kannivalistic - Tumblr blog

[kannivalistic]

hc + 📱 for a media-themed headcanon

Valka doesn't have time for a ton of diversions and television but her DVR is backed up with episodes of Master Chef and several Real Housewives series. She'd never admit to enjoying that kind of semi-trashy reality drama but it's good background noise when she's cooking and she takes sides in arguments and talks back at the TV. I also believe she'd be a big fan of Drag Race but again, just doesn't have the time to sit and watch stuff really.

[kannivalistic]

She can tell that the girl's blood is still boiling from whatever went down -- good, she's going to need that in the coming days. But healing is just as important. Valka doesn't want to push any of her people too hard. She's not a general. She's hardly a leader right now, watching hunters go to the slaughter. Well, not even watching -- she wasn't there. And now she's hiding a wolf of a secret in her house, one that's gonna bite her in the ass sooner or later.

Should've known better. Not even worth the dance she did with the witchling boy. Val's got names on two vamp clan reps, but she doesn't know what to do with that. Markus is the one who sprung the attack. Made the witches feel bold.

"Didn't say you couldn't handle it. Only said I should have been there to fight too. I would've liked to get a few licks in."

There's a fire in Anika that Valka wants to kindle. But she doesn't wanna see it consume her. Lord knows life has already taken pieces of the older woman, body and soul. She knows the girl ain't stupid, and no one gets in this line of work thinking they'll live forever -- but seeing her son thrown back into her life has her questioning a whole lot all of a sudden.

"Me? I, uh," she says, wincing at the query. "Someone pricked me with something -- woman claimed it was a dress pin but... pretty sure she was a witch, I wasn't takin' the chance. I left early. 'Fraid I was gonna get sick, or worse. Had no idea what was comin' next." It's not entirely a lie, but she doesn't feel good sharing it. Especially since in the end, the witches got the upper hand on her anyway.

Healing came slower than expected. Bitter blood refusing to clot, flesh already torn and scarred too many times to count. She'd blame it on anyone else — her father, for giving her a reason to care, concern that only distracted her, and that blonde fucker and his theatrics. Anika rarely found the fault in herself. So long it's been just her — she had no one else to rely on, but herself.

At least the spell has been worth it. She was following right in his footsteps, that bastard and soon she would have him.

It was what fuelled her rage.

Hands wrapped around a metal pole, pulling her body up several times in a roll, up and down as sweat trailed down her biceps. "I didn't need you with me." breath coming up jagged. Anika did need her — yet not like she did before. Her hands no longer trembled around a gun, and her eyes no longer shut tightly when that bullet was fired. Valka had once taught her, all she knew.

She paused, only to focus on her breathing; inhale and exhale evenly, maintaining a good pace. "Where were you, anyway?" a counter question just to avoid answering her own.

[kannivalistic]

"Better'n an Oedipus complex, I guess."

Truth be told, Valka doesn't know what a Cassandra complex is. But she ain't telling the truth right now so it doesn't matter too much. Kid seems keen and as long as he's legal, she doesn't mind getting some before she gets gone.

"Reardon," she repeats, taking the names to heart. "Markus, right... you suppose any of the vampires actually eat that stuff? Seems kinda gross. But what do they say? I'm not here to yuck someone's yums?" Valka bites her tongue, considering the fact that there's a lot of yums here she'd just as willingly take a bite out of any other day. "Laure, Pretorius, Covenant," the hunter says again, counting off on her fingers and then pointing at the young man. She isn't exactly sure who he is, but mother's a coven leader all the same. Interesting. "All the clans and covens and packs 'round here, Port Leiry is bigger and smaller than it seems all at once."

Valka stares down at her dress, smoothing her hands over it for a moment before looking back up, catching the boy's bright green eyes. "Yeah, well -- better you than someone spilling their wine on it, right?" Without further warning, she closes the gap between them and plants a hungry kiss right on his mouth, hands gently sliding to either side of his neck. Lucky for the stranger, she doesn't eat witches. Doesn't mean she won't taste 'em, though.

Augury. He wonders, briefly, if every member of Augury is a beautiful older woman. It sure seems so. Still, he decides to be polite and not comment on the fact. "Ah, the Cassandra complex."

