Encounterlogs
Roselyns Odd Encounter Sr Illyana 240908
In the cozy yet modern Hometown Diner, Roselyn, a vampire trying to blend into the mundane world, encounters Vier, a newly turned vampire struggling with his guilt after feeding on a family member. The air is thick with tension and unspoken fears as these two beings from the night try to navigate the daylight world. Roselyn, despite her own attempts to mask her vampire nature, is drawn to Vier by the unmistakable scent of blood and the aura of dread that surrounds him. Their conversation reveals Vier's inexperience and his desperate attempt to deal with the horrifying consequences of his actions. He shares with Roselyn his fear of being discovered and his struggle to clean up the evidence of his feeding.
Roselyn, sensing Vier's vulnerability and confusion, decides to call in the Temple, a faction known for its harsh treatment of vampires, promising to advocate for him to be treated well. Despite her reservations, she believes that this is the best chance for Vier to avoid hurting anyone else. The Temple's response is swift and cold, taking Vier away without acknowledging Roselyn's role in his surrender. Days pass, and the aftermath of their encounter is shrouded in mystery. It's revealed that there was a deadly break-in at the facility where Vier was held, leaving behind a chilling message of thanks for the return of the "wayward child." This grim conclusion hints at the dark forces at play within Haven, a city perpetually thirsting for tragedy and the complex dynamics between its supernatural inhabitants and the organizations that seek to control them.
(Roselyn's odd encounter(SRIllyana):SRIllyana)
[Sat Sep 7 2024]
In The Hometown Diner's Dining Room
This room is both cozy and fairly modern in style, with oak panelling along the bottom half of the walls, while the top has been painted a rich, bright shade of white. Open windows on the eastern wall look out over the diner's pergola and firepit, offering a gorgeous view past that of the horizon to diners. The tables are spread out around the room so that the waitstaff can easily make their way to all diners, and the smell of home cooking fills the air at all hours of the day.
It is morning, about 64F(17C) degrees,
(Your target and their allies encounter a vampire who has killed their first feeding victim, likely less than six months a vampire they are horrified at what they've done and wracked with guilt.
)
For some reason, the vampiress has decided to take the window table instead of one of a seat that'd actually provide her shade. She was idly browsing a menu, aviators ticked down just a touch so as to not put a tint over the lettering. But nothing really caters to Roselyn's taste in this place. The closest thing she'd get to a restaurant was a nightclub.
The morning is ticking on steadily, beat by beat, second by second, pulse by pulse of each and every heart around Roselyn. This is evident; It is inevitable. She is vampire, and this is not her world. Her world is the night, and this most certainly is not that. The lethargy is almost physical. The sun is rising and it is fortunate that it's a comfortable seventeen degrees outside or it could be rather uncomfortable for Roselyn indeed. The sights and sounds of a weekend morning in Haven are like those within most cities though, and for some, this is comforting. - If so for Roselyn is for her to know, though she is in a restaurant that caters for normals, so there must be some familiarity or control at the very least. And still, the temptation is there. It lingers at Roselyn's spine. It niggles at her heart and mind. It demands of her 'feed' for though this very situation is an ideal larder, it is also the world of day, where the supernatural sleeps, and the mundane holds court over that which slumbers under their very noses.
Roselyn is slow. Really slow. To the casual onlooker, they might just think that the Frenchwoman is tired, or had a long night in the way her hair is tangled and messy. Horrible bedhead this morning- But at least she's got some style of fashion going on. Those blue eyes sweep over the diner, lingering on each person that the vampire sees as 'vulnerable'. She's taken care in her reactivation this morning: Her chest rises and falls with breath, there's a bit of color and warmth to her cheeks- And maybe she's allowed herself to taste again, and that's why she's in the diner.
