kannivalistic

[kannivalistic]

"In my experience, you gotta keep an open mind about what's lurking in the dark," she says, and as if to answer herself, remembers that it's still daytime. Valka's never seen anything quite like the way this young man's behaving, though it may be a witch's hex of some kind. Not exactly her specialty, but she is curious enough to bite.

The hunter slides herself out from behind the counter, wiping her hands on a rag as she approaches. He's holdin' the door open but not coming inside. "Gonna let in all the flies," she mumbles. Her tattoo's itching a mite, but now she's not sure whether to chalk it up to wolf or witch genes, or the bracelet he's got on. Not the first time she's ever seen enchanted jewelry, but it's the first that's got someone acting a fool on her doorstep.

"That's a pretty piece of work. Cursed? Where'd you pick it up? Guessing you can't just yank it off yourself, that'd be too easy."

"Vampire?" Tj couldn't help but chuckle. "I look like a vampire to you?" His eyes dramatically do a once over on his body. "I suppose I give off... undead vibes. But I am not one of them." He told the woman at the counter. It was a first, someone thinking he was a species other than the one he was. But considering how he wasn't able to just walk into the building, he supposed it wasn't the worst guess.

"I am not fucking with you and nothing is wrong with me, exactly." He then held up his hand, showing off the gold bracelet wrapped around his wrist. "This thing, however... prevents me from going very many places."

[kannivalistic]

Valka exhales a short laugh. Not rude, just amused. Knowing she can't get Book to do shit about shit if he don't want to. When she'd first met Anika, she had no idea she was getting into a whole tangled world of family matters. While being a hunter was often family biz, as it had been with hers and many others like them, with the Bookers it was clear it was their rage, raw and unresolved, that drew them both into the dangerous life. Any DNA they shared was pure coincidence.

She thinks bitterly of her own child, suddenly thrust back into her world. The burden of rage she's cultivated and carried all these years is purely her own, and it's left her too hot for much else. Whatever Hadley genes were in Roan, whatever she'd given to him before he was taken from her, that's not there anymore. She doesn't know who she gave blood to the night of the Masquerade, and she's terrified to finally find out.

But she says none of this to Anika. Just inhales and shakes her head forlornly. "I didn't keep it from you on purpose, y'know. It just... didn't occur to me at the time. And there never felt like a good time. I'm sorry, though, I owe you that much." Even if the elder hunter knows this girl won't accept that, because she doesn't want pity. But it's not pity -- it's the closest thing to love that Valka might have left to give.

"Leave? Like, ditch Port Leiry or leave leave?"

Fellowship tattoos would fade, in time. Unlike the Brotherhood, you had to want it bad enough. Bad enough to keep going and taking and burning up everything behind you. Is Anika saying she don't want it no more?

Wouldn't it be easier if she just asked herself. If the two of them, father and daughter, sat down and cleared the air — shared a list of their allies, a longer list of their enemies, allowed each other a glimpse of the past twelve years and forgive themselves for finding each other so late. That would only ever be a perfect fantasy in her head, something she should've done instead of avoiding her father. Besides the constant calls of concern, Anika didn't know how much her father wanted to open up to her, either. Perhaps, just as little as she did. Now, if Valka had to be the better option for getting him to talk, then so be it. "Do that. You'll get him to talk." she was sure of it.

It had never even crossed her mind before. That he'd be alive, let alone picking up wooden stakes and kiling beasts. He was the last thing on her mind, when she first met the other woman. Back then, she couldn't even remember how to spell her last name. She didn't remember what his face looked like. She only saw darkness, and every face she'd even known was swallowed by it. "And you've known him all this time?" it was gut wrenching, and heart breaking and she felt nauseated by the idea of it — being so close to him, all this time, just at an arms reach.

"I'm not blaming you." Anika wanted to make sure that was clear, because her voice surely did sound accusatory. It always did sound weapon-like.

Leather boots suffed the pavement, as she moved closer to the other hunter. "That and I want to leave. My shit's packed anyway, and I only came here to find him." she was only hoping he'd come with.

[kannivalistic]

Painless. It's a hilarious choice of word for a vampire who's already set her trigger tattoo itching. A creature that's literally always armed to the teeth, stepping willingly into a butcher's den, where the hunter hides specialized equipment in and among her bevy of knives designed for the sole purpose of commercially cutting flesh and bone. Where's the fun without the pain?