He looks around again, easily finding Markus in the crowd, and nods towards him. "Pretty sure it was the Reardon representative who is hosting tonight. This seems like Markus, you know? All fancy, expansive, they are serving snails ⸻ Very french. He is there with Aunt Laure. Pretorius, as you might know." He sighs. "I'm from the Covenant, but mom wants to keep it a small coven, so." He shrugs. He hopes it is enough to ease her mind, knowing they are safe here with the council watching over them. He feels proud, of being able to share something, too.

His eyes dips to the said slip, and he gulps again. "Thank the spirits for that. It's a beautiful dress to ruin." He looks at her, big doe green eyes waiting, expecting something he feels ready to burst for.

[kannivalistic]

"Oh, really? Must'a missed them." Fancy fucks. Valka would have much preferred putting on a leather jacket and jeans but she'd have been turned away at the door if so. Maybe that was better, she wasn't really getting too much out of this night but a buzz on free booze -- so it could have always been worse.

When asked for her coven affiliation, she realizes -- if this young man was a witch, he might have heard of what happened at Summerfest. Which means she should have also heard about it. Been hurt by it, maybe. What were Val's options again? Phial, the potion witches. Garnett, life and death. Feng-Lindon was a family affair, so not that one. That leaves --

"Me? Augury. But everyone thinks we know everything and tells us nothing," she says with a light chuckle, hoping it's believable enough. Valka whistles low and hungry, impressed by his comment, the ease of its eagerness. "Damn... Haven't ever been called a goddess. Though I've had men and women invoke the Big Guy's name when they're with me all the same. Thank goodness for the slit in this dress, right?"

The Phantom ⸻ "Well, I don't know." He looks around. "Someone came dressed as the Phantom, but I don't know who was it." He caught glimpses of them around, but Nikko doesn't know who would do such thing. Markus can't be too happy about it.

Something tugs at him ⸻ the lacing on her words, the meaning of it. It bites with soft teeth, enough to make his skin itch. There's something wrong, he can tell, and he gulps. The woman is beautiful, but he can't flirt with someone from Phial. "You mean the council? ⸻ You don't know? What coven are you from?" She doesn't smell dead, so certainly a witch?

He smiles, still, all dimples and cheap charm ⸻ straightening his posture enough so he seems taller than his 5'8 feet. His mouth water, tongue desiring to taste something other than the drugs in his system for a moment. He chuckles. "Wha? I think that's a face worth starting wars for. Helen of Troy." Nerd. "You can keep the mask, I don't mind. I always prefer to worship a goodness on my knees, so it doesn't make a difference."

[kannivalistic]

Valka is almost ready to move on to the next topic of conversation when the young man's comment catches her off guard. No ghost? Her brows knit together behind her mask and fingers twitch for a brief moment before inhaling to regain her composure. This is no place to discuss her possible ghosts, and she's glad to move on.

"Always something," she agrees lazily, though her next question comes with laser-focus. "Have you heard what it is they want tonight? Who's the Phantom behind this masquerade?"

It's difficult, not being able to spy anyone through the glamours on their masks, but talk is cheap -- occasionally free, especially from loosened lips. Valka can't say for sure if the boy will turn anything over for her, but she's more than willing to make a deal... "Thanks. Not exactly a face to launch a thousand ships or nothin', but... mask's stayin' on tonight. Other things... I can be persuaded to take off."

He wishes to drop the subject, knowing grief is a sensible thing. So he nods, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment before he admits, "I don't sense a ghost around you." It might not be a relief, but it is the truth.

He feels a blush forming, creeping up the base of his neck to his cheeks. It feels warmer inside his fresh suit, and he gulps. "I've been told begging can be fun to hear from certain people." It's not an implication, he tells himself. Just a fact. Of course, he thinks himself pretty at begging ⸻ have done enough of it he mastered the voice, now. But she doesn't seem the type to fall for that. Still, he nods.

"When it is with the council? They always want something." It's bad to talk about his aunt Laure like that, he knows. But it's again, just another sour truth. He licks his lips, nodding once more like he is nothing but a good puppy. "You look like you are plenty fun. Very beautiful."

[kannivalistic]

"Rex Clayton," she repeats, turning the name over on her tongue. Sounds familiar... Valka continues to study the stranger to see if a spark catches somewhere. Her stern lips lighten into a smile -- she's probably making the chick uncomfortable, glaring her up and down like a piece of meat. Only when Val did it to most people, it wasn't the way they expected. But no, no telltale twinge of her tattoo to suggest this woman was anything but a human. Descended from a man who enjoyed a dive bar like this one regularly.

