huntercam

[huntercam]

Cameron's eyes narrow ever so slightly at Lucian's words. Of course he knows of the cursed wolf-- he'd laid eyes on them only the once and been reminded that he should not approach further unless he wanted to be destroyed. Threat or prediction, he couldn't be sure.

"Artemis?" He asks, just for clarity. How many other 'cursed wolves' could there be, really?

"I've seen them. That is who you mean, no?"

He looks the same as he remembers, perhaps only more serene in all his wore down appearance. Cameron wasn't ever a man of displayed emotions ---not that he, himself was one. But the smile only makes his own grow the bit larger. And he shrugs as he tilts his head one way and another. Nothing is ever truly that simple.

"Well you know I'm an avid fan of your creations." The ones he displays and the one he keeps to himself. His smile turning into a light smirk, he turns back to the painting and shrugs. "But I must admit it wasn't just your art that drew me into this city." He was yet to find the wolf, but Lucian was a man of patience.

"What do you know of a cursed wolf? ---Sounds interesting, doesn't it? A curse above a curse."

[huntercam]

"Not at all. We're simply.. particular." The teasing is taken in stride, even if a bit literal. There's no reason to return in kind, so he simply nods at the short answer to his question -- his curiosity can be sated later if they happen upon each other again. There is, definitely, still the fact that this boy's face looks familiar.

If anything, he must find a way to circle him again. "We're opening a new nightclub attached to the gallery." His gaze shifts to the bathroom, "You and your friend would be welcome." Hopefully the construction will be finished soon, but for now he can only offer the idea of it. "If the art interests you, more of the same will be in the club."

His gaze shifts, once more, back to this gloves with a hum. "Not particularly." Cameron flexes his hand and allows a sly smile. "I don't deprive myself, if that's your angle."

"How unfortunate." Riven assumed, "Does that mean you're low on clientele?" He'd blame Tomas for his cheeky mood, and the urge to tease and taunt the man. He was playful in nature, but banter was reserved for familiar faces only. Strangers he was rather quiet and curt to. His smile a tight line usually, not like now — too big for his own face.

He'd argue newspapers were boring and that a man of his talent needed a bigger fish to fry, but he wasn't a real writer, and the books he edited were worse than those daily horoscopes next to the crosswords at the back of a tabloid. "Books." he said with the confidence of Hemingway (assuming he had any) and a small tilt of his head, to study those gloves. His smile shrinking by the edges, but only slightly.

The subject of his phobia was a lot more fascinating than the one of the garbage books he had to deal with on a daily basis. Or the one of his own quirks. He'd rather not talk about himself. "Do you not miss it? Human touch?" assuming he was human, which Riven was almost certain in. He wouldn't pin him for a glove wearing werewolf afraid to get down and dirty in the mud. And vampires were hollow chested, he'd have picked up on the quiet.

[huntercam]

Her eyes widening at his proximity almost makes him wish he'd allowed himself the taste, but if Cameron is one thing: it's patient. Either she'll get the hint and chase it, or he'll wait for another delightfully morbid moment to act on urges.

He lets her go, and watches her come into herself - the vampire's blood splattering on the dirt all around them. On his shoes. Her clothing. Specks adorn their skin, but he doesn't flinch against it, only waits for as long as it takes for her to find her fun.

His eyebrows raise at her eagerness to end the thing's life, and he tilts his head as she struggles. It does make him laugh again, but he moves behind her - a bit too close for what he needs to do. His hands cover hers. "It takes practice." The words are murmured directly into her ear, his tone almost flirtatious.

"Practice and strength." He pushes in, the stake sliding in slowly, but not enough to kill just yet. "Take it slow, watch how the skin parts and tries to seal around it. Desperate to protect itself." Another push, the stake pressing into the heart.

He hums and allows himself to rest his chin on Elyse's shoulder. The excitement of the kill is comparable to -- his veins on fire, breathing a little heavier through his nose as he watches the vampire's mouth fall open in pain, features contorting. "Just like that." When the wood enters the vampire's heart, he pushes harder to pierce it all the way through. The change this creates is immediate. Where the skin was trying to stitch itself together, instead it starts to crumble -- dusting from the wound outwards until the both of them are left standing over a pile of ashes.

