Logs:Tell Me No Lies
Tell Me No Lies
|Characters:||Muse and Pan|
|Summary:||Well, Pan wanted a one-on-one with Muse...|
The Regas has enjoyed a successful week, since her launch and grand opening; the high fallutin' types falling over themselves to be the first to indulge in the opulent novelty of the floating casino. Tonight there had been a live band, just to add further unadulterated debauchery to proceedings, though everyone has now long since departed. The Dome is practically deserted, though of course remains open to the Accorded at all hours, with only the softly playing jazz through the speakers now to stave off dull silence.
Seated halfway up - or down - the first flight of stairs, long legs outstretched along the step and back pressed against the elegant railings, is the recognisable form of perhaps the least overtly formidable of the Savages. Muse is frowning down at the tablet in her lap. This is not unusual. She's getting better, but every now and then a mis-swipe leads to chaos and the need to wander off in search of someone more technologically savvy. Which.. is almost literally anyone.
Attired in an oversized white t-shirt that's currently serving as a dress - closer inspection reveals a silver and gold Bon Jovi logo adorning it, in front - and her standard combat boots, crossed at the ankle, the Mekhet appears relaxed enough to be fully visible in these surroundings. No blurring of the edges with coiling, dancing shadows, though such would be easy enough.. the lights have been dimmed to a comfortable level more suited to Kindred senses. She's also, for once, not flanked by her looming coterie-mates. Opportunity abounds.
Conquista del Pan hasn't been seen in their long wool duster in a week or so - instead making appearances, frequently, in their current black leather jacket over hooded sweatshirt that, were they not a vampire, would almost certainly cook them alive. It's not the sort of thing you really wear to a place called the 'dome of sin', but it's late and the place is mostly empty, anyway. They'll have texted before they come down - Muse knows that Pan wants that one-on-one, and so finally makes the trip down to the Regas to get it. Whether or not that text is responded to by a series of emoji that could be read as either threatening or sexual depending on interpretation is anyone's guess.
Pan approaches from the top of the stairs, descending toward Muse until they can drop down into a seat next to her. "I was worried," they say, by means of icebreaker, "That I'd be underdressed. If I'd known it was a pajama party I'd have dressed to theme."
Would it have to be a choice, for that interpretation? Why not both.. regardless, the text was, on this occasion, responded to with :sign_of_the_horns: and a demonic smile. Or the :love_you: icon.. it's up for debate. No threat made toward eggplants, at least.
Not immediately glancing up to acknowledge the arrival of the Primogen, the brunette nevertheless quirks her lips in amusement at their choice of 'greeting', utterly unperturbed. "You've never any need for concern over bein' underdressed in my company. And who wears pajamas anymore?" In closer proximity, that downcast frown turns out to be the result of her perusing Wikipedia, nothing of dramatic interest. Tonight's topic? Occultism in New Orleans. She sets tablet and research both aside, onto the next step down, as she shifts her attention wholly to Pan in due course; green gold eyes lifting to meet their gaze along with a half smile. "I had to Google who Bon Jovi was." The confession is unabashed. "Hello. Welcome to our humble little boat." That honeyed Southern accent grows richer when she's being sardonic, one would soon notice. Or teasing. What good is a 'bless your heart' without the proper 'zing' on it, right?
The Mekhet makes no move to gesture in welcome, either; no offered hand for shake or otherwise. Both fold primly in her lap instead. But she doesn't seem displeased to see her fellow Carthian.
"When I thought 'Carthian Boat Elysium', I mean. I know Seth's your money guy, but I still expected a rundown boat with some rust and peeling paint, not..." They gesture out at the open room in front of them. "All this. The fucking scale of money it takes to whistle thing kind of thing up out of nothing is astounding. I always feel like I'm kind of...above money? You know? Because you can walk into a store under Obfuscate and just take whatever the fuck you want and walk out. Majesty and no cab driver ever charges you for a ride, no cop thinks twice when they pull you over on a stolen motorcycle. You just...do vampire at them, and money doesn't seem to matter much. Just take wallets from people, use their credit cards until they stop working, get more. But this is ridiculous."