Roselyn then sits, she waits and she observes. She finds herself tempted- taunted- enamoured by the city, for it turns, it ticks, it flows around her like clockwork, the beat thudding; The heart beat of civilization. And as she does- As she waits, sits, lingers, the restaurant around her moves independently. Lives come and lives go, but the life perpetual is floating on the darkness in which Roselyn drowns. The scents of freshly cooked breakfust food-- Bacon, sausages, hash and coffee drifts through, conveyed from table to table, from person to person by the staff. The steady chatter drones. The diner-goers filter through. They drift and they float, unseeing- unknowing of the secret world of night beneath their feet. They, in their limited way though find themselves made aware of /something/ They don't notice it, they don't see it, and still... They -know-. There is a booth that is being avoided. No server buzzes over to it. No attention is afforded- No person sits... but Roselyn notices /something/. There is the iron-tang of blood in that direction. It's not fresh. Perhapse two, maybe three hours old, but it's pervasive, at least to the senses of Roselyn.
Nose twitching at the smell, Roselyn finds her attention pulled along, following that smell. A bloody nose, maybe? No, she would have seen someone excuse themselves to the restroom. So she stands, slowly, casual as to not make a scene, and she finds her feet following the blood, and her attention.
Following is easy; All Roselyn has to do is look for the places that people are avoiding. How very simple, for there is that seating area. It is beshadowed by a strange sense of phobos, a dread that is as much self-induced as it is negatively enforcing for the normal patrons within the restaurant. It's a strange thing- A curious thing, and it is hideously obvious to any supernatural who may find themselves aware of it. The darkened space, still shadowed by the fortunate nature of the sun's still rising affords itself its umbra, and it is here that pervasion of normality lingers- A pregnant thing, flooded with the putrescent hint at what lays beyond-- Or this is so for the non-supernatural. For the aware however, this is simply a zone of space. It is a void of life. Not so by literal measurements, of course. But by the absence there in of humanity. A three foot area that no eye reaches, no soul fills- Save that single figure who lurks within it. The figure is pale. He has dark hair and his lips are curiously red. He is dressed like one might expect of a dandy or a fop, and his garb is of the highest gotheca. Blacks on greys on blacks then, and all absorbant of light and obscurative in their evident nature to be seen. Eyes covered by shaded glasses, he sits staring at a beverage. His nails are long, his build solid, but there is something powerfully forlorn about him- And in more than the ways that one might expect from an emo or a goth.
Roselyn takes in this sight, lingering her blues upon the man before reaching a hand up to tick her aviators over her eyes. She steps forwards, bold enough to settle into a seat opposite of the other. Her expression betrays concern- This is actually the first vampire she's seen since her days in Paris, so whereas a human might hold compassion for another human, the same sort of feeling comes over this woman. And while her expression is of caring concern, her words come out as anything but: "You reek."
Still staring at his drink, the man doesn't look up. There's no fogging of the air- Perceptable to only a supernatural. There's no rise and fall of the chest. His ribs do not expand or contract, and for all intent, he may as well be a corpse. Roselyn might notice the inhuman stillness. She might note that the drink- A coffee is untouched. She might note that he seems shockingly clean. Roselyn might even notice that his dress, though fashionably out-dated and all blacks and greys and cultured is expensive- It's unruffled, unmarked and without marring of any kind. And still, hidden poorly beneath the manly scent of Diesel's Impact and a scentless Sanex body wash is that lingering scent. It is almost clawing in how notable it is- at least for Roselyn. He is, as she can easily tell, another vampire, but there is something all too inexperienced about him. Perhapse a student. Perhapse a rich scion, but left to his own devices, he is seemingly lost. Roselyn is french. She knows the mark of affectation and pomp. She knows an assumed casuleness. She knows the sight of a vampire who is seeking to- and failing to fit in to the mundane world, and so too does she know that slight twitch of the lip that's somehow guilty and prideful. He leans back in his chair after a moment, and in a cultured voice with a hint of an accent that could be south african or from the british isles- It's hard to identify, addresses Roselyn. "And you are impeccable."
Roselyn crosses her legs at the knees, reaching up to remove her aviators, looking over this man in full color. "I simply have a good sense of smell, cheri," she responds in her tiredly melodic accent, thick with her easterner roots. A subtle shift of her blazer is added as she continues to study, to stare. "But- You understand what I meant, oui? You seem... Drifting. Your thoughts are having troubles even manifesting. You've... Done something. Am I getting warmer?" She asks, leaning forwards a touch, cupid bow lips pursing in thought. "I'm Roselyn."
