#cor.conclave

[mangemaw]

Her motorcycle rockets its way through the city - a useless night of mingling that yielded - as usual - nothing for werewolves. Daylight jewelry, souped-up witches being through in whatever fucking horrendous private hell the Conclave had conspired to create.

And they sat, and they sat, and they watched as mealy-mouthed politicians jerked each other off.

But not her.

Her motorcycle rockets its way through the streets, down slopes, towards the piers. Towards home. Yuisa's face is an expression of mixed feelings - frustration, intrigue, excitement...

Menace. Machination.

The Moon's harsh in its control - even prideful wolves born into this life are beholden to it. It's an age old spell - a curse to hear most people talk about it.

She's never seen it that way - Blessed are the Wolves, an old Warwick creed. Some call it coping, others call it delirium.

It is Pride.

Matteo's father slumps, half dead before the fight even started - even the turn is too much for him. It's nothing for the black wolf, Yuisa's chosen face, to pad up amid the cheers and boos of the pack - some in her corner, others against her, but none of them matter because she's strong, and she's in control. She feels life slow, heart slow in her mouth, tastes foul, black cursed blood coat her teeth like oil. Feels bone snap, brittle and old, beneath the clamp of her jaws.

She doesn't ask for power, she takes it. And like with Matteo that night, she doesn't ask for forgiveness either, because she knows she's correct. Her motorcycle rockets into the piers, slowly working its way down the cargo alleys and streets until she finds the old foundations of the Portside, but she doesn't stop there, she keeps running the bike, past the bar and to the Port Authority office, where she escapes her bike, removes the bundle, and unlocks the door.

It's dead quiet here, tonight; the security is patrolling the dockyards, and she's unbothered as she moves up the stairs, each step creaking under her weight until she reaches the door of her office and enters, locking it behind her.

Jacket off. Hair comes out of its fastening and she shakes it out before pouring herself a drink and fetching the bundle, clearing her desk off and undoing the ties that keep it hidden and safe. This has cost a lot of time and money to procure, and when she takes it out, it's something she can hardly believe.

It's known that any werewolves killed under the moon will find itself returned to its human shape - this much is known. A werewolf is buried as a man - something any self-respecting wolf should view as a final shame, to be buried in a prison.

She unfurls it onto the desk, almost unable to believe her eyes - the fur is old, ancient, it's edges tattered and worn with time and age. She picks the old thing up - bunches it in her fur, buries her face in it, sniffing out age and magic and brotherhood before she finds the mark, graven into the fur where its color shifts drastically. It elicits a smile, and she turns it over, laying the pale underside of werewolf skin open as she turns the desk's light on, and traces her hands over the strange symbols and letters inked and burned into the crude tapestry - a secret to be puzzled out. This isn't just werewolf skin. It's a weapon, and it's purpose is illustrated by the old effigy scratched into its center in old blood, surrounded by magical esoterica she can't even begin to understand. It will take time, she knows this. But it will be worth it.

[princejaya]

When: Pt.2 of the Conclave, late What: Mariposa Randomized Task - Play a Prank on Someone

With this many witches in a room, someone was bound to be the all-important coded message penned in blood type. His initial repulsion over the scene that had been left behind was swallowed, safely folded into the corners of his mind so he could focus on other things. He wasn’t going to leave this early, not for something like this. Ritual killings were more for the after-party proceedings, in his previous experience, and now that he’d forced some perspective onto himself, he had the proper mental distance to really think about what had been done. 

It was overdramatic, even by his standards, and frankly, it felt a little uninspired. Tacky. If the eyes didn’t make it clear, the spectacle of it all did: this was for attention, to get everyone buzzing aside from a select few who knew what the mess of it was meant to be. The question of who, how, and why were on everyone’s lips. 

The body had been swarmed by guests looking for answers by the time he’d reached it, and without any of the hard evidence he had hoped for by scanning the area for magic, there was little else to do but join the conversations. At least the Mariposa coven had an interesting qualification for an exchange for information. They wanted to be entertained, and who was he to deny them that? His illusion magic needed a brush-up anyways. 

It wasn’t very difficult, but he had none of the muscle memory for these sorts of things. Maybe that’s what made it hiccup— his hand movement was unpracticed, fingers used to the precision of runework or the easy motions of a preservation spell. 

His spellwork itself was, thankfully, unaffected. Like a puppeteer, he curled his fingers, placing the slightly shimmering superimposed image in front of the eyes of a select few of his fellow guests. Targeting the eyes may be a bit tasteless, considering what had been painted around that body, but he doubted anyone would be looking so closely. Half of the focus of these visiting covens was sight, whether it was creating the spectacles, seeing them all, or shrouding it all in darkness. The false images, swapping faces and mannerisms in only the mind of the targets, had already led to a few fumbled conversations, and one particularly amusing series of mishaps from some poor young man trying to find which vampire he’d been trying to confess some sort of undying infatuation with, all to the entertainment of the few Mariposa witches that were in the know. 

Surely, that had to be enough.

[felicityvanbrunt]

It's funny, how vervain has been such a non-factor in her life before Port Leiry. Vampires and Werewolves being such a classic oil and water scenario, she usually just avoids the kind of annoying mosquitos that might be cause for the need of a repellent.

