Lavalles are beautiful and lavish like a gem kept locked up in a glass box to be peered by the commoners, and admired by the rich. Oh, how they could simply write a cheque for the gem and it would be in their hands within the hour. There is no other purpose for a gem than to shine and gaze with envy at those not called the owner. How its value increases the more others seek it. But the roads run cold and red from those willing to do anything to get their hands on it. Price meant nothing.

And it feels familiar. The watchful eyes of the aristocrat staring at her as she walks down the cobblestone road to her destination. Having taken refuge at the local inn, she had washed and dressed in her best daywear towards her client’s home. An elderly widow who married for love, but he would use her pain killers to soothe the aches of age and ache. How romantic, she would think, if not for the painkillers that had arsenic and other deadly properties laced within the powder to blend seamlessly into an alcoholic beverage. This client had been her first since arriving at Klewyth, and recommended her services to others. To the unsuspecting, it would appear she’s selling makeup to disguise the true intentions. Which wife was this? Third? Fourth? It didn’t matter. Morana’s coin bag is heavy, and tucked safely within her coat to prevent thieves from snatching it.

Heels click on the ground as the sun sets behind her. She needs to head back to the inn or else become snatched into the darkness by someone unworthy of touching her. Where is Dalton Street? She must’ve entered a new area in Lavalles as nothing looked similar and it wouldn’t be long until darkness coats the city in black. Turning down another street, a group of children appear and collide with her before escaping down alleyways and homes. She’s knocked into a gentleman’s back. Solid and cold like stone, with a faint scent of something similar. She collects herself and dusts off her dress. Red eyes peering at the man’s back.

“Apologizes, Sir. Are you alright?”

 The evening was drawing to its close, the curtain of nightshade lowering to grace the land of shroud with true night. Allowing the ripples of gossamer to part and the stars their grand performance begin. The streets would soon be bustling with life of the damned and their entourages. A spectacle he had little want in indulging, let alone becoming swept up within the tides of the ever fluctuating crowds. While the market varied in their times and what the stalls were to sell, it was at night when the open square boomed with the majority of tis crowds. Especially lucrative in the days past Dunmeath's surrender. Fresh blood. New strains of humanity to grace the palates of the rich and indulgent. Connoisseurs with gilded goblets etched in blood. Death did not come swiftly in the beginning, exploration and consequence were the first of many indignant sins those unlucky were to suffer. Their howls and wails of agony met with glee and expectation as to how the flavor would morph and change of their sanguine wine. It was only when boredom fully settled like a blanket of mundane that the bodies rose to pile high within the stinking trenches - cast aside as easily as trash.

Another sight he never truly looked forward to. Let alone the stench. A sigh wondered from his lips as his slight pause caused a bump to his back. Lost to the ides of his wandering mind, he'd paid little heed to his surroundings, much less those within them. He would turn sharply, his hand reaching immediately for the saber at his hip as the scent of dog wafted to his senses. Stoic face hardened with the cold, pitiless instinct to put down another of the slavering beasts, however as his motion met its end, he was met by one who merely appeared to be a straying human. Upon her myriad of smells lay various herbs and other familiar tinctures.

“Apologizes, Sir. Are you alright?” His rigid posture would soften somewhat, grasp moving away from the hilt of his weapon to casually readjust the hem of his gloves in nonchalance. "Quite. You should be more mindful while in Lavalles." The second he'd come across recently that reeked of canine. A pitiable shame, that their want and need for freedom forced their hands to seek out those of the mongrels in alliance. Though there was also the urge of understanding, for how does the sheep reason and rationalize with the man standing poised to butcher? Faint recollection of familiarity haunted the sterling of his stare, a slow reminder that bobbed to the surface. "Ah, here on business?"

