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[mr-smarty-vamp.livejournal.com]

Damian wasn't surprised to find himself alone by the time night fell. Whoever chose to be in Nathaniel's bed near dawn was usually up and about long before he rose with the setting sun.

Now, however, he has taken to the grounds surrounding Milliways... or, more accurately, the skies. Usually he isn't keen on levitating where he can be easily spotted, but the desire to feel the wind in his hair is too much to ignore tonight. It is one thing that reminds him a little of the sea, though the air doesn't have that salty density to it. The sea has been a comforting thought throughout his long existence, even though he hasn't more than glanced it in centuries.

He loses himself in the sensation of flight, letting his mind go blissfully numb for a short while before picking an inviting, sturdy tree and sitting high in the branches so he sways lightly with the pulse of the wind.

Escapism can be a wonderful thing sometimes.


He's botherable by those who can climb well (or don't need to climb in order to reach him). He has no intention of coming down from his perch.


[[ooc: Primarily slowtimes, as the mun has an appointment and a worsening cough... plus homework. Slowtimes welcomed! ^^]]

Comments

[sliceitwithwind.livejournal.com]

It's always interesting to Xaldin when there are other people in the sky. He steps out of the dark paths into the skies as naturally as other people step through the door and his eyes are drawn to the Somebody in the sky as a matter of course.

He's in uniform with his hood up, though, so it would be understandable if it takes Damian a moment or two before he notices the large man. The uniform helps make those wearing it less obtrusive.

[mr-smarty-vamp.livejournal.com]

Something moves in the darkness, causing a shift in the air around him, and he turns. Keen green eyes zero in on the shadowy figure. He tenses, sitting upright on his branch, but unless the creature has the intention of attacking, he's not going to move from his spot.

It seems the figure is staring at him, so he stares back, silent.

[sliceitwithwind.livejournal.com]

He reaches up with a gloved hand and pulls his hood back, shaking his head to let the dreadlocks free. "Hi. Not used to other people being in the air."

His voice is deep, his eyes are a blue that is just a shade or two off of being purple, his sideburns are truly righteous, and he's not at all human. Pointed ears with a fold at the end and double eyebrows. He's got several visible piercings; tunnels in his ears with rings welded through them, a nose piercing, and an eyebrow piercing.

Of note, the air doesn't actually move his clothing around. He might as well be standing firmly on the ground.

[mr-smarty-vamp.livejournal.com]

The lack of movement is duly noted by Damian, and he doesn't try to hide his stare when the hood is pulled back. He has certainly never seen anyone quite like that, even among the more modern adolescent humans back in St. Louis (and in 1996, they certainly have a strange sense of style).

The figure doesn't smell human, and that's something that Damian is still getting used to. Not everyone in Milliways is human, though their forms were sometimes humanoid in structure.

His own voice is soft and low. He allows the wind to carry it to the stranger instead of raising his voice.

"I am a vampire who can levitate."

[sliceitwithwind.livejournal.com]

Xaldin doesn't have much smell at all. It's there - but it's about as strong as someone who left the room half an hour ago would leave. The scents clinging to him are stronger - mint and some kind of roast, fresh baked bread, a cat.

"I - well, my species doesn't matter. I'm the last of them and they couldn't fly anyway. I am Air. My name is Xaldin, I was the Nobody III of XIII, and my title is The Whirlwind Lancer."

[lady_moon]

There is a woman on the ground, moving the the trees, her bare feet untouched by stone, thorn, or insect. Her skirts flare white and bright in the darkness, her hair a midnight frame for milky skin. At her feet are four wolves, and she laughs, the sound almost a song as she dances through the forest with her companions.

[mr-smarty-vamp.livejournal.com]

Such a pleasant laugh cannot be ignored, even by a pensive vampire. Damian looks down to see Moon. He doesn't smile, though he comes close, and he watches, unwilling to bring down a good mood with his own brooding.

[lady_moon]

Moon begins to sing, her voice almost carried by the trees themselves, lifting the notes up to the sky. The wolves weave around her, their own baying mingling with her singing, creating a haunting, perfectly beautiful melody that few ever have the privilege of hearing. It embodies the very feel of the night, the breeze and the sky and the forest and the magic of her being.

[mr-smarty-vamp.livejournal.com]

The song and magic hit him like a sudden burst of cold air. It isn't often that a vampire like him gets gooseflesh, but he feels it break out on his bare arms as he listens and watches.

