whatever she just said looked like it failed. Speaking of failing, the Senator looked like a commoner whore and not like her usual; a Supreme whore. Kris explained the difference to Damian months ago:

"You just know when someone is a whore. You have to stay away from the commoners though because they'll take your money. Actually, stay away from all of them because the supreme whores can easily find eloquent ways to royally screw with your life."
"I didn't know there was a difference between the two."
"The difference? Oh, that's easy, Damian. Commoners hide the fact that they get around for their reputation is all they have left. Supremes could lose all the respect in the world and still have abilities, money, and power. I tell my son the same thing."
"Kris, your son is 13!"
"Yeah, but he has his old man's looks. Those sluts will be all over him."
"You should really stop calling women that, Kris."
"I will stop calling them sluts when they stop acting like sluts"
"I don't know why I picked you to be in Alpha."
"Because I'm the best and you know it."


Damian truly missed his friends and quickly mumbled a prayer that they were okay. He was expecting to receive a status letter from them tomorrow. Damian's smile dwindled as Theodore entered the conversation. So this is what he did instead of fight with Alpha? Drank wine and champagne with foreigners? What a waste of talent. While Theo stands there licking the boot of Queen Helena (and whoever that other guy next to her was) there were hundreds of commoner soldiers dying on the battlefield. But seriously who the hell was the other dude with Queen Helena? The European Queen's male maid that she brought around with her was essentially attached to her side.

And just like that, she was off. Helena and her sidekick walked over to the dance floor which was a few meters closer to Damian's solitude corner. Theo, who's hunger for whatever was under Helena's boot quenched, disappeared to talk to other Supremes. Damian watched as the King and the Senator took each other in their arms and began to dance as well. In that moment nearly every human in the room was dancing or conversing with someone...except for Damian. He knew he was being antisocial but having people marvel over him being a war hero wasn't really his cup of tea. He would much rather be at his gym helping all of the-

"You have to be kidding me," Damian shot up from his relaxed leaning position to avoid a shard of glass impaling him. The glass ceiling above him started crashing down all around him. He sprang into action, removing his suit jacket, and running toward the dance floor. He could overhear guards urging people to stay calm but didn't actually see them doing more than the bare minimum to help. Damian almost lost his footing as the ground beneath him began to crack and separate, "you have to be kidding me," he said again. He was really missing his team now. Kris's speed could have saved a ton of people and Manny could have held parts of the floor together with aluminum. But what could he do? He couldn't stop time. The people closest to the exit were making it out fine but a few were in deep shit...actually deep water. Blood tainted the clear water red and screams grew louder by the second. The attractive Senator was off in a corner playing a dreadful combination of musical chairs and wack a mole at the same time and a douchey blonde character was floating on top of the water chopped in two.

It was then that Damian noticed Helena in the water frantically swimming. She was staring at something but he couldn't make out what. "YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME!" Damian noticed the shark racing towards Helena. He stood on the last bit of stable glass floor and focused his attention on the shark. He took a deep breath and sent a signal towards the shark that slowed down its ability to bite and Helena was able to dodge the hit. It quickly doubled back and tried again. Damian watched and timed another signal to slow its bite and Helena ninja kicked the living hell out of it. Damian in that moment was equally terrified and attracted to his soon to be new best friend. The shark swam away but all knew it would be back. Damian jumped into the fish tank and swam towards the Queen.

"You're gonna be fine, Helena," Damian took a hold of her waist, not giving a damn about courtesies about touching royalty. It wasn't the time to bow and ask permission, "I've been fighting sharks all month." He sent a strong signal to every shark in the tank to slow their processing of heat which would give him a few more seconds to get out. He never had to send so many signals at once to animals so huge and his head was beginning to pound. He ignored it and kept swimming towards the jagged edges of the floor next to the exit with Helena in his right arm, probably kicking with all her might. When they reached the edge Damian grabbed onto it tightly with both hands, "use me as a ladder," he commanded the European Queen. Blood exited newly made slits on his hand, running down his arm and into the water. That meant soon the sharks would be on their way. He could feel the approach of the sharks and knew he had to send a huge signal to get out of this one which would definitely reveal his power to Helena, a chick he knows nothing about. Once Helena was on the platform he turned so he could face the sharks coming at him. Damian had just about had it with sharks for one lifetime. Once the sharks were in attacking range he sent his strongest signal which blocked all communication between muscles and the brain for a few seconds. The sharks stopped dead in their tracks, dumbfounded. Damian hoisted himself onto the glass floor as the sharks regained themselves, chomping at his leg as he barely escaped their grasp.

Damian had a feeling Helena wasn't the type to like being saved so he decided not to pick her up. Instead he stood in front of her, back towards her, and knelt down. "Piggy back time," Damian gestured to his back for the Queen to hop on so they could get the hell out of dodge. He then carefully jogged the remaining 20 yards to the exit, avoiding precarious looking cracks in the floor. The sharks followed underneath, hoping that their food would make a mistake. As Damian exited he made eye contact with Diego Torres, a commoner he trained a few years back at his gym. "Glad that Marcello and Katelyn have someone like you protecting them," Damian smiled at his old student, "thank you for getting them out safe, Diego. Don't know what would have happened to them if you weren't here." Damian turned to look at Helena to make sure she was okay before heading off to find that other guy, "where is your man maid?"