#nsilo.

[rivkah-k]

Rivkah opened a cordial smile, "I only know what I've been told, which, now seeing you in person and knowing of your... nature, my knowledge of you seems to be awfully poor by my liking."

She's an experienced host and entertainer, and of course her words are laced with the kind of charm design to take more truth from Nsilo than she would have liked to share, but she was also genuine. Rivkah was desperately curious to know more about the woman's life. Or lack thereof.

"As far as business goes..." she cuts herself with a quick sip of her drink and leans forward, eager and inviting. "I want to work in the relationship between our species. I believe we could coexist in a more symbiotic manner." A fairly bold statement for pray to make to its hunter, but she knew what she was doing. "But for that, I think first we need to trust one another, yes?"

Upon invitation, Nsilo had originally discarded the card and handed it off to Dorian who'd read it front to back with a peculiar tightness to his features. Queried about the human of it all and somehow, it earned a second lookover. Kasprzyk's a name is affluent enough that she's heard plenty of them in passing but never in the context of mixing allegiances or alliances. Castillon can't help but wonder if Cordelia had been right; certain partnerships felt almost necessary in the grander scheme and for a human to be sending invitations to the council like she knows, is a statement that she may admit she shouldn't have carelessly overlooked the first time.

But she's here now — invited inside a Kasprzyk's household, as if Nsilo wouldn't leave the place bathed in red, and repainted in entrails (Brave and foolish look similar here).

Rivkah opens up with a joke that Nsilo's trying not to laugh about. It wouldn't be in good jest to chuckle in the host's face as she eyes the spread on the table.

Nsilo skirts right past the humour and instead muses: "If your invitation is anything to go by, you seem to know all about me." All, is pushing it a little. But, buttering a host is not outside of Castillon's bracket of civility. "I'm curious to know why."

[anikabooker]

closed — @nsilocastillon @lcblanc

Her body felt flat and robotic. Considering she'd been drowning in dark amber for days straight, Anika ould think she'd grown used to the familiar numbness that cheap whiskey offered — a sort of remedy, like morphine. She should've been used to it, by now — maybe even developed resistence, prompting her to look for new ways of blocking out the past. But an unfamiliar wave of sensation raked through her body. She was drunk, but not that drunk — the world was spinning, but she could still walk on her feet. Anika could take her liquor, but that sudden weakness to her limbs had made her wary, and suspicious. She looked around, trying to blur out most of the faces and focus on the ones that might have targeted her that night. But she didn't even fucking touch the drinks, did she? Hasn't even had a bite to eat, either. She kept to her flask only — Half-lidded dazed eyes narrowed to the metal tin, before it slipped right between her fingers. She watched whatever was in there spill out, a mess of dark yellow and light unfamiliar grey undertones staring her in the face. Exhaustion began to sink into her bones, and all feeling in her fingers was lost. Limbs that did not feel like her own, and mind that was only slowing down little by little, barely managed to work together in order to drag her through the halls and into the bathroom where she stumbled into someone else.

She knew she had to fight this. One hand fell flat onto the edge of the sink, while the other held onto the person next to her. At least until she turned around and Anika became aware of who she was holding. Fuck no. She managed a sigh, or perhaps she only did in her mind, and nothing really came out. She couldn't be certain. Then her hand fell back onto nothing and her back leaned against the door, blocking anyone from entering. "Fuck me — " she gritted her teeth, not only aware that this was the worst possible outcome of this (lucky, my ass) but also of the way the vampire would take her cursing as an invitation, and mercy would only come in the form of the fog before her eyes so she wouldn't have to look at her dumb, fucking smug face. Her eyes closed, the back of her hand coming up to wipe at any stains of the drink on her mouth. Knees weak and giving up from underneath her dragged her further down. @nsilocastillon / @lcblanc

[flashfanged]

For : @nsilocastillon Location : Anemoia

The tea house, they always find themself back here. It’s become their regular hangout outside the cabaret. Both places offer entertainment and enjoyment and though the snacks offered here are tasty it is the teas they try to focus on as they people watch, sketchpad in front of them as they enjoy the simple scratching of a fine pointed pencil, with breaks to text and sip from their cup. And perhaps they are looking for a pair of familiar eyes and a woman with a silver tongue that had intrigued them completely before the masquerade had ended in chaos. Not that the night had been completely ruined. After all, she’d ended up in bed with an enchanting blonde who seemed to be set on sticking around. Though in what capacity they aren’t sure of quite yet.

They haven’t told their sire where they go or what they get up to while they are out all night, not that they think need to hide anything from Lana, she’s already proven she plans to take care of them. But something in their gut tells them perhaps with the political climate it would be for the best to keep their business to themself. Looking down at the page they realize they’ve sketched those eyes that belonged to a face hidden by a mask and sigh, setting the book aside with their pencil and picking up teacup, downing it to dregs. Perhaps they should actually feed, but the hunger that compels them when they do makes them take pause. ’ You're still learning’ they remind themself, control comes with time.