They give the Mekhet beside them a look, sidelong. "But I find myself talking about the boys again. Where do -you- fit into..." Another look out at the room. "All this? In your t-shirt and boots in a fancy ass jazz riverboat casino with fuckin' carpet like blood you want to sink your toes into and purple and gold everywhere like some seventeenth century Portuguese aristocrat's house."
There's a soft 'hmm' of what might be agreement from the waifish brunette, her head tilting a touch to one side as she studies Pan contemplatively. There's something ever so slightly unsettling about that gaze when it lingers overlong. Which is perhaps why she 'demurely' lowers it after a moment; allowing it to wander over the luxurious decor as it's brought up. Honestly, it's as though she's given little consideration to it, prior to it being pointed out. Was she used to such decadence, before? That'd explain her idle nonchalance in regard to it now. "The Invictus ought to see that The Movement are capable of precisely the same level of grandeur without any of the posturin' and overly sentimental practices. Everyone else.. just ought to take notice."
The wording of 'do vampire at them' elicits a genuine chuckle from the Shadow, white teeth flashing in a momentary grin, all fangs and wry humor. Still, the ease with which Pan would apparently navigate a lack of funds ensnares her feline curiosity. No real surprise there. Mental notes are visibly taken and filed away, for future reference.
"The boys are very worth talkin' about." she replies, serenely. "But if you will be so insistent.." There's not a trace of any genuine irritation in the statement. Hushed amusement, perhaps. "..where do I fit in.. maybe I'm just a tag-along?" The subtle arch of a single brow implies, however, not. Drawing those long legs under herself, Muse appears to prepare to rise. Not exactly as a deflection, on this occasion. "Come on. Let me show you the theater."
This place has a theater? What next?
Rising gracefully to a stand, sweeping up the tablet to tuck under one bare arm, she waits patiently. "And for the record, I did sink my toes into the carpet. But Seth said I wasn't to do that anymore unless I could remember to wash the swamp off them, beforehand." With that, she begins to clomp down the stairs.
Old vampires are very rarely poor, and at some point, Pan just got used to the fact that vampires of a certain age assume wealth. It's hard -not- to accumulate it over time with the kind of gifts the Kindred bring to bear. The Primogen, though, has been doing this less than fifteen years. It hasn't occurred to them yet that all they need to do is thrall one millionaire, marry him, then wait for him to die while spending his money.
"You're no tagalong. You're an alligator under two inches of water with just your eyes peeking out." Pan lets Muse move ahead a few steps before finally rising to follow. It's weird to be able to focus on Muse, but Pan does, with no distractions, watching her body language and all her glances and expressions as they draw up beside her on the way to the 'theater'.
"Are you going to show me home movies?"
Speakeasy Elysium - The Regas - New Aurora
Very rarely.. but not 'never'. When your wakeup involves being unstaked by a bunch of strangers in a tomb beneath a seemingly abandoned plantation, you don't necessarily have American Express in your pocket.
Descending to the floor unhurriedly, Muse heads for a pair of grand doors set within a far wall; deliberately at an easy gait despite her likely preference for the unnatural speed of Celerity. Manners. The comparison to an alligator, peeking above the murky waters of the bayou, seems to meet with a modicum of approval.. enough anyway that Pan earns an amused flit of her gaze as they move after her. "I'll take that as a compliment." Upon reaching the doors, the brunette pushes one inward and slips through the gap, holding it ajar for the Primogen to follow.
The interior of the declared Elysium speaks for itself, of course; grander still than the Dome. She allows her companion a moment, uninterrupted, to take it all in while she herself ventures to one of the closest chairs, easing down to a seat in one and kicking her booted feet up to rest on another in front, legs once again outstretched. For a creature that looks distinctly out of place amidst such splendor, she certainly seems comfortable enough against the backdrop of same.
"I'm not certain, in all honesty, that I /do/ fit in." Content now to continue the train of thought, Muse clasps her hands over her slender midsection, the tablet abandoned now to the floor beneath her chair. "..I'm just a stray cat that wandered in one day and made myself at home, and everyone just.. went with it." A distinctly feline smile does play across her lips as she offers this explanation, in keeping with the impression of her Beast beneath the surface; languidly purring and observing the other in the vicinity.