So beautiful, the Lady Moon with her companions, the moment in the dark woven magically into something more. Something that would surely steal his breath if he were currently breathing.

He is grateful for the distraction. In fact, he couldn't have asked for a more enchanting one, and he simply takes it all in.

[lady_moon]

After several minutes, the wolves quiet and her own voice softens before fading, though the trees continue to ring with it for some time.

And then she lifts her head, too-bright green eyes meeting emerald, and her lips quirk into a smile for him.

[of-atlantis.livejournal.com]

Kida was occupying a very low branch in the three whose branches tangled with the one Damian is in.

She's crouched, absolutely still and silent, watching the redhead with a careful and wary expression, though her white hair shining through the leaves might give her away.

[mr-smarty-vamp.livejournal.com]

Damian knows she is there. He can scent her on the wind. He doesn't acknowledge her, though, knowing that if she wants his company or is curious enough, she will address him first.

[of-atlantis.livejournal.com]

She waits for a long moment, just watching him sway, before she rises up enough to stand, picking her way up her own tree, and out to the edge of the branch she finds sturdy enough.

Fear of falling isn't a part of her psyche. Or of her anything else. "You are very quiet."

[mr-smarty-vamp.livejournal.com]

He finally looks down at her, taking in her skin tone, which seems darker against the striking blue-white of her hair. She is beautiful, in an exotic way, and he allows his gaze to linger a few moments before returning emerald green eyes to someplace distant through the branches.

"Sometimes silence brings peace."

[of-atlantis.livejournal.com]

She considers this.

"Yes, it does," she finally says, in a voice that's almost husky with something unidentifiable, an ancient sound that...doesn't sound so ancient. It's alive, and impeccably human, although older than she looks. "Your eyes are striking."

[ash-imperfect.livejournal.com]

Damian is not the only one seeking escape tonight. Asher, too, has taken to the skies, and he quickly finds Damian in his tree.

"Bon nuit, cher," he murmurs, dropping lightly onto the branch beside Damian. He has not fed in a few days, now, and it's starting to show - he looks a little less animated, a little less human.

[mr-smarty-vamp.livejournal.com]

"Asher," Damian acknowledges softly with a nod of his head. His eyes had been closed when Asher arrived, but when he opens them, he can't help but raise an eyebrow.

"Why are you punishing yourself?" He doesn't waste time, since he's sure Asher will know exactly what he's referring to.

[ash-imperfect.livejournal.com]

"I have no wish to feed from anyone but Nathaniel, and I have not seen Anita to ask her permission to feed from him." He is clearly unhappy about this, and doing little to hide it.

[mr-smarty-vamp.livejournal.com]

"I know you are not in the mood to hear anything about practicality, but you can't expect Nathaniel to be the only one feeding you if you expect to exist at your fullest. Not right now. The blood from Bar may be wretched, but it's better than being driven mad by the bloodlust."

Damian doesn't bother mentioning that if Asher were anything less than a master, he would already be feeling some much more negative effects by abstaining as he has.

[ash-imperfect.livejournal.com]

"I will feed from Bar when I need to." Asher insists, stubbornly. "I do not hunger yet."

[accipiterpuella.livejournal.com]

Damian is not the only one enjoying the night -- or what passes for night -- at Milliways.

It's been a long time since Kendra's visited Milliways, and as always, her door is unpredictable. After an extended series of ruminations (and plenty of talking to one Clark Kent), she's concluded that said door is eccentric, impulsive, unfathomable, and downright coquettish, particularly when her door manifests in the air. One second she's flying over St. Roch, and the next she's over the lake at Milliways, the cool scent of water, trees, and grass soothing what had been a hot and humid night back home.

This isn't necessarily a bad thing - it's been frenetically busy back in St. Roch and at JLA headquarters, and it's quiet here, without the glowing latticework of the city below her.

The lake is inviting, of course, and Kendra can fly very quickly when she so chooses, but the rhythm of Milliways usually demands a more leisurely investigation. This is why the winged woman masked in gold -- and wearing a heavy assortment of weapons -- spirals down, catching thermals and updrafts and gracefully threading through them, eventually coming to hover over the lake, then eventually drifting closer to the trees.

She's aware of Damian's presence - the Nth metal she wears means that her senses are superhumanly acute. She might smell of alien metal; it certainly sings to Clark, a finely wrought hum far beyond the perception of baseline humans.