Turning back to staring at his all but abandoned coffee, the man nods. He musters more than a twitch; A half-smile at the introduction. There's something about the set of his features that look at once simultaneously drawn- starved, and likewise, contradictory in how saciated it is. There is a single nod and his fangs flash, stark against the red of his lips. "I am struggling in our way." he answers crypticly, and he seems to consider for a long breath- or at least it would be, if he were breathing. Roselyn's attendance though, he appears to remember the mask of mortality he should be employing and in the enterprising way of the predatory, he all but forces himself to emulate, chamelion instinct taking over once more. "Vier." he introduces, fingers drumming the table as he considers- then decides to offer his hand, which is, exceptionally clean- Too clean, as though he had saught to scrub himself raw.
The half-smile, the words, and then the introduction just cause Roselyn's lips to twist into a soft frown. She reaches over, taking the offered hand and gives it a little shake. "Vier. Who is your Sire? Are you from here, or... Passing through?" She starts to lay on a few more questions, releasing the hand to fold her arms over the table. "How... New are you to this life?"
Though he seems largely composed, Vier does seem to look uncomfortable at the questioning; A slight shift, a hesitation in his movements, the set of his jaw, the cant of his head. "That's a lot of questions." he tells Roselyn. "Am I that obvious?" He lets a sardonic smile escape, fangs flashing again, and he checks that he is still being left alone- which he is, of course. That sense of melancholy remains about him, a deep rooted ennui, though his tone is level as he continues to answer, arms crossing over his chest. "James." he sighs, and it's likely that Roselyn will have heard of the Arkwrights and their tyranical, abusive patriarch. Vier hides it well, but there is something that presents the hint of dejection in even admitting that- But also a potential warning, as James is known to - If not be protective over - then observant of his toys and relitives. "I was passing through, visiting a family member when it happened." Though of course he doesn't go on. This is not the Sookie Stackhouse mysteries. It's not the Vampire Diaries. It's not some romanticised Ann Rice novel, and he seems aware enough that to offer too many weaknesses is deleterious to his on-going survival. Still, at least for now, he hedges, suggesting only, "You are correct. I did /something/." And in spite of his formidable stiff upper lip, he is haunted by what ever that was.
Roselyn leans back, away from Vier as the sire's name is spoken. Her lips draw tight, a little frown as she regards the man. "Obvious only in the sense that I have... Been in such a state myself," she claims with a little dip of her chin. Unlike the other, Roselyn still draws some breath, adding to her mask of humanity, and with that breath, she exhales softly. "Vier, do... You know what la Temple is?"
"I know." Vier grimaces at the name. There's a flash of fear, a hesitent shift and his attention falls fully on Roselyn then. "They want us dead or collared." he hisses. Though this seems to have opened the flood gates, and he continues, "They want us under their thumb where they experiment on us to try to remove what we are, or use us to hunt down others like us." He looks like he is considering removing his sun glasses, his hand rises, though he thinks against it. He stares at Roselyn again, lips drawn, shoulders set. "I know we have to be careful, and I've been careful. I hadn't bitten anyone. I hadn't gone out of my apartment. I hadn't had any dealings with any of them. Not the Hand- Monsters. Not the Order- They're just as bad. I heard the stories. Their leader thinks that they shouldn't worry about anyone's consent. But the Temple... I've not got any want to come across them and that danger..." He shakes his head and that dejection redoubles then. Something goes unsead- He hadn't bitten anyone, but that has changed. Surely... Surely...
"I know." Vier grimaces at the name. There's a flash of fear, a hesitent shift and his attention falls fully on Roselyn then. "They want us dead or collared." he hisses. Though this seems to have opened the flood gates, and he continues, "They want us under their thumb where they experiment on us to try to remove what we are, or use us to hunt down others like us." He looks like he is considering removing his sun glasses, his hand rises, though he thinks against it. He stares at Roselyn again, lips drawn, shoulders set. "I know we have to be careful, and I've been careful. I hadn't bitten anyone. I hadn't gone out of my apartment. I hadn't had any dealings with any of them. Not the Hand- Monsters. Not the Order- They're just as bad. I heard the stories. Their leader thinks that they shouldn't worry about anyone's consent. But the Temple... I've not got any want to come across them and that danger..." He shakes his head and that dejection redoubles then. Something goes unsead- He hadn't bitten anyone, but that has changed. Surely... Surely...