"There's more to you than stray cat. If you really haven't found it yet, then I'll figure it out. Because it's been bugging me, and when something gets under my skin like that, I need to find an edge I can get a nail under and peel it back and see inside." That metaphor went to a weird, very gross place. Pan doesn't seem to notice or care.
They take a few moments on that fancy metal plaque, and notes: "Rule one is doing some heavy lifting there. At some point you folks will have to fuck with someone for fucking about and the Triumvirate won't be here to help. If you ever need muscle for it? Let me know. I'm not rich, I'm not super influential. But the whole reason I was -embraced-, aside from my stunning fucking manners and glorious beauty, was the ability to fuck shit up. I don't get an opportunity often, though."
Once they're past the rules, Pan descends that slope to follow toward where Muse has placed herself across two chairs. Pan turns to sink into only one, but does it backward, because Pan's the -cool- kid who leans forward against the back of a chair. Except they ruin it by dropping their chin onto their arms on the back and slumping down.
"So if you don't fit in, who are you on your own? What do you do? What do you want?"
Credit where it's due, Muse doesn't bat an eyelash at that descriptor either. Nor does she seem to recoil from the general notion. Does that imply, somehow, that she's not being deliberately obtuse? Or is that just another feint..
As Pan goes on to extol their own questionable merits and virtues, the brunette absorbs it all in tranquil quiet, perfectly still but with those eerie eyes now leveled upon the Primogen without falter. "Oh, please.. darlin', I am so much prettier than you." Just to punctuate this most important of points, one hand rises to theatrically sweep back her dark hair from one temple as her eyes become a fraction more languid for a splitsecond, heavy-lidded and darkly amused. Sure, it might be safer to play Devil's Advocate and compromise on a shared level of otherworldly appeal.. but who likes 'safe'? "But sure.. I imagine you might find those opportunities more forthcomin', now. And far be it from me - or us - to turn down the offer of backup, in the event of 'disagreements'." The motion of her hand becomes an idle gesture, fingertips trailing through mid air in an 'as you wish' mannerism. Her tone, however, is quite genuinely appreciative. She doesn't bother to hide it.
"What do I do?" Arching her brows in an assumed expression of polite enquiry, Muse returns both hands to a clasp over her abdomen, still once more. "I provide much needed.. sarcasm. And irony in the form of t-shirts. Perhaps a touch of snark just sweet enough that the hard of thinkin' hear it as a compliment and miss the backhand." She regards Pan in kind, taking in their posture and the nuances of their own tone and features. "As for what I want? Same thing you do, I believe." Something in her soft-spoken voice changes, subtly, as if the declaration that follows is uttered by rote. "The Kindred are thousands of years old. That doesn't mean their social politics have to be. These are the nights of power in the hands of the people. Kindred society is rotten to the core, and the only way to fix it is to burn it down and build something new atop the ashes."
Well, at least she's forthcoming with her opinions.
Conquista del Pan is engaged, listening, attentive, right up until that last statement. At that, Pan sits up a bit. Links their hands together, elbows on the back of the chair, purses their lips.
"When someone tells me," Pan begins, quietly, "That what they want is what I want? I know whatever I'm about to hear is one of two things. Either they're about to lie to me so they can make me think we're on the same side, or they're about to project what they want onto me. Because when it comes down to it, nobody is ever -honest- about what they want, I don't think. Not with themselves, even. I'm going to guess #2 on this one. You're not far off. If I could push a button and every Kindred of any particular title in the world would spontaneously combust - including the Triumvirate, the Council, and even Seth and Nikola? I'd push it. Burn everyone who ever looked for power, let the ones who never sought or had it figure something new out, -whatever- the sacrifices. But that's not what I -want-. It's what I'd do because it's right. Because it makes sense. I don't think there's anyone still alive on the planet who really knows what I -want-. What I daydream about. The answer you just gave me was every Carthian anarchist's standard reply to that, not what -you- want. Personally. For yourself. The Movement is one thing. -Muse- is another thing. Answer the question for Muse, instead."
