Logs:Beasts from the Continent

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Beasts from the Continent


Characters: Raimon and Remi de l'Aguille
Date: 2020-03-09
Summary: Two Kindred with European origins cross paths at Salome.
Disclaimers: {{{disclaimers}}}

Monday nights might not be the busiest for a night club, but that's just the way Raimon likes it. There's actually even a band playing to the mostly empty house as he fetches a glass of sangira from the bar. He doesn't drink it, more just to hold out of long-established habit as he hunts out a particularly shadowed seat in a booth. Everything's going great until the man (more like a child... Are these high school students? University?) playing the upright bass hits a sharp note that shouldn't be sharp and the vampire winces. "Amateurs...." The word is strongly accented even through the low mutter.

--

Like recognizes like. When Remi steps inside Salome, the feel of suffocating velvet, the purr that comes with claws comes in with him, within him. His Beast may be balanced well enough with the Man, clad as he is in an elegant, perfectly tailored charcoal grey suit with a plum button up shirt. His glide was probably heading for the bar after paying the cover, but his blue eyes lock on Raimon and he veers from his course, straight for the other Kindred. There is, however, no lashing out, no aggression apparent in the unhurried stroll of the Serpent's approach, only cool interest in his expression. "What's a nice young man like you doing in a place like this?" It sounds like a line. It might be a line, and yet, the interest is still cool despite the flush of lifelike mimicry to Remi's cheeks. He stops a courteous distance away, though with their kind, he'd have to be out the door to not be considered a possible threat.

--

That subtle shift in supernatural currents is all it takes for Raimon's attention to drift from the stage to the door. The change in posture and attention is minute, but clear as day, or rather the full moon night, for any that care to see. The Spanaird in his dark, pressed slacks and crisp white shirt would normally be no slouch, but he pales in comparison to the tailoring of the other vampire. As Remi comes over, Raimon waves towards the other seat with his wineglass. Excuse him if Raimon is keeping the side that allows his back to be protected by the wall. "We both know young is relative... but I must say they at least did a good job trying to look the part here." He knows the art deco might not be authentic. More than a few big hurricanes have come and gone since the twenties, but it's replicated well enough for his not-beating heart to be pleased.

--

"I heard the man who owns this place was a stickler for the details. A good man to know, if you know anyone." That probably explains at least part of why Remi is here tonight. There's no accent on this vampire although his speech patterns are touched here and there with syntax from a bygone era. Enough speech and that will become apparent to the attentive. The Frenchman settles into the offered seat as though he were expected there, not simply invited. "And you are?" He lifts his brows, but doesn't offer his hand, not yet.

--

"A good man?" Raimon lets out a short laugh. "I know few enough of those." For some reason the good just don't seem to last too long in the dance their Requiems require. He swirls the wine glass again, catching what little light there is in the club on the glass. As introductions are requested, the man gives a little mock-bow. "Raimon Luis Costa. And you are?" It's a name that would at least have been heard around Invictus circles the last several months, although not much beyond that. Raimon hasn't been the most social of Daeva's since signing the Accords.

--

"No, no." Remi holds up a single long finger to forestall the wrong take-away. "It's true enough that good men are hard to find, but this one is a good man to know." It's a very different point that he's making here. He doesn't lecture the other Serpent though. His eyes study the Spaniard's face while the hand that's come to rest on the tabletop taps in rhythm to the music. After a moment, the Frenchman inclines his head slightly, "Rémi de l'Aguille." In his name is betrayed the perfection of that accent, and though his English has none, it's immediately obvious to anyone with an ear for it that French is the mother tongue of this Kindred. "Are you new to town, Mr. Costa, or have our paths simply not crossed as yet?"

--

Even with decades of practice with English under his belt now, syntax still isn't quite Raimon's friend. The Spaniard gives a shrug at the correction. "Those seem rare enough as well. Maybe I'll keep an eye out for this Mr... " He pauses to give the other man time to fill in the blank with the proprietor's name since he's being so helpful. When Remi provides his own name, Raimon raises an eyebrow before repeating back and switching to his own perfect (if you ignore the accent) French. "de l'Aguille... don't think I've heard that one before. Can't picture you coming from the islands... or some half forgotten colony?" That's as much as he can get at nailing down a guess for the other's origins. "New-ish. It is so very time consuming the process of setting oneself up a-new."