Another little breath is let out as Roselyn lifts her gaze to the ceiling. Her arms lift from the table to cross under her chest. "Maybe in... Other places. But the Temple here has been rather... Lenient with moi," she murmurs, dropping the fact that she's a Vampire under the Temple. Her ocean blues return to Vier, searching him for a reaction as she continues: "Why are you lying? I can smell it on you, you have fed. The lingering scent of soap on hands that are clean- Scrubbed with vigor. You can still see it, can't you?"
"I'm not..." but even Vier doesn't seem too certain. He scrutinises Roselyn closely; It's not predatory, but more as though he suspects she might have all the answers he seeks. "I didn't feed... Then I had to." His jaw is set. He knows it's a part of his nature. He understands he must, but that is the core of this all. He feels guilt for it. He's uncertain of how to move forward. He's lost within that night that has claimed him as its own. "It was a family member." he then answers simply, and as if this were the straw that broke the camel's back, he kicks something under the table. It's subtle, so Roselyn is likely the only person to notice it, and if Roselyn looks down, she'd see a simple, innocuous back pack. "But I didn't know what to do." He sighs, staring once again at that now cold coffee. He shifts and explains, "I did what I could. I cleaned it up, I wiped his memory. I removed the blooded clothing from us both." And here again, he kicks the back pack. "I washed-- I scrubbed myself raw. I did everything I could to get rid of the scent, but God... I've not done this before. I don't know what to do with bloody clothing." He raises a palm to run it down his face and he sighs again. "Blood has DNA. I'm trying to not bring any attention back to the family because I don't want James visiting again..." And then he pauses. He just... stares at his hands. He stares at the pale skin- scrubbed clean save the phantom of that dark but necessary deed. He stares at the well-trimmed nails and the spider-like fingers. He stares, and in that silence there is an unspoken question-- One he will not ask for-- 'Help me.'
Roselyn clicks her tongue, and starts to slowly draw her phone out of a pocket. "Vier, I'm going to give a friend of mine a call. We'll get you sorted out, oui? He is belonging to the Temple. But, I will advocate that you are treated /well/. They will keep..." She trails off, extending a few fingers towards Vier in a gesture. "This from happening again. Understand?" She leans forwards a touch, as if worried that the other Vamp will cut and run, and gets in a position to intercept, if actually needed.
"Why?" Vier asks Roselyn. It's a curiously innocent question in spite of everything; But one he very literally doesn't understand. He's lost, alone, so will likely go along with it, but there is a notable apprehension and no little fear at the idea of the Temple getting involved. He's likely too self-absorbed right now to realise that Roselyn is Temple- That or suspects /wrongly/ something about affiliations and ties. "They'll collar me." he all but whispers, and the abject horror in the idea of that is palpable. He doesn't stop Roselyn though, watching her as she retrieves her phone and watching it all the while.
Roselyn tip-taps at her phone and she gives Vier a small frown, one of sympathy. "They will. But, it'll keep you from killing, from... Hurting anyone that doesn't deserve it, oui?" She responds with a few little nods. And after whatever text she sent out is done, she places her phone atop the table. "/I/ cannot, in good conscience, let you do that."
"I understand." Vier tells Roselyn in a tone that's two parts agreement to one part guilt, though there is something there. It's the behaviour of a caged animal- A wild thing and in spite of knowing it cant go on, Vier's not moving. Before long, Roselyn receives a responce and the Temple deploy a team. When they arrive, Vier is taken- along with that back pack of bloody refuse away and she is all but ignored in spite of it. Roselyn is told, in no uncertain terms that she will have her handler informed of her interaction with the vampire; A crisp nod, a quick word over coms, and they leave her. They are understandably suspicious of the interaction, the vampires and the entire situation at hand. It is of course recognized that Roselyn allowed -its- capture and was instrumental in bringing -it- in. Some days go bye, and there is no sign of Vier again. He was not inducted into the Demolishers. And if Roselyn were to ask around, she would find that there was a break in to the facility where he was being held for /conditioning/. Nothing but carnage was left. No lives, no bodies, just a message written in blood. 'Thank you for the return of our wayward child.'