"Caught that, didya." Calmly, Muse lifts her weighty boots from the chair and settles them on the floor, pivoting in her seat in order to directly face the Primogen; reflecting their level of intense scrutiny without a hint of discomfort. If they're determined to figure her out? Well, that's fair play. But so too is turnabout. And.. she really didn't disguise the note of recital in her words. "It's not that I don't believe the words.. they simply lose meaning and power with every lacklustre repetition." This much is offered quietly, the playful lacing fading from her sweet intonation. Crossing her legs at the knee, propping an elbow on the rear of her chair and sinking the fingers of that hand into the cool silk of her dark hair, the Mekhet considers the Kindred before her. She listens, without interruption, to what their version of 'right' would theoretically entail. Her expression gives nothing away that she does not intend.. so Pan can likely assume the twitch of amusement at one corner of her lips to be deliberate. "Why? Has no one bothered to ask you, or do you prefer not to divulge such personal intimacies?"
Curiosity piqued. No mean feat. Oh, she's constantly observing, ever watchful. But there's a telling weight to the dark-lashed and inscouciant gaze now that willingly betrays a kindled intrigue. "What do you daydream of, Conquista del Pan. I want to know."
Eventually, at last, she ceases in dancing just outwith their metaphorical reach. Maybe she's impressed by that astute awareness. "I like to imagine we are on the same side. Proving it to you, or pretending it, would be a pointless endeavor, though." One narrow shoulder rises and falls in a light shrug. "I will, at least, be done with the textbook answers, seein' as you're apparently willin' to look beyond the superficial. Few are, so long as their own sense of 'right' isn't immediately threatened." There's a pause. Gathering her thoughts, maybe. Forcing herself not to be elusive takes a surprising amount of effort. "I've only recently awoken. You've gathered that much." It's not a question. "And there's much I don't recall. Not with any real.. certainty, anyway. But I feel, in my bones.. that I want and deserve freedom. To experience every delight the night has to offer, sample a little from every treat on the buffet table of debauchery. To do what I want, when I want, because I want to." Muse's Beast stirs to a greater semblance of fierce desire even as she allows the words to fall, reflected in the gleam of her green-gold eyes upon Pan. "I want to know and to manipulate with the knowledge I gather. Not particularly for any greater 'good'.. but just because I can. I've been trapped for too long. Why should I bow to presumed authority and keep myself restrained?"
Having realised her inward lean toward the Primogen throughout this softly uttered speech, the Mekhet now withdraws, returning to the 'real world' with perhaps a touch more of the wildling apparent in those seraphic features. No.. he was right. This is no pet.
"See, I believe you. So. I'm gonna give you a job. I'll announce it later tonight." One hand lifts, props Pan's chin up in it, as they lean a bit, again. Their body language says calm, interested, engaged. Their eyes say the jury's still out about Muse, and whether the Primogen's got them figured out or not.
"You want to know what -I- want? Aside from the Movement and revolution, aside from the Order and perfect chrysalis? I'll tell you enough truth that it's not dishonest. I want friends that I don't have to enthrall to trust. I want to kill everyone and everything that threatens what I hold dear. I want revenge. I want to drink blood without having to plan and plot and manipulate and feel like a drug pusher first. But you know what I -really- want? I want whatever asshole killed four fucking Primogen and set up Vivienne to try the same shit with me."
The brunette admits her surprise at this declaration, albeit wordlessly. An arch of a single dark brow and a lack of argument is still as close as one can likely expect to acquiescence from her. For what it's worth.. her own gold-flecked eyes don't appear to offer any smug assumption either, on whether she has any grasp on the Primogen. But it remains an amusing vexation, one would hope, rather than the impression of circling one another with hackles up.
There's a long moment of quiet in the wake of Pan's further words on their desires. Some are simple and understandable enough. Mutual, even; or so says the flicker of expression across Muse's features at the mention of blood. For one of her apparent age she does still savor the hunt with all the zeal and relish of a youngun. Regardless. She takes the time to listen and consider before offering a response aloud, measured and.. with the hint of a tease. "Oh, Pan.. I'll be your friend. If you admit that I'm the prettier one." This seems a perfectly reasonable caveat, to her.. or merely an opportunity to coax them back out of self-imposed maudlin before it really takes hold. "I do take some personal umbrage at a threat to our Primogen, of course.." She continues, slowly nodding her approval of the last wish. "..and could therefore likely pass some rather pleasant time thinkin' up all manner of delightful ways to convey that displeasure, once I can get my hands on them. Oh, and once you've had your turn, of course. Sharing's caring." Aww, how sweet. She'd not hog the torture? "Are there any leads, to that end..? Or.. hunches, on your part. I'd be equally intrigured by both."