[mr-smarty-vamp.livejournal.com]

Damian can sense something out there. Something in the darkness a short distance away... but it is vague and formless as of yet, and he chooses to pay little attention.

Milliways is filled with countless creatures, no doubt, and though he can assume not all of them are automatically benign, he finds he can't muster the wherewithal to care. An outright attack on a random redhead in a tree doesn't seem logical, so he (perhaps unwisely) predicts that whatever he senses will either take no notice of him or pass him by.

He lets out a sigh as a soft gust of wind moves the tree, the leaves rustling around him.

[[ooc: You may still tag a bit. Damian, as you probably know, isn't much of a talker, especially when he's in such a broody mood, but curiosity can be piqued if Kendra is engaging. ^_^ AIM = ashekthordin, if you wish to contact me.]]

[accipiterpuella.livejournal.com]

After hearing the sigh - it's subtle, woven into movement of the wind and the leaves - this presence, which Kendra had, for lack of more specific information (and because Milliways is generous that way, both with the lacking and the presence of such diverse forms of life), categorized as 'someone' now becomes categorized as 'person, more information pending.'

It's not a demon bunny, clearly. She's heard about them but never been unfortunate enough to come across a horde of what she still pictures as pink-eared doe-eyed adorable balls of white fluff with an unfortunate tendency towards being savagely homicidal. Nightmare fuel, that.

There are many kinds of people (and things) that take comfort and joy in the night, most of them benign, many of them beautiful, many of them a mixture of both, and some of them nothing of the first, second, and third.

Still, she's curious and tenacious enough and, despite her normal tendencies, feeling sociable enough to at least make herself known - it's simply good manners to acknowledge a fellow nocturnal traveler.

She's still above the tops of the trees, her wings a soft sound in the air, and when she judges herself to be close enough to this particular tree, she simply descends slowly, her body vertical in the air, a controlled and utterly silent descent, until she's floating perhaps a dozen feet from Damian's branch. Hopefully she won't seem like a riotously colored apparition.

She doesn't need to use her wings to fly. Not everyone gets to see this.

"Hello," she offers, voice quiet - it would be obscene to shout on such a beautiful night.

[mr-smarty-vamp.livejournal.com]

The sound and greeting draw his gaze upward, and the first thought to cross Damian's mind is Angel? Of course, that is quickly discarded. Angels don't wear what look like the old tribal masks of the berserkers... do they?

His green eyes take in what they can of her appearance from such a strange angle. He is hesitant, but eventually decides that, like Xaldin, there is no point in assuming an attack until clear hostility is established.

"Hello," he greets, his voice equally quiet, though infinitely more masculine, as it carries on the wind.

[accipiterpuella.livejournal.com]

She knows that look.

In Kendra's universe, angels do run around armed Old Testament style, with shining helms, flaming swords, blood red eyes, glowing axes, and an appalling affection for early nineties romantic comedies starring Meg Ryan. Add to the equation that Kendra's been, on at least one occasion, mistaken for an angel by other angels, and it gets complicated.

Her hawk mask is clearly stylized, skillfully made with remarkable detail, down to the individual vanes and barbs beaten out in gold, bronze, and accented with black.

She's worn it (and its predecessors) for over five thousand years. When she's on duty, that is.

The wings are large, made of lustrous feathers that shine with black tips and, for those who are uncannily perceptive or who know her well, happen to not actually be a part of her physical person.

She's got a miniature arsenal of archaic weapons strapped efficiently to her body - a 14th century lion's head flail in pristine condition, with the impressively long chain and grip looped tightly to a hook at her waist, and various other bladed weapons - a short sword, a Syrian dagger, spiked cestus on each of her knuckles, and three large red disks of a shining metal that adorn her forearms.

Nothing, at least in terms of military technology, dates from the 20th century.

"I hope I didn't startle you. I mean you no harm, even if I do look like death from above. Which I suspect you'll dismiss out of hand until you've collected more data."

She floats lower so she can get a better look at him, toes of her red boots pointed as they are wont to do when she's ascending or about to hit ground, and the feathers of her wings brush the leaves of the trees.

Eventually she folds them tightly against her back - but they're still large enough that she can't easily climb up and down a multi-branched tree without hacking her way through with a machete, and besides, Kendra doesn't attack nature unless it attacks her first, which means no assaulting greenery. Greenery is to be cherished.

She settles for hovering eye-to-eye, although she's giving him plenty of room - he's still an unknown quantity.

"Looking for tree crustaceans?"