"Shit... yeah, I think I heard of your dad," the woman says. The feeling is there, but she hopes the words will coax the memory out of her faster. Rex Clayton -- he was a hunter. Valka kind of remembers catching wind of him while she was traveling -- but he must've got out to Port Leiry before her, never caught up with him out west. Yeah, yeah, there it is -- he wasn't Brotherhood or Fellowship. Some hunters preferred to walk alone, though most of 'em didn't last long. Not Clayton, though. Curious -- Valka doesn't wanna be the one to pop this woman's monster cherry if she's not ready. But still, she's gotta ask...

"You and he very close? How much did he tell you 'bout his life?"

FOLLOWING IN HER FATHER'S FOOTSTEPS probably wouldn't have even occurred to her had it not been for the most recent form of events that led to his untimely death. In truth, she didn't fully believe him when he told her who and what he was. The tattooed mark and everything that came with it seemed a bit preposterous at the time. But she was starting to understand. If only because of the anger fueling and boiling deep inside her chest at every given second. She had just started to rekindle a relationship with him, only to have him taken away.

The question of his name leaves a sour taste in her mouth before she even says it, unsure if she's able to trust this woman or knowing for sure who she is. But something about her seems strangely calming. ❝ Rex Clayton. ❞ Initial hint of flirtation gone a bit unrecognized, but not fully unnoticed as she tucks several strands of hair behind her ear. Attempting to hide the blush upon cheeks. Mostly with the assumption that she was reading more into it than she rightfully should. ❝ I like the atmosphere in here, I can see why he enjoyed it, too. Seems very much his vibe, as much as I knew. ❞

[kannivalistic]

Valka is just starting to get a clearer picture of the absolute shitshow she barely missed at the Masquerade. She'd claim a case of divine intervention with the timing of her... son's return, but only if it was divine in the sense that it came out of one of the levels of Dante's Inferno. Comedy, depending on the angle you were looking down on it from.

She knows right now, not a single soul in Port Leiry is a fan of the Fellowship. Even the molasses-ass Brotherhood hunters, most of whom didn't have a damn lick to do with Summerfest. But they were hunters just the same. Difference of detail or not, their basic creed is the same. But that means this is no time to be turning on each other, not when the bloodsuckers, beasts, and witches-be-bitches were riled up and feeling proud of themselves while Valka and her allies licked their wounds.

"McCormick," the butcher barks, wiping her hands on her apron. "I got an itch on my ass but that's not my tattoo telling me as much -- so I'm guessing that standing here you ain't dead or undead either."

She pauses, slipping out from behind the counter to size the Brotherhood hunter up. "How many'd we lose?"

closed starter for @kannivalistic

This trip wasn't exactly a routine one, but it was one that was necessary. After the Masquerade, he was unable to find Valka anywhere on the grounds nor had he heard from her. Of course, that meant next to nothing - they all had their own agendas. His own didn't tend to align with the others, but he was a part of them whether he liked it or not.

Stepping into the butcher shop, he puts his hands into his pockets and breathes in the distinct smell of chemical, meat, and something.. other. "What a pleasant surprise. You're not dead."

[kannivalistic]

closed starter for @anikabooker where/when: a hunter training space, a few days after the masquerade

Today of all days, the elder hunter feels like she is merely skin stitched over incandescent rage. Her entrails have been replaced with a storm of anger and pain and blood from broken vessels leeching throughout her entire being. But her healing mark tattoo is doing its job, knitting Valka's physical pains back together.

It's the mental cracks it can't seem to fix.

It's always been the hunters versus the monsters. Sometimes it was Fellowship versus the Brotherhood, and Valka is certain that the clashing creeds will be at odds as everyone became collateral in the vampires' and witches' response to Summerfest. Of course the attack couldn't go unanswered, and of course that damn fancy, vapid fuckin' party was the place to do it. Not that she had intended to go in the first place.

She can't say for certain if she's grateful for the way things played out -- she'd have liked to take a swing at the fuckers who got Alejo. And the beasts would be preening, content that they cowed the hunters for a while. But they didn't finish the job, and once Valka was fully back on her feet, they'd pay for what they did.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," she offers Anika with all the regret she can muster. Val had wanted to check in with the girl, who suggested sparring. She suspected neither of them were exactly in a state to go hard, but she understood the fury. The passion bursting at the seams. "How are you holding up?"