And thus, the darkness spreads; The shadows grow long, and Haven's insatiable desire for tragidy is satiated.
Roselyn, sensing Vier's vulnerability and confusion, decides to call in the Temple, a faction known for its harsh treatment of vampires, promising to advocate for him to be treated well. Despite her reservations, she believes that this is the best chance for Vier to avoid hurting anyone else. The Temple's response is swift and cold, taking Vier away without acknowledging Roselyn's role in his surrender. Days pass, and the aftermath of their encounter is shrouded in mystery. It's revealed that there was a deadly break-in at the facility where Vier was held, leaving behind a chilling message of thanks for the return of the "wayward child." This grim conclusion hints at the dark forces at play within Haven, a city perpetually thirsting for tragedy and the complex dynamics between its supernatural inhabitants and the organizations that seek to control them.
(Roselyn's odd encounter(SRIllyana):SRIllyana)
[Sat Sep 7 2024]
In The Hometown Diner's Dining Room
This room is both cozy and fairly modern in style, with oak panelling along the bottom half of the walls, while the top has been painted a rich, bright shade of white. Open windows on the eastern wall look out over the diner's pergola and firepit, offering a gorgeous view past that of the horizon to diners. The tables are spread out around the room so that the waitstaff can easily make their way to all diners, and the smell of home cooking fills the air at all hours of the day.
It is morning, about 64F(17C) degrees,
(Your target and their allies encounter a vampire who has killed their first feeding victim, likely less than six months a vampire they are horrified at what they've done and wracked with guilt.
)
For some reason, the vampiress has decided to take the window table instead of one of a seat that'd actually provide her shade. She was idly browsing a menu, aviators ticked down just a touch so as to not put a tint over the lettering. But nothing really caters to Roselyn's taste in this place. The closest thing she'd get to a restaurant was a nightclub.
The morning is ticking on steadily, beat by beat, second by second, pulse by pulse of each and every heart around Roselyn. This is evident; It is inevitable. She is vampire, and this is not her world. Her world is the night, and this most certainly is not that. The lethargy is almost physical. The sun is rising and it is fortunate that it's a comfortable seventeen degrees outside or it could be rather uncomfortable for Roselyn indeed. The sights and sounds of a weekend morning in Haven are like those within most cities though, and for some, this is comforting. - If so for Roselyn is for her to know, though she is in a restaurant that caters for normals, so there must be some familiarity or control at the very least. And still, the temptation is there. It lingers at Roselyn's spine. It niggles at her heart and mind. It demands of her 'feed' for though this very situation is an ideal larder, it is also the world of day, where the supernatural sleeps, and the mundane holds court over that which slumbers under their very noses.
Roselyn is slow. Really slow. To the casual onlooker, they might just think that the Frenchwoman is tired, or had a long night in the way her hair is tangled and messy. Horrible bedhead this morning- But at least she's got some style of fashion going on. Those blue eyes sweep over the diner, lingering on each person that the vampire sees as 'vulnerable'. She's taken care in her reactivation this morning: Her chest rises and falls with breath, there's a bit of color and warmth to her cheeks- And maybe she's allowed herself to taste again, and that's why she's in the diner.
Roselyn then sits, she waits and she observes. She finds herself tempted- taunted- enamoured by the city, for it turns, it ticks, it flows around her like clockwork, the beat thudding; The heart beat of civilization. And as she does- As she waits, sits, lingers, the restaurant around her moves independently. Lives come and lives go, but the life perpetual is floating on the darkness in which Roselyn drowns. The scents of freshly cooked breakfust food-- Bacon, sausages, hash and coffee drifts through, conveyed from table to table, from person to person by the staff. The steady chatter drones. The diner-goers filter through. They drift and they float, unseeing- unknowing of the secret world of night beneath their feet. They, in their limited way though find themselves made aware of /something/ They don't notice it, they don't see it, and still... They -know-. There is a booth that is being avoided. No server buzzes over to it. No attention is afforded- No person sits... but Roselyn notices /something/. There is the iron-tang of blood in that direction. It's not fresh. Perhapse two, maybe three hours old, but it's pervasive, at least to the senses of Roselyn.