Closing the store sends enough of a message to satisfy her -- she's not unreasonable. Just proactive. And sure as hell not stupid. Reid Halstead was a dead man walking, but she'd hope that even current circumstances haven't dulled his hunter instinct. Still, she has the advantage that he's Brotherhood born, and so was she once, 'til she got wise and turned Fellowship. So if anything, her instincts will move her faster than his. And he seems too cowed to do much with his vampire speed to make a difference.

"Lotta people know Book -- big whoop. Wouldn't be surprised if you know him from the business end of a knife, but... it's cute, you've done some homework," she says, keeping a smart distance from him but still standing ready to face down trouble. A grin catches Valka's lips at the mention of unorthodox -- it's a cute word. Polite way to put it, if he's heard even half a lick of truth. He's standing in the church of her unorthodoxy. If the body is a temple, then she's worshipping at her very own altar. Taking of the flesh and eating it too. But a vampire's got no taste for that. It's the blood he needs.

"No offense, but I've tried it. Training the fuckin' dogs, bleeding the mosquitos. Yeah, we may be workin' on shit you don't know about but I don't see what you can offer -- or what you want to get out of some sort of deal. I know you're hunter blood and I'm sorry for your family's loss, but... you're either a traitor or suicidal, stepping into the lion's den and asking for a handshake. And I can't say either of those options is exactly a good business model for partnerships. But I'm just curious enough to know -- what's it you want that badly?"

"Sure. I could stroke your ego about it, but I don't think you need me to," Her reputation did precede her. In a mouth that actually mattered too — Book had mentioned Valka's name even before he'd had to shake another guy down for the finer details; she's bigger than a butcher shop.

And he finds her admittance for lack of personable qualities, relatable. "Neither am I. So I suppose we can make this painless for both of us." He's got the idea to stay firmly on the opposite side of the counter to the hunter. For one. Eyes drift to the glimmering blade before it vanishes. Reid draws his sights upwards again.

His idea to stay on the opposite counter is quickly thrown out the window when she comes around to his side. Reid can think like a hunter, just as much as he used to — but he's got no leg to stand on, without meeting in the middle with his current capability. The magic in his tattoo has faded, erased upon death; it's simply a washed-out symbol marking his failure on his hand. And he won't use the power granted to him in death.

The room darkens as she closes down the store.

Reid's not sure when the best moment to shoot his shot is, but — he's cut enough corners, or tried to and she's been plenty blunt in telling him how it is.

"I know Book," to start — as if he's abusing the name; a blasphemer, claiming devotion to a prophet. "But like I said, I don't want trouble. I heard you might have... unorthodox methods for your hunting." He's pandering, and they both know it. "Fellowship are up to something behind the scenes, and I want to know if they — you'd be willing to work together, on something." He tries not to cringe at his botched proposition. He's got a pocket of ashes to drop at Book's feet, in partial spite of the ultimatum he'd been given. But Valka sounded important in the hierarchy of the branch and whilst turncoating isn't in his nature — he can't switch sides if he belongs to neither.

[kannivalistic]

Valka looks at meat and she doesn't see what it used to be -- a living thing, all cute and on its hoofers. She looks and she sees what it will be -- carved in sections, each cut a different name. Further still, how it's going to be dinner. The woman considers how crispy she could get that pork belly, how loud the skin would be between her teeth. She's got no time for reminiscing, no nostalgia for a creature's dead body. Not in her line of work, on either side of the supernatural divide.

"Never a bother," she slips in between Heron's words as she works the cleaver, the scent of cold flesh and distant copper permeating the space. Valka can't hide her growing amusement as Heron speaks though, both at the other hunter's clear conspiratorial tone as well as her own knowledge of the subject.

"Is that so? Kinda suspected as much on account of he walked into my shop recently looking to cut some sort of a deal," she hums in response, swinging her cleaver through another solid few inches of pork. "It's a shame, how that whole Halstead family sort of fell apart, hm? But the Brotherhood's dying out."

She says nothing of her own son, returned to her a wolf after over a decade spent apart.