[kannivalistic]

For a moment, Valka feels unsteady as he poses the question. You don't have griefs? She sighs. "Sometimes it's about all I have. Grief and anger. My sword and shield," the hunter admits in a rare moment of vulnerability. Fuel on an ever-raging fire burning far too fast and bright, hoping to take everything down in its path.

This witchling is a tantalizing opportunity for her, though -- she can sense a tinge of strangeness in her tattoo. Valka wants to pry him apart, dissect him for information, answers. But she thinks of how she didn't even want to come to this damn farce of a party anyways, and how she might as well find something worthwhile to enjoy before she cuts and runs.

"And if I do?" The grin is full of clean, white teeth. "Hell, I don't even let my dog beg for scraps at the dinner table, but... hearin' it from others it another thing entirely." Valka steps closer, staring down at the stranger with her one good eye, studying his own masked visage.

"Maybe fun, and then some. I mean... I'm guessing this whole affair isn't a 'from the kindness of their hearts' thing anyways. But what do I know about that? Do I look like something fun to you?"

"Grief is haunting." Simple words spoken in a quiet, calm tone ⸻ like discussing the bleak weather over a lukewarm cup of tea in the morning. The suffocating presence of ghosts was nothing above mundane headlines in the newspapers to her, anymore. How could it be exciting when they are always lurking in the corner of her vision? She tuts, curious despite her otherwise lack of interest. "You don't have griefs?"

The blush blooming on dimpled cheeks mingles well with her pale complexion ⸻ gives a touch of life to her nearly blueish gray skin. She despises it, despite it being the only spot of warmth currently in her body. She enjoys flirting ⸻ it's when they joke back that she feels thrown out of her depths.

"You enjoy making people beg, then?" She does not mean it nearly half dirty as the words sound escaping her lips, and Nikko immediately clears her throat when realization hits her with the force of a derailed train. "Aren't we all looking for fun, tonight?"

[kannivalistic]

"Hey, woah, woah," she says, hands up and voice low like she was trying to heel a dog. Valka wonders what it is that always compels people to reach for their tubes and needles in a hospital. The boy is weak and he gives up on it quickly, to her relief -- but soon enough, she's left with his questioning eyes, his wild and frenzied state.

Her one good eye is trying to commit him to memory, boring into him and searching the shape of him for any echo of the memories she's held in her heart for all these years. Valka doesn't want to think about the fact there was a day, very clearly etched into her mind, where she saw him with her own two eyes for the last time. Chased him across the yard with her own two legs. Held him close, breathed in the scent of him, and did everything she could to raise him in the proud Hadley tradition. And she failed. Fuckin' failed, chased phantoms for almost two decades, and quietly gave up, resigning herself to life in Port Leiry. Her life's mission becoming a drive to make everyone else as miserable as possible.

"Mom?"

The question cuts her to the quick. The woman she is now, that's not a mother. Sure, she had a kid, and no one could take that fact from her. But she couldn't raise a fact, didn't get to see a fact turn sixteen and teach him to drive, or take that fact for a beer when it turned 21. She'd stopped being a mother when those wolves took her Roan from her. Valka's a leader, she's a hunter, she's a butcher. But she's not a mother.

"They told me you were... You still my little hero, 'Ro? Cuz I swear, if this is a trick by one of those witches, I'll string 'em up by their witchy thumbs and savor every second of it..."

Gruesome talk. She's confused, for starters, and distracted by the haze of the masquerade. Everything she left behind, that woman who scratched her. Valka wishes she could be happier, but something sits like a rock in her belly. Something unfamiliar -- like fear. Regret. The sureness of failure.

"You lost a lotta blood. Just sit tight, don't touch those tubes, okay? Do you remember... what hurt you?"

He doesn't dream ⸻ can't remember the last time there was anything but silence or horrors behind his closed eyelids. But it is always her face which haunts him when he rests ⸻ although, he isn't sure if rest is what he does when his eyes close and his body sag. She watches him silently, in his visions, covered by the morning fog that invades his memories. He knows he has begun to forget her face, no matter how hard he clings to her features like her memory is his safety blanket. He can imagine her ⸻ but the details of her face is hidden by the haze, blurred by time creeping in his mind.