Nose twitching at the smell, Roselyn finds her attention pulled along, following that smell. A bloody nose, maybe? No, she would have seen someone excuse themselves to the restroom. So she stands, slowly, casual as to not make a scene, and she finds her feet following the blood, and her attention.
Following is easy; All Roselyn has to do is look for the places that people are avoiding. How very simple, for there is that seating area. It is beshadowed by a strange sense of phobos, a dread that is as much self-induced as it is negatively enforcing for the normal patrons within the restaurant. It's a strange thing- A curious thing, and it is hideously obvious to any supernatural who may find themselves aware of it. The darkened space, still shadowed by the fortunate nature of the sun's still rising affords itself its umbra, and it is here that pervasion of normality lingers- A pregnant thing, flooded with the putrescent hint at what lays beyond-- Or this is so for the non-supernatural. For the aware however, this is simply a zone of space. It is a void of life. Not so by literal measurements, of course. But by the absence there in of humanity. A three foot area that no eye reaches, no soul fills- Save that single figure who lurks within it. The figure is pale. He has dark hair and his lips are curiously red. He is dressed like one might expect of a dandy or a fop, and his garb is of the highest gotheca. Blacks on greys on blacks then, and all absorbant of light and obscurative in their evident nature to be seen. Eyes covered by shaded glasses, he sits staring at a beverage. His nails are long, his build solid, but there is something powerfully forlorn about him- And in more than the ways that one might expect from an emo or a goth.
Roselyn takes in this sight, lingering her blues upon the man before reaching a hand up to tick her aviators over her eyes. She steps forwards, bold enough to settle into a seat opposite of the other. Her expression betrays concern- This is actually the first vampire she's seen since her days in Paris, so whereas a human might hold compassion for another human, the same sort of feeling comes over this woman. And while her expression is of caring concern, her words come out as anything but: "You reek."
Still staring at his drink, the man doesn't look up. There's no fogging of the air- Perceptable to only a supernatural. There's no rise and fall of the chest. His ribs do not expand or contract, and for all intent, he may as well be a corpse. Roselyn might notice the inhuman stillness. She might note that the drink- A coffee is untouched. She might note that he seems shockingly clean. Roselyn might even notice that his dress, though fashionably out-dated and all blacks and greys and cultured is expensive- It's unruffled, unmarked and without marring of any kind. And still, hidden poorly beneath the manly scent of Diesel's Impact and a scentless Sanex body wash is that lingering scent. It is almost clawing in how notable it is- at least for Roselyn. He is, as she can easily tell, another vampire, but there is something all too inexperienced about him. Perhapse a student. Perhapse a rich scion, but left to his own devices, he is seemingly lost. Roselyn is french. She knows the mark of affectation and pomp. She knows an assumed casuleness. She knows the sight of a vampire who is seeking to- and failing to fit in to the mundane world, and so too does she know that slight twitch of the lip that's somehow guilty and prideful. He leans back in his chair after a moment, and in a cultured voice with a hint of an accent that could be south african or from the british isles- It's hard to identify, addresses Roselyn. "And you are impeccable."
Roselyn crosses her legs at the knees, reaching up to remove her aviators, looking over this man in full color. "I simply have a good sense of smell, cheri," she responds in her tiredly melodic accent, thick with her easterner roots. A subtle shift of her blazer is added as she continues to study, to stare. "But- You understand what I meant, oui? You seem... Drifting. Your thoughts are having troubles even manifesting. You've... Done something. Am I getting warmer?" She asks, leaning forwards a touch, cupid bow lips pursing in thought. "I'm Roselyn."
