Lie Lie Lie

The lobby of Hotel California is empty, though the vintage beauty that sits at the piano in the corner of the room adds a 1960's quality to the air and music that surrounds her, and she doesn't seem at all aware of the lack of a crowd to appreciate it. A bob of dark, Shirley Temple curls surround the woman's pale face, falling just short of her shoulders. With the light tap of her fingers on the piano filling the break between songs, the doll-like Toreador keeps her pale green eyes on the movement of her hands. Long, slender legs that are usual visible are now covered with a pair of fitted black slacks that hug a low position around her hips and fall to a flared point just over a pair of Barbie-style silver flats.

A bare midriff is exposed from beneath the simple velvet vest that's tugged and secured over her endowments in solid ebony, accented only with small, silver buttons. The porcelain features of Macha are decorated as usual, though the more shadowed colors of her make up are quite suited to the era she's quite obviously fond of. As she manipulates a quick, punctuated melody, the milky skinned performer adapts a childish smile and her shoulder shift lightly from side to side as her whole demeanor sinks into the almost jumpy cords of jazz. When the woman's pouted, crimson lips part to accompany the song, the words are half-stated and half-sang, though her voice works each short statement quickly along with the rush of the melody.

"My analyst told me… that I was right out of my head. The way he described it… he said I'd be better dead - than live. I didn't listen to his jive…" A playful sigh releases the rest of her breath to take another that rises her stomach instead of her chest. "I knew all along he was all wrong , and I knew that he thought I was crazy… but I'm not. Oh no!" Her deep tone cuts quickly with the swell of a brief musical interlude before the next verse, and her painted features clear any guess of her own entertainment with the song as a slight grin slips upon her lips. Between beats, the woman's voice unexpectedly rejoins the echo of the piano, and her words are still just as half-spoken and dusky. "My analyst told me… that I was right out of my head. He said I'd need -treatment-… but I'm not that easily led." (5 successes for performance)

There is no gentle 'ding' or whirring moving of motors and mechanisms that would denote, on a normal evening, the arrival of the elevator that runs the entire length of the Hotel California. Rather, on this night, with the outside world conspiring against those who would rule it through quick tongues and an undead heart, a gentle footstep denotes the entrance of Valentine Carmina into the lobby, as his path for the night finds him brought to the bottom floor through the grace of the stairs that should serve if the mechanisms of the future ever failed those who built them. The dim light of this area of the hotel would do more than ever to showcase the amber incandescence of both golden orbs that belong to the lithe, beautiful man, each one standing out in comparison against his cold flesh, which having long ceased to keep the warmth of blood, has become a flawless canvas of ivory, or perhaps, the colour that can only come from waking up on a snow-laden morning to find those glistening flakes clinging to a frosted window.

He is dressed in a simple fashion, from the silken shirt of black hues, with it's silver-inlaid buttons, to the black leather pants, which having been torn down each side, are sewed back together in a statement that is too often found on the rebellious teens of this country. It is suitable for him though, as they wrap around his slender but powerful legs and cling like a jilted lover that cannot bear to be parted. He wears no shoes on this night, as if removing himself from the premises during this small expedition were the farthest removed thought from his well-worked mind. His hair, usually draped around him like a coal-coloured curtain has been pulled back and restricted into a braid, done loose and less for social waltzing than for the sheer functionality of having to deal with it. It is painfully obvious that even in such guileless accoutrements, this is dressing down for him.

The sounds of the piano are the first thing to catch the attention of the striking Greek, and before even knowing who could be offering such a beautiful and musical reprieve, the expression on his face is rife with the excitement of the thought, striking a chord deep inside of him that is not often struck since days after joining the ranks of the immortal dead. He stops, leaning gently against the frame section that seperates the stairs from the lobby, and his pale lips pull back into a feral grin at the sight of the familiar woman. He does nothing, it would seem, to cover the fact that his two sharpened, deadly canines are glistening, catching what light is found in the room and using it to the full effect. He waits. And listens. And revels. But in the end, cannot help but add in a, "..He said I was the type that was most inclined, when out of his sight, to be out of my mind..", before falling into relative silence once more.

The ebony, violet and indigo haired Toreador continues with her song, the music more than familiar, it seems, as her fingertips work quickly over the keys and her spring-green eyes are messily unfocused on the top edge of the piano. "He said… I was the type that was most inclined…. when out of his sight to be out of my mind! And he thought I was nuts… no more ifs or ands or buts. Oh no!" The vintage beauty continues the slight back and forth shift of her body along with the established tempo, and one hand comes up to toss a bit of hair away from her face, bouncing her spiral curls against white cheeks. "They say as a child… I appeared a little bit wild… with my crazy ideas. But I knew what was happening. I knew I was a genius." The girl's voice drifts in the same quickened pace, and she slides her fingers back against the ebony and ivory without a noticably change to the tune.

"What's so strange when you know that you're a wizard at three? I knew that this was meant to be. Well I heard little children… were supposed to sleep tight. That's why I drank a fifth of vodka one night. My parents got frantic, didn't know what to do. But I saw some crazy scenes before I came to. Now do you think I was crazy? I may have been only three but I was swingin'." The words form on her lips next to a playful smirk, and despite the lack of listeners to appreciate it, the stage-top angel doesn't seem to lack charisma. "They all laughed at Al Graham Bell. They all laughed at Edison… and also at Einstein. So why should I feel sorry if they just couldn't understand the litany and the logic that went on in my head? I had a brain, it was insane."

"Don't you let them laugh at me when I refused to ride on all those double decker buses all because there was no driver on the -top-." The lithe brunette drags a few fingers over her cheek with another shift of writhing curls. The inset of a piano solo gifts the slender girl with a break from vocals, though light humming can be clearly made out between jumps between notes as her fingers move skillfully over the range of keys. "My analyst told me that I was right out of my head. The way he described it, he said I'd be better dead - than live. I didn't listen to his jive. I knew all along… he was all wrong. And I knew that he thought I was crazy but I'm not. Oh no!"