Still; it's Port Leiry, and you don't survive attempted murder without being a little bit prepared going forward, and Flick does have a penchant for spotting and judging, especially when it's a Vampire who thinks they're entitled to the bodies and agency of others.

The vampire had made a mistake tonight, hassling women and witches - he's the sort of creepoid barfly who, absent Vampirism, would wind up shackled under her house, ready to become a snack.

That's not tenable here, exactly. And while she, Arte, and Sky had done well enough scaring the little bloodsucker off from Cham earlier, a further bit of retribution's in order, so when Felicity is sat at the bar, sipping on a Negroni, and the same guy has the garlic-flavored stones to show his face AND order Bombay Sapphire? She scoffs silently and waits until he's caught up in conversation, and slinks over, fishing out a tiny bottle of L'occitane and flashing a few quick spritzes of the verbena-tinged parfum into the pink, bloody tinge of the neat glass of gin before speeding on her way towards somebody - anybody - who she knows.

"Oh, good, Avi-" she says, prancing up to him when she lays eyes on her Alpha, and after fussing back and forth like he doesn't want to be bothered, she reaches up with a few fingers to turn his head towards the bar. "Do you want to see something very funny?"

When the Vampire sips his drink, immediately choking and sputtering all over the bar, she affects the most innocent expression she can. Best behavior always, after all.

[autumnshowell]

@summersauveterre (and a special guest star)

Autumn's got a look of smug satisfaction as she sits on one of the ornate stone tables in the courtyard of the Arts Center, plucking one of the party favors Daniella'd given her earlier from her sleeve. Aria's lighter's clasped in the other hand and she spots Summer coming and smiles.

"So, like, don't panic," she whispers, "But after that whole... thing in there? I was in the bathroom, trying to fix this," she motions to the already dulling shiner on her cheek "and I shit you not, the head of that lady's pack comes in, and I was so sure they were gonna like, I don't know, come after me, but they just smiled and winked like I'd done something good,"

The she leans in then from her perch atop the table, smoothing her dress "They said that they think it's Pembroke's fault, because their like, head guy wanted to make an example of Wyrmwood for some reason." She lights the blunt, takes a drag to get it started, then Autumn shakes her head. "It's always crazy at these things, one way or another." She blows a plume of smoke away from Summer. "Like, without fail, so far."

[caskalomidze]

@viktorialomidze

She's waiting for Viktoria when the meeting's over, trying to catch her before Svetlana does, and she manages it, and strolls up to her, her face is etched into a curious but excited expression. She doesn't know what to say or ask first.

"Did you do well? Did it go well?"

She takes Vik's arm and walks with her. "It's been so... stupid out here. Our little clan is in absolute shambles, I think."

[millieteethewolf]

@jeanbarclay

If the past three hours have taught her anything?

It ain't easy being green.

Millie's tired of this land of giants, she's tired of being scooped up and carried around and chased by psycho bible men and kissed by huge women (something that surprises her) and nearly being squished and all things considered it's just a whole lot that she doesn't appreciate, particularly.

The lady vampire's theory hadn't checked out so far, because she doesn't feel any less froggy. Moreso, in fact. She ate friggin' gnat earlier.

Blech.

But her search keeps getting waylaid - somebody as beautiful as Jeanette Barclay shouldn't be all that difficult to spot in a room full of people who just aren't as pretty or vibrant or wonderful as Jeanette Barclay, but it's been an endeavor.

Until it isn't.

"Jeanie!" She ribbits out, and then she hops after her, trying to follow her through the tumult. Something has happened, but fuck if she knows what, because she's got one priority right now. But she's too small and everyone's too loud, and she's trying to catch up. "JB!"

[mangemaw]

@huntedarte

Yuisa had spent most of the meeting trying to push in on the general menace presented by the prospect of a worldwide wave of day-walking vampires. At every pass, she's been hissed down by the vampiric representation in one way or another, with a few odd ones out.

The entire thing was a waste, more pigeonholing of werewolves to the sidelines while the austerity of witches and vampires sucked up all the air in the room.

It's left her frustrated, angry, and in a generally foul mood.

She shoulders by somebody on her way out of the meeting hall in a hurry to get to her meeting with Huang, but the flash of red in the corner of her vision stops her trek and she spins on her heals. The Eventide Alpha. She checks her watch. She has a few minutes. "Well then, that whole thing was worthless, if you ask me."

[arcibarra]

Who: @declanofruin When/Where: Pt. 2 of Conclave, Main Event Area

In the grand scheme of supernatural politics, Arc could see why werewolves might get discounted. Their lack of a vampire's immortality or the eternal nature of a powerful witch’s spells make their battle for recognition a never-ending one, every generation having to claw its way into being treated with the same respect as those who pretend to be their betters. Maybe that was why they liked them so much, why they turned right to Zhongshan when they asked for information. It was certainly a factor in why the pack was unwilling to trust a random witch with information, not without proving themself in some way. Steal a flash drive, with a nod across the room to a Wyrmwood man in the ridiculous pressed-velvet suit. 

Easy. They could do it in their sleep, with the right distraction. Luckily enough, a candidate had been lurking around the edges of the room, clearly trying to get away from the commotion. They fell into step beside the man, speaking quietly. “You seem lost.” In life? In the event? Both seemed to fit the stranger. They nodded at the target. “There’s some money in getting lost in the right direction. How much for you to spill a drink on that man?”