"He came to me sayin' he knew Book and how he wanted to broker an alliance. Hell, I saw him contemplating some of the bait blood I keep for fang-faces just like him. But what'd he want from you, Heron?"

guess who came to dinner

who: @kannivalistic where: Two Sundays

Heron enjoys watching Valka work on the pig. She finds the dull thud of a cleaver on a block rhythmic and soothing in its own way, like a bassline. She's no stranger to butchery, her chosen nomme d'guerre of Carnifex chosen specifically for the imagery it might afford. "So the reason I'm bothering you, Valka..." She leans over the table, pressing her fingertips to the clean surface as she smiles wide. "the one Halstead son, Reid, really isn't dead after all - I'd heard rumors but I'd had doubts - he's a vampire, Hadley, and he's a suicidal one at that." Briefly, her lip tucks itself under teeth as her eyes scan the chopping of the pork on the block. "And he wanted my help." The entirety of the sentence is couched in incredulous giggling, as if she can't get it out with a straight face.

[kannivalistic]

Regardless of the Masquerade crap, the art gallery scene was pretty far from Valka's comfort zone. Sure, she appreciated a taste of luxury here and there (not just sashimi'd vampires neither) and she had some tasteful sculptures and paintings in her house. But this was real artsy art, with deep meaning and shit. Mostly.

She's a bit surprised that Anika is clearly buzzed, if not halfway drunk, but maybe that's what it takes to survive at these types of social functions. Hell, the older hunter's got a glass of complimentary wine in her own hand, which she's careful not to spill as the girl gives her a languid hug. It makes Valka even more certain of her desire to keep an eye out for Anika in case shit goes sideways.

"Wouldn't miss it. Plus, I heard they had free snacks, so, here I am," she laughs, only mostly kidding. Valka wonders if any of the witches would make themselves known here -- if they do, she wants them to see she's still standing, still eager to fight. Plus, she's got that potion from the Masquerade just in case... The hunter snorts into her wine glass as she raises it for another sip. "Eh, you never were the type to show off just to show off. You got any interested takers yet? How long'd these pieces take you to make, anyhow?"

She hated those shorten versions of her name. Ani — her father's daughter. And she hasn't been that — for quite awhile now. Perhaps, Valka still held on to that fragment of the past. The one that reminded her of someone she'd lost. But Anika let the nickname slide — for now, simply because the older hunter was the only family she's had for years. She could call her whatever she wanted, and Anika wouldn't protest (not that she'd ever let her know that).

Anika knew this wasn't Valka's scene. Hell, it wasn't hers either, but she needed the money if she ever wanted to leave this shithole and settle somewhere nice. But she extended an invitation, in hope that she would find comfort in a familiar face, that wasn't her father. And there she was — "Oh, look who came." her voice was an octave higher, as she stumbled wrapping her arms around the other woman. It was a sloppy hug, mostly because she was drunk, but Valka knew — the younger hunter didn't have a hug loving bone in her body. She was holding on to her, as if she might lose her balance any moment now.

"Money." she said, all charming smirks and glazy eyes. "What the fuck else?" certainly not for fame and glory. She wanted to rid herself of those canvases. And there were better ways than dumping them in some long abandoned basement.

[kannivalistic]

closed starter for @anikabooker when/where: nouveau grand opening

"You, Ani, you did all these?"

The fine art scene is certainly not for Valka -- and the Booker girl is likely the only person in this world the elder hunter would dare have gotten dressed up and out of the house for, especially after what happened at the vampire's Masquerade massacre. She's still not entirely convinced this won't go ass-up but as far as Val can tell, the gallery is not controlled by any one faction. Besides, she knows Anika would bristle if she said so, but she's reluctant to leave the girl behind in case another situation breaks out. She already failed her once.

So the woman sips a champagne glass as she stands looking at the art on display. Some appropriately disgusting looking pieces, Valka is kinda considering bringing something home from this shindig to spice up her walls. And it doesn't escape her, the fact that Anika's been swilling liquid courage (or liquid fuck-it-all) already. She doubts it's entirely for the nerves. "What made you wanna display 'em at a frou-frou gallery opening?"

[kannivalistic]

There are, of course, secrets of her own she prefers to keep hidden, for now. Secrets that could come back to bite Valka if she isn't careful. The life of a hunter is one with enemies around every corner. But despite their differences in creed, she has to believe that the Brotherhood and Fellowship have the same goals. It's how she was raised -- the only difference these days is their willingness to act. And it's a relief to hear there are Brothers who aren't content to sit around on their hands.