After his first initial addition to the singing of the prepossessing woman, Valentine Carmina holds his silvered tongue and allows himself to fall silent, a surrender that would never be given without struggle but just to a few of the most deserving people in Los Angeles. Whether this is from a dark and whispered terror of breaking into the confines of her musical prowess, or from nothing more than becoming winsome over the bewitching strands of ensorcelling symphonics. No matter the reason, he does at this point close his eyes and trap those amber sights from the dimmed world all around, resting his head against the frame that he leans upon and allowing his inner-stirrings to be soothed into slumber once more by the enticing melodics of muse with the multi-coloured hair.

He does though, eventually find the will within to remove himself from his shadowed perch and cast off into the world of sounds that has been created before him, no matter how deep he must have reached to take grasp of it. Footsteps bring him to the woman, but not in a fashion that would be considered normal to any but a Toreador. They're silent upon the carpet, as he takes up a position for a socialite's dream dance with a woman that does not exist, one hand upon her unseen hip and the other outstretched to entwine with her intangible arm. He goes in wide, sweeping circles across the expanse until reaching the backside of the angel with the graceful manipulation of the piano. There, he casts off his unobservable partner as if she were nothing, in order to proffer more attention down upon she who sits at helm of the musical masterpiece. Every so faintly, cold hands are rested upon her shoulders.

With Valentine's movement, the woman's attention remains on her music completely, without any sign that she's even capible of being distracted from it. "Oh no, oh no," Macha repeats against the loop of the chorus, and her seemingly weightless frame adjusts as she tucks one leg under the bench, as she's either not in need of the peddles, or has forgotten them completely. "My analyst told me… that I was right out of my head. But I said "Dear doctor, I think that it's you instead… 'Cause I have got a thing that's unique and new and it proves that I'll have the last laugh on you. 'Cause instead of one head… I got two."

The music manipulated out of the piano stops abruptly, and the Toreador takes the pause to slide her fingers back to her lap, and drag her breathtaking eyes from the instrument to the floor at her feet. The last line of the song is brandished with a slight quiver of her bottom lip as the man's chilled fingers fall over skin and velvet, though for now, no other shift of her demeanor is allowed. "And you know two heads are better than one."

As the slender woman's voice dies just after the last resonated shivers of the piano's strings, her dark lashes are finally twitched closed for a quarter of a second. Slowly, both of her legs are brought to the bench under her, though both are rested at her side with a shift of her weight to the opposite hip. As she settles finally, one pale hand is raised back to the keys, enchanting an almost murmered scale of jumped triplicates rather than a song from the higher end of the piano's range. "I didn't see you come in," she says finally, though the one hand enticing quiet cords from the piano infront of her isn't distracted as she shifts down a half octave, and the statement seems no more than a rhetorical compliment.

"..That is because you were too wrapped up in taking a work of art and turning it into a masterpiece..", Valentine admits, his voice lowered in such a manner as to give the impression that he does not wish to disturb those who might be near. So often does he check the doors now when coming down here, but this time he does not. Instead, his left hand is pulled from the shoulder of the woman and used to cradle her cheek, his pale flesh having tinged with the blush of life so as to offer a small amount of warmth to the Toreador woman. After a moment of silence, he speaks up again, pushing sincerity into his voice, "..I push myself to beauty for the reason that, in this world, there is a noticeable lack of things that are beautiful. It is a fear that I have, that one evening, it will cease to exist all together. You, Macha, offer a bastion of hope to those of my kind that..", and here, he finally does glance over his shoulder and to the jungle outside, before looking back, "..there will always be beautiful things in the world, no matter how ugly it gets..".

With his words, and the soft press of warm fingers that she almost absently leans into, Macha's eyes stay between her lap and the keys of the piano. "Your compliment moves me, but there will never be a lack of beauty in the world, even if it turns to an endangered escape for those who know how to look for it. To know that even the slightest jump of a heart can be more beautiful than anything established, or existing, is an enlightenment." The lithe musician with her back to him shifts her weight once again, lifting her legs from their resting position at her side to be pressed between her chest and the edge of the boarder guard for the keys that her fingers still jump between. "The term of 'Beauty in the Eyes of the Beholder' is quite a misgiving. Loveliness in the pattern of a creator's wishes is far more the truth."

"..There is no object though, no feeling, no thing in the world that, under certain conditions, will not become hideous. I have seen it. I have experienced it. We are, even at the moment, feeling the effects of it on the city that is supposed to be a haven and not a hell. It is unfortunate when such a thing transpires, is not impossible to avoid..", the lithesome and striking Greek explains to the woman, not seeming to hold even half-so-much of a forward aggressiveness as she'd felt in the previous evening's encounter. His hand, still warmed with the coursing of his magical vitae, does nothing to remove itself from the chilled, pale flesh of the songbird below him, "..That which is beautiful is often a temporal thing, though. Such as a stained glass window would be. So often they sparkle and shine, drawing the attention and adoration of those who look upon them. But..even they have their dark moments, when the light has gone out, and they are nothing more Fragile.".

Macha remains quiet for several minutes after Valen's silvered voice quiets, and the tips of her fingers pick up the first seven or eight seconds of the Appassionata's third movement before it stops, only to be repeated a couple more times. "Everything is fragile." For the first time, the dreamy quality of her tone fades and a slight bitterness replaces it. When she continues, however, she manages the same girlish, sing-song quality as the nights previous. She accepts the warmth against her cheek with the same slight lean into his skin, though it's all managed in a very casual fashion. "Those glittering, sun stained windows were long ago lost, except to be lusted after by pale, useless lightbulbs. Blessedly, they are quite still breath-choking works of brilliant hands and fire - despite their nightly lack of color to most eyes."