"You are what you eat, I suppose," Elyse mutters casually, almost derisively. She understands from an evolutionary standpoint the need to be indistinguishable from humans. But it's almost a cruel joke, considering how many humans across the centuries have likely been simply fuel for the vampires masquerading around as anything but the walking dead.

Cam's laugh is like a crystal bell ringing in her ears -- she can't hear the vampire's cursing and hissing. His laugh is approval, it's encouragement. Elyse grins wolfishly. "His hunger, my curiosity. We'll see who gets their fill first."

When Cam guides her, pulls her from their prey, she stands. Elyse doesn't fight his ministrations, rather enjoying the mix of helplessness and willingness. The glove hides his mark, but his grasp betrays his intentions. Her eyes widen as he leans in, wondering what comes next. At his insistence, she turns back to the vampire.

The knife goes in his neck -- at first, a loving imitation of his own penchant for biting. Then, it's more cruel, more cutting as she wants to watch as the blood drapes his chest like a garment for modesty. Elyse flourishes her quick artistic signature across his back and watches the wound knit itself closed. There are other thoughts that spark in her mind but do not stray to her hand, not wanting to waste every idea on one canvas. At a point, it begins to lose the shine of newness, as it's almost too easy. The fun has been had for tonight -- she has no idea how much time has elapsed.

A final slash of the knife marks the tentative spot for her to take the stake, rushing and eager to press it in before the target seals itself -- but she's met with resistance. Not just the vampire's own will to live (if an undead person could have that), but the actual sheer reality of human anatomy. Skin, muscles, fat, and ribs. "Fuck," she hisses, trying to dig it in deeper. Elyse quickly turns her head towards the man waiting patiently and asks, almost begging, "Cameron, help me?"

[huntercam]

gravity. where: exquis. who: declan mccormick.

Devon was out, gathering supplies or researching or whatever the hell else it was she was doing while she hit her pockets of obsession. Not that he could particularly judge while he was deep in his own shit and plans.

There was no art to be created today, though, just paperwork and accounts. His least favorite part of the job - but one he had almost resigned himself to before he'd been found by the Brotherhood. The numbers blurred together on the screen, so he turned away from it and grabbed for his phone.

'Pick up something for lunch.' A text to his sister, along with enough money to pick up something for them both to eat, plus whatever extras she wants to get.

When he looks up, there's a shimmering person standing in front of him - similar features to his own, a little younger, a little brighter. The face that's his own, but not, breaks into something of an easy smile.

Cam feels his mouth go dry, and he sits up straighter in his seat. "..Declan?" The name feels foreign on his tongue, and he reaches for his phone from where it had clattered to the floor, never taking his eyes off of the figure. "Is this a trick of..?"

His brother shakes his head and appears as if he's sitting on the desk in front of him. Cameron reaches out and feels his hand pass through, grabbing onto nothing. Some sort of sick fucking -

"It's me, Cam. Chill."

Cameron's jaw clenches. "You don't want to see me." Why should he? In Cam's eyes, he was the one who failed to find something to fix the problem-- all this killing, all this searching. He'd enjoyed every moment of ripping people and things apart, but there was always an ulterior motive.

"'Course I do." He says something else, but Cam's ears feel like they're stuffed with cotton. He only catches the end. "--missed you."

Shaking fingers go back to the text he'd sent to Devon, quickly firing off a 'hurry up. declan.'

"Devon's not here--" Cameron tries again, and Declan shakes his head.

"I wanted to see both of you."

[huntercam]

He exits from his office, binder and a few folders in hand -- all information about his newest business venture that he needs to discuss with Laure. There's construction in the basement of the gallery, but they've all gone home for the day, at Cameron's instruction.

It's one of the rare times he doesn't look extremely put together, and instead more like a man who runs a business and a little frustrated with keeping track of one thing after another. The man in front of him is familiar, which makes him crack a smile.

"Lucian." He takes Lucian in, and tilts his head. "Is this truly about art?"