[reidhalstead]

COR , WKND.

headcanons (ic)

✍ : what is your muse’s handwriting like? ☕ : tea or coffee? ⏰ : is your muse often early, on time or late? ⭐ : my muse's starsign (alignment) 🌙 : a weird habit or tic my muse has. 👁‍🗨 : for an opinion my muse has about … [ name it, or them. ] 🌻 : If they had any choice in it, would they change what they are/were? 🪓 : Is there something, if anything, my muse would die for?

dynamics

☎ : another muse’s info in my muses phone (name, ringtone, picture, last text received/sent). 📱: a voicemail my muse left yours. 💥 : for something my muse and yours would argue about. 📰 : a newspaper article my muse would write about yours. 🎵 : a vibe song for my muse and yours. 🍲 : for my muse to pick between [ location ] and [ location ], and what they might be up to. 🎁  : a gift received [ or given ] to another. 🩸 : a time mine [ or yours ] donated blood to the other. fun

❓ : ask your own question. ⚖️ : put my muse in a situation where they have to choose between the moral high, or low ground. [ i.e. they go against their nature, or do not, for something ] 🗣️ : the first word that comes to mind when my muse hears your muses name. 💎 : fmk [ three muses names ] 📢 : send my muse a truth, a rumour or a tease for their reaction. ⚔️ : if the time ever came to pick a side, where does your muse stand and who with?

[hesterlomidze]

Where: Anemoia Gaming & Teahouse Who: @nsilocastillon

''I don't know where it went wrong - this council, should it even exist anymore? When there's no respect within the council, younglings would take us as a joke - if we're not a laughing stock already, that is.'' Hester, the usually very calm and collected vampire - now showing a different side of herself to someone she barely knew.

She would never have shown up here if it wasn't for the liquid courage her victim of the night had consumed - she hadn't done it on purpose, it'd been a not all too pleasant shift earlier. A child had been rushed into the ICU, hanging on by a thread of life and the smell of assault had been stinking all over her, of booze and fear. When several hours the child was no longer on life support, Hester's shift had ended along with it and in order to think clear, she'd done what she did best. Hunt those who preyed upon the weak. Her vision had been clouded by hunger, by anger and there was no stopping the centuries old vampire when her eyes saw red. By the time she was done, his body had been drained, his eyes lost of light. She'd taken another life - for good. But it never stopped. There would always be monsters, there was no end to the torture, no matter how many she sought justice for.

Back to why she was here - the alcohol had taken a toll on the blonde. Where she normally would seek shelter by her siblings' side, at home and ride out her high, her feet had taken her to a strange place. A place that wasn't home. Far from it.

''-The rumors are just out there, for anyone to hear, for anyone who isn't even actively listening to hear. Laure asked us for permission to turn someone and we clearly said no, now the young thing is walking around with fangs - it's like she spat in our faces. Of course she'd never admit she's done it anyways, but who else would it have been? Why - what - it's just too convenient, a little too on the nose with the timing, isn't it?''

[sntsvictors]

nsilo castillon, @nsilocastillon

Of course she too is here ⸻ why wouldn't she be? It seems this drabby little city is a powerful hub that attracts all of them like magnets ⸻ witches, vampires, wolves, sapphics. Corvina was not surprised when she first heard the whispers of her through the grapevine; it's a big city, and Nsilo has always been an effective businesswoman. It is what first attracted Corvina to her, after all ⸻ mutual gains and mutual pleasure walk hand in hand, and is a delicious way of achieving goals.

But she isn't the witch she used to be ⸻ isn't the woman that could command a room with a whisper, the girl who murdered men in their sleep. She is a shadow of her former glorious days ⸻ not even that. Corvina is a wounded stray dog with mud tracks behind her every breath. She doesn't know if Nsilo will even entertain the idea of her now, but Corvina is desperate enough to try. After all, the good times were truly good, and would Castillon like to revive their golden days?

Walking in the blood house makes her nose ache, burn ⸻ her mouth water with the heavy metallic scent of blood everywhere she turns. The boy that tells her to wait reeks of Castillon's perfume, and Corvina has to suppress a snarl. Is the lady of the house entertaining this clueless child?

Once she is finally being led to the woman, she shoos the boy away. Corvina doesn't want a crowd to her how pathetic she sounds now, how broke and weak and powerless she is. Hands in her pockets, she tries to smile, walking to Nsilo with all the confidence of a puppy. "Got time to spare for an old friend? I could make it worth your time."

