The Mortal Instruments {Roleplay} discussion
New York
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Hotel Dumort (Vampire Hideout)
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Darcelle stepped forward, the dagger in her hand stilling. "For years now you've survived - relatively peacefully - sharing a city with Nephilim. You do not attack us, thus we have no reason to attack you. Your survival depends on your..." Darcelle paused, trying to grasp the word that eluded even her fairly strong grasp of English. "...willingness... To keep a straight head and do what you have to for peace. But if there is a chance for you to let go of these faint morals that keep you alive, what will you do? You think that alone, just as the Dumort clan, the Nephilim will easily wipe you out of that is what it takes to keep New York City peaceful." She flipped the dagger quickly between two fingers as she stepped forward once more and said forcefully, "Correct."
The throngs of Undead flinched.
"What if more than 50 bloodthirsty vampires, with no compunctions, no thought of peace, their only goal: to find their pleasure, show up on your doorstep. Will you let them in? Will you give in to that same idiotic goal? Maybe, you think now, maybe there will be enough of us now that the Nephilim will be able to do nothing. False." The last word was said with a snarl. "The day you open the door for these Undead, that day will be your last."
Darcelle stopped there, letting the threat hang in the completely still room, like the sword suspended over Damocles, and gave a chilling smile.
She had known her talents in the field of theatre would come in handy some day, no matter what her father had said.
"Said with brilliance and threat in equal measure," said Magnus, sighing and rubbing his temple. This politics thing was such a bore, "In other words, we're attempting to graciously prevent a disaster and we're hoping you won't do the exact suicidal act that could brutally humiliate you. Scratch that, humiliation is for survivors only," he rubbed his eyes with the tips of his fingers. Unknowingly to all, it was to prevent himself eye contact. When in doubt, when you're at an end with others and needed to threaten them, acting sleepy and nonchalant worked to some extent, "Alright, that's enough.""You came to threaten us on our ground?" One vampire piped in, setting to step forward.
"In summary, yes."
Fira's lips twitched, longing to stretch up into a smile of amusement. She shifted her feet again, and looked straight into the eyes of the vampire that had just spoken. Fira crossed her arms, snarling, "But, as you know, we can do much more than just threaten."
Survival wasn't that hard a choice, was it? She had done the threats, done the playacting, laid the facts out in front of these thick vampires like a formal table setting in a five star restaurant. Did she have to spell out the menu as well? D-E-A-T-H. Fira could threaten now, Darcelle decided. She glanced at Magnus, asking him silently if they had to stick around until the message was drilled into their heads, or if they could leave them to puzzle out this five piece puzzle.
"May I see who was in charge of Archer in Camille's absence?" said Magnus, "There is something I would very much like to discuss." Bertha stood to meet him. They had a silent conversation, her mouth at his ear, his eyes brimming with realization. There was a thanking, and Magnus formally turned with late night apologizes.
"I'm sorry we can't stay for dinner," said Magnus, sounding extremely sad but his lazy grin told otherwise, "My blood doesn't taste very good and their's is probably curdled with Shadowhunteriness. Come along Nephilim", he said, "The audience is over." Resisting the temptation of killing all the vampires was step one, he was actually sort of proud, especially seeing how trigger happy they could be.
With Maur leading the way, they went off towards where they'd come. Magnus meanwhile sensing the atmosphere that tasted bluntly of vampire. He wondered how he'd spent all those years kissing one. Blood tasted disgusting.
"Did you write that speech down?" asked Magnus to Darcelle, "It was spectacular."
Darcelle followed beside Magnus and sheathed her dagger, feeling the need for it was over. Why was she even here, she asked herself. She was almost positive Magnus might have been able to handle that by himself. And now the jet lag was finally catching up to her. She stifled a yawn. "I didn't," she said in answer to Magnus' question. "Improv classes do wonders, if you want to perfect the art of monologuing. You seem to be doing quite well, however."
((Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I sort of forgot about this...))
((I forgive you. I admit it's not much on the top of my list, either.)) They'd finally made it to the light. The place where their lives began and Maur's life would stop. Better an eternity of darkness then a step into flames. It was really quite a strange existence, being a vampire. Some concepts were better left to fiction writers like Dante.
Credibly, bursting to flames by walking into daylight was not as strange as a Shadowhunter attending mundane school. *cough* Darcelle *cough*.
"I'll accept that as a compliment," said Magnus raising his eyebrows. Obviously he'd never thought of himself as a cackling villain, or a vigilante crusader, he was more of a ... a .... Yeah, no stereotype applied. "My, I suppose you desire sleep after fastening a death count. But, before you go gallivanting off, I have to thank you for aiding me on this quest." He sounded sincere, too, strange in a half-human, but more importantly, strange in someone who looked like he had been spending the worse day of his life for the past six months on replay, with no sleep and oil rig coffee.
The sunlight felt like sweet relief after the oppressive doom and gloom of the Hotel. Right about now, Darcelle wasn't tired simply from lack of sleep, but tired of being a Shadowhunter. Even just being around the vampires had sapped energy from her. Lifelessness like that didn't need contact to influence. Darcelle glanced at Magnus, a sliver of surprise evident. "Il n'y a pas de quoi," she responded, stifling another yawn as she did. "Sleep sounds like heaven about now, it's true."
Sprouting a phone from thin air, a call for a taxi was made. Unless the Shadowhunters had somehow acquired a Mystery Machine, and attended enough classes of driver's-education, Magnus wasn't going to allow them to walk home from a vampire coven. You had to be Jace, eccentric, in love and suicidal, to stick around long enough to be eaten alive. Coupled with the hybrid fear that Emily Thorne has either killed herself was in the process of demanding death for family honour.
"I've called a cab for you," said Magnus with a curt nod, "I instruct that you take it. It's safer than a portal and much less time consuming."
"Oh please," said Magnus, "I'm not here to roast your fledglings," waving at the air like the extra bits were irrelevant. "Who's in charge at this moment? I fail to remember."
Everyone looked for their leader, searching in vain for someone to take the place. The vampires pushed someone from the depths of the crowd. A scrawny girl with very little meat on her bones. It was obvious that she wasn't in charge and was in fact a scapegoat. A volunteer to face the fear, an expendable.
She hissed, pulling herself from the ground, gritting her sharp teeth to give herself sanity.
She stared them down from under a mop of died black hair, nails gripping at her skirts to keep herself from spitting and hissing at her traitorous comrades.
Magnus gaze down at her, an amused, half-twinkle in his eyes. "Your name?"
"Bertha," she said.
Poor girl, "And are you faithful to the clan?"
"Yes."
"The vampire name?"
"Hm," she nodded.
"Good, we need ones like you. Strong to your Dumort pride," he turned to the two girls, casting an arm out to encircle the whole room, "Nephilim, care to explain what's coming?" Make it up, I don't care. Just make it convincing, Magnus implored fiercely with his eyes. Clan 50+...