#w; svana eskildsen

[originaleirik]

Where: A bar somewhere in Uptown NOLA Who: Open !

The constant turf wars between the species was nothing new in Eirik’s eyes, but the mess that had been made of New Orleans? It was exactly that - a mess. A treaty signed to supposedly strike peace through the Quarter, yet it seemed even before the ink had dried the Eskildsen’s had changed the terms. They had left the cobblestones bathed with blood to prove to all that they held the power. And alas, the quarrel to gain the greater hold on the city resumed once again.

Eirik, of course, knew no intimate details. He wasn’t, after all, a true Eskildsen. But he’d found that watching from the shadows was more than entertaining, especially when he could throw his hat in the ring to stir the pot. He was, in essence, a nobody. Who was going to look twice at your average, everyday vampire? It gave him an edge, an ability to listen in with no one the wiser. It was one of the many reasons he’d situated himself in the middle of the bar, sipping an old fashioned, in the heart of the Crescent coven’s domain. It seemed like the perfect place to hear the witches unknowingly air some dirty laundry. 

When someone eventually slid into the seat beside him, placing an order of their own, Eirik steeled himself before leaning over in their direction. “So tell me,” he drawled, “ are you the type to just drink in silence or strike up a conversation with a neighbor?”