For: @huntercam Where: Cam's gallery

It's been a while since they last crossed paths, but as he paces around the gallery, taking in every piece carefully hanging on the walls. He can deduce not much has changed in the hunter in the time they've worked separately. Each piece as tastefully violent as the next. A gift to his eyes, Lucian couldn't wait to hear the story behind each of them. Knew the hunter to be that much dedicated to his art. He owned one with just as much history as the ones in these walls.

"Cameron McCormick." He greets, as he turns to find the other hunter. A smile stretching his lips. "Truly a pleasure to see you again... I was just appreciating your art, makes me want to acquire a new piece, to accompany the one decorating my wall."

[huntercam]

"Vivid only because he's new - An older, starving vampire may be more muted. So long as they feed.." It's like they're dissecting a frog on a biology table, rather than a living thing. Undead, rather. He lets go of the viscera and shakes off the glove, flinging blood down into the dirt. "..they function and appear as normal. It's quite difficult to tell a human from a vampire without knowing what to look for." A repeat of their masquerade lesson.

He finds he can't wait to see what she creates from this, how their artistic mind studies and pieces it together. There will be no photos this night, wanting simply to see how she creates from memory and imagination.

"I haven't experimented with that, personally." But he finds he loves that she's thinking of it.

She lashes out and he laughs at the eagerness. A fine little thing they'll become, under his tutelage. He wonders - will he be able to paint her? Will she sit and pose for him, wrapped in metal and leather - limbs stretched and jaw stretched to their limit? Will her skin look better mottled with blush or slathered with ichor?

"If we let him free.. many. He has a hunger that will never be sated."

He stands, then, and rests his clean glove on the back of Elyse's neck, just for a moment, as if deciding what to do next. Cameron flexes his fingers, and then squeezes - just enough to lift her from her position and turns her towards him. Leaning down, as if he might lock their lips - he stops short, whispering against them instead. "Have your fun with him, Elyse. When you're done, drive the stake through his heart."

A flicker of thrill, of dark excitement flashes through Elyse's rounded gaze as Cam silently gives his blessing. It truly is fascinating, that this creature that needs so badly to drink the blood of others to live has its own reserves of the stuff, perfectly useless in every way except giving the appearance of life. A simulacrum of sorts. The girl releases her grip on the vampire's hair and moves just out of range of the stress of his bindings as he continues to thrash.

Elyse gasps as Cam approaches and pulls back the layers of artifice. She can see the way the vampire's skin wants to knit itself back together -- an immortal creature literally out of time, looking to erase this moment she's carved into his breast. Within a short time, under normal circumstances, the wound would close and it would be as if her offense never happened. But her eyes widen with interest and genuine disgust. She doesn't fear the discomfort, and instead wants to learn from it.

"It's... remarkably vivid for a dead thing," she breathes with admiration and horror all settled into one. "Incredible how fragile we are by comparison. One punctured jugular and the blood rushes to spill by virtue of a heart that beats too fiercely. Now I'm wondering what limits there are to a vampire's ability to be whole. How much of him I could cut apart before he simply cannot bring himself back together."

This time, without waiting for her mentor's guidance, Elyse strikes out at the beast's face with the blade. His thrashing makes it difficult and dangerous, but she connects with the contour of his cheekbones, pulling back towards herself as she admires the newest ribbon painted on this canvas Cam has presented her.

"I wonder how many people he's torn into tiny pieces without remorse."

[huntercam]

"Perhaps not. My tasteful is elsewhere." But he does give the man one simple nod, gloved hands going to his pockets to clench and unclench his fists - how long had it been since he'd been on the hunt? He knows there are people here he'd love to flay open and create art from - but he has to refrain. The downside of The Brotherhood is that sometimes he's not allowed to just act on a whim. "Correct."

But he shakes his head at the new piece that's been revealed - the hands. "Not mine." A tilt of his head, "Nor Elysium's." That itch to hunt is there again, scratching at the back of his neck. He'll have to take care of that sooner rather than later, it seems.

"If you do decide to give my other art a look, give me a call beforehand. I'll set something up for you."

A tamer one, he says. Like a man who has a thousand bloodied images, of gore in twisted depictions in his mind. A snippet of a — conveyed on this piece in all its flesh and gristle. AJ hadn't been joking, the cartilage looked to be realism at its finest. Port Leiry's got a corner of questionable talent, after all.

