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Ravnos never ceased to amaze him in every way imaginable. From his calm and oftentimes unshakeable demeanour, his spirited sense of adventure, and his unyielding love and devotion, not just to Grendel but to his clan and his family as well. And how he handled his current position, not just as a Disciple but as so much more than just that to the God who had come to know what love was through him. He had taken it all in stride, unflinching, and with a sense of good humour and wit that the Deity could not help but admire. Even in a moment like this, when Grendel attempted to overwhelm him, to tease and torment him and make him admit he was just as much at fault for any distractions between them, the Disciple did not relent or raise a white flag. Instead, he set delightful little pitfalls within his mind, mini-traps that Grendel could find himself tripping over, images and feelings, promises for when they were once again alone within the confines of the temple, away from prying eyes.

Wicked, wicked man. The hunger in Grendel’s gaze became an unmistakable thing. With a thought, they could be away from this place, and the urge to do so was becoming stronger by the moment. He let this be a reminder to himself: though he may have been a God, he was not often the one who held all the power in this relationship. “You are incorrigable.” He finally said, voice a deep growl as he pulled the man in for a second kiss, longer than the first, lingering in that space for time, allowing for a moment to indulge himself with those pliant lips, with the familiar taste of cloves, the heat between them an almost tangible thing, threatening to burn them both up on the spot.

“You do not ever need to stop.” He grinned, placing one more kiss against his lips before forcing himself away. At this rate, they would not make it past the foyer, and the Deity was determined to complete all business he intended to conduct, even if he had to do it all remotely.

Such as by giving the bowl of convergence and ivory bow to their new owners.

For now, he followed the Disciple, forcing his thoughts away from what they had been doing moments before and casting out into the throngs with his mind once more, searching for one in particular. Another new Disiciple, that of the Maeghar, a bloodline that had nearly been wiped out, reminiscent to Grendel of what had once befallen the Cappadocian clan. Their fortitude and tenaciousness had struck a chord in the God, and he admired them for withstanding all they had been forced to withstand. He believed Caine should have done something during that time; he should have intervened and stopped Marconius, stopped the needless bloodshed…

Alas, that was not the former God’s way.

Finvarra. His voice rolled through the Disciples mind, dark and powerful. I am glad you came this night. It may have been difficult to do, given an ingrained instinct to hide away, to stay separate, and to avoid those that might bid you harm…but I hope you know I would not allow it. A sense of a smile, of warmth and welcoming would settle over the Disciple's mind before Grendel continued, that feeling easing away.

I have a gift for you, an artifact I believe may benefit you. It may not appear as much, but I assure you, looks can be deceiving.

From every direction, shadows seemed to gather near Finvarra’s feet, converging into a circular shape as dark as a void, and looking into it might give off the sensation of vertigo. From those depths rose a pair of velvet gloves, simple and black, until they floated in the air before the Disciple, the shadows fading away.



Focus went back to Ravnos as they arrived at the bar, and he moved into the spot next to him, the goblet he held in his hand being placed upon the bartop, and the Deity indicated he too would like to try one of these specialty drinks. Though he knew there was little chance it would be to his tastes, he was always willing to experience new things, if only to strengthen his connection to his followers, if nothing else. With hiis goblet filled and returned to him, he lifted it and gave it a light swirl before raising it to his nose for a sniff, followed immediately by a grimace.

Was that…Faerie blood? The Deity wrinkled his nose with a twist of distaste on his lips but took a hurried sip anyway, though it was as sweet as he expected, with a strangely bitter aftertaste that lingered in the back of his throat. “I will never understand the appeal of what passes for refreshments among you,” Grendel stated, a tongue running along his teeth in an attempt to remove as much of the lingering taste as possible as he turned toward Ravnos. However, the Disciple's chuckle had him pausing mid-movement. The timbre of his voice seemed…off. His eyes were a little wild, his posture different, and that look in his eyes…that was not a look Grendel was accustomed to seeing. Not so openly, and in a very public place, at least.

Instantly, his gaze fell to the drink held in the Disciple’s hand, and the Deity grabbed it, eyes narrowing in suspicion as he raised it for a quick sniff.

Oh no.

Within the God, conflicting emotions waged. Amusement, certainly, because how perfect should this happen directly after they had teased each other in the foyer? Disgruntlement because now was hardly the time for his chosen partner in all things to be under such provocative influences. And, of course, the part of him that did not think with his head was intrigued and interested because this behaviour was evocative, to say the very least. He watched as Ravnos’s demeanour changed, as he somehow stalked toward the God despite only being two feet away, how his gaze became predatory, and marvelled at the strange thrill that raced through him upon noticing it.

