Night reigned. For kine, black swathed the earth like a mother to her newborn. Winter had since descended, as gentle as a predator unto prey, maw rending fleshāit beckoned many to seek refuge among sheets, waning whatever chatters would threaten limbs and teeth alike. Life dimmed and the prospect of slumber was a comforting one for those who could afford the luxury.Ā
For kindred and cainites alike, however, here was when their lives reared hard and hearty. The sun was no longer an option, so here they would dance to the moonlight.Ā
Butāthe clatter of bullet shells hitting the pavement, the sickly snap of bone, the howls of war crowning the blackened sky ... This deadly tango made it clear; moonlight wasnāt the only thing theyād be dancing to tonight.Ā
Piercing eyes, aglow with fiery swatches, stalked the lengths of his work. The tall, alien-like figure stepped delicately over the bodies of the fallen. Both sides had suffered heavy casualties; just one glance made that abundantly clear. The Sabbat had encroached on Camarilla territory (or what they surmised as Camarilla territory; Andrei wasnāt daft enough not to acknowledge that the Camarilla and Sabbat were newer on the block than most) and the results were painful and bloody.
Several groups, bearing the likes of lagging, wounded or otherwise stubborn lackeys, reported their findings to Andrei. Andrei canted his headāthe crest on his head delicately clasping upon the frayed moonlight, illuminating the arches and overlapping texture of what was, without a doubt, scalesāand ordered them to the west. A bob of heads, almost like plucked by the likes of a hivemind, as the groups fled towards whence they were demanded.
A pause. Andreiās nares flared.
Those same fiery eyes flashed sidelong, towards an individual lurking amidst the shadowy murk of an alley. Heād noted them prior; they hadnāt engaged in battle nor had they made their escape from the scene. Instead, theyād lingered.Ā
His body shifted in turn with his head. He approached at a leisurely pace.
āAh, young cainite. Your vitae is fresh, still stirred with life. Tell me, why must you stalk the shadows of ill-begotten alleyways,ā his eyelids fell heavy, a deep, moon-like crescent which painted orange over his cheeks,Ā āwhen you can come into the lustre of night?ā