How easy it is to slip into the persona of a weak willed human to blend into the other sheep. Lavalles’ hierarchy known to her, and she would sacrifice pride to survive another day. It’s not the most dangerous city she’s been in, but she knew better than to poke the sleeping beast. As the man touches his weapon, so too does she instinctively reaches up for the gold needles in her hair. Larger than hair pens with a similar structure to knitting needles that held the thick black hair up to show off her pale complexion and unmarked neck. It’s only when he adjusts his gloves does she pretends to be adjusting her hair before the hand goes back to the basket in her arms. His attire screams his nobility and power, and one that is dangerous. A voice whispers in the back of her head how attractive that danger is, and what the man could do with it.

“I shall take your advice to heart, Sir. I am here on business, yes, and seem to have gotten lost on my way back to the Gray Inn.”

The navy blue silk taffeta dress hugs her thin body as there is no cage crinoline to embellish her figure; comparatively to the other ladies in Lavalles, it shows her low social status. Morana found cage crinolines to be constrictive, though she possessed one in case of attending a ball or party. The cage making it impossible to fight or flight when in actual danger. The white lace added to the elongated sleeves and collar, create an almost innocent appeal to her, like there weren’t steel knives strapped to her forearms in case of an attack. Morana only wore the dress when in Lavalles, as it is her best and most expensive one, and to curb any harsh remarks her clients send her way on not dressing appropriately. When not in use, she stores the dress surrounded by lavender stalks.

“If you would be so kind as to point the way, I would be grateful.” She smiles softly at him. The longer she stares at him and takes in his handsome features, the more the voice whispers about what he would look like with blood on his face. Flashes of it around his mouth and on his hands appear, and she has to cradle her head to let the moment pass. Not here, she thinks. She needs to return home or at least find some wine to quiet the voice at the Gray Inn. Her hand returns to the basket, and her red eyes look once more up at him. 

“I hope I’m not stealing your time from other businesses.”

 Her hands lay poised on the ends of gilded needles, ones he pondered were threaded with silver 'neath their covering of gold. Fingers flexed slightly within the tightened hem of his gloves, at the memory that arose with the recollection of silver. Of the way it felt pressed to skin. Flesh that would never recover. Sinew that could no longer simply sustain itself, and that no amount of blood could wash the scars away from or mend the disconcerting ailment. Yet, even that was far from enough. He didn't feel the flutter of nerves creep within his chest like caged bird wings. Ice didn't fill his veins and his breathing failed to fluctuate in reaction to any set thing. No horror. No worry. No fear.

Not to say it was an inclination pressed aside and ignored either, however, as he didn't fail to note the way she began to idly tidy her inky locks. An unspoken threat, a treatise that she was not hapless within the city of desolation for her kin. Perhaps an interesting find for the evening. A woman who smelled distinctly of the feral, masterless dogs, herbs, and the hint of preserved lavender. Asking for directions to an inn that many within the heart of the province would know little of. A place that would allow her to only draw the bare minimum of attention, one suitable dwelling to a free spirit ghosting through the sewers of splendor. A soft simper unfurls upon the petals of her lips, matching the demure and lady-like behavior displayed thus far. "Certainly." His intonation would cut off as the lady suddenly began to cradle her head, a soft comfort of rocking acknowledged as he would arch a slight, quizzical brow.

She didn't seem to have been bitten, there was no tell-tale scent of fresh blood to afflict the air. A note that even in his distanced thoughts earlier he would have been able to so easily ignore the presence of. Let alone any other nearby - even here, death crept closely. "Pardon, but are you well?" He inquired, though the imitation of concern failed to afflict his words, leaving them as faraway as they were previously. However, the full weight of his attention would settle upon her lithe shoulders instead, a glancing inspection. Again, her dress seemed unruffled, free of scathing or dirt to mar her apparition. No blemishes flood the pallid constitution of her porcelain skin. Perhaps it was simply exhaustion that seized her, he surmised. "I have nothing planned for the time being." The words were slower now, his arms falling from their idle pose, hand settling at his hip. "I could escort you if you wish. Otherwise, the tavern lies straight south-west of here. Near the gate to the city."