Still, he managed to maintain his composure, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when Ravnos spoke. “Am I?” His voice rumbled low, a bit of power laced within them, something meant to soothe and comfort, though not in an attempt to repress, only to delay. As the ancient vampire practically pressed against him, gesturing him closer, Grendel leaned down and listened to his hungry, enticing words. He let out a long sigh, partially exasperated, but there was a particular type of frustration there as well.

“Dragul meu…” His voice rumbled in a hushed tone, keeping what he had to say between them as he moved to whisper back in the other's ear. “I have not. But if you could wait a few moments, I would love for you to show me what you mean.”

Caius, along with the rest of the vampires out there, might all be donned in masks but that didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of the man that sidled up to him. As if he could mistake Asana for anyone else, no matter how he appeared. It was clear the Antedilvian felt the same.

A pleased smile etched across his face, even as his hand was taken so gently in that of the others. While there were plenty of interesting happenings going on around them, there was only one vampire he wished to focus upon for any great length. And why shouldn’t he? This was a party, and if anyone got to do as they pleased at a Toreador party, than it was the Disciple of Toreador himself.

“Are you quite certain to whom you speak?” He teased, eyes bright with good-humor from behind his mask. “For all you know you might be kissing the hand of a Tremere, or that of a Nosferatu!” Caius gave a mock-shudder in distaste — nobody wanted to be associated with the mages, and the Nosferatu were cursed when it comes to looks. While some Toreador found their grotesque appearance fascinating and a form of art in itself, Caius did not quite share that level of fascination.

Let the newly minted Volgirre enjoy the Nosferatu brand.

Not at all shy about moving closer to his beloved, Caius only too happily came to cuddle up beneath the sculptor’s arm. “What do you think of the soirée?” He asked with an arch of brow behind his mask. He did look around, pleased by the turnout, and he expected his Ante to feel the same.

It was often inaccurate by many’s assumptions that since Grendel was the deity and Ravnos his Disciple that the Romani vampire simply gave into the deity’s will. Let the young God bowl him over and that he might surrender to his whims. Relentless as he could be sometimes with those images and emotions that stirred things within him, caused the simmering pot to boil over. But that was not who Ravnos was. He had never allowed Caine to do it to him and for as much as he loved and cherished Grendel in all ways, well…old habits die hard. While most would be, and should be, concerned about challenging Grendel, pushing back, going toe to toe and matching wits with him, that concern was non-existent within him. Though he did understand where the line should be drawn and likely he was given more leeway in those regards. Besides, Grendel seemed to get a certain type of thrill out of it and he could not help but let a knowing smirk spread across his lips at that unmistakable hunger in those eyes.

The power dynamic in their relationship, at the end of the day, often leaned more heavily in Ravnos’ favor. But he was an ancient vampire, he knew himself well, he knew Grendel well, they could have that type of relationship and not allow it to be a struggle between them.

And he knew full well what awaited him once they had finally left this party and returned to their private rooms in the temple.

It surprised him briefly when Grendel had ordered a drink as well. Normally the deity simply stuck to his own concoctions, claiming that what the mortals could put together was the least palatable thing to him. Which made the comment after he took his hurried sip all the more predictable. But Ravnos could appreciate his attempt at trying to continually form a bond with his people by trying new things. “It is a shame that we do not all have the ability to magic wavey our hands and lace our drinks with ambrosia. Perhaps next year you could donate some of your own to the drink selection. I’m sure everyone getting drunk on God’s wine would be….amusing to watch.” The corner of his lips curled, he did so enjoy watching others when they came to these parties. Seeing the rivalries and drama play out right before his eyes. With a little God’s wine? Utter chaos he was certain.

The conflicting emotions seemed to flicker across Grendel’s face as he sniffed Ravnos’ drink, but the Disciple was too focused on the Deity to read much into them. His eyes still glowed with the intensity of the succubus blood coursing through him, leaning back, that predatory smile never leaving his lips as fangs flashed briefly. The drink had stirred something deep within him—something primal, and now every word, every gesture seemed to radiate an irresistible heat. "Ah, but iubirea vieții mele, I’ve always been the patient type. But even the most disciplined of creatures… well….let’s just say they have their limits." He purred, his voice a velvet whisper that seemed to slide through the air like silk. His glowing gaze never left the deity, slowly roaming along his form, taking in the shape of his frame and allowing more thoughts to linger on the surface of his mind as he leaned against the bar top once more. Striking a more sensual and tempting pose. The allure of the smoldering look in his eyes was undeniable. “You speak of waiting, yet here you are, tantalizingly close. And I must say, it’s such a delicious temptation.”