"..Yes. Everything is fragile, from the coloured tinting of stained glass, to the solid, stoic build of a mountain. I suppose, like things that are beautiful, are both the victims of temporal rape..", Valentine explains, seeming far more quieted on this evening than would be considered to be his normal tone. After moments, the pale-skinned incubus removes the warmth of his hand from the glacial flesh of the muse, seeming to linger at the act as if not wishing to, before slipping onto the bench next to her, but still quite close. His graceful, ivoried fingers take up a spot upon the leftmost half of the musical device, and within a moment, he passes through the same amounts worth of Appasionata's third movement, mimicking that which the woman had just passed over. (4 Successes - Performance)

Macha smiles faintly as he seats himself next to her, and her eyes shift from the edge of the keys to his fingers as the echoed melody of the Appasionata breaks into her own paused music. "The things themselves, yes. But never for a second their memory as long as one clear mind still thinks them beautiful." Her voice is almost hauntingly close to song now, and the new timber of her smooth voice reflects the instant excitement with his choice of motion. "I've never met a single joy," the Toreador muses as she replays the first breaks of the sonata to allow his playing a lingering harmony, "… that I did not feel - not know, but feel - was going to pass from living memory. It's never stopped me from magical intoxication with such fading beauty."

The striking, comely Greek-born man allows his nimble fingers to pass along the keys of the piano once more, echoing with an exquisite grace the same which the velvet-voiced Angel next to him performs. There is no indication at all that he is not listening to her words, and in fact, the expressions that appear upon such features of perfection would indicate that his listening is coming first, while the harmonic manipulations are taking second. In the end though, he tilts his head forward, allowing the last sounds of what he'd just played to linger in the air and then die a fading death, before whispering, "..I've never met a joy..". There is no dazzling revelation to follow this admission, as the woman had given, and it is left at nothing more than that. It could be said, perhaps, that there is a touch of sorrow laced into a voice which otherwise is clung upon by the tenacity of milk and honey.

With the slight whisper at her side, Macha's fingers miss-step as she goes between keys, and it stops her almost immediately with a soft press of her lips. With a languid motion, her hand slips back away from the instrument as though it were too delicate for the touch of her fingers after such an obviously piercing statement to her composure. Her own voice, as she anwers, is nearly drown with practiced heartbreak, and her gaze averts to the side finally away from the monocromatic temptation of music. "My dear," she starts, and she twists her body against the bench as carefully as possible to face him, and she seems disturbed enough to not bother meeting his gaze, "That… must be changed, I'm afraid. It's just not exceptable."

Valentine does not bring his glimmering amber sights up to the gentle Muse. Not yet. Instead, one single finger slides forward just enough to press the lowest, and most dramatic key upon the classical piano. As it is birthed into the enviroment, lingering, and then experiencing it's own death, the disquieted man speaks, "..To live a beautiful life is to never know the truth as to the reason that you are loved..". At once, those glistening orbs of molten gold are pulled up to look upon the angelic visage of the woman that is now facing him, and in a somber tone, he goes on, "..It is not acceptable, but never has one remedied it..". A sad smile is pressed over his winter-kissed lips, but it is a smile nonetheless.

As Valen's fingers come up to elicit a single note from the instrument, Macha's own slender fingers raise once more to match the echo of his chosen note with one eight keys to the higher tone of the piano. She lowers her finger with such care and gentleness that the string barely sings. "I'm afraid I can't believe that, angel," the dark haired, vintage princess answers after another long pause, and not once does she bring her gaze up from the floor at their sides. "Truth is so subjective that you can know a thousand reasons to be loved and still hear quite a new one from the next face within an ocean of personalities. Not knowing the reason for the moment in which you live, perform, drink… It would be a wasted existance."

"..I know the reason for the moment that I live. The moment that I sing. The moment that I grasp, clinging to each second. I have no fault to be found in distinguishing that for which I exist..", Valentine admits, allowing his fingers to come to a rest upon the piano now, not offering up another keystroke, not allowing it to whisper a sound into the stilled, evening air of the Hotel California's Lobby, "..There is no truth. Nothing more than human opinion, or even inhuman, past that. In this world, this masquerade, you can never tell when an opinion is falsified or not. That is more the problem for a person who has come to see what I have seen, and come to look as I have looked..".

Macha pauses for a moment once more, her eyes flickering towards the movement of his fingers, and even as his lovely voice rushes into her thoughts, her figure shivers slightly as her heartbreak falls open to observation past her usually guarded sorrow. "I'm shattered with the thought of such a thing." The candid explaination slips from the nearly motionless doll of a woman as though it hurt to keep it at the tip of her tongue. "There's nothing in this world, even this masquerade, that I wouldn't trade a second for in explaination of how heavily your words break my heart." She brings one hand up to press a few ebony spirals behind on ear, and she makes the motions for breath after a couple faultered seconds in the rise and fall of her chest. "I'm… young, yet. I understand that. But nowhere in my time with what gifts have been given me would I like such confusion."

Valentine remains silent for a moment, having turned his amber sights down upon the ivoried bars of the piano, so that his expression can remain hidden from the sight of at least one who was not searching for it. His finger reaches up again to press down again and send couring another musical not, but just before striking, a tremble shudders through it and it falls to the side without doing as much as it had set out to, "..To hear it is heartbreaking, but to live it eternal, even that immortal life would have not the time to bring description to such a thing..". It, perhaps, cannot be seen, but just a moment past that admission, a crimson droplet splashes onto the white carpet beneath the spot where the lithesome, alluring Greek is sitting. And then a second, and a third, forming a bit of a tragic pattern against the pristine bounds below. The last, however, falls upon the key that he could not bear to bring himself to touch. Several octaves lower, as if it were the breeze passing through a summer

By the time the pattern of his first words has ended, and enough of a pause is given to herald attention to his tears, Macha's whole figure shivers. "Oh, angel," she manages in barely a whisper, but her voice breaks as her black rimmed green eyes are drawn to the splash of red on white. "My heart breaks for your words, and there's no comfort in it." Strangely enough, the woman's next actions take place in a languid fashion, and her expression stays rapt somewhere between extreme loss and awe. A beautifully manicured index finger is brought against the vitae-slicked rectangle of ivory, and dragged off of it in an extremely slow manner that's clearly intended to clear the key of blood. The same finger is lifted and dragged over her full bottom lip without so much as hesitation or a change of her demeanor. Another break in her movement starts something even more notably unnatural, and a flashed motion of pale skin and dark curls leaves the lingering, damp taste from the drag of her tongue against his bottom lip, mixed with the new darkening of blood against her lips. When she speaks again, however, she's positioned in much the same position facing him even as her dark curls shiver from the rapid shift of her figure. "I will never believe that it is fully broken."

