. sweet . release . { than or yvette }

[*Luka Neverov]

At the east end of the city’s main thoroughfare you will find an exclusive nocturnal hotspot. The gothic black brick building was once a church, but has been transformed into a supernatural den of impurities. The club caters to both human and immortal alike; though most of the human patrons have no clue they are mixing with deadly killers. A small ankh carved into the massive iron door at the front is the only indication that the place is a vampire safe haven. Lycan are not welcome here.

Inside, the nightclub is dimly lit by low hanging antique chandeliers.
The décor is expensive Victorian gothic, complete with rich velvet wall hangings and curtains, heavy wooden archways and several cast iron wall sconces. A number of old paintings hang from the walls. Some portraits are depictions of the vampire-lycan war; others are eerie scenes of death and decay. An exquisite large black marble bar lines the back wall. Here, the embraced of may enjoy a selection of fine warmed blood (immortals must show their true nature to the bartenders in order to be served, as the human customers have no knowledge of this) and mortals can toss back the finest liquor money can buy.

Patrons may sit at the bar or one of the many intricately carved mahogany booths lining the left and right walls.
The middle of the room is a cherry wood dance floor. Various types of music waft from the hidden loud speakers; from dance club music, classical, whatever the mood of the crowd, the melodies will follow. A complex engraved stage sits at the back; providing live music on occasion.

In the corner of the main room you will find a narrow archway leading to a grand winding staircase. As you descend lower and lower, you begin to hear the distinct thump of loud techno music. When you approach the lower level of the club, you realize this area is much different than the elegant upper floor.

A darkened narrow hallway leads you into a playground of submission and pleasure. Several prison-like doors line this hall and an occasional moan escapes through the small barred windows found on each. Within the torture rooms you will find any number of frightening torture devices. At the end of the hall you finally pass through the entryway to the dance club area. The hypnotic trance techno music blares from a darkened D.J. booth in the corner, and the glow of black light replaces candle light on the dance floor. Here the immortals may feed from willing souls that venture below.

This is where Luka has begun his evening...

He didn’t feel the cell was frigid, and that his breath (merely out of habit) escaped from between his open lips as white puffs of air.
Nor did he hear the tormented screams of the young male in the chamber next door; blood curling screams that would have usually sent him into a shiver of delight, or even, waves of ecstasy.
For the vampire was already in rapture; black pupils rolled back to the white sockets, mouth thrown open in a moan of agony. The hooks sprang from several places in his back and shoulders; silver rings stained in red, attached to chains, and suspended him from places in the ceiling.

His blood poured out like a crimson fountain; never healing, always melting and reshaping so the fluid would continue to pour and pour.
The vampire’s body was taut with rapture, just about to step over the peak of the never ending cliff.

Suddenly, he went stiff and a frightening cry was torn from his throat. It was beast, and man, and a million lost souls escaping from hell.

Luka’s limp body swung from the ceiling for what seemed like an eternity, only occasionally shuddering like an echo of his release.

It was an hour or more before the Russian swung down from his shackles, ripping the skin as he did so, and landed like a cat on all fours.
He rose slowly, enjoying the tingling in his back, until the wounds melted together and staunched the flow of blood.
Luka sighed as he slipped on the white tee-shirt and black jeans, smearing crimson stains all over the taut white cotton.

Moving up to the main part of the club, he slid behind the counter and pushed rudely past the human bartender who had sold his soul to the vampire owners for a chance to be immortal. Taking his life would be an art form, but not before hearing him beg first.

He filled the goblet with crimson liquid from the spring in the wall, it was warm and fresh, and Luka could imagine the beauty behind the stone wall that had just groaned in pain as the tap was opened.
The vampire slurped at it hungrily, pulling it back from his mouth and then wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

[yvette gabrielle audley*]