Ravnos tilted his head, lips curling into a grin as he let his words hang in the air like a challenge. “Cât de mult ar trebui să aștepți ceva atât de dulce, când îți face semn atât de ispititor? Surely, the fun is in the chase, yes?” He raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing across his lips. “Even you must admit… the thrill of the moment is hard to resist.”

The Disciple licked his lips slowly, as if savoring a hidden flavor. Letting that tongue glide across his bottom lip, tracing over a fang. “Mă întreb, totuși... când în sfârșit îmi permiteți să vă arăt exact ce vreau să spun, va fi la fel de satisfăcător pe cât îmi imaginez? Abia aștept să aflu... decât dacă, desigur, ai prefera să mă distrez între timp.” Another deep, sultry chuckle rumbled in his chest as he let the tips of his fingers trace up the length of Grendel’s arm. The soothing and calming waves of power the deity had been sending did little to stifle the flames of his desire in that moment as the Succubus blood urged him on.

And how could he not be so moved by the Deity?

There was a sudden approach of a figure at the couple’s side, his green gaze snapping to the familiar face of the Sun Deity, Apollo. Bright, glowing, brilliant as the sun that threatened all the vampire’s existences within this party. And it had surprised him that the God had shown up at all, though he did tend to be a frequent visitor every now and again to the temple. Often baring gifts for their children like a grandparent would. It was nice for the children at least, both of Grendel’s parents were either buried beneath the temple or living out their existence in the wastelands as Lilith had been doing for some time now. And Ravnos’ blood family from his mortal life consisted solely in one other who had been embraced into the Ravnos clan himself.

A sensual smile parted his lips as he acknowledged the other deity. Pulling away from Grendel’s side to move closer. “You know, Apollo, I’ve always found your light… fascinating. It’s so warm, so captivating. But I can’t help but wonder does the sun burn so hot when it kisses your skin or is that heat reserved only for when you look at one such as myself?” The brightness of his glowing gaze seemed to intesify for just a brief flicker. “Alas, a creature such as myself would never survive basking in your radiance.”

Fauna didn’t mind following the Disciple where she lead. She kept her arm tucked in the others when she approached the great god Grendel, giving a small but respectful dip, and a softly murmured “My lord.” The power the god radiated crackled over her skin, and she both feared and respected him.

Vampires might always be aware of power and played plenty of games clawing up the ranks, but none of them would ever come close to that of a god. In particular, their god…. he could smite them with a glance, if he so desired. That he was here, among them, celebrating the new year to come, was a surprise — though she did fear his wrath or offense.

Fauna did steal a few curious looks at the red-haired man. She did not know him, given when she fell into Torpor it was under his father’s reign. But what were gods to her? She was nothing to them and the fear of his father had run deep. Caine had been one to be feared — would this god be the same? It was all she knew, so she would do all in her power to ensure she did not bring down this new god’s ire or vengeance. That he was here at all, that Narcise seemed to look upon him fondly, was something to consider. She would not wish to offend either, her Disciple of her new god, so she would simply say nothing.

Perhaps she should have remained back in the woods. Fauna knew she did not fit in among this crowd, and certainly had not been prepared to find herself so near to her god.

A pair of beauties who were somewhat mirrored as they were twins entered the venue, the one with blackened eyes wore a beautiful dress of golden fabrics and blacks, her mask golden and lovely. The other with silvery eyes that almost shimmered too brightly wore a purple dress of refinement befitting the party as well, her mask silver. The pale pair scanned the room, looking for their progenitor, patriarch, and all-around favorite person, their father.

Rajani's eyes fell upon the one who they were nearly a carbon copy of, Lavanya more so than herself, "Father is there, shall we?" Her arm linked with her twin, who gleefully grinned.

"Why, yes. It's been ages since we've troubled him." Lavanya's voice was silky and soft, like whispers from beings just beyond the sight of mortals. "Oh! Do you see his hands? Those are truly beautiful gloves. Do you think they are a gift?"

The silvery-eyed twin tilted her head. " It seems so. Who do you think gifted our father something so fine?"

Lavanya thought, "I've no idea. A new suitor? or perhaps something less romantic?" She giggled as they made their way to their father.

Many watched the impeccable pair slip through the crowd with practiced ease, arriving promptly before their father, a flourished curtsy in matching elegance, their voices spoke in unison:

"Greetings Father." Their matching smiles were quite bright.