Still, she stands there in the fog watching him. The door of his cage is wide open, but he is terrified of leaving. When he does, she smiles long enough for his worries to be soothed and his feet to carry him closer. Her smile turns into something ugly, laughing when he can't reach her. He screams, cry out her name, but she cackles, a paw reaching out of her mouth to him ⸻

He wakes with a gasp. It is not strange to wake with his mouth dry and throat raw, some part of his body aching. It burns now, hurting something bad, a groan escaping scraped lips. His hand moves to his side out of instinct, but the beep of a machine fills his ears before the difficulty to move registers in his brain. His eyes shots open, desperation filling his lungs when he rapid breathes. He doesn't know where he is, doesn't know why it smells sterile and bland, why he can't move his arm. He remembers partially of the previous night ⸻ mother and her bite, warm blood rushing out if him. He weakly pulls on the tubes and strange needles surrounding him, heart hammering inside his chest.

With his harsh movements, he catches a glimpse of her in the corner of his eyes and the world seems to freeze. His frantic tugging comes to a halt, jaw clenching when he turns his head to face the stranger sitting by his bed. He sees the lines of her face, tries to match it with his memory. He is not sure, can't be sure, but the features are there ⸻ the few he remembers, if only older now. It is not her, he tells himself, but his lips betrays the lies his mind tells his heart.

"Mom?"

[kannivalistic]

"Your dad, huh?"

A real frequent customer must've meant one thing -- well, two, the second being he was a real lucky guy who just loved cheap beer. But the first made Valka curious. She'd ask the name, shortly. If she didn't already know it, the hunter figured he wasn't one of hers. Wondered if this woman was following in his footsteps already or not. How much she loved that dear old dad.

"Y'know, the beer here isn't great and the food is passable, but something about the atmosphere, it just works." Valka tossed a look back at the bar just to make sure one of the staff didn't hear her -- though she was she they wouldn't exactly deny the quality either. Place was for hunters gathering -- you wanted something much better you figured it out elsewhere or stayed home.

Valka stared, maybe a little longer than was polite, trying to place the face. She gestured at herself with a finger. "Sorry, bad eye. Can't tell by looking if I know your old man but I'd say you turned out alright. What's his name, see if I recognize it?"

CURIOSITY MIGHT'VE PLAYED A PART, IGNORANCE THOUGH, very little. Or at least, she has an idea, as minimal of one as it was and she still holds onto some skepticism. Her father never was much of a reliable source throughout her entire life, but she trusted his recommendation when it came to bars. Ironically enough. He'd mentioned this place: Sweetwater to her once, maybe twice. Maybe more than that, actually. Wanting to bring her here himself but sadly, never had the chance. Instead, she has to show up and check it out on her own accord which draws out some strange, personal connection. One she doesn't recognize outside of name and recommendation alone. Feeling eyes on her, she looks over and meets with another woman's gaze: too pretty to even be real.

What even was this town—? Filled with some of the most beautiful people she's ever seen or encountered in her life. The fact that the woman begins to speak to her almost makes Nat do a quick glance over her shoulder to see if someone else was standing there. Not to say she hasn't already gotten her fair share of recognitions around the place and that already lowkey astounded her to some degree. ❝ Uh… no, first time. Maybe you've seen my dad around though, apparently, he used to frequent this place quite a bit. He was the one who told me about it, figured I'd pop in and see for myself. ❞ Brief pause as she lets out a light chuckle, ❝ Been told I look a lot like him, not sure if that's a compliment or not on my end. ❞

[kannivalistic]

closed starter for: @sntshadleys where/when: the hospital, the night of the masquerade

She hangs up the first time they call. Someone had a lotta nerve looking her up and making wild claims.

But as Valka leaves the grounds of the masquerade, still dressed to the nines, the nurse's words turn over in her mind until she swallows them. The hunter is going to choke on the sinews and her own bile as the name tears itself a path, bloody, screaming, down the walls of her throat and settles over her heart;

We're currently looking after a young man calling himself Roan Harrier Hadley, he has no identification but what records we can find indicate you are his kin. He's in a bad state, in some sort of attack. Can you come to Port Noble Hospital tonight?

They call one more time and the woman picks up the phone and the sounds of desperation come tumbling out of her mouth. It's an unfamiliar sound, even to Valka's own ears. And if this is some trick, some sick joke by the witches who wanted revenge -- well, she never needs another excuse to take some heads.