The moment of apparently genuine savagery within Pan's generally cool countenance elicits a reflexive lengthening of the Mekhet's canines, visible as she offers a slow smile.
"My assumption is that someone wanted one of the seats, framed Viv. Celeste, from the Circle, took a seat the night Viv's childe was executed. Then she..." Pan waves a hand, dismissive gesture. "Disappeared. If someone found out and quietly eliminated her, it'd make sense. Selah, from the Lance, took a seat soon after, too. But it's all circumstantial. Being Carthian, being interested in another guilty party other than Vivienne? Wasn't safe. And then I...had to leave town for a few months. On other business."
In reply to Muse's offer, though, Pan grins and shows fangs. "You can be my friend, sure. But can I -trust- you? I don't know you. -You- don't know you. Your primary ties are to your Coterie first, and to the Movement second, so far as I can tell. -Can- two vampires ever really trust one another? How many of us manage to go without ever tasting vitae, and how do you go from tasting that and go back to being satisfied with mortal blood? I like your band of savages, Muse, and I'm working to empower the three of you because I think you're all clever and competent, but if Seth came to you and Niko and said he wanted my seat, that it was better for the Movement, and the three of you judged I wouldn't step down if he asked? Then how safe would I be around you. There is exactly one person in this world I trust, and I trust him because he doesn't -care- about anything. Probably including me, since he disappeared for months without telling me he was leaving and I thought he was dead until last night when he texted me out of the blue. And he's not a vampire. No vampire should -ever- trust another vampire. Not really."
"Mm. Still. It's fairly ridiculous that four persons of supposed power can be snuffed and that it not only goes unsolved.. it appears to have been easy. The level of apathy is almost comical. Doesn't anyone command any genuine fear anymore, nevermind respect.." Shaking her head, Muse toys at one canine with the tip of her tongue, allowing her gaze to drift momentarily beyond Pan. "All so busy doing things properly, they fail to notice nothin's gettin' done at all."
Returning her attention as the conversation wanders back to the notion of friendship, the brunette meets Pan's gaze with an open smirk twisting across her lips. "Well of course you can't trust me, darlin'. I'm a self-serving deviant who's both manipulative and fickle. And I don't have any use for stupid friends." Utterly unapologetic, though she doesn't actually seem to be counting the Primogen as one of those.. quite the contrary, reading between the lines. "Where's the fun in bein' safe, anyway. Surely you prefer bein' kept on your toes? Keeps the boredom at bay.. and keeps the senses keen."
Lowering her gaze, the Shadow studies her combat boots as she stretches her legs out comfortably. "I'm not a yes-man. But better the friend that challenges you than tells you what you want to hear.. you said as much yourself just a moment ago." There's a flit of a glance to the Primogen through her lashes, still at half mast with the downward cant of her head. "So how's this for a slice of fried gold..." Guess what last night's movie of choice was. "..who the fuck would want your seat, Pan. You barely want it."
Remaining in her comfortable lounge, she ponders a moment on the nature of this mysterious, unnamed figure of trust. "Is he it, then? The thing you hold dear, that you'd kill for?" Well, they did mention the assertion of killing anything that threatened it.. they just neglected to name it. Yes, she was paying attention.
"You assume that the Primogen council are people of -importance-. I'm thirty-six years old, I was born in nineteen eighty-three. I got my position because it sat open and no one wanted it so long that I felt uncomfortable -not- taking it. The Council does the day-to-day shit that the Triumvirate doesn't care about. We serve at their pleasure so that they can focus on whatever the hell they do all day. I've seen one of them a grand total of once, when Aelius came out to personally execute somebody. They consider the case solved. Officially speaking, Viv -was- the murderer. Primogen die all the time. Someone tried to assassinate me, really badly, like two nights ago. It usually doesn't even make a ripple in Praxis news."