[liamxxslater]

closed starter for @nsilocastillon

If Liam had a choice, he'd have already turned into his wolf form. But unfortunately, as much as he wished it, he hadn't been born a werewolf. And therefore, he'd have to hunt the humans down as his normal form. He didn't have to be asked twice to help get rid of hunters -- his hatred for them was always at an all time high. But this time, he'd at least get something more out of it. Money.

With that kind of cash, he could get out of the motel. He could find his own place to live that wasn't just one room, or Matteo's house. He could actually try to do something with his life.

Liam just couldn't pass up the opportunity.

A smirk formed on his lips as he noticed a vampire in front of a couple of known hunters. He tilted his head to the side. "Don't tell me you have pity for them, bloodsucker. They will cut your fucking head off without a second thought."

"So if you don't want to die tonight, too, I suggest you move out of the way."

[sntsatticus]

👀how do they feel about voyeurism? exhibitionism?

Nikko is big on exhibitionism (he got fucked in front of everyone in Anemoia, after all). He loves to have eyes on him. But he tends to be a bit of a brat, and can't really do voyeurism - he needs to be touched and paid attention to.

[sntsholloways]

nsilo castillon, @nsilocastillon

Dorian Holloway has yet to die - Icarus survived the fall. Melted wax wings hidden beneath a fishnet shirt, he stands tall and proud at the main floor of the gallery; as if he is the main event. He smell of sweat, a variety of perfumes from women he approached when the hand holding his leash moved her eyes out of his orbit, of desire and arrogance in a pretty perfect smile. His hearing aid sits neatly inside his ear, phone tucked in his pocket, arm burning where it touches the sun. It is wrong, to touch a Goddess so freely - to put on display this minimal subtle act of dominance; his arm around a waist belonging to a queen. He should have the limb chopped off for this offense; roasted on an open fire, coated in spices and herbs, offered to her in a banquet.

His heart skips a beat at the vivid image of pristine fsngs sinking into his red, dripping flesh. She would not get rid of him, then. He would always belong to her. Devour me, devour me, devour me -

Pressing himself closer, his lips a shy touch on her hair, fingers caressing hip bones he would normally don't hold - elegant hands pin him down, bend him over, wrap around his hips and guide him, use him - breath careful slow once the stiffness settling in the room dwells on him. Dorian doesn't like it - he prefer to bask in the warmth of his sun, no worries in his head, nothing more than a pretty jewel in her arms for the world to admire, desire. He tells himself one could steal him easily (Medusa whispering she is not dangerous) - more money offered, more powerful, exclusivity, security. Love. He would scoff, if his face wasn't perfectly masked to indifference - Love is useless in a world of wolves. Love is only for Eliza.

He presses closer, the smell of burning skin filling his nostrils.

No, not burning. Rotten. His focus laid so intently on the sun he didn't notice the masterpiece being revealed, the gasps in the room. Flesh piled ontop of more flesh, grey and dead, the bleeding piece the center of it all. He wishes that was him; open, bleeding, in the focus for his sun to devour, to show off. Nothing but a piece. It is not him, it's not her, so the piece unerves Dorian. He studies the room to find a glimpse of his sister, throat bobbing under the force of a dry chuckle. "Well, that sure is something, huh? Will you be buying that?"

[kellybites]

( @nsilocastillon -- Anemonia Gaming and Teahouse late, at night )

With accomplices and wrangling schedules, Kelly is proud to be back at working as a detective assistant -- even if only at night. She's made up some weird lies, about studying at Uni to broaden her field of knowledge, giving classes to children that are deaf or hard of hearing, and some mumbled things about wanting to spend some more time with her boyfriend, too. Her boyfriend, who isn't really her boyfriend. Or maybe he is?

Whatever, Kelly thinks, simply because his scent still sticks to his shirt, which she's wearing. "Port Leiry Police, I'm Kelly Kane, Detective assistant.", Kelly introduces herself to the bouncer with a quick badge flash, "Is there someone in charge around I could ask a few questions to? We're currently working on a cold case, and a few connections lead to your place. Nothing you should worry about, though." She gives her most, reassuring smile, "That possible?"

[zanexxpatel]

"You can't actually be surprised by that." Zane smirked as he looked at her from across the desk. He owned a business -- of course he had his own office. Was it used for professional means? Sometimes. Other times, not so much. "Harley has the day off."

Nsilo was right, though. Rarely did Harley and Zane separate from one another. But he'd insisted that Harley take the day off and do his own thing. Zane had paperwork and inventory to go through, anyway. He couldn't give his boyfriend attention until he finished. "Is there something you need, Nsilo? Or are you here just to see my sexy face?"

A gentle hmph of beguilement echoes between them. Nsilo's never doubted Zane's tenacity to try. They've certainly toyed with the constraints of the magical together, on more than one occasion. Angered the spirits or whatever the witches prefer to call them — ancestors? The pixies in the forest? Castillon's sure she's taken silent pleasure in disturbing them.