Morana nods and softly smiles up at him. "Much appreciated, Sir. I fear if I get lost any more I will become someone's midnight snack. I am well. Perhaps a tad tired from the long journey." She chuckles in good jest even if the voice comments on being the man's meal; would it feel good? To be bitten by a vampire was bliss or torture depending on the blood bag. "I am Miss Morana Winters, chemist of Vufrein. Who do I have the honor of escorting me to safety?" As they begin walking, she takes note of the cold surrounding him as though it were a barrier to keep others away. She is curious about the man who spoke emotionlessly, but such men are dangerous. They're the ones who slip a blade between the ribs while talking of their future. Faintly, she hears George speaking in the basket telling her that such a man is temptation and oh how she wants to know more.

"I don't venture into Lavalles much. Only for my clients or to purchase particular herbs. It is beautiful here even though you can't see the night sky as well with all the light." Shadows conceal the truth and hide the blemishes. To take and drag the corpse into the darkness before tossing them into the river to be anchored at the bottom. The fish are hungry enough to feast on the flesh and eat any evidence. "Apologizes. I'm rambling. You feel cold. Perhaps your blood pressure is low or your clothing is not lined with wool to keep you warm. Or are you a vampire?"

It would explain some of the coldness. She removes her glove and lightly touches his arm. Her pale hand making the old purple cuts and burns bright in comparison. Rarely was she able to study vampire biology to understand how it ticks. Humans are the easiest given the documentation of their durability. She feels the coldness, but it's something else. There's an urge to tear his clothes off to see it with her own eyes.

 "Much appreciated, Sir. I fear if I get lost any more I will become someone's midnight snack. I am well. Perhaps a tad tired from the long journey." One that knew the dangers of the path she chose to walk then, perhaps a very interesting topic for the evening. The presence of the leech within the city was not something deigned to know to every citizen upon the street. Some knew, certainly, quite a few at this point in time, and yet there were those that chose to simply ignore the blatant or perhaps they merely were full of folly enough to believe that such a 'rumor' was naught more than a simple faerie tale spun to frighten unruly children. Just as those that once toiled the fields in his native province had. Like he had outgrown the fear of at a young age, only to find those porcelain daggers buried deep within his throat just a decade or so later. How old had he been then?

He brushed the idle self-inquiry aside as the dame spoke once more, her intonation maintaining the air and poise of a dignified merchant if nothing else. "I am Miss Morana Winters, chemist of Vufrein. Who do I have the honor of escorting me to safety?" Customary, or perhaps a force of habit had him proffering the curve of his elbow for her should she decide to take it. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Winters." Normally quick and lengthy strides were reduced to leisurely, inconspicuous steps as the trek to her lodgings began. It would be best not to attract the eye of too many onlookers, a sentiment that crossed his mind as sharp silver stare cut around their surroundings before he rose the hood of his cloak over the dark of his crown. "Evan Lumen." Would be the calling he gave in return, not entirely a lie, but one he thought perhaps best. As she had already surmised, she could end up as someone's snack, and in the event that the two were followed, he wished her to be none the wiser towards himself. After all, he had his... 'oddities' had attracted many an unwanted eye. Paranoia told him the less she knew, the better off she would potentially be.

"I don't venture into Lavalles much. Only for my clients or to purchase particular herbs. It is beautiful here even though you can't see the night sky as well with all the light." Her admiration of the city streets did have merit to him once. While his homeland had been far from poor and the people a far cry from country bumpkins, he had once been mesmerized by the grand buildings and sheer dominance that Lavalles held over the land. Industry flourished, the machinations of the brains of man fathomed to improve the quality of their short lives seemed to hold no end in sight. The resilience of their well fought, albeit misguided in the end resistance. To him, this city was once beautiful, but over the years, he was afraid its charm was wasted upon him. "You have clients here?" He would comment on instead, pondering should they be human or vampiric, and if the latter what use for herbal treatments they could possibly have, though he supposed it could also be for poison.