"..Then I shall never believe that it can remain as so, while in the presence of such a breathtaking muse..", Valentine speaks, but not before allowing a moment of silence, and slipping his tongue along his lower lip to clear it of crimson vitae, though a subtle, almost nonexistant stain if left behind, the red fading the pink and offering up a false reflection of life when harbored upon the winter-white curvature. With an eventuality that could not be resisted for much longer, the glimmering golden sights are lifted to look up at the woman who had just proffered such a brief ministration upon him. A smile is brought up to his expression, one that has not been seen since the beginning of this evening, as he adds, "..I feel no shame, nor weakness in telling you that it is amazing, the manner in which you speak to my heart. Even without the use of a word. Some emotions do not make much noise. It is hard to hear pride. And is so quiet that sometimes you cannot even tell that it's there.

"Nor should you." His rush of words is answered in the simple three, and no more for a long moment. Her attention goes between Valentine and the shimmered hue of vitae against the piano key still, though she appears to be letting her words gather before another rushed retort. She lets both of her hands settle against her thighs, tucking her slender legs under her weight to bring her off of the bench a couple inches as she faces him still. "All facets of emotion make noise in different senses of the word. Pride in sight, observation. Caring in actions that could very well assult at five senses if performed correctly." Finally, after quite a few near glances, Macha's focus shift to meet his gaze, though her expression matches nothing of a smile, and instead holds closer to the doe-like quality of curiosity mixed with hesitation. The gaze is held for just a moment, however, and her eyes drop once again. "We search for that notice. The validation of exchanged emotion in truth. I cannot stand an

"..Then let us speak of them no longer on this evening. You have heard too much of that which has been a burden to me since the night of my death. And have lightened it as none have since, as well. Which, to speak, is an age..", Valentine speaks, his smile growing lop-sided in just the most faint notion. He reaches out a pale, ivoried hand and drags soft fingertips across the back of Macha's own, watching the woman for the whole while, and then slipping out, "..Were I into the proceedings of the Court, I might call a boon upon you, from no other but myself. I avoid them though, when it can be helped. But consider it done nonetheless, if in much less formal terms..".

Macha manages to slow her shivering to a less pronounced pace as his fingers slide along her skin, and he easily attracts her attention once more as her eyes shift upwards with a slight flicker of false lashes. "I would never ask such a thing of anyone. My position was attained for favor. No burden of words that my soul could bare for you could convince me to introduce that thought in terms of formatility, or otherwise." She seems a little taken back by his words, and her own are rushed in explaination and urgency to make him understand. "Quite aside, the only thing I would ask of you is to offer your company in any fashion you'd wish. The accountability for such a tradition is lost on the slip of an honest tongue that I would more than welcome at any juncture." She wets her lips slowly, and with her emotional pleading for no such favor, her composure slides out of grasp enough that her delicate, pearled fangs press her bottom lip without the shaken girl noticing, or caring.

"..You have it. You have it without needing to ask. And should it ever fail to be needed, you have but to speak the word, and I would be banished. Though, not without a feeling of loss..", Valentine admits, his first words more urgent, as if they needed to be spoken as fast as possible, before the end of his sentence slows just that much, a hesitant penance of a pause before the end is bit off, "..I have a gift for you, Miss Macha. It is not diamonds or gold. Nor is it all of the world, as you deserve. I find myself a pauper in this new place, as far as material wealth goes. At least for now. I have, though, something that I believe few could hold an appreciation for. You might, though. You of the subtle nuances that most I've met would miss. I ask nothing but that I be permissed to bestow it upon you..".

Briefly, the hint of a smile brushes up one side of her reddened lips, though the wash of curiosity that seems ever-present on her features dominates it quickly. "I could never dismiss a man such as yourself Mister Carmina, and I don't at all suffer myself to believe it's something you've not heard before." Another quick glance is cast towards the piano in a fashion that would indicate she wasn't used to having two such distractions in one place, but her choice is made simple with another two seconds of eye contact with the man so close to her, and she retains her focus at his haunting eyes. "Gifts come in all sorts, my clever rouge," she answers as her head cants to the side with a shift of curls, looking at him with more inspection that she's allowed herself for the night to this point. However, as the words fall from her lips, she blinks a few times and shakes her head once with another flurry of ringlets around her cheeks. "My tongue runs away with me in such company, I apologize."I'm far too honored to accept without some matter of embarassment that'd you'd offer such a compliment ontop of flattering words."

With a bit of shifting that is ever as graceful and as fluid as any other single movement that the beautiful man with the raven-hued locks, he slips from his seat on the bench, lifting a bare foot over it and straddling the seat so that he can face his muse in a more direct fashion. Going about his work, he speaks while using swift fingers to loosen the cuffs which wrap around his wrists, and then fold up a bit the sleeve of each arm, "..It is a gift that, once upon a great time, my Sire offered to me. It was his most precious talent, and one that rare has been the cause for me to share with another. I feel, though, that it is the least that I can do in return for the burden that you have lifted from me upon this evening, even whilst you have the burdens of the outside world to take up residence within your mind..". His sleeves pushed back now so expose his lithe, white arms, his hands are held out with each palm faced up, "..Give me your hands, Miss Macha.".

There is a soft 'ding' from the elevator of the Hotel California. As the doors slide open, Markus stands in the middle, arms behind his back, feet shoulder width apart, and head held up a little bit. He wears a navy blue commando sweater, with an obvious bulge underneath that could hint at kevlar, while on his legs he wears black cargo pants that have been strapped to his legs. To finish off the outfit he wears a pair of black combat boots, gloves, and smoky lens aviator glasses. One foot slides forward and out, followed by the next, the hard rubber soles of the boots making soft sounds as he treads across the Lobby of the Hotel, heading towards the Hallway. He however stops for a moment as he sees the man, and Macha. One single eyebrow arches from behind the lens of the aviator, and his lips draw straight once again. His direction changes now, as he makes his way towards the pair.