"Bet they're not quoting you in reviews as tasteful," because it's not. In any way that AJ can see it, anyhow. His scope is often closed, depending on the day. "You're showing, not selling?"

That's what Astor calls a tease. It's pushing that idea of tasteful. He might have even made a remark about the implication of that if he were truly vying to gain a reaction. The alchemist glances at the suggestion to peer at his apprentice's work; the profound difference is obvious, but they're skirting boundaries, much like AJ does.

"Maybe I'll give it a visit," Exquis, might have more than bathroom art. Because this other man has got a way of talking that has AJ wondering if it's natural; this niceness that's so common amongst those wanting to be the elite, or climbing the tower of it, but they're hiding teeth and claws and the blood on their hands — beneath the gloves, that got them there.

There's a final piece, revealed not long ago, that has sent the room into a division of concern, and abandonment.

AJ sips his champagne, "Not one of yours? Kinda has your bone and flesh style, mate?" a beat, "Bit gaudy, though."

[huntercam]

He'd have to go back through photos sitting at home to really truly place where he might have seen the face before him, but that was going to be a problem for the future. Now, instead, he allow himself to simply be polite as best he can. "It's not exactly where most go to 'hang', to be fair." Leiry Press. His eyes narrow, though, and he hums -

"Books, then? Or newspapers?"

But when attention is turned to his gloves, he looks down at them as if he had forgotten he'd been wearing them - and he usually does. It hadn't started as a way to cover up the tattoo on his palm, but it was a nice perk. "Mysophobia." A simple answer to a loaded question. "I'm.. particular with what I touch. Surely you have your own quirks?"

This man was the second person to stare at him, like he'd seen a ghost. Beady eyes scanning over his features, as if Riven needed to be read like a book. For a moment, he thought there was something on his face, and he cursed Tomas for his double standards. Don't crease my jacket, his partner said — so he didn't, but Tomas did manage to redden his face. That jacket deserved all the creasing. It deserved a rip in the back. He couldn't really be sure, until he found a mirror but his hand wiped at his mouth, anyway. Then slit down to finish the trail of button left to be done. "Is there something on my face?" words slipped out, with a sheepish grin.

Cameron was quick to introduce himself. Offering a part of himself, like they were both fragments of a puzzle, very slowly coming together. "Exquis, Exquis — " his tongue spun the word in his mouth for a moment, while he tried to remember where he's heard of the place. He surely had, but he couldn't picture it. "I don't think I'm familiar with the place. No offense, I haven't been here very long." bright eyes traveled between his own and the glove — the leather poking him in the eyes, the type of accessory you don't see very often, worn inside. "Riven. Not owner, but owned by Liery Press. " with a grin to his lips, he shook the gloved hand, anyway. "Cold hands?"

[huntercam]

The smile that appears on his features is short-lived but no less amused. "Neither, though I could see why you might think so." His thumb rubs along the seam on his index finger. "I'm here to support -" A friend? He defaults once again to: "-my apprentice. It's her first showing, I believe."

He allows himself to brag some, "If you'd like to peruse her paintings, look for Elysium."

How silly it sounds coming from his low, nearly monotone voice - like a narrator for a tragedy yet to happen. But it doesn't make him falter. Instead, he listens as they speak and question, allowing silence to sit while he formulates his reply in a manner that won't alarm them.

"My art, and the art I feature, is much like some you might see here, actually. I try to make sure that the gore they want to feature is still beautiful. And on the other hand, I like to feature a sensuality. Moments captured in both in pain and bliss, sometimes a combination. It must be.. tasteful."

Yes, there is nudity sometimes. But not like one might expect. A hint here, a shadow there - the focus is on the form or the color. "There are a few select pieces featured on our website." One he'd been loathe to create.

Riley knows enough about human behavior to know when people are only making polite conversation, but they at least give him some credit instead of flat out ignoring them like what they were used to. But it also seems like they were barking up the wrong tree because when he introduces himself as a galley owner, Riley feels incredibly out of their depth again.

