|Characters:||Malcolm, Madeleine, Pan, NPC: Chantel Ewart run by Damas|
|Summary:||Two new Primogen are inducted and instructed.|
There is the faintest of quirks to her brow at that tidbit, but she doesn't pursue it just yet, instead returning the kiss for a lingering moment. Then she breaks the kiss, a hand moving through his hair, "So you've tried making her cry, then?" Maddy wonders, not willing to let that question linger too long without asking it, it seems. For those that track these things, she is NOT wearing a green hat with a peacock feather tonight. She's in fact not wearing a hat at all, which is terribly scandalous. But she's still perfectly dressed, and her and Malcolm are tucked away off to one side talking about something or other.
When Conquista del Pan arrives, they're dressed just a -little- differently than usual. Their normal planned dishevelment has been replaced by a different sort of planned casualness: black leather overcoat over a grey wool jacket with a studded leather belt, over a longer black top that gives them a layered look. with the messy short hair styled into a -different- carefully swept disarray than usual. Pan has also eschewed a hat, but completes the outfit with some loose-fitting black trousers and a pair of shiny black boots. As the descend, they're checking a text message, but the quiet conversation draws attention over to the hatless Madeleine and her companion. It takes only a second or two to make the decision that leads Pan toward altering their trajectory in that direction.
Malcolm is settled in next to the beauty, dressed in a nice charcoal suit and cream-colored shirt. There is a royal blue tie tucked in and nice shoes on his feet polished perfectly. He smiles as the kiss ends, and shrugs, "Have you known me to ever not try to make them cry?" he asks, laying an arm over the back of the seat they are in. "It is always more fun." At the entrance of someone that Malcolm doesn't recognize he regards them, Not an unfriendly look, but an appraising one. He leans over to Madeleine, "Is this one of the new companions you've met?" he asks, shifting to stand up as he sees them approaching. There is a pleasant smile, and he offers a hand out to Pan, "Good evening."
"Once or twice, there was that one you didn't make cry. But that might be because they died too quickly." Maddy offers thoughtfully as she lets her attention wander towards Pan. The change in the kind of artful dishevelment is noted with a slightly raised brow, then she nods, "This is the one that I was telling you about. They made an attempt at trading for my green Halston hat...but I had to refuse." Unlike Malcolm she makes no move to stand up when Pan arrives, but she does offer a smile, "Fancy meeting you here."
Chantel Ewart, the Daeva Primogen, is gorgeous, that's just fact. Smooth dark skin, fine features, elegantly coiffed hair and perfectly refined jewelry and clothing, she is the very picture of luxury and control. Tonight she's dressed in wicked green velvet that clings to every fulsome curve, gliding along at a graceful and poised pace despite impressively high heels. Behind her is a tall, dark-haired white man in a damn fine suit and a pair of shades. He has the bodyguard walk down to a science, and wears a bored expression as he follows Chantel down the stairs and into Elysium. At the bottom of the stairs, the Daeva Primogen pauses, skimming the area with a jaded, purposeful glance and an already glowing, perfectly manufactured smile. The little gathering is spotted, and with no one else but the Triumvirate's ghouls in the area, now seems the perfect time to strike. She prowls towards them, followed by the bored-looking gentleman in the very nice suit.
"I imagine -all- your meetings are fancy no matter where they are, Lady Rapace-Roberts," the approaching Carthian observes. After a brief, firm shaking of Malcolm's offered hand and their -own- appraising up-and-down look, Pan seizes a nearby arm chair (the kind of thing that probably weighs a -ton-) in one hand and lifts it to drag over to face toward Malcolm and Madeleine's sitting place to face them. They haven't been -invited- to join, but since when has that ever stopped anyone? "And do remember that we -did- reach an agreement for a Lilly Dache, with butterflies." There's going to be more banter, but then there's the entrance of someone new - someone Pan, at least, recognizes. They turn, and stand up straight rather than dropping into that chair they've dragged over. Once the new person draws close, Pan offers, "Lady Rapace-Roberts, unknown but very pretty gentleman companion to the Lady, may I present Madame Primogen Chantel Ewart, of the First Estate and Clan Daeva."
Malcolm smiles a bit at that memory as well, "Oh right. Well, I admit defeat. I can't argue that one." As Madeleine explains this is /that/ kindred he grins slightly, "Well, I know why it is coveted. It does look ravashing on you." With the shaking handled he is about to sit back down as well, but then another figure enters. With the introduction given by Pan Malcolm offers a deep smile, and bows slightly at the waist with one hand in front of him, "A pleasure to meet you Madame Primogen." he also then turns to Pan, not quite so grand of a showing as he says, "And you. I am Lord Malcolm Roberts of the First Estate and Clan Gangrel. We would be honored if you would join us." He motions to the seating that is there, though at the moment it is just the sofa that he and Madeleine were sitting and the chair Pan had brought over. Seeing as Chantel has a manservant with her he does no more, but remains standing until the invitation is either accepted or declined.
The introduction does cause Maddy's attention to focus more sharply on the lady in green velvet, and she looks her over with that curious eye before she offers a smile as well. "Yes, do please join us, Madame Primogen." Maddy's accent has waned over the years, but there's a distinctly French flavor to the word Madame when she offers it that doesn't quite go away. She leaves off talk of hats for later, it seems, although there is a nod of acknowledgment at the reminder of the Dache.