Macha looks over the pale angel before her, and her gaze follows his movements with a slight shift of her weight to allow him more room. The slender Toreador is dressed in a pair of wide legged, black silk pants that hug her hips with their low waistline, as well as a dark velvet vest, worn without anything under it, that manages to leave her midsection bare. With the entrance of Markus, her attention doesn't at all shift from Valen's hands as he lays them outwards over their thighs. With another short flutter of false, extremely black eyelashes, she skips the usual hesitation stage between his requests, and she lays her chilled hands over his. "Any burden that I bare, I quite do for my own reasons, and provokes no reward, my dear. You take too much concern with how heavy your words have laid on top of my heart tonight, even after the distraction of your company has so cheered me."

"..You do as much for a reason that is your own, but that does not change the social response of such a gesture. Were this night never to occur, this still might be a gift that I would have laid bare for your taking. As I spoke before, it is a terrible replacement for the world, is something that I would never put into the care of one who could not see the deeper meaning in it's giving. One that I could never entrust to such as those who would see it as just another simple tool to be used. To be worn down..", Valentine explains, allowing his fingertips to twist around the slender wrists of the woman for naught but a second, before releasing them again to rest palm-to-palm. He is so absorbed in his action, and in the moment, that he fails to give attention at all to the arrival of the elevator. Instead, his vivacious sights of golden amber are closed from the world, and he goes still with an utter finality, or what would be did he not whisper this, "..It is something not meant for us.."

The doors to the elevator would open again a moment later, to reveal none other than the Prince himself, though his attire would be much differant than normal. His chainmail shirt would cling slightly against the chains he held in his hand which kept the two large pitbulls under control. His hair pulled back into a ponytail, and THE axe strapped to his back, "Good boys" he would say to the animals as they all exited the elevator and made their way into the lobby the emerald orbs of the Prince reaching out around the room taking in the sights of the few gathered.

The Germanic man slows his paces as he approaches the two, a soft smirk playing across his lips as he listens to the interactions. He draws near to the two, his leather gloved hands slipping behind his back. His head tilts a little bit as he listens to the words and his eyes close for a second, be it out of enjoyment, amusement, or something completely different is unknown. His expression soon shifts, back to its neutral glance as his eyes open, and his eyebrows both arch upwards if not but just an inch. Head canting slightly, he seems to ponder - if not for a moment - whether to interrupt the two. His attention however turns towards Gabriel and his eyes narrow slightly at the axe, before his head shakes slightly. "Good evening, Miss Lucilacu," the man says in a soft tone, before his eyes turn towards her companion, a single eyebrow arching, "And good evening to you also."

The milky skinned woman continues to follow the blissfully attractive man's movements between the two of them, and despite herself, her stark curiosity is pasted all over her features. "Your words only make me feel more accurate with the thoughts you've over played my accountings in conversation with you tonight, Mister Carmina. Open ears are not wor-…" With Valen's fingers tracing about her wrists and then pausing to slide under her own to rest their palms together, Macha's already trailing responce is cut off almost violently as her gaze darts upwards to lock with the amber eyes of the man across from her. As Markus speaks, her eyes leave Valen for the briefest of moments with absolutely no returned greeting… as usual as that is from such a woman, and she looks back to the long, raven haired Greek opposite her. "How?" she manages before a gentle press of her small, exposed fangs against the inside of her bottom lip, and her previously control shivering returns in full force. It's a long moment before she's focused enough to drawn her lungs with air, and her wide eyes remain locked with Valen's the whole while. "I can't handle the truth with this delight. Feel free to lie to me, just this once."

Valentine watches each expression that is writ upon the face of the immortal muse that is sitting before him, with a bit of a curl at each side of his chilled lips, the look one of sheer expectance. It is quite obvious to those who watch, that the beautiful Greek has done something and meant to do it, though what is to be kept a secret between the giver, and she for whom the gift was bestowed upon. With the return of her focus though, and the subsequent questions that follow, a boyish, almost harmless grin breaks across his face, and he leans in quite close to whisper to the woman, "..The First knew that, in this damned existence, to gain everything was to first lose everything. So it is written. But to give everything, you must have first been given everything. A gift for a gift, Miss Macha..". Whither this be a lie or a true, there is but one that can know, and his scintillating amber orbs are naught that which reveal as much to the world before him.

Gabriel moving closer to the gathered he would allow the lazy movements of his deep emerald orbs to remain on each person for but a moment before moving to the next, a curious brow lifted at the exchanging of words between the Toreador. As he stopped his movement his dogs would also follow sitting as his side as if bound by something other than chain, "Anyone check the weather lately?" he asked softly chuckling.

"Mmmm, rainy, with a chance of sun," is the sardonic reply from the man. He turns on his heel a little bit and glances towards Gabriel with a soft smirk. "I would try to correct you on the attire, Mister Bennett, but I most constantly remind myself that there are no kine about." He inclines his head to the man with a soft chuckle, and rotates his shoulders. His eyes turn back to the pair and he says once more, "Miss Lucilacu, it was a pleasure to be the recipient of your hospitality once more upon this night. Do have a good one." He says this in not an insulting fashion, but rather a more prodding and playful one. His eyes stray back to Gabriel and he motions with his head towards the other man, a single eyebrow arching.

The lithe Toreador's fingers twitch lightly as they rest over Valen's palms, and her eyes narrow towards him a bit, though in nothing more than a searching fashion. "Nothing I've done dictates such a gift. You've my debt, it seems, in this reversal." She wets her lips briefly after her words slip out in a more sultry tone than she'd clearly intended, but as her name from Markus breaks her near obsession with Valen's explaination, she blinks rapidly and slips her legs out from under herself. Coming to her feet, there's a single glance cast back at Valen before she turns to Markus fully, and her fingers slip from the man's palms with a lingering fang pressing her bottom lip. "Please discount my rudeness, gentlemen. I'm afraid I was quite caught up, it seems." She looks between Markus and Gabriel and offers a slight curtsey, looking torn between being ashamed of herself and the rush of nervous energy that seems to lighten her expression.