"Oh, wow, so this quite literally is your scene," they say with a slight chuckle. "Checking out the competition or trying to shore up a new business contact? I don't actually know much about the owner, just that they've been willing to give some up and coming artists a chance, which wins points from me."

They meet his eyes evenly, head quirking to the side. "Well, I imagine there's a piece for everyone. I just haven't found one that I've felt the burning need to possess. Haven't found anything really sticks in my gut like that. What kind of art do you showcase?"

[huntercam]

Cam's gaze flickers up to the painting - the reference photos are, of course, tucked away safely in his home. Surely, if the authorities found it, he and his colleagues would be in some trouble before they pulled strings to erase what charges it might bring. It's happened before - in Colorado.

"This is a tamer one." He relents, out of earshot of the other patrons of the arts. "The better work is at my own gallery." Complete with more gore, more sex, more - everything. And filled with artists who trend towards his style, as well.

"But I'll defer you to my apprentice's work, if you're looking to purchase." He gestures, tipping his head towards Elyse and her self-portrait. "Otherwise, consider this a formal invite to Exquis whenever free time graces you."

For: @huntercam

"Mate, you put any more detail into cartilage, people are going to start asking you for your reference pics," AJ's laughing about it, as he's caught the artist of the macabre in a moment of break between compliments and those media twats chasing for an interview. They're both wearing gloves, Astor notices. Holding flutes and poised in suits as they offer polite but part-forced smiles at passersby (At least, AJ does).

He's found himself gravitating towards the depictions of violence — it might not be its intention, but the colourations against the abstract of tormented frames, send Astor on a one-tracked road down to the horrors and the beauty of monstrous desires.

Not a bloody clue what Cam's trying to say in his pieces, he's almost sure he doesn't particularly care to ask either, when it might spoil the demented thoughts that AJ's chalked it down to. He's talking himself into purchasing it, slowly. Even if it remains to be something he'd put in his MIlan bathroom. Italians eat this shit up with their never die attitude in the way of gluten and carb. Appetites will skew, at the sight of this.

[huntercam]

Cam takes in the disheveled appearance of the man in front of him - certainly not a vision he'd expect after hearing what was going on in there. Not that he cares or minds what people get up to in their free time -- the entire business model of the lower part of his gallery is meant to attend such needs. As soon as they get the permits and cross the red tape, building will begin in earnest.

Still, his gaze flickers over the man, curious as to why his features seem so familiar. The cut of his jaw, perhaps? Or the shape of the nose? His head tilts slightly.

"Neither, I believe." The only one who would dare to try would be Elyse and he hadn't seen his visage on her works tonight. "Cameron McCormick, owner of Exquis." He holds out a gloved hand, the one with the mark on his palm.

closed  — @huntercam

Disheveled and still panting, Riven walked out the bathroom stall with his face all red and his mouth kiss-swollen and wet. That jumper he wore on top his button up scattered Heavens knew where. The second his boyfriend-not-boyfriend trapped him between his arms and against that sink, he stopped paying attention to anything that wasn't his eyes. You stay, I'll go out first — only in case he ran into his mother, or someone equally unpleasant to bump into right after you have sex in public. He wondered if there was a cue of frustrated pretentious artists failing to hold their bladders outside, banging red fists on the door like angry baboons.

No, no apes. He was almost disappointed at the vastness that greeted him.

Distracted, with his fingers still working on those top buttons left to clasp together, the witch almost ran someone over. "Apologies, man — " glassy, bright eyes met his, and his face twisted sharply with curiousity. Where have I seen this guy? Riven stopped in his tracks, hand pointing at the other, like his name was almost there, on the tip of his tongue. "Hey — Aren't you on one of those paintings out there?" he could swear, he'd seen those eyes somewhere — in vivid color. "Man with a hat?" a beat, "No, not that. Man with a dog?"

[huntercam]

She speaks to the man-turned-vampire, and he listens - wondering if in another time, they might have met each other sooner. Before he gained the knowledge of monsters -- she'd be just the type he'd watch and charm and seduce only to rip apart. Maybe then, she'd intrigue him just the same and they'd commit atrocities together.