Turning back to staring at his all but abandoned coffee, the man nods. He musters more than a twitch; A half-smile at the introduction. There's something about the set of his features that look at once simultaneously drawn- starved, and likewise, contradictory in how saciated it is. There is a single nod and his fangs flash, stark against the red of his lips. "I am struggling in our way." he answers crypticly, and he seems to consider for a long breath- or at least it would be, if he were breathing. Roselyn's attendance though, he appears to remember the mask of mortality he should be employing and in the enterprising way of the predatory, he all but forces himself to emulate, chamelion instinct taking over once more. "Vier." he introduces, fingers drumming the table as he considers- then decides to offer his hand, which is, exceptionally clean- Too clean, as though he had saught to scrub himself raw.
The half-smile, the words, and then the introduction just cause Roselyn's lips to twist into a soft frown. She reaches over, taking the offered hand and gives it a little shake. "Vier. Who is your Sire? Are you from here, or... Passing through?" She starts to lay on a few more questions, releasing the hand to fold her arms over the table. "How... New are you to this life?"
Though he seems largely composed, Vier does seem to look uncomfortable at the questioning; A slight shift, a hesitation in his movements, the set of his jaw, the cant of his head. "That's a lot of questions." he tells Roselyn. "Am I that obvious?" He lets a sardonic smile escape, fangs flashing again, and he checks that he is still being left alone- which he is, of course. That sense of melancholy remains about him, a deep rooted ennui, though his tone is level as he continues to answer, arms crossing over his chest. "James." he sighs, and it's likely that Roselyn will have heard of the Arkwrights and their tyranical, abusive patriarch. Vier hides it well, but there is something that presents the hint of dejection in even admitting that- But also a potential warning, as James is known to - If not be protective over - then observant of his toys and relitives. "I was passing through, visiting a family member when it happened." Though of course he doesn't go on. This is not the Sookie Stackhouse mysteries. It's not the Vampire Diaries. It's not some romanticised Ann Rice novel, and he seems aware enough that to offer too many weaknesses is deleterious to his on-going survival. Still, at least for now, he hedges, suggesting only, "You are correct. I did /something/." And in spite of his formidable stiff upper lip, he is haunted by what ever that was.
Roselyn leans back, away from Vier as the sire's name is spoken. Her lips draw tight, a little frown as she regards the man. "Obvious only in the sense that I have... Been in such a state myself," she claims with a little dip of her chin. Unlike the other, Roselyn still draws some breath, adding to her mask of humanity, and with that breath, she exhales softly. "Vier, do... You know what la Temple is?"
"I know." Vier grimaces at the name. There's a flash of fear, a hesitent shift and his attention falls fully on Roselyn then. "They want us dead or collared." he hisses. Though this seems to have opened the flood gates, and he continues, "They want us under their thumb where they experiment on us to try to remove what we are, or use us to hunt down others like us." He looks like he is considering removing his sun glasses, his hand rises, though he thinks against it. He stares at Roselyn again, lips drawn, shoulders set. "I know we have to be careful, and I've been careful. I hadn't bitten anyone. I hadn't gone out of my apartment. I hadn't had any dealings with any of them. Not the Hand- Monsters. Not the Order- They're just as bad. I heard the stories. Their leader thinks that they shouldn't worry about anyone's consent. But the Temple... I've not got any want to come across them and that danger..." He shakes his head and that dejection redoubles then. Something goes unsead- He hadn't bitten anyone, but that has changed. Surely... Surely...
"I know." Vier grimaces at the name. There's a flash of fear, a hesitent shift and his attention falls fully on Roselyn then. "They want us dead or collared." he hisses. Though this seems to have opened the flood gates, and he continues, "They want us under their thumb where they experiment on us to try to remove what we are, or use us to hunt down others like us." He looks like he is considering removing his sun glasses, his hand rises, though he thinks against it. He stares at Roselyn again, lips drawn, shoulders set. "I know we have to be careful, and I've been careful. I hadn't bitten anyone. I hadn't gone out of my apartment. I hadn't had any dealings with any of them. Not the Hand- Monsters. Not the Order- They're just as bad. I heard the stories. Their leader thinks that they shouldn't worry about anyone's consent. But the Temple... I've not got any want to come across them and that danger..." He shakes his head and that dejection redoubles then. Something goes unsead- He hadn't bitten anyone, but that has changed. Surely... Surely...