[atrb=width,400,true][atrb=border,0,false][cs=0][bg=b05658] Some girls, some girls hang out in places that are dark, dirty...beneath their class, for the fun of it, for the thrill. Others actually believe they do belong in such shady places. Still others...well, their upbringing triggered something that made them forever a part of the gloom and filth. That is where we come to a certain Ms. Audley. She was raised with proper, exquisite mannerisms beneath a woman whose social skills were refined to perfection but whose social circles did not seem to disclose any such phenomenon. The long and short was that Audley's mother was a prostitute, a common whore and filthy - filthy rich. The French paid too much for their lays, that much was obvious, but Yvette would never complain - she had somehow prospered from her mother's work ethic or inability to stop the trade after she'd been born - a product of a mistake. Just one tiny slip and this, absolutely flawless creature was brought into the world. As a child she was adorable, cute, slightly chubby. Now? Legs, long and slender and toned from the wear of her usually three to four inch heels. Her rear end? The same. Taut from simply walking. She wore simple clothing this evening, a black dress, black heels and her hair fell in loose curls down her spine. Her lips were painted that teasing, Barbie doll, "I haven't decided to grow up and wear red" shade and tugging into a quietly bemused smirk. Long lashes adored with mascara and curled. Her palms swung at her sides, lace gloves upon them and a black silk clutch in the grasp of one. She looked quite put together, very lady-like. It was the color, or lack thereoff, in her ensemble that made it so appropriate in this setting. She'd dressed for the occasion. A night out? Yes, but she always knew where she was going before she went there.That was just a rule of thumb. The scale of her steps were measured by the sound of her clicking heels against the asphalt as she crossed the street and let herself inside the establishment. To the naked eye it was just your average human nightclub. To any vampire that knew anything? A watering hole. Only what they served here ran thicker than water, and as far as the immortal was concerned, tasted much better. Already the soothing sensation could be felt in the back of her throat, something that made her long for the metallic taste on her tongue and the satisfaction that came with the first sip. Ah blood. Most vampires could write poetry in its honor. Weaving through the menagerie of bodies swaying in time with the music, it was plain that no one was going to mess with her just yet. She took time to scope out the individuals she was among, carefully decide who was her kind and who was not, sit back and let them come to her. She was a predator, but far more the type that sat back and waited and let them dig their own graves. Then again, most female vampires did this. The defining moment in Yvette's nights were the ones that were dripping with temptation to fall into promiscuity and that dirty sin; sex. She skipped that part. She never quite dangled the option before them. They had only their presumptions to feed upon. And she let them. Might as well let them think she was the one who would be sorry in the morning. Her lips ticked at the idea, cute but improbable. Yvette had never been sorry for her crimes against humanity, never. And never would she be. It was an art, a skill that she had developed that made her dinner more enjoyable. Speaking of dinner... The hellcat meandered towards where she could scent the source of all this swimmingly tempting crimson was coming from. A tap in the wall? How quaint. A faint smirk crept over her features as she retrieved a glass, the pained enunciation from just behind the wall inducing curiosity. She paused, closing the tap before having filled her cup and then opened it again. The sound resumed. Chuckling softly, she filled her glass, resisting the urge to innocently forget to make sure she closed it all the way and let the poor vessel finally die, and took a seat. The bar was sparsely populated, and there was plenty of room for her to observe the faces of the neighboring creatures. One smelled particularly of crusted blood. The fledgling's nostrils wrinkled - unclean practices were not particularly inviting. She did not like the scent of stale food, it was in poor taste not to treat the substance as one would a fine jewel - with the utmost care and respect. Her pupils had narrowed though it was difficult to tell. As the light had dimmed her pupils had overtaken her irises, so much so that it was difficult to see the stormy grey of her eye color. An Audley trademark, it would seem. The stranger who smelled so...much like old food was being eyed, not with complete belligerence but there was an air of morbid curiosity, despite the obvious reproach sported in the female's eyes. Her expression did not soften as her gaze ventured away but she did not continue. Let them come to her. -------------------------------------------------- count: 889 outfit: CLICK! comments: there!