She seems keen for it. Beautiful with the look of something dark and mad in her eyes, the same way his might in the middle of a hunt - perfectly poised to create beauty from carnage. A tongue darts out over his lower lip as he ruminates on what to do next, where to go from here with her.

Elyse drags the knife across the man's chest, and when she glances to him, Cameron nods in approval to urge her forward. What can she teach him, in this moment?

The vampire hisses and gnashes in pain, more animal than human with the onset of pain. The verbena has caused the healing factor to mostly be focused on where the rope rubs against their skin, so the healing is slow. But still fascinating.

He approaches, and crouches down next to Elyse and shoves a gloved finger into one of the shallow, closing wounds - and with his tattoo imbued strength, pulls back to reveal more flesh -- no muscle, no bone, just the lower levels of skin and fat.

"Do you see the colors here? All white and yellow until the blood turns it pink then red? My favorite hues." He lets go and allows the healing factor to take hold once more - ignoring the vampire's screams.

"They create such wonderful palettes."

Elyse watches the vampire, contemplating his existence. He was a man, once. But this man is dead, transformed into something lost, feral, hungry. The artist sympathizes with the hunger, base and primal and all-consuming. But the vampire will not be consuming her, nor Cam. He will feed their passion. Elyse's curiosity has gnashing teeth -- it craves blood.

Cam's praise lights a fire in her eyes, a small, sharp gasp rushing between her lips as he grasps at her. A half-cocked smile pulls at one side of her mouth as she wraps her fingers around the handle of the blade he's offered -- a beautiful piece, no doubt something he wields with precision. Elyse tests the weight of it in her hand, the balance. It's a brush. The vampire, canvas. All it needs is paint.

"I wonder how a dead man bleeds," she says to the restrained beast. "You... who needs blood so badly, you crave it, you're a slave to it. But your heart doesn't beat and your body doesn't make it. Or if it does, it doesn't satisfy you." Elyse enjoys being so close as he struggles in vain, shouting abuses at her. There's a dangerous thrill, hoping Cameron tied those ropes tight, as the verbena burns the monster's skin. There's a chance the hold fails, or that the man has brought her here for another reason entirely. But she's holding the knife, and with it, the power, for a moment. To carve the skin, to cut the ropes...

Elyse grabs the vampire's hair as Cam had done, though admittedly the creature's strength will win out if she's not careful. Still, she leans in terrifyingly close as she pulls his hair to expose his neck. He doesn't breathe but she can feel the waves of hunger radiating from his teeth towards her soft skin. He's Tantalus in Tartarus, desperate for satiety though the artist recedes from his reach each time he's too close. No taste of Elysium for this wicked man.

It's less sensual than the movies would have you believe, but her eyes travel downwards to his exposed chest -- the place here his heart would be. The girl grips the knife with resolve and drags is across his flesh, her eyes flickering briefly to Cam, to gauge his reaction, seek his approval. At first, the blade is soft like a question but as she traces a curve down his sternum, Elyse digs it deeper and watches as the vampire's blood seeps exponentially, from a cautious welling to the rush of weeping down the knife's point.

"Is that still vital, to you? Or merely just your body trying to remember what it was to be alive?"

[huntercam]

"No reason to limit yourself on approaching artists - many simply just want to speak of their work." At least, it's been true at artists featured at his own gallery, himself, and his apprentice. "At the very least, could provide some insight on this one."

But the question lobbed back towards him is an easy one - Is Laure a friend? Somewhat, even if they are on opposite sides of an ever-encroaching war. He hums, his attention shifting back to the piece for a moment and then back towards the woman.

"You could say that, yes." Precise, indeed. "As far as I'm aware, the artist loves the subject dearly. You can see it in every point."

He seems like he doesn’t want to be here, not at this piece at least and she supposes she can understand. Though it’s good, the precision is something to congratulate it’s more of a beauty piece than something to sink your teeth into. At his question, she hums.

“No, I can’t say I have. I figured I’d look for a while, see if anything grabs me before I make a decision on who to approach.” It’s true, there is an inkling of a desire to walk out with something tonight. Something to compliment the dead things that line her shelves. That she uses both to capture her perception of life, the immortalization and to shell out to witches looking for ingredients they find otherwise difficult to obtain.

