huntercam

[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.

[huntercam]

Feng-Lindon and Phial are, in his eyes, the most dangerous - and could very easily retaliate if given the time. She's right. It's not just Fellowship that will be harmed if they actually decide to do so. Which is the problem.. will they decide to? It does worry him, but not enough to make moves himself. At least not yet.

A truce, then. He can respect that. He gives her a nod, and picks idly at the hem of his glove, covering the tattoo on his palm. An alliance, even.

Despite his penchant for the art and wishing to use this lifestyle to create more - he does enjoy the hunt of it all. The violence, the death, the blood splattering across his features and the ground - watching these things writhe and come apart. Dust or blood, it's all the same.

Valka's proclivities intrigue him - always have - but he's never spoken it aloud. So his answer is:

"Tell me where we strike, and we'll share a meal."

"They've all been caught in the crossfire. I'd say we hit the Feng-Lindons hardest, but some Phial got tangled in our plans. Theirs is a slow burn, not a lot of firepower in the field but give 'em time and resources... Honestly, I think the only coven we didn't completely fuck over is those space cadet divination girls," she explains. It's not as if the witches all wear big nametags advertising their affiliations. Would make things a hell of a lot easier for Valka if they did -- though witches have always been among the least of her concerns.

Cam's question is a fair one. She'd wonder it herself if she wasn't a bit desperate at this point, to make sure no one else was going to leap from the shadows and strike. "Killing them's the game. Not sure what I'll do about that just yet... but I guess I'm telling you because I want you to know what we're working with here. I need to know that even though the Brothers and the Fellows have had their differences, we're all still working towards that goal down at our cores. Now's not the time to be making any extra enemies."

Valka narrows her eyes and looks McCormick up and down. Everything about him speaks to Brotherhood life, its tenets woven under his very skin. Restraint, withholding -- even as some sort of BDSM power play. Men like him always had a fetish. But he could be so good if he let up on his own choking leash every now and then. "I lost one of my best men because of their stunt. I want to hit back and do it hard. If you're ever willing to look past the labels we've all put on ourselves... The way I see it, tenderloin, chuck eye, flank steak -- they're all dead meat, in the end. I don't care where it comes from or how it's sliced, I just want them all fuckin' dead and on my dinner table."

[huntercam]

He can see the appreciation in her eyes, drinks it all in - changing someone's world for the worse is something he revels in. And if she enjoys it? Even better. His hand in the vampire's hair lets it go and he stands up straight to better watch her face. The way her eyes trace the vampire's form - the way the gears in her mind are already turning.

It's a feast of his own making, and she's there for him to gorge until he's sick.

There's a few heartbeats and when she speaks again, the excitement lights up in him - a growing rot that he'll let fester if she nurtures it. Without a word, he moves from behind the creature to his bag, procuring the tool that she needs. He spins it and offers her the handle, but steps a little too close.

With his free hand, he moves gloved fingers along Elyse's jaw, tilting her head up - "You are the perfect apprentice." There's a slight lilt of something akin to affection in his voice, but he slides his hand away and increases the distance between them again to grab his camera.

"Show me."

"You're curious. Good."

If Elyse could open her eyes wide enough to drink in the world, she would. It almost makes her salivate, the idea that she's so close to something real and raw. It's everything she's dreamed of, chasing rabbits behind her eyelids and tumbling down, down into deep, dark reality. The underbelly of the living world, so low to the ground like a snake, with just barely enough room for the fortunate to sneak in and see beneath. As much as she wants to know, she wants to know how Cam knows, too. How did he fall into this darkness, and is he willing to guide her through until she can walk the world for herself?

The young artist follows their mentor, inhaling deeply with morbid pleasure at the sight of the creature, the canvas. His words suggest this was a man yesterday, like any other. Elyse wonders about the finer points of vampiric turning -- perhaps details for another time. She eyes the ropes, noting that even the way they're tied is artful on his part. They seem to chafe the vampire more than just a traditional binding would. Another question dancing on her tongue, along with a flutter of excitement in her chest, at such a wonderful reference.

"Wow," she breathes simply as Cam explains his process. "Just... wow." Elyse takes note of the mention of verbena, in relation to how it harms the vampire, or prevents his healing. Interesting. So it's not just preventative or protective for humans. She wonders how well it blends with paints, when powdered. Not that she expects fangs in her canvas any time soon.

Elyse feels safe despite the creature's snapping jaws. When Cam proffers the question, she feels a jolt in her chest. All that curiosity he's stoked, now offered an outlet. Or, at least, the potential of one. It's almost overwhelming, the choice. And while their mentor has explained the renewable resource that is the reference form, Elysium doesn't want to waste strokes or time.