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[*Luka Neverov]

[atrb=width,397,true][atrb=border,0,false][cs=0][bg=00000] Having just had his release and now that the human’s blood was moving rapidly through his veins and feeding the hunger that usually clawed at his insides like an unbridled beast within him, Luka was as calm as he would ever be. The uncontrollable tempest that usually rolled violently in his head had stilled to a meager thunderstorm; the hunger merely tugging lightly at his gut instead of ripping at his belly with razor sharp talons. Luka, usually a monster, was something like a man. Obsidian eyes roamed the club like a predator tracking his prey, but as his thirst was staved for the moment, prey meant entirely something different to the vampire. The smell of sweet liquor, sweat and desire was thick in the air; almost as much as an intoxicant as the blood that had settled nice and warm in his belly. The Russian came out from behind the bar and leaned backwards on it; sipping slowly at his chalice and swishing the blood around over his tongue like sampling a fine wine. Pity after leaving the vein it grew so cold so fast. A slight wince came to his boyish face, and disappointed he set the goblet down and then pounded a fist twice on the mahogany counter in order to get the distracted tender’s attention. Recoiling as if his inattentiveness had been the worst of crimes, the bartender nodded and retrieved a bottle of top shelf Russian Vodka and poured it out into a tumbler with just a drop of crimson from the fount. With a bowed head as if the vampire was royalty (which wasn’t far from the truth in the human’s eyes) he placed the cocktail in front of the Russian and tentative slipped away to attend to the next customer. Luka wrapped a cold white hand around the glass and took a long pull; letting out a sigh of satisfaction as the icy liquid and blood went down his throat like a winter kiss. It settled in his belly cool and invigorating, and started a nice buzz in his frenzied head. Once again his gaze roamed the crowd, and he inhaled deeply; allowing the mingling scents to invade his nostrils, picking out the one he was looking for like a wild beast would tracking it’s target. A whisper of a smile curved his lip when he found the unique aroma of the one that he was looking for. Stale smoke and the faintest hint of dried blood from the scabbing track marks on the inside of his arm; the drug addict was easy to find. The human was rotting from the inside out; self inflicted disease from all the drugs he had taken into his body. And Luka meant to push him just a little further into the grave. He shoved a pale hand into the pocket of his jeans and fingered the scarlet colored rocks fairly burning a hole in his pocket. Oh yes. Luka was a drug dealer. He was a pain dealer. He was a death dealer. The little iridescent stones in his pocket were one of the most addictive drugs money could buy; heroin mixed with just a drop of his very own potent blood; he had christened the intoxicant with the name CRIMSON. The heroin in and of itself was effective; but after the high wore off, the user would wake up with a thirst like they had never known. He would feel as if that thirst could never be quenched; it would drive the user to brink of insanity unless...unless they found the cure for said thirst if they happened to suck on a paper cut or order their steak very rare. Of course, the mere drop of vampire blood wasn’t enough to bequest the junkie with the dark gift; but it was enough to drive him insane. Ah yes. He was also a lunacy dealer. It brought a chuckle from the Russians lips. Luka placed his drink on the counter and moved towards the junkie, but was halted by a strong hand on his shoulder. Hissing, the vampire turned to gaze on the fiend, but relaxed immediately as he gazed into the stoic face of the massive bald-headed vampire. Nicolai was a ‘bouncer’ for the club, but much, much more. As the true owners of FANG were elders with far too much clout to show their faces at the bar, in their stead Nicolai made sure everything ran smoothly. This included all side dealings that took place within the club. As Luka’s dealings and reputation here were well known, Nik had been engaged to keep an extra eye on him. Of course, they hadn’t foreseen that the large vampire and Luka would hit it off so well. Nicolai was from a small suburb near Luka’s hometown; had left the country to escape the tyrannical rule of the Elders in Moscow a few years before Luka. Though Luka wouldn’t call the man a comrade, he had no desire to paint his blood all over the walls. He was a close to being a friend as Luka had ever had. “Your shirt comrade.” Nikolai said bluntly in a thick Russian brogue. His voice was a growl and his expression empty, but amusement danced in his blue eyes. He plucked a black cotton button down from a hat rack behind him and tossed it at Luka, and the Russian chuckled dryly. Oh yes. Appearances were everything in this club, and since he was conducting business, his appearance reflected on the bar’s reputation. Luka pulled the black shirt on over the bloody white tee; rolling up the sleeves so that his forearms were still exposed. He turned back toward the big bouncer and extended his arms as if wordlessly asking if his emergence was acceptable and then clicked his tongue when Nikolai gave him a big toothy grin. Enough time wasted, Luka pushed a hand into his pocket and fisted the Crimson; his expression dark as he turned to once again face the dance floor. A tut of annoyance escaped the vampire when he realized the junkie had moved from his position, and the scent was indiscernible amidst the other human aromas. A low growl crawled up from his throat as he picked up his vodka and took a heavy swallow, and his onyx eyes caught two azure gems glancing at him with apparent curiosity a moment before she turned her face away. Oh, wonderful distraction. For the moment the junkie was lost from the Russian’s thoughts. The ghost of a smile crawled over his devious face as the vampire approached the female; his eyes drifting over her too poised form before leaning casually on the bar next to her. She was too perfect; too refined. A concrete angel. Luka imagined all that refinement gone and the little female vampire covered in the ruby stains of her victim’s blood. It made a much better picture. “Your elegance does not fit in vith this crowd.” Luka told her in rumble of a voice and his Slavic accent was thick and dark like a stout beer. “Are you lost, leetel vone?” He asked her, and there was mocking tone to his question; as if he were addressing a child.