--

"Louis Verte," Remi provides without hesitation. Some information costs, but this piece, when they're sitting somewhere rife with opportunities to ask and get an answer, is more useful as a small piece of goodwill. He does not add that the owner is a Changeling, of course. That would be going too far and imply friendship. The cool blue eyes remain on the man butchering his mother tongue. It's fine. No need to get upset. The Daeva lifts his brows at the Spaniard. "That's generally as I prefer it," English suits him here, now, just fine. "Where else is one to come from but Paris, if anyone is anyone." The implication, of course, is that Remi is someone even if he'd rather his name not make the rounds enough to have become popularized. "And you, Mr. Costa? There is much that is bothersome in the process of becoming established, I'll give you." He'll apparently even commiserate if that's what that slight tug to his lips that is barely a shift in his expression is meant to imply.

--

Raimon might not be drinking that glass of sangria, but he'll raise it anyways as a salute of thanks for the information. And if he isn't able to figure out that the man is a Changeling on his own, then really... how has Raimon even lived to be the age he is? At least his butchering of the language is still a Continental butchering! There's a gracious nod and smile at the mention of Paris. "Not all of us have such fortunes," he switches back to English as well, the smile not quite faded. "But I'm proud to be from Barcelona. This city though... is intriguing. Experimental even?" There's a hint of doubt about the how permanence of that delicate balance New Orleans finds itself perched upon. "Perhaps it'll suit me or perhaps I'll find myself packed back up to Europe once more." Given their mutual condition, it might literally be packed up in the bottom of some deep, dark cargo hold.

--

"Always strange, this place," Remi notes. In fact, if one were to check, his name would be found signed to the Accords a very long time ago. "But strange does make things interesting. It helps stave off the ennui of the long song." He makes a small gesture with his hand, indicating the two of them, the night, the Requiem on the whole. "Barcelona is a lovely city in of its own right." He grants with no apparent snobbery. "I've passed through more than once." As he has many places, no doubt. No one gains that cultured composure without having walked a distance in the world. "What brings you to resettling in the city, Mr. Costa? Business or pleasure?"

--

Raimon would need to care to check and probably visit to somewhere where such things are written down, so for the moment Remi's exact tenure in town is safe enough as the other vampire gives a nod of agreement before moving on. Compliments to his native city are met with a small, homesick sigh. "Indeed. Can't help but miss the Gran Teatre." New Orleans Opera might try, but some things just aren't the same. As for what brings him here, the smile sharpens slightly. "Why, duty, of course." Evading whether he actually enjoys said duty.

--

The ghost of a smile on Remi's lips twitches ever so slightly. "Oh, well, there is always duty for one to attend to, though some take it more seriously than others. None more than the Establishment, of course." This is probing, gently, a very slight shift of his head indicating the other Daeva in question. His posture alters subtly after that question-that-isn't-quite-phrased-as-one, to lean just a little out, just enough to flash his brilliant smile at a passing server and order a glass of costly Merlot. "I did make a point of enjoying the Gran Teatre when I ventured through. A spectacle not to be missed." He won't be so crass as to draw any comparisons to those similar enjoyments in his famous home.

--

"The Estate is seldom an easy master and if one values their head," a camp that Raimon most certainly falls into seeing as it's still attached to his neck, "taking those duties seriously should be a matter of course." And seeing how seriously he took his duties the past few months, even an unfortunate Kindred not among the Invictus may have begun to hear some rumors in certain areas of a new gunsmith in town and for one with a particular keen sense of smell, some powder may even still cling to this particular Serpent. "Hopefully you were able to witness one of the Zarzuelas?" While Barcelona might not be able to match the glory of Parisian Opera, it does have its own particular spin on it that has its own merits.

--

"Mm," the Serpent's noise seems to allow the observation. "How fortunate for me that I've no allegiance owed to such a demanding master." Remi does not, however, immediately offer to which Covenant he holds membership, if any, though surely the Elysium has such information to hand. "I was fortunate in my timing, yes." He does offer of the Zarzuela, a real smile touching his lips briefly, fondly, at the memory. "This town has its charms but nothing to equal the Continent." On that much they can probably agree. "Still, we may find enough amusements here to suit. Is there any particular flavor you favor?" He might mean of entertainment, or he might mean something else entirely. Masquerades can be so dizzyingly layered.

--

Raimon tilts his head a bit inquisitively. "But a master none the less?" Seeing as the other Daeva has been so relatively free with information so far, doesn't seem to hurt to ask about any such allegiances. He laughs a hollow laugh at the mention of the towns charms. "Yes, but the lack seems to benefit? Never seen a whole group so intent on drinking themselves to oblivion?" And he lived through the Greatest War! And drank through a good part of it too! "But as the years go on, I find myself drawn to the familiar..." There's a wave to the art deco surroundings and the quartet that have managed to at least recover from the particularly bad note flubbings earlier.