"You said this one's hungry... He hasn't fed," she says, approaching to look at the pathetic, snarling thing tied down like a fallen angel, an undead relic of the living shadow of the world she knows. Elyse is curious, true. Too many questions to answer here, but why not start with something fundamental? The source of warmth, life, need? "I want to see how he bleeds. If my blood is so essential to his survival... what does he have to give when he's at his lowest?" She looks around the space Cameron has prepared, rounded gaze softly pleading with the man.

"Cam, do you have a knife?"

[huntercam]

Palmer and Sons- How does your muse feel about their primary mode of transportation? Does their vehicle have a name?

His vehicle does not have a name, but he does love his car. It's customized to his tastes, and is more of a way to show the money that he has. It's not often that he'll allow just anyone to ride in it, either. So far it's just been Devon. If he has to take someone somewhere, he'll take a rental or an uber.

[huntercam]

Why not? Cam thinks all art - especially art that allows people to view a psyche that they may not ever come into contact with outside of the art itself. His own psyche, he knows, is not something that people would want to see up close and personal.

"I do." He nods, moving his hands to his pockets as he finally turns his gaze away from his own art towards Asa. There's something there beneath the surface with him that Cam doesn't quite know or understand - but he wants to see more of it. And he wants to know what the others who attend his gallery will think, as well.

Those who come here know what to expect. "Start slow, just one or two that you're proud of." He takes a beat then, allowing the suggestion to linger. "If anything, it's a wonderful way to make money."

There is something visceral to Cam's art that Asa has a profound respect for. While it's very different from his own, it is no less important, and personal. And that's what Asa enjoys about it the most.

His own works are abstracted in many ways, but based on what he sees, feels... how he goes about the world. He does wonder, in some respects, if these gnashing teeth and chains and leather are fact or fiction. A question for another time, maybe with a few drinks in his system. That dark curiosity might come out easier, then.

"Showcase them? I... well, I don't think I've ever displayed them all together. Only my illustration work, not any of the personal paintings." Asa scratches the back of his neck as he tucks his other hand into the pocket of his jeans. "You think I should?"

[huntercam]

Trust is such a fickle thing in Cameron's eyes. Other than his blood, he's never been able to trust anyone. Not those bound by a brotherhood, through magical ink embedded in his skin - and not by anyone he's deigned to allow himself to care about for whatever brief moment. It always ends in betrayal. Leaving, being turned or killed. Even family - the sting there simply comes from the fact that his brother is now dead.

His features make no change as she makes her declaration. It's too soon to tell if he can, but he will be watching her - hawk-like and hungry - to see if she will squander whatever trust he may eventually allow himself to feel.

A finger on his palm makes him draw his hand back and clench his fist - just for a moment. Gentleness is unfamiliar, therefore uncomfortable.

But he nods at her words, and allows himself something of a smile - "You're curious. Good." The answers aren't given to her directly, but e does pull the glove back over his hand as he steps away from her and towards the direction of his newest masterpiece. Amidst the salvage is a chained vampire - bound in ropes soaked with verbena. The flesh is raw and red, bloody.

It's similar to the night he'd met Reid here, but he moves behind the weakened creature and grabs it by the hair. "I fed him vampire blood yesterday, and broke his neck." Matter-of-fact. As if this is normal. "He's durable. I can do whatever I need to do and he'll heal once the verbena is removed. Sometimes I create pieces on the skin, take photos, and use them as reference - copying the texture of each burn and exposed flesh." It's a favorite of his. And now that that's been exposed, Elyse may be able to see some of the inspiration.

Other paintings are sexual and raw. This will be no such case. He simply wants to be inspired by whatever happens here. "This one is feral because he's hungry. Hasn't fed." The vampire snarls then, and snaps towards both of them.

"What would you do, now? With this in front of you - what would inspire you?" Allow him to feed, smear blood over his face, harm him further, watch him desiccate, burn in the sun, pin wooden stakes through his arms - Torture, release, or something else entirely? Cam has done all of those things and more over his time here.

Elyse knows that artists are capable of creating anywhere. Even if they don't carry their utensils and paints and tools everywhere, even if the setup isn't as traditionally elaborate as a fixture in a studio... the mind was always thinking, the eyes were always observing. She's trying to put herself into Cam's perspective as they stand and prepare -- for one of his sessions.

A small, airy laugh escapes her at the mention of the paper being odd. Yes, that was a word for it. "There is so much more I want to know," the girl assures him, somewhat leaning into his touch. The bruised marks on her neck are fading, but Elyse wonders what feelings the wound inspires in him. What curiosities. She recalls Rose's fear and emotion and concern. Cameron's gaze is hard to read. His palm, less so.