The second Toreador, the Greek-Born male with the ivoried complexion and the length of raven-hued hair, does manage also to tear his infatuation from the woman and whatever had happened with her. He grins a bit, either putting on a show, or indeed pushing upon himself a better mood than that of the somberness which had been thought to have taken the night. His amber, scintillating sights linger upon the angel-faced woman for just another instant, before he shifts a bit, looking right through Markus and to Gabriel, "Mmm. Prince Gabriel. You look every bit the noble Knight that I had imagined you as before we met. And still do. It is a fine look for you. A small shame that the Dark Ages left us. Even..if they seem to have returned..".

The Prince would chuckle slightly and take a half dipped bow before looking over to Markus for a moment and answer his question, "Toreador friend of mine" chuckling he would lift himself back up and offer a warm smile to the raven haired male a single hand moving behind his head to adjust his pony tail, "You flatter me as always Mr.Carmina, though this is simply scout gear when I am to go into full battle I shall dress the part of ages past in the armor gifted me from my family nearly one thousand years ago… I trust you are having a wonderful evening with the company of the Lady Harpy, please do not let me interfere"

"I know your kind, Miss Lucilacu, and do not worry. We all need some semblance of normality in these days and for the days to come." His eyes turn towards Valen as he watches him for a moment and then looks back to Gabriel with a slow nod. Approaching the Prince, one gloved hand is raised and placed on his shoulder, before he turns to look towards Valen. "Mister…Carmina was it?" He smiles softly to the man, a business-like smile. "I wish you all a pleasant evening." With that, he begins to walk away, however his hand still present on Gabriel's shoulder. He stops short, and leans in close to whisper something to the man, before he makes his way off towards the Hallway once again.

"I will excuse that horrid nickname for good taste, my lovely Prince. I would much prefer any version of my name to such a title in casual company." Macha's voice takes on a light timber, sweet enough for a toothache as she offers Gabriel a warm smile and a soft nod. With Markus's words, her attention shifts to the new man with a more passive expression. "My kind, I'm afraid, isn't much worried of normality with such company, sir. I was only apologizing for my distraction." She matches his gaze for only a second before she sits back down near to Valen, though her previously pleased expression has been dampened slightly.

As if social graces were something to be handled in a different manner with Valen than with another, the raven-haired man glances up to watch Markus leave. Nothing more than an instant in passing can occur past the departure of the Ventrue, before he states, "..That man is more restless than he will ever know..". This is, perhaps a bit cryptic in the manner that it is put, before before a question can be asked of the meaning, he leans a bit into Macha, not quite putting pressure against the woman, so much as minimizing space. His words, however, go to the Prince, "..I offer nothing of a compliment should it not be earned. That is how I was groomed..".

Gabriel nods very slowly as he also watches the Ventrue leave, a light grin plays across the elders face as his eyes trail the figure of both Macha and Valen, "Hes a Ventrue…. tis how they all are, they don't understand things the same way we do…. Everything is political and about money and power… though given enough time though your thought process refines slightly" chuckling he would reach down and attatch the chains in his hand to hooks on each side of his belt to free up his hand, "You two look busy, i'll take my leave be well my beautiful ones…." as he spoke the Prince would turn and begin moving toward the hotel office, however he would pause looking over his shoulder for a moment his eyes locking on Valen, "Should you break or stain anything in my room you buy it" laughing once more he would lift a hand waving to both of them, "I'm kidding… sort of"

The slender woman with dark, Shirley Temple curls settles herself next to her companion on the piano's bench, and she returns the shift of his weight with a brushing touch between their shoulders. Her pale hand closest to Valen rises only slightly to brush the backs of her fingers up and down his bare forearm in a self soothing gesture that she doesn't bother to hide. With Gabriel's words, the heavily painted performer shifts her eyes to the floor at her feet, and the dagger points of her small fangs drag her bottom lip briefly. It takes about a second of this withdrawn responce before she drops her fingers from Valen's arm and curls her legs back under her enough to drop them on the other side of the bench afterwards, allowing her to face the piano. The girl's fingertips brush over a few keys, only the whispers Appassionata's second movement being drawn from the instrument before she finally speaks. "Politics are no reason to betray speaking to someone like a child."

"..Political concerns have little room in the stretch of eternity that is my lifespan. It is far too busied with research..", Valentine admits, casting a lingering look to Gabriel for a moment, before he shifts about on the bench as well, gracefully bringing himself to face the piano as if he were some wicked twin to the woman next to him, "..Research, and the other various things that I can find a passion for..". This second part is added with a noticeable glance of his ambered sights at the woman next to him, before his nimble, deft fingers take up a position at the piano as well and begin to mimick the performance of his immortal muse. As if to keep busied his snowy lips in the same style as his hands, he speaks again, "..I wish to teach you what I know. I have never taught an Angel before. I believe you would find it interesting. And an insight as to your heritage..".

"Mind not the words of the Ventrue my gifted ones…Politics only minorly concern myself, Passion, Honor and Justice rule my old stone heart… but keep that quiet" Pausing his steps once more the Prince would turn, "Do not let his blue blood spoil your moment or your mood.. And if you do not like the way he speaks to you Macha" a thin grin would cross his lips, "I'm sure you can figure out a way to tell him… or something to say for that matter… Good night" He would continue to move toward the officer, "OH! and DO NOT GO OUTSIDE!" nodding to himself he would enter into the office and leave the two to find whatever they longed to search for within each other.

Macha continues along the first bars of the sonata without breathing or blinking, her lips parted slightly. "I've plenty to say on the matter, my beautiful Mister Bennett. I won't be chasing anyone into the city to chide them for their choice of words tonight, I do swear." The mix between edged promise and jest are treaded almost mindlessly by the woman as she tempts the faster paces of Appassionata a half octave higher as Valen's skilled fingers join the melody, and the dual harmony fills the room with a slight echo as she slows her pace enough for a the man at her side to play a note ahead. "I find you interesting, Mister Carmina. You need not make a single promise to me past company."

"..It was not a promise, but an offer. I would, however, feel less restless should you take it. It would give me an excuse to spend time in your presence, and for that, I would share all of the knowledge that courses within me..", the raven-haired incubus replies, having long forgotten the Prince if just to proffer more attention upon the woman at his side. His fingers mix across through off-white keys of the piano with a combination of delight and skill, following her lead but in a much lower octave, "..I wish to teach. And also, I wish to spend the evening with you. Thus, I can think of nothing more perfect than a combination of the two..".

