Revisiting (OPEN)

[Velma]

The Lily.

Distinction and tradition distilled in its architecture, an adaptation and redecoration of a bank into an upscale cocktail and cigar bar that reminisces the gentlemen clubs of old.
Inside, the lights are dim enough to provide a private and discreet environment, the orange tips of cigars emanate long and lazy clouds of smoke that cling to the roof before dispersing into the atmosphere itself. There are six private boots inside each of the large columns and several tables in the center area. The vault in the back has been repurposed into a cocktail bar and cigar lounge, drinks are served there and cigars are on display… but nothing illegal. The Havanos rest downstairs in the humidor.

Tonight is a regular night, no crowding, just the right crowd. Sharks, all of them sniffing for blood in the water, the mere sign of weakness to strike hard at a wounded opponent, it is a deadly routine for those whose last name is probably on display in some of these city’s buildings.

Velma is revisiting the place.
Her blue eyes scan the crowd as she enters. The succubus leaves her company to attend to other businesses and moves towards the bar. With elegant steps she allows the languid eyes of some to follow the path to her destination, to drink on her shape. To Velma it’s a trade. They drink with the eyes, she drinks with her fangs.

The songstress rests her sinful shape in the counter and orders a drink, imbibing in the rich and the glitterati of Sacramento, if she could she would devour them all, just so no one else could have them for themselves.

[Velma]

Velma was about to order when she noticed the other kindred at the counter a few steps from her.

Immediately, her inner daemon lashed back, it felt like an acute bite in the naked of her back instilling in her an urge to spill blood.
The Daeva clenched her fists for the briefest of seconds, it was getting harder and harder to resist, especially when they were young and they were invading her territory.

After reasserting control of her beast Velma looked the man’s way and tipped her head in a sign of recognition.
She was about to invite him to join her for a drink when a somewhat familiar visage greeted her with his friendly and cheerful voice.

The priest… In Velma’s mind all kindred members of any clergy belonged in the Lancea Sanctum. Why Raluca didn’t begged further inquiry. How he had got to Priscus of Shadows to...

”Good evening Mr. Raluca.” The Succubus returns the cheerful approach with a smile.

While looking towards Raluca her eyes move towards the unknown kindred as if indicating there was someone or something else he should be made aware of.

”An acquaintance of yours?” she asked.

[Dillon Connery]

Dillon isn't quite as much of a fixture at the Lily as Conner Greyson was. He'd never quite developed the penchant for smoking in life. In death, he'd found even less use for it.

You can't even taste its effects in human blood, the way you can with alcohol or drugs.

But, this Reeve still enjoys the atmosphere of the Lily. Something about it, anyway. There is a modern class, that he sort of respects. It stays full of aggressive predators who hide their lust behind culture and smiles. And it also plays host to the occasional vampire.

Dillon's charcoal suit is a few shades lighter than the black he prefers. But such a thing is becoming fashionably severe. If a Gangrel can be said to care for such things, it's only insofar as how it affects his camouflage. But then, he has many years of practice at playing off eccentricities. And it helps that he looks so young.

There is no tie, his shirt unbuttoned just far enough down to reveal the meeting of his collarbones. It's a sort of a dare, when one thinks about it. At least, that's what he thinks, when he sees a woman with her throat and collar on display. 'Come and get it, if you think you're good enough'. What else is a vampire supposed to think?

And in Dillon Connery, they would have quite the blood prize.

They've just got to get past the seventeen-decade-old killer to taste it.

While the Beast issues its growls to those it can sense, Dillon finds himself thinking of Ashley Cohen and that hilarious "Drink Me" necklace she wore. Three voices snarl in canine fury. Six nostrils snort plumes smoke and ash across its master's thoughts. Paws hiss at contact with the hot coals of the Gangrel's psyche as it paces. Two of the other monsters are familiar; the other is a meal.

Heel.

Cohen, wherever she was, had picked a heck of a time to get scarce. But Dillon is glad to see Velma returned. She is a naughty girl, to be sure. But hopefully, she won't always see him simply as the Kindred who drove a mop handle through her heart.

In greeting, he simply lifts an open hand in the direction of the three as he draws near.

[Velma]

Velma took her time to notice the newcomer’s movements, how he reacted and how he presented himself.
First impressions were very important and usually you only had one chance to make a good first impression.

The succubus noticed the small hint of panic when Troy held his glass tightly, or the meekness in his voice.
Her musings led her to admit how amazing it was for younger kindred to be so like kine in that regard… or fish.
They felt panic and fear but despite that they kept walking towards the source of their initial distress, like some lost fish in the blackness of the ocean lured by the dangling scintillating light never minding the glass fanged mouth that closes around them.
It’s like they want to be devoured!

”A pleasure.” Velma smiles, her deep blue eyes keep measuring Troy until the Daeva offers the newcomer an elegant curtsy.
Do you want to be devoured?

But then she smells something rotten and putrid that almost made her throw up her meal; it would have been such a waste…

When Velma recovers her senses she is greeted by the familiar three headed beast of

”Dillon Connery!” A friendly grin across the Daeva’s face is all the introduction she dares… it’s not like she was going to shake the Reeve’s hand. Moreover abyssal fish swin silently.