---

Of course Valka doesn't recognize the boy -- the body -- in the bed. And she's likely better equipped than the doctors to diagnose the attack. But if there's even a chance this is... even if it can't be, because she wasn't looking tonight, she hadn't been looking for the better part of five years... Well, she thinks she'd better start payin' tribute to St. Anthony and St. Jude. Lost things, lost causes. Too bad there wasn't a patron saint of lost legs (not that she's asked the Catholic church for the holy phone book recently).

Hunter's blood might help. Mother's blood might too. It's late and she's sitting in a chair after some shouting at the nurses to let her be the one giving blood for the transfusion. He's weak, not conscious, and maybe she thinks this is a bad idea. But on the off chance it might not be, she isn't going to let Roan get something nameless, from a bag that was just as sure to be vampire chow than anything. And maybe after all this time, Valka can't allow the altruism of others to be the thing that saves her boy...

If that even is her boy anymore.

[kannivalistic]

Their hands clasp and Valka feels a pinch. She suspects from a ring or other, but isn't so naive as to think it's an entire, sheer coincidence. The hunter draws a sharp breath in through her nose, but the sting subsides quickly as it came. "Atch," she gasps on the exhale. "No. It's fine. Happens."

Val shakes her head, drawing the struck finger up to her mouth and, in a manner most unbecoming, sucks on it in hopes of drawing out any toxins or at least getting to the good stuff before any vampires had the pleasure. She withdraws the digit with a pop of her lips, but before she can make a retort, her phone is angrily buzzing within her handbag. Normally she'd ignore it -- her Fellowship is likely here tonight among the throngs anyhow. Not that they could recognize each other. But the buzzing persists. She draws the device from her bag and sees the screen.

There wasn't a reason in the world she could think of that explained why the Port Noble Hospital was blowing up her phone.

Brows furrow deeply behind her mask, and Valka suspects this isn't something to ignore. So much for getting her recon freak on. "Sorry, I think I should take this. Get that dress pin fixed -- there's sharks circling and I suspect anyone acting too chummy tonight won't last long."

Whoever this woman is, her philosophy on the morbid is interesting - catches the attention whether she realizes it or not. Or perhaps she doesn't expect others to be quite so enraptured by it. Grace looks down at the hand offered to her and sees opportunity -

Subtly, she shifts her drink from one hand to the other, settling the pin in between her fingers. All she needs is a pinprick and her magic can do the rest. Whoever the woman is - her blood will tell her all she needs to know.

She reaches out to shake the hand offered to her and slides the pin into Valka's skin - she should feel nothing more than irritation and a slight pinch, which is risky enough. When her magic latches hold onto the bits of blood that flow, she weaves it to settle onto the head of the pin, floating there - somewhat solid to the naked eye.

"Ah, sorry - one of my pins must have come loose on my dress. Should I get you a napkin?"

[kannivalistic]

"Interesting," Valka hummed. She wasn't exactly spiritual herself and didn't have much experience with ghosts herself, but she'd heard of witches and even tortured a few who claimed to see specters. A momentary flash of wonder passes through her, a morbid curiosity, about whether any one of them looked like... No, she wouldn't wish that haunted afterlife even on her loved ones. "Some still-living people are easily trapped by their grief as well. How painfully human of them."

The girl seems a bit flighty, but harmless. Val suspects these ghouls, real or imagined, are very much on her mind. A little witch, maybe, or a haunted human. But she seems too aware for that.

The hunter smiles, running her tongue over her teeth teasingly. "Oh, yeah? I usually only do that if you ask real nice," Val crows. "Haven't had too many complaints, though. Why, you looking?"

A moment to calculate her words ⸻ a rare occasion where her brain works. Perhaps she has misunderstood the woman's comment, and she wasn't previous aware of the beings crowding this party. It would have been for the the best ⸻ Nikko wishes she was blissfully ignorant to the world surrounding her. The ghosts are particularly loud tonight, violent, ugly.

Some, thankfully, barely seem to notice her ⸻ too caught up in the ball to care about the strange girl watching them. She doesn't know why the others are so worked up.

"It does," she says, familiarity with the subject poisoning her system like blood clogs. "The ghosts, at least. Some become a manifestation of their grief, their pain while dying. They lose their minds." The words are a whisper, as she watches the couple twirls on the dance floor. Some one them doesn't change, that is true.

