[M] Blood Moon [Chaotic Cam and Zeebat]
Golden eyes peered out of rain spattered glass, looking down on the city below. It was quiet now, but it wouldn't be for long. Soon the last vestiges of sunlight would disappear, cowering behind the dark clouds that dominated most of the sky. The streets would fill, and the hunt would begin for those who still enjoyed it. But for most immortals - if you could even call the modern era that - they'd stay indoors. They'd enjoy their grinding dances and their clubs. Their thumping electronic music and gilded cages. They'd feed from bottles, or dirty chained humans harvested like cattle. They'd drink, and they'd fuck, and they'd continue to live out their miserable gifted lives, having never known the true meaning of their existence.
Marius loathed the world today.
It was too loud, too dirty. There was no joy in anything anymore. Ever since the creatures of darkness made themselves known to the world, things had gone to shit. Oh, it was interesting enough when the Uprising first started. Marius had delight at the change, the prospect of a new future where hiding would be a thing of the past. He reveled in the war, taking arms with his lover and childe by his side. They cut a swathe in the humans that dared defy them, hunting them down with glee. The nights had grown longer, the sky painted red and the grass tinted copper. Only daylight gave the humans a moment of reprieve; from them, at least. With the vampires came the lycans, and with the lycans came the rest of the underworld. Magic reigned, and the darkness stepped into the proverbial light.
But that was a century ago. The battle had long worn down, and the humans no longer gave challenge. They'd been wiped out. Either captured, enslaved, harvested for food or on the run. Their race was a pitiful thing now. Hardly fun. Hardly worth it. And yet they kept breeding, kept running, and yes, some kept fighting. But it was useless. These creatures were shadows of their ancestors, for in their lifetime they knew only one thing: fear.
Sighing, Marius wished for the old days, when the humans actually showed signs of life. When they'd sing and dance, create and thrive. When they'd build statues and monuments, create entertainment for the masses; when they had that spark of intelligence, of creativity, of defiance. When they were interesting, and worthy of their race. Marius longed for the actual chase, the hunt of stalking his prey and enthralling them, the poor human blissfully unaware of what he was. Keeping to the shadows was half the fun, he now realized. But now the excitement of the unknown was all but gone, and all that was left was a cold dark emptiness.
"You're going to have a mark on your forehead if you keep pressing it against the glass," a woman's voice said behind him.
Turning around in the lavish hotel room, Marius observed the intruder. He was still annoyed that she was there, but alas that was the price he'd have to pay for coming back to New York, where the High Council resided. He'd have preferred not to come to New York at all, but remain in exile if he could. His homeland of Ireland was quiet, not as noisy as America. But being an Elder and the reigning Master of his Clan, he had a duty to come to these meetings when called. As did Marguerite, for she was his childe, and he'd never officially disowned her for what she did.
"Perhaps, if I had circulation," he drawled in reply, not caring to quip with her. The redhead glared at him, barely hiding a mixture of fury and longing in her emerald eyes. She was dressed in a flattering black gown that hugged all of her curves, and her hair was done up in some elaborate bun or another. He only noticed because when he knew her, she'd always dressed in light colors. Now, everything was sharp, and dark. Like her heart.
"Will you return to Ireland?" she asked, feigning indifference as she went to pour herself a glass of wine.
"I will. Do not look for me."
She hummed. There were several moments of silence before her painted lips opened again, but before she could speak Marius strode past her, moving towards the door. He did not care to hear her honeyed words of seduction, trying to lull him back into her tangled web. He did not need her, did not want her, did not care for her. She was nothing to him anymore, and he preferred the silence.
He ignored the flash of hurt on her face he left, shrugging on his jacket as he exited the hotel room. His long sandy hair bounced slightly as he went down the stairs, before he turned into the main lobby of the Hotel of the Rising Sun. The music hit his ears and he refrained from cringing, wondering for the thousandth time why the Council decided to make their headquarters in this god awful place. The lobby had been turned into a club, and there were dozens of leather-clad immortals grinding up on each other as if they were in a daze. Cages hung from the ceiling, either filled with slave dancers or cattle, he really didn't care to look. It was all a perversion.
He slipped out of the building, reveling in the silence as it greeted his ears, the soft patter of the rain calming his nerves. In a week he'd be gone, leaving behind this city of pollution and sound. Climbing up the side of a building, Marius' feet landed on the roof, and he began his hunt.
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