Out here in the night{Open}

[DE SADE]

OUT HERE

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The sound of cicadas rang out in the night as De Sade rowed along in the tiny pontoon. The water was black but not still. it was never really still. It swayed. moved. It held within it's depths all the putrescent life of the Mississippi. De Sade loved it. he loved everything about it. From the deep brown waters to the Spanish moss hanging down from the ancient oaks.

Spanish moss. Bromeliads that alluded the very Gothic nature of the south. Black and shining stars rose in the sky hidden behind those endless trailing branches. The moon hidden behind the rolling clouds, her pale gaze shed no light to see by. Not that De Sade needed her help. He was a predator in the night. He saw better then any creature out there.

The sound of music playing on a victrola in his tiny boat rang out over the water. Patachou's Domino in all it's glory. De Sade sang along and his voice was melodic. The sound seemed haunting. in the open darkness of the swamp. Perhaps the tiniest bit dramatic it was to row along in a boat in the swamps listening to such but noone had ever accused the Marquee de Sade of being subtle.

He was hungry. He had not fed in nearly sixteen hours, where he was used to feeding many many many times a day. It was only here in the depths of the Orlean's swamps that one could find what he was looking for. The Sweet blood of the aristocracy of old creole. A real Cajun. they had fallen into the pathetic remnance of their once true selves. But inbreeding and years kept to themselves had only made their bloodlines all the more insistent. De Sade had become somewhat of a legend among the murk. The haunting Frenchman who fed on the lost.

He smoothed the Classic French Ensemble with his had letting the pontoon coast for a moment. The pantaloons, chiffon top, and neck ruffle would have been stifling in the humidity, but then again, he was dead and his skin was cold like ice. The potent scent of gardenias ran off of him like smooth water curling into the air all about.

CHILL | 438 | NO SONG | OPEN | BOURBON

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[Zachary]

Their were not many men from anytime that would purposely brave the wilds of a swamp. Let alone a Louisianan swamp. The combination of the magic that made one’s neck crawl , creep and shiver often was warning enough that here there be monsters. As a boy Zachary had been regaled with the daring tales of Francis Marion that damnable ‘Swamp Fox’ who eluded the near full might of the British Armies all while plaguing them to absolute annoyance. He had often wished to have been earlier so that he might ride with General Marion and his men. More was the pity he had been years after the generals passing. To his memory he recalled the man of war dying at home in bed an septuagenarian. Shame that he thought as he made himself from one hidden trail to another.

He hadn’t come to New Orleans save for the chance of being his own man as it were. Now here he was seriously considering exposing himself to the world. A member of the damned that could breathe on his own. The act alone of hiding his power could by rights have those who were not spoken of raining down on his head. As good as he was with the might of vampire society haranguing his steps he might as well walk into the sun. A simple dignified suicide versus allow them to capture him alive. He knew from his own ministrations that death was a gift at times. There was far worse one could do to flesh toughened by undeath. A shudder creeped his spine as memories assailed him.

Chasing the mental bogeys away he continued on his exploration of the night time kingdom that was not earth nor water . Swamps he had learned were the foul offspring of both Gaia and Neptune. It held the curse of both and the blessings of neither. It bred a certain surliness into those things that called such places home. He could hear the hiss of the alligators as he passed them. He’d learned many years before that as cold blooded as they were that alligators unless trained knew enough to stay away form larger predators. It would take them an overly aggressive act or sheer stupidity on a bipeds part to be considered prey. Though prey was a misnomer. Alligators didn’t hunt per se they merely fed on whatever happened to be near at hand. After all their species hadn’t truly changed in over several million years.

Just the thought of no change brought his mind back to the present. There was no Master. The role could be his with a little push. The question was if the effort would be worth reward. If reward it could be considered. He would be responsible for thelife and breath of every preternatural within the confines of the city. He knew his faults he was underneath it all a caring being. His care was often that of Damocles’ but it hadn’t been brfed out of him. It hadn’t been removed from his psyche despite the countless horrors and atrocities he’d perpetrated or witnessed. It was the only glimmer of his humanity that truly remained. As such he wasn’t in any rush to divest himself of it.

He wasn’t sure what would remain should he lose that ember of the man he once was. However by not seizing the reins of power he could once more be the vassal of monsters. That was nearly as odious. Dimming the light of his personage conscripted once more into the army of hell. He was sure that he could bide his time. At least for awhile ‘To be or not to be,’ he thought.

His senses snapping into high alert as the soft lapping of a pontoons passage caught his attention. More accurately the being within. He was shielded as lightly as he dared and yet this vampires cold flame danced all too brightly. This was a powerful monster. This being was if not very close in power to Zachary then his equal. Sadly vampire politics did not allow equals. Master or slave was as it had always been. Snapping his shields into place Zachary stopped stalking. He took on the quiet of the grave sending a brief flare of power towards the male. No challenge was this but an introduction. It looked as if New Orleans held more than he had bargained on.