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[yvette gabrielle audley*]

[atrb=width,400,true][atrb=border,0,false][cs=0][bg=b05658] When you address an immature person with immaturity, the circle usually comes back around. Treat them like an adult and you may be mocked, but with less intensity than if you don't afford them the benefit of the doubt. For example, Neverov had no way of knowing anything about a one Yvette Audley besides the fact that she was an excellent specimen. Beautiful, refined and inescapably dangerous. Not usually a creature given to radical bouts of temper, tempting was just one of those things left without response, like a lonely howl in the nothingness. Left to echo in its own presence. How was Luka to know such things? He wasn't. But a bit of consideration never hurt anyone. From the moment the immortal set his sights on her the hellcat became aware of the attention. There was just something about being stared at that made the miniscule hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Especially predatory eyes. And the Russian's more than qualified as "predatory". Russians ran the joint, a dark breed of vampire as old and deadly as they came. Quietly amused, the immortal stood absolutely still, as if captured in the gaze of a viper. One wrong move and you were dead. Of course, this could all be a game. And it was, to Yvette. It was all a game. Especially since she'd found that temperamental sibling of hers. That had been her purpose for most of her adult life and now that she had achieved her goal? There was nothing but to live. Nearly frowning at the thought. Live. What a funny, subjective word. The dead lived. Nearly sneering in a pristine manner, Yvette blinked lashes fluttering elegantly over her ghostly cheeks. A small smile was presented to her new acquaintance. The cool slant of her gaze a most entrancing motion, one which was so liquid and gentle that it was as if she had just run her fingertips over the surface of water without provoking a ripple. Taking in the creature who had addressed her, she was slow to respond, chuckling darkly to herself at the idea that she was lost. It was an unlikely tale. Yvette didn't get lost because frankly she was never so set on her destination that labeling herself as "lost" was necessary. Her black tresses framed her countenance as she finally turned her face to look at him, seemingly deciding that ignoring him wouldn't make him flit off but only entice him. Your elegance does not fit in vita this crowd. Nearly giggling at his accent, she sighed, placid even in the present moment. Are you lost, level one? At this her brow quirked, a laugh exiting her candy colored lips. "I followed the smell, mon cheri." She allowed the French accent to mingle with her voice, a rarity but both pleasing to the ear and taunting in response to his thickly distorted voice. Her pupils had adjusted to the highlight of his countenance in the wan lighting, growing just a tad smaller but still overwhelming her eyes. "But if we're going to be discriminating I reserve the right to call you a Commi Bastard." It was practically purred. Those grey eyes glittered with impish laughter that refused to slip past her lips again, taunting him back unabashedly and without heed to the overpowering scent of sweat, sex and blood on him. Two of these were nothing short of dirty, one intoxicating. What to go off of? She was attempting to focus solely on the blood, a bit of an optimist now wasn't she? Unlikely. She was playing. Like baiting a bear and waiting for it to get annoyed enough to grow a pair and take a jab. It was something of a dare, that or Yvette had no sense of self preservation. She was a fledgling, and he was asking to be mocked. Do the math. -------------------------------------------------- count: 653 outfit: CLICK! comments: there!

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