However it was her next words that would cut through his thin ribbons of his lapsing attention. "Apologizes. I'm rambling. You feel cold. Perhaps your blood pressure is low or your clothing is not lined with wool to keep you warm. Or are you a vampire?" Accompanied by the stray touch of her hand against the exposed damage of his forearm that had his gaze riveting sharply to her as if the mere caress had burned him. He would adjust the sleeve, pulling it down with a hushed tsk lingering upon his lips. "A vampire, yes." The last, he would add as he finished meticulously clasping the cuff of his sleeve to securely hold it in place. "Apologies, I've long since gotten used to the cold, though I understand that it's... off-putting."

“Evan Lumen, pleasure to meet you.”

Morana’s eyes caught the scarred skin, but didn’t comment on it. There’s an urge to cut away the delicate material and touch the marred skin. Fingers tracing up and every way on it to explore the complexity of magic on non-human skin. Perhaps there’s a chance to heal him or lessen any pain he’s experiencing. But, she doesn’t. They are strangers, and it is impolite to expose it in public. If they were to continue meeting, she could inquire at a later time of it. At the confession of his species and the apology, she looks up at him. “There’s nothing to apologize for. I prefer the chill of winter to the heat of summer. If only herbs grew in snow then I would be more satisfied with life.” Perhaps not, but not many seek the northern climates unless for sport or safety. She mulls over the suspected amount of bounties in the northern lands that would pay plentiful, but the dangers outweigh the rewards. Being a woman had its downfalls.

“I have no ill will towards vampires. They’ve made better clients when it comes to taking care of their lovers.” Or blood bags though Evan didn’t need to know that. Her silence paid with good coin, and the humans living long and fulfilling lives as meals for the vampires. “I’ve traveled across the continent seeking ways to help the couples. Vampires refusing to feed from another, and humans trying to kill themselves by not maintaining a proper diet and rest schedule.” Red meats and greens do more than keep a human healthy.

Even as the sun sets, more people escape their houses to the nearest pub or diner. Working men hungry and seeking to feast on bread and flesh - whichever caught their interest first. Morana spots the prostitutes waving at finely dressed men, and she recalls the days where she nearly had to sell herself. Times in her youth where she had to pretend to catch her target before sinking a knife into their neck. Times in her adulthood that would make a difference if she ate or not.

A group of children run past them kicking a worn leather ball. They race into the streets trying to keep it from one another until one of them kicks it hard into Evan and Morana’s direction. Morana drops the basket and releases Evan’s arm to snatch the ball mid-air before it hits either of them. Red eyes glare at the children who shiver in fear before racing down the streets crying out that a red eyed witch was going to eat them. She drops the ball and picks up her basket; the wooden construction with an attached lid still sturdy, but held a hue of age. Its cushioned insides didn’t prevent several vials from breaking and staining the fabric unfortunately. George laid sideways with liquids covering his cranium and his jaw open enough to hold another broken vial as though he had done it himself.

“Troublesome.” She comments to herself as she delicately picks up a broken vial. She should’ve acted like a normal woman and been hit with the toy. Now, she’s looking at quite a bit of coin to spend on replacing the vials and fabric; not to mention the ingredients needed to remake the poisons and remedies. She goes to drop the vial into the basket, but a sharp edge slices into her index finger cutting it rather deep. Morana doesn’t hiss in pain, but looks rather annoyed at the pooling blood.

Her input was an interesting one. She, unlike some of the mortals he had encountered, seemed to have little to no qualms when it came to the treatment of their fellow humans. If she did, she was far better at hiding it than most, a chip he would give her. Regardless, her occupation seemed to bring her into dangerous territories for her, and he wondered how it was that she seemed unscathed by the encounters with his kin when so many were self-indulgent and hedonistic fiends. Perhaps more appropriately, that was simply the way he viewed them. The ways he knew them to be. Perchance she only beheld the masquerade, the pennacle of their grand theatric skills well practiced over hundreds of years, maybe even longer. Then again, there was more than just the possibility that he had grown bitter and cynical, pessimistic to those he shared illness with.