Muse's assurances provoke an actual out-loud laugh. "We have different versions of trust, I think. And I -like- being safe. I like being bored. I've had a very short life compared to lots of you, and it's all been spent scared for one reason or another. I'd spend a couple of hundred years bored and safe and be happy, I think. But it's not in the cards. Vamps like me don't get to be old. We live short, brutal, violent lives and then we fuck up and someone bigger and more violent and more brutal cut off our heads, or stake us and dump us into the ocean in a cement box to prove a point."
When Muse moves on to talking about Pan's friend, they shake their head with another, quieter laugh. "You don't understand. Yeah, I'd kill for Kenny. But I'd kill for you, too. Or for Seth, or Niko. Or a half-dozen other people. It's not as high a bar as you'd think. There's a priority to it, though, and if you ever meet a pretty boy burnout werewolf in a skirt, know that one's high up on that list. And don't bite him. Or, uh. Anyone you suspect I'm feeding on, fair warning. When I eat someone I gotta do some chemical alteration, it may make them -delicious-, but I'm pretty sure if you bit them you'd wind up bound. To me. So."
"I'd assure you that age was overrated but.. I have no real measure. Just my assumption. I guess just.. try not to fuck up." Despite the apparent indifference in her response, Muse does contemplate the mention of an assassination attempt so recently made. "My sweepin' generalisation of the state of the Praxis, Pan, is that most folks couldn't find their ass with both hands in their back pockets. Nobody knows what's goin' on, one night to the next. Don't get me wrong.. I enjoy the chaotic aspect of it, in theory." She smiles lazily, drawing herself back up to a more upright seat. "You think they took a pop at you just on account of your position.. or did you 'accidentally' insult someone's suit or somethin'. They don't like that, y'know, these dandies."
All this aside, there's a sudden, unbidden shiver that wracks through the Mekhet's delicate form at the off-the-cuff mention of staking, the sensation of someone, somewhere, walking over her grave. Ugh. Visibly shaking it off, she continues a moment later. "You ever want to lay low, there's room enough at the plantation. If you could consider us the lesser of the optional evils, I guess." She's unoffended by that. Dismissal would be far more insulting.. and even then it's a coin-toss on whether she'd be baited.
There's a soft snort of amusement, on the matter of the werewolf. "Duly noted.. and each to their own." The candid warning on feeding, however, Muse accepts with a touch less mirth; inclining her head gently. "I'll keep that in mind.. somethin' tells me that'd be a bad state of affairs for the both of us.." Alright, she does relent to smirking, fleetingly, as she tries and fails to envision such circumstances. "I uh.. appreciate the warnin'." Pause. "A werewolf, huh? Exactly how pretty are we talkin'?"
"Maybe it was the Invictus. Maybe it was the Lance guy who got super pissed when I shit all over Longinus. Maybe it was somebody I don't even know, or somebody from my past, but a car swerved out of its lane to roll over me, ruined my favorite fucking coat, and I wound up wearing a tuxedo t-shirt and some sparkly booty shorts home because the wet he rolled me through was too gross to wear home."
Muse's appraisal of the state of affairs has Pan showing teeth again. "Sorta douchey and like, fuckup pretty? Like you look at him and you know he's probably full of oxy and two bottles of vodka and probably paid for them with streetwalking but you still kinda wanna offer him a twenty for a tumble anyway. But he's smart, and he knows shit, and he's -powerful-, I think, like. Like wanders off into the spirit world and just lives long enough that his hair and beard were as long as my forearm and stickin' out in every direction when he came out. But. Yeah. Don't worry, though. You ever wind up thralled to me I'll treat you real nice. Take you on walks. Brush your hair. Arrange playdates."
"Where did you get.. actually.." Muse raises the fingertips of one palm from her thigh in a halting gesture before she even finishes. "..nevermind. I don't wanna know." Her wearing sparkly short is one thing. The mental image of Pan rocking them is more an acquired taste. But hey, what does she know when it comes to what wolves find appealing..?