Her attention is brought back to the woman with words that flicker something inside of her ⸻ interest or desire, she doesn't know yet. She glances her up and down, discreetly, biting the inside of her cheeks. Again, her brain decides to work, and she ponders for a few seconds what she should say. "I suppose you have a point. I've already seen a pair having some biting time in the shadows."

Ah, screw it. "Although, I gather one wouldn't mind being biting by you."

[kannivalistic]

Valka notices the slight twitch of the woman's lip, her mask disguising the more distinct features of her face but doing nothing to mask the lower half of her. She wonders what causes the flash of emotion, but it's cooled just as quickly as a more philosophical question is offered.

"You offer a vampire nothing but flesh and they'll wither. You offer a wolf nothing but blood and their ribs will show in time. But flesh bleeds," the hunter offers in morbid meditation. "And on both a crude and spiritual level, they both describe family. But I bet most would say it's the blood, not the flesh, that makes ties most meaningful. People tend to think of themselves as flesh, though, not blood. I don't know what to make of it, honestly. But I think the significance just depends on what you're hungry for."

Though Valka was curious to get a better read on the guests for the evening, it does make her uneasy knowing she wasn't the one behind planning tonight. Meaning no matter how cautious she is, someone's got the drop on her. "Easier to fall from a height, I suppose. If someone tried anything tonight they'd be remarkably bold, maybe suicidal. But, hey, I might not linger myself either way. Gotta let the dog out, y'know? But it's been a pleasure."

The hunter offered her hand to the stranger -- a working woman's greeting, a symbol of good faith. And maybe she was double checking this chick had a pulse, just in case.

"That is the truth." She concedes - Port Leiry is and always has been an interesting place to live. While maybe it might have once called itself a haven of sorts for those otherworldly - lately it's been anything but. Territory disputes, hunters, and even the politics of it all. The covens should be banding together, but she has no idea if the others are even requesting help.

Her lips twitches in anger.

"Are flesh and blood one and the same?" She murmurs, not really expecting an answer here, but wondering if she'll get one all the same. "But true - Caution no matter where you are is important. Otherwise one might fall into a trap."

Hopefully there won't be one tonight, but time will tell.

[kannivalistic]

"This city takes its pound of flesh however it can," she says, tensing somewhat. "Best wishes to your family. It's hard, knowing you can't always protect them."

Valka knew she'd be denounced a hypocrite by those who considered the monsters a little more human. They had lives, loves, families -- hell, some of 'em even had pets of their own, which she found hilarious in a certain light. But the hunter didn't just kill for the fun of it. Wolves called it a curse for a reason. Vampires spread themselves like a sickness. Witches may have control over nature, but they were anything but natural. Her motivations were one part mercy, one part vengeance. She knew she'd never get her niece back, but she could stop those beasts from taking anyone else away from the light.

"I think it's wise to be cautious no matter whose company you're in. But especially when it comes to those who make meals of human flesh."

Valka, of course, doesn't consider the flesh she consumes to be human any longer.

Grace watches this woman, studying what little of her features she can make out - how she moves. If she was there - and it wasn't her they were after? Someone caught in the crossfire, or the one perpetuating it. There are a few mental leaps she could make to come to a proper conclusion, but she stops herself short of reading too much into it.

If this is a hunter, then she needs to play nice anyways. No need for a brawl in the middle of mock high society, even if she's sure she could take her.

A glance down towards her legs makes her narrow her eyes and she commits that to memory, too. "It very well could have been worse. Cheers to your health."

She purses her lips, though. "Not a fan of vampires, then?"

[kannivalistic]

closed starter for @insidethec4ge where/when: sweetwater, late evening

Valka didn't know every single hunter in Port Leiry, but she tried to make it her beeswax to know. Especially when it came to recruiting for the Fellowship. Plenty of hunters knew her, though, with a reputation preceding her like a bloodhound on a leash. Still, that didn't mean humans couldn't find their way into their so-called sacred spaces. Curiosity and ignorance could get someone in and outta lots of spaces.

She sat at the bar at Sweetwater, salt on the rim of her pretty awful beer. But she came here for the... call it ambience, more than the drinks. And maybe out of some lingering hope she'd get Soleil back on the winning team someday.

Valka spared a glance at another woman sitting nearby, looking again when something tickled the back of her mind and the sight in her one good eye. Chick was about her age, with a rough look and a dark glint to her. It felt familiar. "Sorry to stare, but you look awful familiar. I seen you around this dive before?"