Another little breath is let out as Roselyn lifts her gaze to the ceiling. Her arms lift from the table to cross under her chest. "Maybe in... Other places. But the Temple here has been rather... Lenient with moi," she murmurs, dropping the fact that she's a Vampire under the Temple. Her ocean blues return to Vier, searching him for a reaction as she continues: "Why are you lying? I can smell it on you, you have fed. The lingering scent of soap on hands that are clean- Scrubbed with vigor. You can still see it, can't you?"
"I'm not..." but even Vier doesn't seem too certain. He scrutinises Roselyn closely; It's not predatory, but more as though he suspects she might have all the answers he seeks. "I didn't feed... Then I had to." His jaw is set. He knows it's a part of his nature. He understands he must, but that is the core of this all. He feels guilt for it. He's uncertain of how to move forward. He's lost within that night that has claimed him as its own. "It was a family member." he then answers simply, and as if this were the straw that broke the camel's back, he kicks something under the table. It's subtle, so Roselyn is likely the only person to notice it, and if Roselyn looks down, she'd see a simple, innocuous back pack. "But I didn't know what to do." He sighs, staring once again at that now cold coffee. He shifts and explains, "I did what I could. I cleaned it up, I wiped his memory. I removed the blooded clothing from us both." And here again, he kicks the back pack. "I washed-- I scrubbed myself raw. I did everything I could to get rid of the scent, but God... I've not done this before. I don't know what to do with bloody clothing." He raises a palm to run it down his face and he sighs again. "Blood has DNA. I'm trying to not bring any attention back to the family because I don't want James visiting again..." And then he pauses. He just... stares at his hands. He stares at the pale skin- scrubbed clean save the phantom of that dark but necessary deed. He stares at the well-trimmed nails and the spider-like fingers. He stares, and in that silence there is an unspoken question-- One he will not ask for-- 'Help me.'
Roselyn clicks her tongue, and starts to slowly draw her phone out of a pocket. "Vier, I'm going to give a friend of mine a call. We'll get you sorted out, oui? He is belonging to the Temple. But, I will advocate that you are treated /well/. They will keep..." She trails off, extending a few fingers towards Vier in a gesture. "This from happening again. Understand?" She leans forwards a touch, as if worried that the other Vamp will cut and run, and gets in a position to intercept, if actually needed.
"Why?" Vier asks Roselyn. It's a curiously innocent question in spite of everything; But one he very literally doesn't understand. He's lost, alone, so will likely go along with it, but there is a notable apprehension and no little fear at the idea of the Temple getting involved. He's likely too self-absorbed right now to realise that Roselyn is Temple- That or suspects /wrongly/ something about affiliations and ties. "They'll collar me." he all but whispers, and the abject horror in the idea of that is palpable. He doesn't stop Roselyn though, watching her as she retrieves her phone and watching it all the while.
Roselyn tip-taps at her phone and she gives Vier a small frown, one of sympathy. "They will. But, it'll keep you from killing, from... Hurting anyone that doesn't deserve it, oui?" She responds with a few little nods. And after whatever text she sent out is done, she places her phone atop the table. "/I/ cannot, in good conscience, let you do that."
"I understand." Vier tells Roselyn in a tone that's two parts agreement to one part guilt, though there is something there. It's the behaviour of a caged animal- A wild thing and in spite of knowing it cant go on, Vier's not moving. Before long, Roselyn receives a responce and the Temple deploy a team. When they arrive, Vier is taken- along with that back pack of bloody refuse away and she is all but ignored in spite of it. Roselyn is told, in no uncertain terms that she will have her handler informed of her interaction with the vampire; A crisp nod, a quick word over coms, and they leave her. They are understandably suspicious of the interaction, the vampires and the entire situation at hand. It is of course recognized that Roselyn allowed -its- capture and was instrumental in bringing -it- in. Some days go bye, and there is no sign of Vier again. He was not inducted into the Demolishers. And if Roselyn were to ask around, she would find that there was a break in to the facility where he was being held for /conditioning/. Nothing but carnage was left. No lives, no bodies, just a message written in blood. 'Thank you for the return of our wayward child.'
And thus, the darkness spreads; The shadows grow long, and Haven's insatiable desire for tragidy is satiated.