After the new start for the Council of Neonates

[Eric Lunaris]

'Far off lands', a clink to the table.

'Seduce a Prince', a great grin and a drink. "Successful, as well," he says with some pride. His eyes narrow to Kira for a moment as she goads Dorian, foolish of her to deliberately make things worse tonight. Eric would have to think of how to help Dorian down again.

'Seen any naked', another great drink in glee, thinking of moonlit pools and black shadows over water. Eric's enjoying this evening, spending most of it smiling or laughing. This game was fast becoming one of his favourites to play.

'Taboo', the rest of the glass goes. "Well, I do hope I dun'ave ta drink ta each?" as he refills his glass.

'A dream' is nothing but a far off memory. Memories, Eric had in spades. There was little difference between to two for him, but that was a conversation for far off waters. He drinks. The knot of conflux grew another offshoot. It allowed another feeling to coalesce. It was uncomfortable, twisting Eric's face. It was a green fire that highlighted what was best left ignored. While Lunaris could never say he understood what his long dead elder felt when consumed by the green fire of jealousy, he could not ignore it passed down to him either. Though it could have just as easily been he were too used to those obsessed by him, sudden competition sparking the flame.

'Desired any in the room', two long drinks, and an attempt to shake away the thoughts in his mind.

Then Dorian moves like a cat. If peacocks were carnivores, then would be called dorians. At first it captures Eric too. Flicking through memories and dreams. Catch fires red and green. Lunaris always felt he could sense fate. The looming eyes of things greater than himself poised and waiting. Fate sometimes was a hand. Sometimes a smile. Sometimes a word. The one thing they seemed to have in common is that fate had a way of always leading to black.

The imposing darkness of the hour prickled the hairs on the back of Eric's neck. He could hear it. The shift in syllables and change of words. It felt like a coiled spring, and Eric knew it was too late to ease the tension.

[Christine Daye]

Christine's eyes are wide and dark, watching Regulus, her fingers tight around her glass as a faint humming comes from her throat.

(A side thought: Lunaris, you dark horse... twice? ...oh... that begs a question or two...)

"...For they are not the hard bodied lean women of Siberia...but..softer...and more appealing...."

Christine's brow furrows in puzzlement, and she looks at Regulus, not quite comprehending his words. Her humming stops.

...did he just call me fat...? ...and compare my music to the howling of wolves...?

She settles back in her chair, calmly, comfortably, unconsciously mirroring Dorian's act in running her green gloved fingertip around the edge of her glass.

"All that crimson hair and breathless music, a very different kind of art when the ritual's thick with heat."

She looks down, failing to hide her smile, her eyes glittering. Another blush stains her cheeks, bringing them to vivid life.

(...the sky ablaze with stars as he pushes her back into the soft meadow grass... his hand... pinning her wrists above her head...while his other hand.... his lips... on her throat... ohhhhh...)

She licks her red, red lips slowly, sings quietly:

"...it's been a while, it's been a while, it's been a while and oh... come sit awhile with a Cavalier... my tenderness I'll show..."

Her gaze meets Regulus'. Dark and dangerous and ...hungry? Her tone of voice is mild.

"...oh... do not be afraid for my sensibilities, Mr Grey. Feel free to give voice to what is in your heart... for now I find myself quite curious..."

[LittleBird]

Kira crosses one leg widely over the other, its a subconscious movement and the gesture is barely noticeable under her skirt; yet it's certainly more comfortable as her brothers words float on through, she's certainly fighting the urge to sink to the floor!

She however cannot fight said urge fully. She melts further on this side angle to the back of the chair, one hand almost brushes to his next to her as she's listening...listening yet not, it sounds like another game again, another waltz she is bored stiff of seeing. Yet the hushed tones pull her closer, those edged gazes he keeps sneaking into the side, the singer face turning a hue more flush then her lips or hair-is this a little tease for Mr.Grey? A whole play, actors and all that she is merely an unaware audience member in? Mmmm.

Kira tilts her head fully to one side, she looks as if she could be about to nap in such a position...if not for her eyes, curiously lost between the three before her, as if trying to pick up some puzzle pieces she lost along the way of this talk. Every now and then-not as frequently-she slips a look to Lunaris, as if to see if he is following what she can't quite.

[Regulus Grey]

Regulus meets the Christine's eyes, faint stirrings of hunger dancing there.

"I would lay her out on a field of pure virgin snow. Her skin bare beneath the moonlight...and kiss her...everywhere..."

He blinks, maintaining eye contact with the red haired Malkavian.

"As for what taboo's I could share...pleasures I could bring...that would be telling. Those sorts of things must be explored between the participants themselves..."

He grins, wolfishly.

"Unless of course...the rest of you would care to share your answers? Then I might be more ammenable...to tell tales."

[Dorian M. Black]

"Surprises have an unfortunate way with taking a tiger by its tail," Dorian grins, a sudden baring of teeth. "But I'm sure you know all about that."