“Are you a friend of theirs?” she decides to ask, the last of his statement seeming as if he had a deeper connection to the one behind the piece. She downs the rest of her wine, sighing at its loss, but not quite ready to get more. “Whoever they were they were precise, it’s clear this body means a lot to them.”

[huntercam]

Fresh air allowed him a moment to think, even if the cool breeze of the night chilled the back of his neck and forearms. His ever-present gloves helped keep his hands warm, and the weather at least gave him some sort of excuse.

But he does allow a bit of a polite smile to the person starting a conversation before it drops away entirely. Niceties, like everything else, comes difficult to him.

"Plenty." His fingers itch for something to occupy them - a cigarette (which he would refuse if offered), the wrapper of a mint, a pen to click. "I know I'd like to have a few for my own home--" He nods towards the doors.

"I own a gallery myself, though I'm not sure if the price would fare better."

location: nouveau who: open

It's stuffy inside with all of the crowds, and Riley feels distinctly out of place. It's a bunch of artists and creatives, a side that they had never really nurtured when they were younger. Even now, they can look up at a piece of art and maybe feel some kind of emotion well up inside them, but the details of it are lost on them. They doubt that anyone here is interested in their opinions of linework or lighting, so Riley takes the opportunity to step outside. It's a different kind of chill than what they are used to, and the lawyer lets out a slow breath.

"See anything inside that catches your eye?" they ask the person standing a few steps down. Talking to strangers is a distinctly non-New York side of them, but they can't hide forever. "My walls could use a little decorating, but I think most of these will be out of my price range."

[huntercam]

Cam's lips turn upward at the crass remark. Laure's art hangs in front of them - her style unique enough for him to recognize, even if the subject is not one that he can place by looks. He can infer, though. It's not to his taste, but it is tasteful.

His own glass of wine is held tightly by the fingertips. He'd approached simply to gaze upon it for a moment before wandering back over towards his true interest - the more morbid and macabre works by his apprentice and some of the others featured.

He sighs, though, and tilts his head to take in the other with narrowed eyes.

"Have you met the artist yet? I'm sure she'd agree with you."

For : Open! Capping at 4 Location : Gallery Open

She’d come alone tonight, still reeling a bit over the run-in at the coffee shop but hoping the gallery would distract her worried mind. First Nikko, and now Corvina. Next thing she knew Blair was going to drop some bombshell on her and then the surgeon truly would be triple fucked. God, things had been so much easier when she had been by herself. Away from people, away from feelings. Just her and the four walls of her little bedroom in a farmhouse located in the middle of nowhere. The only person her her true proximity being her mother. And after her passing, well then it was a little farmhouse in the middle of nowhere with nothing but solitude.

She wonders briefly if she should go back to that, she’s made plenty to live on. She could move to Canada, secure a little cabin in the woods, and only travel into town when supplies were needed. She sighs, looking over a nude portrait and taking a swig from the wine glass she’s practically manhandling as her other hand is settled in her pants pocket.

Nah, she liked Nikko too much. Enjoyed Blair’s company. And would be fucked if she let Corvina run her out of town. She takes another drink, leaning a bit to really take the portrait in, it’s good she supposes. Hearing footsteps approaching she snarks lightly. “Nothing says art like a great pair of tits…”

[huntercam]

CAMERON MCCORMICK at the NOUVEAU GRAND OPENING

As always, Cam is clad in red and black - with a small chain hanging from his collar to add a bit of an accent. He's here, mainly, to keep an eye on new, potential rivals in the gallery scene but also to support his pupil, Elyse. He can be found mingling with the crowd, sipping champagne.

[huntercam]

CAM as MELCHIOR GABOR from SPRING AWAKENING

It's not the most creative of costume, but Cameron doesn't want to put much effort into it. Clad in a white shirt, suspenders, and some loose slacks - he simply tells people that he's dressed as Melchior. There's no effort, and it's similar to how he normally dresses. There are no plans for parties or drinks or candy, but he is on the lookout for something or someone interesting that might catch his eye. Whether that's for art or for the hunt remains to be seen.