"I can, however," the vintage doll answers with a soft smile, her fingers curling over each rapid shift and hop between notes with an easy grace, and even the twitter between halfsteps is done with the slight alteration that comes from playing a composed piece enough to emphasize favored movements. "I don't believe it would be very suited for what you offer were I to sit here at your side night after night. There's far too much I could become attentive to with two sets of hands where we rest now." The off-and-on smile that graces her lips seems more apt to stay for now, and one foot taps against the platform beneath them to act as a soft metronome only as she speaks, as though the cadence of her words were enough to slow the music. "More over, I've had a stomach's filling of restlessness tonight, though I would gladly accept your offer on any night, even one not so well spent."

"..I did not mean on this night. On this night, we live in a jungle that has not been seen since the conquering of this continent. We are surrounded by animalia that could do us no small harm with but a swipe of a claw or a bite of their teeth. And thus, tonight, we revel in the Appasionata. There is little else to be done that might be proper, when struck down into such a situation as this..", Valentine expresses, allowing his ashen fingers to fairly flow along through the set that he is performing with the woman at his side, "..I have a residence. It is not mine, but it is that of a close friend. He lives far from here. Outside of Los Angeles. He has a rather stunning haven. We would not be disturbed there, were we to..have lessons. And it is quiet. Serene, even. I do quite enjoy it..".

"Serenity is a state of mind I'd quite rather not tempt myself with, let alone spending time in something other than a hotel." The Toreador glances towards the front door briefly before her attention turns back to her gentle coaxing of music from under her fingertips. "I've never been comfortable in a place where the smell and taste of the air changes daily. It's been not long enough since I've made the adjustment from the bed I was born. Though, I do imagine with recent developments that I shall either struggle for that sense of stillness, or likely never be able to look upon a flower for the rest of my nights." Her voice drifts melodicly from her rose colored lips, and her smile deepends with a bit more comfort while the room is empty of anything but their voices and the singing of hammers hitting strings.

"..When Gabriel has found a manner in which to lift the great iron walls that have come down around us, and when the path is opened again, I will show you what serenity is. What it can be. It has been the work of my second life. That which causes it, and that which cancels it..", Valentine admits, dipping his head just a bit in a motion that would emphasize the work upon which his fingers are laboring over, and seeming to find nothing quite more pleasureable than being in this position, in this place, with the current company, "..I think that it would be dreadful though, for you or I to be banished from the possibility of gazing upon a flower. For you would never be able to look in the mirror, and I never upon you..". This compliment is given with a casual, if serious tone, though there is a bit of a wicked grin to be seen, perched upon his perfect lips in flawless expression.

Macha manages a mock scowl for a short second before the her first chimed laughter of the evening. "Now, my dear, you are very clear when you are allowing your lovely expression to sweep me into blush, and also quite clear when trying. However, I find the tempo of words to suit me quite well tonight. And you've, yet again, managed to lure my thoughts back to how slight a manner I could even repay you with." She wets her lips as the movements of her fingers slow towards the close of the current movement, and each press of her gentle fingers against the keys causes an enchanting whisper from the grand piano. "I've my confidence in Mister Bennett, I will admit. He's not allowed me outside in a number of nights, which shows something lacking for his sensabilities that I would endure running around after him and his animals."

"..I will hear nothing of debt. You cannot know what you have done for me this evening, Miss Macha, my colorful muse. You cannot know because you have not experienced it. That is just life. Or lack..thereof..", Valentine suggests, trending as well towards the end of the movement, his path cut clear through the grace of her leadership through the notes, "..It is just as I gave you. Though more. You cannot know what it is like to wander alone, and then stumble upon a bastion of hope. Hope is what has driven the imagination and courage of mankind for an age before mind. Hope is what you have instilled inside of me. And Hope is what I can offer in return..". Another second or so passes along while the raven-haired man plays up to the act of pianist with the doll-like woman, before he states, "..We do not have to remain in the state that we are forever. We can go back. That was but a taste..".

With the last words that are enchanced from his lips by his honeyed tone, Macha's fingers still. The Appassionata's higher ends meet their silent death as the velvet and silk hugged woman is caught between notes, and her fingers slip back against the thin edge of the keyboard's cover rest. "Don't…" she whispers in a shivered tone, and her smile disapears from her features. A second passes with parted lips and gathered breath, but her movement interupts it as her fingers come back from the piano into her lap. "I can handle any matter of intoxicatingly desirable words that you can produce, angel, except those."

"..I speak those not to lure you. You do not believe me, do you? It is not a dream. It is not..fiction. It can be done..", Valentine expresses, allowing too his own fingers to fall to a rest from the Appasionata that they were caught in naught but a moment ago. Sweeping a nimble hand up to push back a bit of raven-hued hair and tuck it behind his ear, the beautiful Greek slips a leg up onto the bench, crooking it as he shifts to look upon the woman with his golden amber sights, "..I have met a man who has done it. Though, he has passed from us. I know the path. It is one that I walk. It is one that I will succeed in. It has been my life's work, continued on from my Sire. I do not promise this to you as a sweet temptation, my Muse. I merely present it as a fact. One night, I shall once again look upon the rising of the sun, and know it from the perspective of a man who thought to never see it again. It is what I do. And it is what you felt earlier. The quelling of The Beast. The rise of life.."

Macha seems to stare ahead for a moment before her gaze turns to Valentine with a sweep of confusion and impatience at his explaination. She takes a rather sharp breath to reply before the promise seems to catch her emotions so heavily, coupled with the delerious reminder of his fingers against her own, that the words are either lost or stolen. Even her cunning tongue lays useless for quite a number of seconds as she locks her eyes to his, and his seriousness only manages to push the doll-like brunette into a more hurt state of unabashed dismay. "You will do it, and you will perish, just like the rest of us. Why… why would you tell me these things? My soul bursts even as my flesh does shy away with such a notion. Why would you ever say such a thing to me?" Despite her words, her voice lowers slightly as the woman's delicate weight comes to her knees on the bench after a quick adjustment to face him fully. "Fact or fiction, too sweet a temptation has never come from the lips of man within the moon's memory."