"You can trust me," she promises, hoping he believes it. Her eyes sweep the intricacy of his tattoo before her fingertips hover over it curiously. Elyse brushes a single digit across it before withdrawing her hand and meeting her mentor's gaze again. "Vampires, werewolves, and witches," Elyse echoes, if she's understanding him correctly. A smile creeps up the corners of her lips.

She has questions, about why he's joined a Brotherhood. What advantages it offers him in his creative works. But Elyse learns by watching, observing. Her round eyes are hungry, searching the darkness for scraps. "You have a creature here? For a canvas? Do you separate the hunter from the artist when you work, or..." The girl shakes her head. He'll show her what he needs to show her. "I want to see everything."

[huntercam]

There's a slight twitch of his lips at the term 'babysitter' but he won't challenge it. It's not for Valka to know that he's got himself someone to play with outside of (and perhaps sometimes a part of) hunter business. And there's also the question of the bite mark on Elyse's neck - something that makes him still flex his fingers in an attempt to control a flare of something other than his usual neutrality.

Captives gone. Fellowship plans gone awry, and here Cam is thinking about something other than numbers dwindling and retaliation himself. A moment of weakness, perhaps.

His gaze flickers up towards her, and he feels his eyebrow twitch. He doesn't necessarily approve of the Fellowship's methods, but this potion. "Has Phial been hit heavily? What reason would they have to retaliate?" But - "The potion could be useful, either way. Use it, trade it, kill a few of them on your way."

He's curious though. "Why tell me? Why not a Fellow?"

"Well, whoop-de-fucking-do for you."

Even though Cam was Brotherhood, Valka can spare an ounce of relief for the fact that the nightstalkers didn't dwindle their numbers too bad. Still, it's not like she's gonna throw a fuckin' party for McCormick. Hell, he'd be so much more useful on their side -- the Leiry branch of Fellowship's losing face and rank faster than she can personally do much about.

"Brotherhood on babysitting duty. What a world," she sneers. Valka hopes, at the very least, Cam achieved his ends. The fact she wasn't there... she's ashamed, but the hunter still isn't exactly feeling charitable enough to explain to others the real reason she left. She grimaces.

"Course I'm planning to hit back. But the witches one-two punched us, sprung their captives. I need to let the dust settle so we aren't goin' in blind and at half-mast," Valka growls. Her brows knit together for a moment as she considers sharing a secret with Cam. Maybe one will keep him from finding out the other. "Get this -- shortly after the big soiree, I come home to a potion at my door. Promising strength, temporarily. Can't exactly tell if it's just some setup from Phial or not, though. Or maybe worse, some real cut-rate tequila."

[huntercam]

Brotherhood

Does your muse have any tattoos? What do they mean?

He has two tattoos, one for the Brotherhood initiation on the palm of his hand - which grants him a bit of enhanced strength and heightened senses. He tries to get the magic renewed as often as he can. The other is on his shoulder, a realistic lightning bolt starts at his collarbone and goes to the nape of his neck.

[huntercam]

He could, theoretically, pay for it. And he'd certainly have plenty of uses for human blood in his trade. Traps, for instance. Bait. His lips curl into a smile - always somewhat unsettling to behold - before it slips off of his face into his normal neutral gaze.

"The vampire will be the hard part, yes, you're correct in assuming that much. But - you have a plethora of hunters at your disposal that need only a word to go after whomever is running the operation. Your focus should be on the revenge." He clicks his tongue. "That is a risk you have to take."

He does, though, have access. Without hesitating, he moves in quick strides to his bags - stored just behind a desk. He lifts them, opens, and removes a vial and syringe. "I can procure more. You must promise to only use it on the human. Vampires need stronger stuff."

A quick buck was the best idea for her personally, she could always do with the extra money, however she was sure she could spare some for Cam; or he could buy it from her and kill two birds with one stone. "You could, for a price." She grinned, finding it amusing that she was somewhat learning quickly in the very business that she was taken for.

"The getting him is the hard part. He can't be doing this without a vampire having an in on it, right? Someone who wants the blood has to be at least profiting somehow. And if I take him, is there any guarantee that someone is looking after however many other humans he has locked away?" It was true that they weren't her responsibility, but if they died from being drained too much, or from anything else, she would feel responsible.

"Unless I play him at his own game. Take some of your tools, find him, take him to the room where he kept me and maybe even free whoever he has down there. Then I'd be left to focus solely on him, with no distractions." It was food for thought, that was for sure, but it all depended on getting Nolan into a state where he couldn't fight back or call for help. "You have access to sedatives?" The cogs were turning, a plan forming, and suddenly she felt the white hot rage attune to her rather than work against her.