First Entry

[onceaviking]

The door opens and a tall figure ducks inside, freezing in place as the door slams shut behind him.

It is fairly obvious, that this was not what he expected to see.

He straightens and looks around, managing to look somewhat disinterested, even though his mind is racing.

To the casual observer, he looks like a well-dressed gentleman. His clothes are the latest fashion (of England in 1790) and the only thing that prevents him from looking like the poster image of a dandy is the clubbed hair at the back of his neck. The hair, however, is his own and not powdered, so while it is a little bit retro, it is not a terrible fashion faux pas.

He is a little pale, but his height and build suggest health and vitality, as does the way he looks around the room, his bright, blue eyes taking in the seating arrangements as well as the various patrons.

The cut of his slim trousers, waistcoat, and coat, as well as the excellent quality of the wool suggests that he has been by John Weston. The silver-buckled boots are quite impressive as well. Anyone seeing him at the opera or a soiree would take him for a wealthy, healthy aristocrat. Possibly from the continent. What Milliways will make of him is anyone’s guess.

Those with a keen sense of smell might notice that he has an odour of blood about him. He has, however, no visible injuries. And the few spatters on his lapel are quite discreet.

For those with keener senses still, he is obviously not alive. He is not dead the way some of Milliways’ other patrons are dead. He is dead the way a vampire is dead. No heartbeat, no pulse, no thoughts to listen in on for those who are able to do such things.

When asked, he will introduce himself as Erik Sture or Erik Natt och Dagg, since that is the identity he has decided to use while abroad. It is the oldest noble line in Sweden and the descendents in the Sture branch are strong and healthy military types. The youngest son did indeed travel to England. He did not make it all the way though. Not that anyone knows that yet.

In other circumstances, he might well have used a different name.

Northman perhaps.


He has now made a full turn, but sadly he can make even less sense of what he is seeing.

What is this place?



(tinytag: Eric Northman)

Comments

[katyafeline]

Uh-huh says Katya's expression.

Emphatically.

Discrete her sometimes fuzzy and stripped ass.

[onceaviking]

More than her expression, he notices her scent.

It's - strange.

There is definitely some animal to it, but that is not all.

He doesn't engage though, although the brief flare of his nostrils might indicate he wouldn't mind to do so at all.

He does, however, shift a little, to bring his back toward a wall.

[katyafeline]

She, in response, gets a little more relaxed - or, at least, she gives the impression of it, hooking her booted feet up on the nearest chair, and pouring herself another glass of vodka.

She doesn't send a rat after a second glass.

[onceaviking]

He watches her, trying to read her face. Not a werewolf. He is fairly certain of that.

And not a lady either.

[katyafeline]

Really?

Staring?

Her fingers twist in an gesture that just might be older than he is, and a cold snap like the crack of a wet towel is aimed at him.

Well, mostly at his ass.

Mostly because it's frowned upon here for her to get actually violent.

[onceaviking]

His eyes widen - and then they narrow.

He is completely still - and then he is two inches away from her, towering.

Silent.

[katyafeline]

She grins up at him, utterly unrepentant.

"Da? No longer a wallflower?"

[shreveport_wolf]

[ooc: *flails at you* If you'd rather he not met Alcide just now, let me know, but... *flails*]

Alcide has been getting used to the vague, lingering scent of vampire that seems to lurk over the bar from some of its patrons, but this is the first time that the vampire scent has actually been the same as the vampires of his world.

One specific vampire, in particular. (It's not exactly the same as the Northman he knows, but it's enough to set him on edge.)

As soon as it reaches his nose, he stiffens, perks up, and looks around the room for its source.

[onceaviking]

(ooc: it's totally cool *beams*)

Eric is still trying to get his bearings, but when his eyes passes over Alcide, there is no hint of recollection.

And when his gaze returns, the recognition is all about the fact that the tall man is clearly a werewolf. So he gets an impassive stare and just the barest hint of a lifted upper lip. A tiny, silent growl.

[shreveport_wolf]

When Alcide finds where that smell is coming from, he has just about the same reaction, except that his growl rumbles up from his chest, not silent, but not probably loud enough for anyone but Eric to hear.

He was just starting to feel comfortable in this weird bar too. Of course Eric would come in and ruin that for him.