"..I have watched a man, once a vampire, sit upon his rooftop and gaze upon the sun as it rose in the eastern skies. I watched, and could not bring myself to tear from it, even as it ashed the flesh from my face. I, of course, had to retreat. He did not. He beat it. He overcame the curse laid upon our Kind such a time ago. He walked as a mortal again. And he lived out his life, and grew old and perished, as men are meant to do..", Valentine explains, showing no jest at all in his voice, even as his hand is brought up to cradle Macha's cheek, "..You must trust me when I tell that I do not wish to harm you. To lie to you. To bring a false hope that will not come. I, like you, am a dreamer. I would never put faith into a dream though. Not unless I had watched it. Had seen it. And I have. And I will live it. It is not something that I can do alone, though, my Muse. And it is not easily done. It is quite well that we live for an eternity, for the reason that accomplishing this task does not come quick.."

Not a quiver of breath is enough to quicken Macha's chest, and her lips remain slightly parted even while she remains quiet due to the press of her fangs against her lips. The dark haired beauty shakes her head lightly, and only his hand cupping her cheek brings her gaze back to him in a rather panicked expression. "For santity. For the Court….." She whimpers softly under her breath as she tears her gaze away from him, focusing instead on the long, toothy smile of the piano. "I want so desperately to believe you." The simple release of responce is given in a surrendered tone, and her words shiver while one hand comes to wrap gently about the front of her throat in a very human gesture of anxiety. Afterwards, she says not a single word more, and her clear discomfort manifests itself as the fingers not busy against her neck tighten and curl now and again, dragging her nails along the silken cover of her pantleg.

"..I do not wish to see you like this, my Muse..", Valentine proffers, shifting forward a bit. A bit of effort is given as he makes an attempt to work his own nimble digits between that of Macha's and her throat, so as to take her cold hand within his own as he explains, "..You tell me. What is it that I can do, to further the belief? There is the seed there, buried. I know this. What must I do? Must I bind myself to you so that you can take comfort in knowing I speak no lie? To prove the truth, I would so as much, for that is the length of which I believe in this. I would subject myself to any trial. So tell me what it is that I must do..". His golden orbs of amber wander along the perfect face of the doll-like woman with the Shirley Temple curls, speaking nothing but an implorement for an answer.

Macha almost weakly allows her fingers to be taken from the front of her throat with the intervention of his hand, though she returns a soft pressure to keep her hand in his, instead of it falling to her lap. "To request such a devotion would certainly leave my sense of respect rather shaken. There's nothing that I dare ask you for that you don't offer freely." she offers in a calmer tone, but the seduction of his assured honesty is enough to, for once, make her sound like she's not sure of her own answer. Now, with his hand taking hers, the glamour-eyed pixie seems a little more steady, or at least enough so to bring her pale green eyes back to meet his. "Truth is only the incertain reflection of opinion, as you very well pointed out earlier this evening. And what a truth you claim to have."

"..There is nothing in this world, my Muse, that I would force upon you. Your decision is your own. I do not even ask that it is made now. It can be made after the taking of Los Angeles. When all has cleared, and you have more time and more freedom to come with me to Manse d'Celestine, and see that which I can reveal..", comes the response from the raven-haired incubus, his inflection as flawless as ever it could be. He never once allows his grip upon the hand of the woman to loosen, nor does he suggest that he might. There is something now though, in the molten depths of his amber sights, that would propose a cross between anxiety and excitement, "..I know where lieth the path that I shall walk. I have seen it walked. My opinion on the matter is that in these past few evenings, I have become quite attached to you. In a style which has not come upon me in an age. I wish to take you with me. To keep you at my side whilst I explore these darkest of secrets. But..I cannot force you. And I implore only enough to leave the option open for you..".

"An option that I can't possibly refuse, as it seems. No more than I could deny yourcompany, thugh I would be surpised if that was not the aim." Macha assures, giving a few rings of hair a quick tuck behind her ears with her unoccupied hand. "I've already offered my company, and the rest will have to come into place after that management of explanations." She seems to believe his words, thethe canded proposal finall returnning even the more faint, ghost of a smile that doesn't quite reach the emotion in her eyes that edges with the electricity of nervous excitement, as well as an the same undertone of wounded and lost "I don't need you to offer to believe you. By no means is hearing a thrown away salvation something that I may become comfortable with quickly."

"..That is all that I ask. That you come, and see what I can offer. Failing that, that I can remain in your presence..", the lithesome, languid Greek speaks, lifting Macha's hand in such a manner so as to press a kiss to her pale knuckles, allowing his teeth to scrape along the flesh when he pulls back. There is something though, of a grin upon his delicious lips when his attention is brought back to the face of the diminutive Muse, "..I will offer this much though. Were all of this a lie for whom the effect would be nothing more to gain constant companionship from you, I would find something that does sound a bit less insane in which to bait the lure..". He leans in, lightly, and with no small amount of grace, and presses his snowy lips up against the earlobe of the woman so that he can whisper to her, "..Though I find that, were I lacking in you, I would do far more than lie to gain you back. I've not had quite so much fun in an age, wiling the night to nothing while working out a musical instrument. It has been nothing short of a blast..". That admission made, a nip is given to her lobe, and then a kiss pressed to her cheek.

The slim brunette allows her painted eyes to close with the brief brush of lips and fangs against the back of her hand, and the sudden closeness of his angelic tone at her ear causes her fingers to tighten around his shortly despite her sullen mood. However, as the quicker snap of his teeth brushes her ear and then the touch of his lips against her cheek, she ignores all illusion of her emotional seperation, and her fingers twist against his ever-so-slightly in a way that she's able to lace her chilled fingers between his. Only the more playful whisper that's administered to her from his full lips against her ear is returned, and her tone is much changed from the shaken, confused tone she had before. Instead, she lessens the distance between them with a gentle lean foward, and her voice rushes against his skin with the masquerade of breath in a rather silky, lustful tone. "If my nights were spent at this piano with you until the walls close in on us, I'm not all together sure that I could consider myself disapointed, unlucky, or damned."

Cut for tasteless Toreador sex.

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