--

"Which one of us escapes such bonds long?" Remi inquires in what might be a rhetorical tone. Such alliances, after all, extend so much trust in a very, very untrusting world. "I am a member of the Order," he allows just before the server returns with his drink. It's destined to be undrunk, because for now he has no one to convince with his charade. "Can you blame them? The concerns they face... there are few answers better than to drink. I won't complain." Not when it's easier to get a taste through blood than to deal with the unpleasant consequences of actually imbibing the wine in front of him. He could do it, but it's not currently worth it. "There's nothing wrong with seeking the familiar, but see that you ensure your ties to the present, the future. After all, becoming antiquated and obsolete would be dangerous for one's head as well." His lips twitch and he twists the stem of his glass. "What is it you do these days, Mr. Costa?"

--

As neither Raimon or Remi are princes (even if one is dressed in a suit fit for one), clearly bonds of fealty are their fate, some oaths stronger and more binding than others. The Spaniard gives an accepting nod at the mention of the Order, much more palatable for an acquaintance than the rabble Carthians or Crones. At the warning, Raimon grins and pulls out a cell phone of the hilariously oversized buttons variety designed for senior citizens. It flashes for a moment before he tosses back in his pocket. "I am at least trying, even if I still don't understand this cloud business." Is it magic this thing that can't be seen but delivers results nonetheless? "When I'm not arguing with my phone? I have a workshop. I take what jobs might be assigned to me." Perks of Invictus membership, no need to list such services in any supernatural phone book. Those in the Estate that need him will be directed.

--

"Well, who can." Remi can allow that with humor. It's enough humor that it's hard to say whether the Frenchman is making a joke at Raimon's expense or truly commiserating over the nonsense that is clouds for invisible information. "I usually keep a ghoul or two to deal with the more involved matters of the era, but my last ones met with..." A real sigh, perhaps a glimmer of real emotion, "unfortunate ends." The wine glass gets a lift and a tip but no real sip. A server somewhere is doubtless looking so the smile of enjoyment lingers a moment for the invisible watcher's benefit. A man as well-dressed as he is bound to be watched. The logical next question is, of course. "What manner of workshop? Do you work exclusively for those to whom you are bound by duty or do they allow you your own enjoyments."

--

Who says vampires have to be all dignified, stick in the muds? Raimon rolls with the humor, no offense in sight as he chuckles slightly. The mention of ghouls gets a single shoulder shrug. "I dabbled in a ghoul a time or two... but found them a little bit too needy for my liking." Being dependent on Vitae can do that. And the logical next question gets a logical answer. "Mostly for those with ties. Not having to seek my own cliente has its own advantages considering I mostly maintain arms of various sorts and vintages." Covenant and clan first for him! "But when I have some hours free, I'm not chained to a workbench or what have you."

--

The sharp man sharpens. Though his interest and focus never wavered from Raimon, now there is a new intensity. The smallest amount of surprise is betrayed by the tiniest movement of his brows, his lips. "How interesting." Isn't it just. "I would be very interested in seeing some of your work, if ever you've some hours free." Only at that point does Remi reach into an inner pocket and produce a fine leather wallet from which a slim business card with only a phone number is proffered over. At least the font is an exquisite script and the paper of some quality. "I do have an eye for the art of a well-crafted thing."

--

Raimon might as well be a statue for how little he changes under that unwavering stare, his lips just twitching upward into a smile as well. "I at least think it is." Interesting that is. Maybe not do it a hundred years if he had been given the choice but better than the alternatives. It's his turn to stare as Remi reaches into a pocket, his head tilting inquisitively. As soon as the card is handed over, Raimon glances and it doesn't take long to read what little is on it. Once read, he'll carefully tuck it into his own billfold. "I'm sure I'll have some hours free at some point. Is there a particular type of thing that you'd be looking for?"

--

"Show me your best," Remi's lips curve in a way that speaks to the fact that he knows the way he's dressed, the way he's carrying himself, all of it, speaks to being a man of discerning tastes. He shifts gracefully out of his seat and, with the wallet still out, pulls a bill from it to place down by the glass of wine before putting the rest of the way. "If you'll excuse me, one of my contacts just freed up." He flashes the Spaniard a dazzling smile, as though their interaction had been wholly friendly and not potentially barbed and booby trapped at every other clause. "I look forward to hearing from you, Mr. Costa." With that, the Serpent glides away, stroll unhurried, taking that sickeningly soft, smothering feel of his Beast along with him as the omnipresent silent passenger it is.