Valka sees the way Cam fidgets with his glove. She smiles coolly and offers him her own hand, to shake on it. "I'll gather a little more intel before making any definite moves, but I'm hoping to see you at the table, Cameron. At the end of the day, a hunt's a hunt. And we aren't supposed to let the beasts bite us back. You're a capable killer, and I can respect that."

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."

[kannivalistic]

VALKA HADLEY at the GRAND OPENING OF NOUVEAU

To be entirely clear, Valka is only here to support @anikabooker. Anika invited her, and the elder hunter feels she owes it to the girl to encourage her artwork and be present after failing to protect her -- or protect anyone -- at the Masquerade. Val will be quietly observing from the shadows, studying the guests and waiting for the first signs of provocation. Tonight her false eye has a pupil made to look like a cat's eye.

[kannivalistic]

The butcher shop bell gives a little ring around the moment Valka's tattoo gets an itch, telling her she's got some manner of creepy and/or crawly coming in the door. No big -- she's always happy to lure something into a false sense of security, giving them meat scraps or blood and taking notes for herself and the Fellowship about who is vulnerable to a hunt.

She's seen folks get cold feet, think twice about stepping in, or remember they've got something in the freezer at home. But the huntress has never seen someone just freeze up at the door like this. Valka can't exactly hide her look of confusion, mixed with some amusement and a bit of already being over it. Whatever 'it' was.

"The hell are you going on about? You know even a vampire can walk into a private business. Open sign's on, there's your invitation," she says, dropping the pretense since she's fairly certain this kid knows something about the supernatural (given her tattoo's gentle reminder). "You fuckin' with me or's there something really wrong with you?"

closed starter for @kannivalistic

Tj gripped at the golden bracelet around his left wrist, tugging at it with as much strength he could gather. He'd tried this on numerous occasions and no matter how hard he tried to get the magical bracelet off, it wouldn't budge. And while he normally was able to ignore it, currently, he couldn't. He'd walked too far from where he currently lived, which meant the bracelet wasn't allowing him to walk any further.

"Fucking, stupid fucking thing--!" He hissed as he dropped his hand and let out an aggravated groan. His eyes hardened as he stared into the butcher shop. He'd been able to open the door but he couldn't walk any further inside.

"Ah-- hello." Tj lifted a hand to wave at the woman behind the counter. "Could you be a doll and serve me from over here?" He asked with an awkward smile. "It seems as though I'm unable to walk in."

[kannivalistic]

"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."

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?"

[kannivalistic]

At the mention of a witch, Valka narrows her eyes. They were generally the least of her concerns, but given the recent setbacks and attacks... Trust was hard to come by, even from the ones you thought you knew best. "Well, if he dares, just remind him who he's talking to." Still, the elder hunter wants to know, just in case she needs to keep extra eyes out. Garnett coven was wily -- messing with the forces of life and death wasn't always clean and simple.

She listens as the girl recounts the Masquerade. Val curses herself silently again for not being there long enough -- or, for showing up in the first place. The outfit doesn't exactly ring a bell, given how many supposed bloodsuckers were probably dressed in red, thinking themselves terribly clever.

"Hm. I'll see if I can get a read on Book's list of enemies. You don't get to be our age in this business without pissin' off a lot of people, but lotta grudges go one way. If he's talkin' with her, exchanging words, maybe he has an idea of who she is," Val explains. She senses there's something Anika's not saying, but she knows better than to try to pry too hard with the girl. The harder you dig, the deeper she retreats. It's good for survival, not great for trying to have a heart to heart.

"Book? He's been in the game almost a decade, from what I know. Only recently got fed up with the Brotherhood and their dead-end hand-wringing. Good call, cuz I can tell he's gotten a lot more creative given the freedom to actually fuckin' hunt," she says. "He's one of my best men at this point. Real good salt of the earth type. Why? You wondering if your old man can handle it?"

Valka is almost embarrassed to admit how long it took her to realize the two Bookers' relation, but now that she knows it, it's impossible not to see.

She'd been on the road, on her own for too long, it seemed. Even when back with her step father, and their group of hunters, Anika never payed too much mind to the fellowship. She never wanted to be a part of them, anyway. They used her as a weapon, scraped whatever was left within that hollow shell of a human and slapped a purpose to her forehead. Branded her a killer. They saved her life, so now she owed them. Well, fuck that —

But things were different now. Now Valka was here. Her father was here. And they both seemed to fight for a cause greater than any of them. "I've got a witch I can trust." Anika wondered when that would change, because it was bound to, eventually. "Known him for a decade. He's Garnett." a beat, "He wouldn't dare lie to me." because they saved each other's life. Years and years before, when he was barely a witch, and she was barely a hunter.