"I have this personal philosophy that exploration is best done with confirmation ahead of the event itself. So as to avoid false confusions. Being vampires, and all. Predators. We're a little prone to surprises. It's best to do your research in advance, I promise you, especially in the case of new domains, new cohorts, and an ignorance for the person you're attempting to court. In cases of intimacy, one might be even better off postponing his attempts to mark trees."

Dorian rises smoothly, and offers a hand up to Christine, and to Kira. "Let us compromise. How about we have a small demonstration? A practical game, so to speak. Ladies, if I could ask you to stand a little further back, perhaps even the far wall? I imagine we're all keen to share our reactions to this exciting piece of news."

"You're quite right," Dorian turns to smile at Regulus, an inviting arch of eyebrow. "Sharing is caring, and I am a very caring individual. On this topic in particular."

The Beast's anger was there, deep and dumb and reliable. It's a struggle to keep the smile fixed, the laugh low, as the image plays over in heady seduction: Regulus looking down to see his abdomen yawning, emptying its contents out like someone opening their mouth and letting half-masticated food fall out. It's a thing of beauty, to see someone in perfected extremis like that, maximally themselves, all of life's forgotten details recalled in a rush, as if for the first time since birth every cell's at full, living attention.

[Christine Daye]

Christine gives Dorian her hand with a smile and the grace of a lady accepting her suitor's hand for a dance.

There's something dark and gleeful in her gaze as she stands with her back to the far wall. She sings, a happy tune.

"...it's been a while... it's been a while... it's been a while and ohhhh.... since I cut the throat of a Cavalier... I'll take it nice and slow...."

[Regulus Grey]

Regulus blinks once, then rises to his feet. Moving his chair back to clear space behind him, he smiles slightly. His fangs catch the low light of the room as he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, seemingly to scratch at the scales of his forearm. He steps forward into the ring made by the chairs.

"I quite agree. So I suppose it is good that there was no attempt at courtship this night, unless the meaning of the word has changed dramatically in my time away?"

Raising one hand he uses a single finger to push his glasses up his nose again, the light flashes off them as he does so.

"Tigers were easy sport by the time I left Siberia, I'd be delighted to tell you all about my time there...if you cared to sit and talk."

He smiles once more.

"A practical demonstration was it you wanted Mr Black? Well...of the three games I know..one we cannot play as you are not of Clan Gangrel. Your constitution would simply not be able to keep up...the second requires rather more space than we have now. But the third...well that rather depends on how taboo you are willing to go."

[Eric Lunaris]

Eric could feel it coming. It made him laugh as he stood, he'd been looking forward so much to being able to clear his mind. Regulus would learn. It was strange that a wolf did not know to avoid goading the alpha amongst his prize. Before he had been foolish, Eric had little care for interferring with fools, but now he insulting. Even worse, he was stepping into territory that wasn't his and pissing on everything with bark.

Eric inclined his head, ready to spew pitch into the fire with a gleaming grin. "Tell me, Snowman, was it Constance or Caru ya licked. Ya became quite intimate with 'em if I remember." Eric laughed again, longer this time. "Ye seem ta want to be in with everyone. I don't think we care for ye though."

[Dorian M. Black]

The central truth of irrationality, as succinctly put by Mnemone Radford, is that it is uncaring. It is unreasonable. Irrationality doesn't care for what's fair. It doesn't mind if the victim is innocent or guilty. Irrationality doesn't care what anyone wants. Irrationality is entirely at fault and is holidaying in its unreasonable arena.

At Lunaris' words Dorian's world narrows down into a sharp crystal focus, the Beast awake in its fetid cold corridor. For a few moments he stands there on mindless pause. Then all his humour shrinks back to sudden, tight, bristling consciousness.

"The bards of Ireland and Wales were highly respected," Dorian says quietly. Conversationally, were it not for the strange tone. "The Senachies wielded considerable influence. They would chant the genealogy of the kings, and then the poets would sing to the accompaniment of golden harps."

"The Chief Poet was expected to know four hundred poems and the minor bards two hundred. Besides the royalty, the State, too, paid them handsomely. The bards were rather harsh with any patron who did not reward them suitably. One king allegedly turned insane when the cruel satirization of a song was given unto he, for his lack of respect. Rather lost his mind, in no more than one song."

[Christine Daye]

Christine sings, pouring the entirety of her heart and soul and love and caring into her song:

"Black is the colour of my true loves hair
His lips are like some roses fair
He has the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands
And I love the ground whereon he stands
I love my love and well he knows
I love the ground whereon he goes
I wish that day would soon come
When he and I can be as one

When I'm alone I mourn and weep
For satisfied I never sleep
I write him letters just a few short lines
And I suffer death ten thousand times

Black is the colour of my true loves hair
His lips are like some roses fair
He has the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands
And I love the ground whereon he stands
I love the ground whereon he stands
I love I love I love the ground whereon he stands"