"Thank you, Mx. Pan." Who says elder vampires can't learn new pronouns? This one has, at least. Chantel offers her gloriously friendly smile, the full weight of her charm not quite overwhelming, but damn close. "Ms. Rapace-Roberts, Mx. Pan, I won't take but a few moments of your time. This is regarding the letters you sent?" A loft of beautifully winged brows tosses the question to them - surely they know exactly which letters she means. She turns that brilliant smile immediately afterwards to Malcolm. "Lord Roberts, I would like to borrow a few minutes alone with your wife and Mx. Pan, if I may?" It may be a dismissal, but the sweet charm it's offered with is intended to lessen the sting of exclusion. "I shall have her back to you momentarily, never fear." That smile could charm the bark off a tree, no doubt.
"Oh, uh, wow. Okay." Pan seems a -little- more off-guard by a response to that -particular- letter happening right now. And in front of Madeleine and Malcolm. A look gets shot over the shoulder at Malcolm and Maddy, just to make sure they haven't all started circling the Carthian like sharks, and then Pan returns their attention to Chantel to say: "Yes, of course, Madame Primogen. I'm sure time can be made to wait for a conversation about this matter."
Malcolm gives a quick look to Madeleine, a knowing smile as he lays a hand on her shoulder. "Of course, but please. Remain here. I am sure I can find something beautiful to look at until I can return to the true beauty in the room." he offers, looking to each of the three of them before turning to head off deeper into the Elysium. He goes far enough away to show he is not attempting to listen in, looking at the various paintings on the walls, the chosen architecture of the building, and even down to the craftsmanship of the furniture as he meanders around the room.
"The letters?" Oh, Maddy knows exactly what letters it is that Chantel means, but she puts on a surprised face that lasts for a split second before she nods, "Of course." She glances in Malcolm's direction when he agrees to make himself scarce so that they may conduct some business, and then she gives Pan a look as well, amusement curling her lips upwards at that one. Not a word, though, instead she turns her full attention back to Chantal, waiting to see what the next move is.
At last Chantel glides forward to seat herself in the chair Pan pulled over earlier. She spends a few moments arranging her long, smooth legs, straightening her dress, delicately collecting herself, touching the golden sun emblem hanging at her throat... and then Malcolm's gone, and she spares one more glance around the room before at last fixing her attention on the pair of Daevas. "Good news to both of you. The Triumvirate approves." And so does she - after all, Daevas in power are one of her favorite things. "Your responsibilities shall be much the same as my own - grant or deny territory, approve or reject Embraces, appoint Kindred to the various positions in the Praxis, punishing the breaking of Praxis law - except for executions and blood hunts, of course -, holding court at your discretion, and communicating the will of the Triumvirate to your Covenants." She pauses to let all that sink in, then adds, "There's just one tiny little thing you'll need to do first." One hand lifts up; the man behind her places two small bottles in her palm. She holds them out to the pair of vampires. "As proof of your loyalty to the Triumvirate, you must drink this. You may refuse, of course. If you choose not to do this, we'll alter your memory so that you don't remember why you decided you didn't want the position." There she holds, waiting, smiling like the devil himself.
As Chantel invites herself into Pan's chair - powermove, game respects game - they move around to take Malcolm's seat, for the moment, beside Madeleine. As the duties and responsibilities are laid out, Pan doesn't seem totally focused. Standard stuff anyone who's been in New Orleans awhile would be unsurprised about. It -shouldn't- be a surprise that Pan's request was met with a yes - Pan themself mused that the Triumvirate is so desperate for butts in seats they'd take anyone - but they're not managing to look unsurprised anyway, and this is a very surreal situation. That -vial- and that -request-, however, have Pan asking: "Is...that what I think it is?"
The list of duties and responsibilities are no surprises, not really. Perhaps some of it being in the hands of Primogen instead of a single Prince? Certainly. But Maddy doesn't appear to be shocked by it, nor does shock register when the vials are held out. Drink whatever, or become a memory wiped blob? There seems to be very little time taken to debate before Maddy is reaching forward to take one of the vials. She twists it open and lifts it lightly, "Bottoms up, darlings."
Chantel's wicked grin brightens as Ms. Rapace-Roberts takes her vial. "Mmn," she says agreeably in Pan's direction, and winks, at once both solemn and wickedly playful. "It's quite an honor." And one which she has, no doubt, partaken of. "How about you, Mx. Pan? Shall you give us another lovely Daeva to shine through the night? Or are you thinking twice about your letter?" It's spoken almost teasingly, as if she and Pan were somehow good friends, though they've never been publicly close before. She does not, notably, remind Pan what happened to the /last/ Carthian Primogen.
"Nothing ventured, nothing gained." The Carthian leans forward, takes the vial, and all at once throws the blend of vitae back and into their mouth.. Eyes closed, it takes Pan a few moments to swallow, as the taste lingers on their tongue. There's a visible reaction, a full-body shudder, and they can't help but say: "Wow." in the wake. "Uhm. Whew. Okay. Yeah. No. No second thoughts. In it to win it and everything."
A few moments and it's done, the little bottles taken back and returned to the hands of the big man behind her, and Chantel beams her pleasure upon them both. "Congratulations, then, Primogen Pan, Primogen Rapace-Roberts." She rises with a smooth and graceful motion, then performs the most polite of little head-nods - the one she reserves for equals, at least as far as status goes. "I wish you both a long and productive reign." One last brilliant smile and then she's strolling off towards the door, bodyguard trailing behind, to notify Malcolm that his wife is now available.