It was her turn to talk. Who you got? Unfortunately, it was the other way around. Who got you? Anika swallowed bitterly, before parting her mouth to speak, "Vampire, blonde, around my height."

Her memory was almost photographic. She often painted from memory — each face she found fascinating etched in the forefront of her mind. Sketchbook filled with eyes she tried to capture the depth of. Hands too rough, or too gentle covered each page. "Long red dress, low neckline. Mask had red gem stones." she could continue down to the last detail, but that wouldn't break the spell.

Anika almost mentioned her father by calling him dad. Then she stopped herself — not because Valka didn't know who her father was, but because she still had a hard time accepting that her dad, and the man holding a gun with wooden bullets were the same person. "She told Book something, I couldn't really hear much." over the sound of her own blood rushing to her ears, and spilling all over the floor. "Looked like the two of them have some unresolved business to finish." and she was caught in the crossfire. Anika changed the topic rather abruptly, traces of distress evident on her features, "How long has he been doing this, Valka?" fuck, if she wanted to drag him the hell out of here, knowing he'd never agree to it. Did she have to fucking sedate him? Probably. And Anika would, if she thought it wouldn't backfire.

[kannivalistic]

"Yeah. Yeah, I have," she says, still unable to get a clear read on just what the other woman would know. Valka's pretty certain they're both too sober for her to break the news wholesale. Wouldn't be surprised if Rex kept everything to himself -- hunters were renegade fuckers and if nothing else, he probably thought it'd keep the woman safer than making her a target.

Valka raises her eyebrows and then takes a sip of her beer. "Enough? In my experience, it's never quite enough. 'Specially not when you're choosing what to tell your kids. Not that I'm suggesting what he said ain't true -- just that you seem like you're the type to want more." She listens to the woman's story and tries to disguise the amusement on her face at hearing such a casual use of the word 'hunter'. Like the stranger doesn't know the full weight of it.

"If we're talkin' about the same Rex Clayton, yeah. Well, hard to be popular in the hunter business, but he was a hell of an independent businessman, let's just say that much," she says, taking another long pull from her bottle. Then she turns and offers a hand. "I'm Valka, by the way. What'd you say your name was again?"

TRUTH BE TOLD, HE DIDN'T TELL HER MUCH. Tried to, but Nat didn't want to listen, or wouldn't. It all sounded a bit too far fetched for her tastes. That is, until he died and then she realized, everything was true. But it was a lot to take in all at once in such a short amount of time. When the woman before her states even the slightest hint of recognition to her father's name, she's obviously a bit surprised in expression. ❝ You have? ❞ Well, ain't that a draw of luck. But even the look on the other's face doesn't really indicate that she knows much, so she questions as to whether she should ask any pressing questions.

She's heard of him, but didn't know him, so not much luck there at all as it turned out. Unfortunate. The following question however, does cause attention to shift quite drastically. She's new to this, doesn't quite know the way of this whole new world. But she knows it exists. ❝ Told me enough. ❞ Her eyes glance around the place, finds a similarity to some of the patrons around them; the way they were dressed, the weapons on hand, didn't take a genius. Though if she had still been in the dark like she used to be, she wouldn't have known or been any wiser. ❝ We really weren't very close until recently and then he… well, he, uhm, died. I know he was a hunter, according to him a pretty popular one at that. But who knows, I guess. ❞

[kannivalistic]

Valka's not as fast as she could be -- the aging hunter would never say as much out loud. And it goes beyond the Masquerade, to the haloed edges of her Fellowship tattoos. Her Brotherhood ink forms a strong base but over the years, the other magical marks she's acquired by various means don't always have the finesse and fortitude of others. She has healing, monster detection, and others -- but that doesn't matter much right now. Not when the vampires have torn her ranks to shreds, the werewolves have chewed up and spit out her son, and the witches have suddenly found their spine. And she's been up all night long.

It's why these girls even had a chance to draw a fucking breath after Valka found them. And it's why she now finds herself being caught off-guard by these two baby-faced elementalists, one water and one... throwin' fuckin' pocket-sand at the hunter.