"You deal with my kind often, yes? Then will you give me your opinion upon a matter I've had great conflict with?" He would begin to pose his inquiry as the city around them began to hum with the droning signals of life as the true inhabitants began to stir and awaken. "How do you feel about the mortals kept in chains only to be used for... various reasons?" He would glance to her in his peripherals from under the hood he wore, searching for any hint of reaction she may try to sooth from her vocals.

However, his attention was diverted by the rowdy group of children. Their antics gathering more than a few scowls and words of warning by those on the same side of the street as they play with one another. A slight simper pulls at the edges of his lips as cold silver stare follows the trail of discord they leave in their wake. His company, however seems less than amused with them as the ball is launched in their direction. With quicker reflexes than he witnessed from a vast majority, she had dropped the basket, the warmth of her hand absent his arm and instead she would hold the well worn toy within her grasp. The bitter chill of her attention focused on the small group until they set to flee away, shouting their fearful dismay of the scarlet eyed witch.

Despite himself, there was a small chuckle, the slight rueful shake of his head as his focus drifted lazily from the ruckus back to the femme at hand. Acrid scent of medicinal and other brews and salves tinge the immediate area; the quiet shrill of breaking glass having been lost among the noise of the party. More than that, however, served to snare his attention. The air was tinged with the intake of copper, of rustic metal that he could nearly taste upon the tip of his tongue. While he was not a mindless slave to the indulgence, there was no denying that this was one of the worst places for such an incident to happen. Many gutter rats who could not afford the price of cattle now days would most certainly be attracted to the fresh smell.

He could not deny the rivet of his keen gaze to the ruby droplets as they pooled along the cut that marred her finger, if it was only for the breath of a second. He clicked his tongue slightly, withdrawing a handkerchief from his breast pocket as he offered it to her. His other hand lay proffered as well should she prefer he wrap it quickly as well. "Be quick to tend to it, lest you gather unwanted attention." The warning was lax, observation pulling several halts within the growing throngs of passerby. Hungry eyes glittering in their direction, some rather plied with annoyance at the disturbance as the bustling otherwise continued.

Morana knew the danger of spilling blood, and how she should conceal the scent before it spread further along the street. A voice whispers an idea, and one she wickedly acts upon. Red eyes look deep into Evan’s greys as she licks the blood from her finger; copper with a hint of honey from the medicine. Red smears on her plump lips before being licked off by that devilious tongue of hers. “Depends on what kind of chains you are referring to, Mr. Lumen.” She adds a small smirk to it as she gently takes the offered handkerchief and wraps it around her wounded finger. With one arm holding the basket, she wraps the other in his to continue their walk like before; her inflicted hand caressing the exposed wrist. Morana ignores the glances and stares from other vampires in favor of focusing her attention on Evan; she wasn’t naive or stupid to not fully comprehend that someone could easily overtake her should they desire. However, she has a feeling that her companion is more dangerous than anyone else on these streets.

“To answer your inquiry, I feel it is subjective. Now, assuming it is connected to vampires, I have witnessed mortals in various states. Mortals exchanging coin for the chain. Servitude, indentured servants - however one wants to see it. I’ve heard in certain religious sects that some view giving blood is the same as whoring oneself out thus making it a sin. But, sin is an addiction, and one cannot simply avoid it. Humans are creatures of vice, and we seek whatever will make us happy. Be it greed, gluttony or lust.” Though, if she had to pick a vice of her own, it wouldn’t be the basic three.

“Perhaps we can continue to discuss this over wine? I’m afraid informing you of certain accounts is too graphic for the public. They would not understand the need for chains… or when used appropriately.” Morana’s smile is sweet and innocent like she wasn’t referring to bedroom fantasies. A chill runs down her spine from the cold air creeping beneath her garments. She walks closer to him as though he could provide warmth.