[onceaviking]

Oh, he hears it alright.

And he is sorely tempted to show that wolf that he does not appreciate it.

But he doesn't rush across the room, too fast for human perception. Instead, he - strolls into the room. In the general direction of the impertinent hound.

Hyper-aware of his surroundings.

The whole place feels wrong.

[shreveport_wolf]

Alcide doesn't take his eyes off the vampire as he crosses the room. He bristles, ready for whatever he brings. What he is hyper-aware of, though, is the money his dad owes the vampire and the problems that might bring.

"Just when I was startin' to enjoy myself."

[onceaviking]

"And I am stopping you from that - how exactly?"

He doesn't sound American, not in the least. Well-bred continental European with a touch of proper British enunciation.

His tone is dripping with contempt.

But as far as he can tell, the dog here isn't branded and so it is of no concern of his. Unless it disrupts anything in which case it will be not a concern, but dinner.

Late to the party, but...hi again.

[the_cupbearer]

"Those were good years."

It isn't that Ganymede can read minds, or knows what Eric is, but he can place the clothes. Living through that era makes him remember the styles fairly well. So have one apparently young--don't be fooled, he's actually older than even Erik's maker--man studying your appearance with a faint smile. He's incredibly beautiful, the young man, enough to turn anyone's head.

[onceaviking]

"I beg your pardon?"

The answer is all polite, well-bred Continental gentleman, right down to the way he leans his upper body a little in the direction of the young man, as if to hear him better.

He heard him just fine.

It was, actually, a very typical remark for a vampire, but this young man clearly isn't one of them. And that sort of remark is normally made about the past. Not the present.

[the_cupbearer]

"Your clothes give away your time frame," he says lightly, but with no lift to his voice. Ganymede's fairly sure Eric heard him. "They were enjoyable years for some of us."

[onceaviking]

"Is that so?"

He's smiling his friendly smile. The one without fangs.

"You say that it was... " Trailing off. A little confused perhaps. Or just unwilling to give his own thoughts away.

[the_cupbearer]

That it isn't the one with his fangs doesn't necessarily mean Ganymede can't see them; perhaps pictured in some little fleeting notion of fantasy. But then, the men he has lived with do have the tendency to enable that.

"I did, yes. I live some...two centuries and change after your current period." Assuming it isn't a costume ball he's attending, really. He knew Asher, that isn't entirely out of the realm of possibility.

[onceaviking]

"In the next millennium? That sounds - incredible."

He walks closer now, not at all not trying to tower over the young man. If he should make a wager, his money would be on him rather liking that.

"And fascinating." He lowers his voice a little at the last word, making it a secret for the two of them to share.

It's an art form. Reading people. And he likes to think he is good at it.

[cullenteddybear]

Emmett looks up, he smells the blood first and then has to swallow back the venom that pools in his throat as he then notices this man is as tall as he is. Maybe not as broad but as big none the less.

And that they are of the same kind he also notices this.

[onceaviking]

If there is one thing, vampires are sensitive to, it is the presence of another vampire.

He turns, too fast for a human eye to follow, and glares.


It is always good to act assertively.

[cullenteddybear]

Oh this vampire isn't intimidated by his size. He's not sure he likes that. Not showing his normal playfulness he crosses his arms over his chest.

With a nod. Only the other Vampire could really detect it.

"Hello."

It's said softly, with a hint of a southern accent.

[onceaviking]

The answering nod is just as small, but manages to seem a little curt all the same.

"Evening."

HIs Bristh accent is a thin coat of varnish, barely hiding his own, making one sound a little too long, one a little too short.

[cullenteddybear]

"How are you doing?"

It's a kind of dance he guesses when you meet another vampire, but this one seems different. As if not one of his kind. He supposed it was possible.

Wait this Vampire has blue eyes. While his own where the golden topaz of a recent hunt.

[onceaviking]

A vampire with wolf eyes.

This place grows stranger by the minute.

"I am well," he answers, crossing his arms in front of him.

There has been no assertion of hunting privileges yet and he is not about to ask. Not someone who seems to be younger than himself.

"And you?"

He does not seem to be putting the polite facade on merely for the sake of a potential audience. Strange.