"Aaauuugh!" Valka roars, firing off another shot as she swings her gun arm, snapping her eyes shut. "You fucking serious?" Her natural eye wells with tears and she can feel the grains scratching her as she tries to blink out the irritants. Her false eye fares only slightly better, but the tender, scarred flesh around the insides of her eyelids twinges painfully. Even blinded, Val tries to keep her stance wide and ready to catch either girl as she runs past.

Only, her stability isn't long for the world as a thin sheet of ice catches her funny and she slips on it like it's a goddamn Looney Tunes. The hunter pries her eyes open but Graver's Isle is a gray mess of haze and pain. Her cry of pain turns into a full-chested laugh as she struggles to stand, her prosthetic leg having a hell of a time on the slick frozen ground. "Unbelievable! You mystic bitches have all the power in the world and you're throwing sand. If I wasn't gonna do it for you, I'd say you cunts should kill yourselves and save us the waste of time and effort."

She's exhausted, she's sloppy, and she knows it. But Valka will claw her way into minds if she has to. "Fahck," she spits again, still blinking away the pain in her eyes. The hunter holsters her gun and grabs two thin, steel daggers, lobbing one in the direction of the sand-throwing small-fry she hasn't had the pleasure of meeting -- or torturing -- just yet.

@fengforhire @rimedancer

Jac staggers forward as Jenny does, leaning over the corpse of her dead wife. Her eyes well with tears, both from the grief of losing her cousin and the awful stench that her body has created. It is a grotesque depiction of everything that has gone wrong and Jac silently whispers a prayer to her ghost, apologizing that they didn't come sooner.

She loops Jenny's arm over her shoulders and begins to help her out of the cell. They manage to get halfway down the hallway when Jenny screams out a warning and a gunshot deafens Jac temporarily. She thinks she may have also screamed in surprise, even though her ears are ringing too loudly to tell.

The woman's voice is coldly furious, and Jac is rethinking every decision that brought her to this moment. She wonders how many people will say 'I told you so' if she dies here tonight? How devastated will the coven be, not because they've lost her, but because they lost her magic?

Jac slowly shifts to step in front of Jenny. "When I give the signal, you run and you keep running until you get to the water," she says under her breath. Her magic is there, just under the surface and Jac prays to every deity that's ever existed that it doesn't abandon her tonight. She reaches back and feels the air rushing to meet her hands and she whips her hands upwards to send a spray of sand flying into the hunter's eyes.

"Run!" She shoves Jenny ahead of her towards the door, hoping that her distraction last long enough to at least throw off the woman's aim.

[kannivalistic]

Heron Club - What type of cocktail would your muse be most likely to order at a bar?

Valka's usually just a beer drinker, but if she wants something a little harder, she'll go for tequila. Palomas are pretty easy, and she wants the rim salted.

[kannivalistic]

Her eyebrows raise as a flash of amusement crosses her face. "Ah, my reputation precedes me, does it?" The hunter scans the stranger, searching out signs of his telltale monstrousness. This one strikes her as a vampire, looks a little too clean-cut for one of the wolves, but those feral fuckers have been known to surprise her on occasion.

A smile overtakes Valka, as she grins and grits her teeth. "I'm not exactly in the business of making friends," she says with a shrug, hand reaching under the counter for a verbena-soaked handknife. But she doesn't intend to use it just yet -- she makes sure he sees it before she tucks it into the back of her pants. His question has her curious; she doesn't know the answer herself but she knows what she'd prefer. But given that Valka clearly has bigger enemies out there, if this guy is looking for a parlay, she might be willing to hear him out. So long as he's not with the witches or wolves.

"See, the thing is, you're not on the menu. Yet. Not sure what I'm willing to let you walk out with," she says, emerging from behind the counter. They both know if he's a proper monster, he has the speed to beat her to the door, but still she saunters over carefully, drawing the blinds and locking the front door. "You play nice and we'll see. I'm in the business of pissing people off, but I've had one too many bastards thinkin' they can bite back at me lately. Not feeling terribly charitable. But it's rude to talk with your mouth full, so before either of us gets to bitin', let's just jaw. What's got you walking into the lion's den, huh?"

"Ha." It breaks past before he can stop it — absent actual amusement. "No anniversary," Not anything he wants to think about, at least. Reid's gaze wanders from the meats on display to the arm boasting crass imagery against a milky canvas.