Zane's a walking example of bending the line of acceptable.

"You have an office now, aren't you quite the entrepreneur." She's teasing, poking at the vacuum-sealed toys hanging on the upright turnstiles. "And where's my favourite curly-haired witch?" Another jest — Zane knows who she means as they begin walking through Eden's. She's prone to easy remarks as she's got no boundaries; ghosting fingertips over Patel's shoulder in kind: "You're normally strapped at the hip."

[anikabooker]

where,  — masquerade ball closed  — @nsilocastillon

She could already picture the self-satisfied smirk on the vampire's lips. Nsilo would be pleased to know, Anika did not find something better than her offer in those two weeks of time left for contemplating, weather an unlikely ally in the eyes of Castillon would be anything else but trouble.

That rational part of her was telling Anika to back off — find another way, or better yet, forget the whole thing all together. Stop chasing after fucking ghosts and settle on something real — the beasts plaguing this place, at least those ones were close, here — just at an arms reach. Protect the living, don't avenge the dead, she tried to remind herself.

But even thinking about it, her anger went from simmering to boiling.

Nsilo wasn't difficult to spot — one of the few wearing red tonight. She's been keeping watch of her. Discreetly, of course.

And so the hunter moved slowly, to come stand by the other's side — elbows touching. "I've got something for you." she spoke, eyes on the marble wall across from them. Her free hand unclasped the watch on her wrist, revealing the mark she no longer needed hidden.

"You asked for something from that night." a beat, "It's not mine. But it will have to do." she clutched the thing, hard as if letting go would physically hurt her. Like feeling your fingertips slip holding on to the edge of a cliff, plummeting only a moment away.

Anika waited for the vampire's palm to open, before dropping it, for she had a few conditions.

[nsilocastillon]

✍ : what is your muse’s handwriting like?

[lstbcys]

@nsilocastillon asked: [ nude ] my muse walks in on your muse accidentally seeing them naked

It had completely slipped Malcolm's mind that he was meant to meet Nsilo until twenty minutes after the time they'd scheduled. As soon as he realised, he shot up out of bed and started to get clothes together to get dressed, when he heard the door to his bedroom bang open. He was naked, and his head shot up in confusion to see who was intruding. "Nsilo!" Mal practically yelped, reaching for one of his pillows to hold it in front of his very naked crotch. "Jesus, fuck, I was just getting dressed. I overslept. You think I was in here having a feast from the veins?" It wasn't a reach, not with his control, but he was on the straight and narrow for the time being. "You like what you see, Ms. Castillon, or can I get dressed?"

[flashfanged]

The hum is soft but prominent, and pleasant. They are ensnared without even realizing it fully. But the woman’s words draw them closer, they tap long fingers against glass. “Yes and no. I came with my sire,” they answer easily, hand slipping into their pants pocket, fingers fidgeting with the zippo there mindlessly. She’s intrigued by Nsilo, but hasn’t she been intrigued quite a bit tonight? Even having known about vampires before all of this, they had never been so acutely aware of them. It’s still nearly overwhelming the things she can see and hear. The explosion of senses. It makes her wonder how she’d thought she had such a clear view of life before this.

“If you’re asking if I have a date though, I do not.” it’s not a presumptuous answer, just an honest one. Thumb rubs over silver metal again in their pocket, feeling divots and scratches. A way to focus on the here and now. There it is again though, the pet name. And doesn’t it sound so sweet, making their stomach twist in a way that begs for more. begs to be endeared. to have positive attention fall over them. “I’m enjoying myself well enough now. Are you a part of the council? Hester was telling me it’s always better to leave a good impression on them. So if you are, I’m hoping that I am doing just that. Sometimes my tongue slips a bit too much.”

A nail traces the edge of her glass, eying the faint glaze of lipstick that stains the edges of her own, as well as her current drinking companions. The tumbler hums lowly on her behalf. Stops when her fingers cease on the fringe.

Castillon isn't sure when exactly she opened the floor to flash of a life story, but that hadn't been intentional.

In fact, it's rather endearing to think she's that kind of approachable without much more than a smile or a wink. "You attend alone?" She asks, wondering whose membership she's entering with if not the case.

But, Nsilo supposes she did inquire a little into the doe's life. So she keeps the larger part of her amusement at bay. "Ah," Nsilo has the inkling, that she knows who this is now, behind the mask. Or at least, knows of her.

Considering she's council-approved.

"And are you having fun, sweetness?"

[sntsholloways]

[ locations ] ― what are their favorite locations to have sex? are they a risk taker where people could walk in on them, or do they prefer to keep it private?

Nsilo's office. He is a big risk taker, an exhibitionist, and likes to be on his knees where his queen sits atop her throne.