His eyes fly upwards. For no better use of the term, he doesn't mince his words with his intentions when he spots it — and hears the quiet of a single heartbeat; they're alone. If the rumour speaks any truth, small talk won't save his skin. "Valka, then?"

He waits for the moment to settle. "You pissed a guy off real nice, spoke volumes of you, you know?" Reid's forgotten his name, but — he imagines that's far from the point. He'd been missing fingers though — and Halstead had wondered if there'd been a portion of his tongue missing with the liquor-slur. Said something about an eye too; blindside of sorts. But mostly, gibberish that he's clinging onto the knowledge like he's got biblical faith in all the jargon. "Am I going to walk out of here, is probably the million-dollar question, isn't it?"

If there's any chance of it, it's that confessing he doesn't actually want the gristle she's serving might save them some time. The blood that's squeezing out of meatish pores though, it's got his angles all skewed. He's not sure he should dump his request in all its desperation on the table for her to devour: "For the record, I'd like to walk out of here in one piece," he slowly holds his hands out like the peace offering means shit. "I just wanna talk."

[kannivalistic]

"Hah. You could say that again."

Valka isn't a betting woman, but she never in a million years could have guessed the string of events that transpired in the hours of the Masquerade and after. It has her feeling sick to her stomach if she thinks about it too long. It's too cruel, too poetic. And it's left her filled to the brim with rage she doesn't know where to put, perhaps for the first time in her life.

She watches Anika, wondering if she's helped lead her down a lethal path. Again, not that the girl couldn't handle herself. But they're in deep now, and they're going to need to strengthen up and pull out all the stops -- or else all their necks are on the chopping block if the creepy-crawlies are unionizing.

"You kidding? Aside from the ones we kidnapped and made our playthings? Fuck the witches, finally showing some spine when the vampires give them a pat on the ass. Wonder how much of their pumpkin-spiced blood they've gotta trade now. Vampires don't do charity," she spits. "They sprung the hostages at Graver's. Caught us unawares, just hours after the dance. So they're licking their wounds too, not ready to retaliate... but now we gotta watch our backs for witchy-woo too."

Valka rubs her temples, trying to remember what her good eye picked up on at the dance. "Ugh... y'know, it was hard to tell with all the masks and everything, but... She was in blue and gold. Something like a cheongsam dress or something." The Boston accent butchers the pronunciation, no doubt, but it's the best she's got to go on. "I think she was Asian. Black hair, not the tallest. I know that's 'bout half the Feng-Lindon Coven but she could have been in any of 'em. If it was poison that she stung me with, I'd say Phial."

But Valka knows it wasn't poison, and knows, if anything, it was likely a family affair. Either way, it's a fucking goose chase and she knows it. Doesn't wanna send Anika off on a fool's errand either. "Who you got?"

"Yeah, well — that doesn't always end up like we plan, does it?" the bitter truth hissed through a jaw locked for too long. The crack of her bones resonating through the empty space, as she kept on moving. Anika didn't have to lie to Valka, didn't fear to admit defeat. She'd once been her father, and her mother, and held her world from falling apart. "Not when you're up against an ancient fucker." and for that, Anika was grateful the other woman wasn't around.

Having her father deal with the monster was a blow to her ego enough. Not only that, but it struck a long forgotten part of her — fearing for someone else's life.

Her hands had eventually tired, red with splinters and begging for some kind of mercy. "You've pissed any witches off, recently?" she found her breath with the words. Once back on the ground, her eyes narrowed with concern, scanning over Valka. No visible trace of that prick of magic.

"If you remember what she looked like, I know someone that can help me track her down." make use of Eric's annoyingly persistant company. Anika was quick to take a detour on her revenge plan, to take down the one who thought they could hurt one of her own, and get away with it.

[kannivalistic]

"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."

Cameron barely has any reaction to her vulgarity. Used to it, perhaps, or simply uncaring. "Neither, yes." His hands go to the pockets of his slacks as he gazes around the shop - There is a morbid curiosity of wondering what her special cuts taste like. Maybe some other time.

Business first, at the very least.

"Alejandro is the only one I'm aware of personally." He'd made a getaway as fast as possible. "I was.. responsible for someone else. Made it difficult to keep track of things." Distraction was a disease that he'd been plagued by - he wants to say, but the words die on his tongue.

"A fair number, at least. So I assume plans will be made to retaliate?"