Dutifully listening to the requested description of this 'top priority', fuckup pretty Kenny, the brunette offers her companion another of those slow, entreating smiles. "We have different versions of 'pretty', too, I think.. not to impugne your taste. He sounds delicious, if you like that sort of thing." A throaty chuckle escapes the Mekhet. Her Beast, however, is beginning to rouse; pacing restlessly behind ethereal bars. It's rare that she stays in one place for any length of time. Rarer still that her attention is held. Both quirks, of course, are likely a result of having spent a century in perfect stillness, with only jumbled nightmares and memories to keep one company. Movement is good. New is good. Dragging her heavy boots toward the legs of her chair, she bends from the waist to retrieve her tablet, laying it upon her lap. "..I hear there's some kinda meetin' about this spate of decapitations. I expect they'll be investigatin' the nunnery from there." An odd swerve of topic.. ahh, but that is perhaps the reasoning behind her choice of reading material, when Pan had first arrived. Turning those dark eyes upon them again, she enquires, "..I know the offer of muscle was specific to here, but.." The unspoken implication? She wonders if the Primogen will be in attendance, along with the Hounds. It doesn't require elaboration. As for the promises of being the most pampered pet in the Praxis? Muse reveals her fangs again in a predatory grin. "I should think so. I'm fine as frog hair split four ways, you'd damn well better. Can't promise I wouldn't claw up the furniture, though.. or the playdates."
"As would be your right. It's fine, though. I don't -have- any furniture. And most of my dates like a little claw." Pan, liquidly, rises up to their feet and stretches, arms raised high overhead, fingers laced, they lean back so that their back pops audibly, rolls their neck. "If you want, I'll come," they allow. "Since you asked so nicely. But you'll surely be surrounded by your strapping boys, you won't need -me- to feel safe."
The Daeva shoves their hands into their jacket pockets, the thumbs sticking out, while they survey Muse from their standing position, now.
"I have a -broad- view of beauty, by the way. Not necessarily different. Your boys are pretty. So are you. There's not a one of you I wouldn't eat or fuck or both, and I'll give no argument if you want to say you're prettier than me. But all of the three of you are very..." Pan hesitates, as if finding the first word that came to mind unwise. "Couth. You dress avant-garde, but you do it -cute-. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure all of you get messy, but you don't wear it on your sleeves. I like it both ways. I like it lots of ways. Kenny is self-destruction bundled into a boy who turns into a wolf, it's very appealing. Werewolves in -general- are very appealing. I beat one to a pulp last week and she let me lick the blood off her face, it was nice. They're more honest than vampires. We're always pretending and playing and hinting around things."
At odds with that angelic facade, Muse's smile this time is a thing of pure darkness; the true nature of the Shadow glimpsed beneath.. and of the woman herself, perhaps. "Doesn't everyone?" she opines, in reference to the pleasure of claws, metaphorical and otherwise. Those eyes, too, turn momentarily fathomless; a reminder of the passage of centuries despite her appearance. She doesn't allow the abyssal impression to linger, though. No, it's dismissed with a casual toss of her dark mane back over her shoulders. "Not for me.." she continues, the curve of her lips softening back to something more approaching quiet amusement. "..for the rest of them. If this thing is half as formidable as some of them believe, more muscle couldn't hurt. Of course, if you're not in the mood.. we could just party the night away in sparkly shorts instead."
Muse rises in turn, unhurriedly and to less of a height than the Primogen. What a Daeva she might have made, in another unlife.. and yet, the shadows suit her well. There's an incessant, palpable aura of dark energy around her, heightened when her Beast lurks closer to the surface.. as it does now. Taking the initial assessment from Pan as a compliment, apparently, she flits them a glance and an absent-minded smirk as she smoothes her overlarge t-shirt come dress with a sweep of her palm. "Pan, darlin.. you're very pretty, too. But you'd never keep up with me. I appreciate your obvious taste, though. And I pull off 'messy' extremely well, when the occasion calls for it." Tilting her head, the brunette pauses, catching that hesitation. That wasn't what they were going to say.. but she refrains from pressing the matter.
Stepping away from her chair, drifting past the Primogen into the aisle of the rows, she unthinkingly hugs the table against her front, having nowhere else to put it for the time being. "I've not spent enough time around them to really form my own opinion.." she continues, picking up the thread. "..but I can agree that savagery is it's own sort of appeal. Throwdown, I think, is the term..?" A tentative use of the modern meaning. But she is right. And, perhaps surprisingly, she doesn't contest Pan's surmisal on the straightforwardness of wolves, in comparison to their kind.. even if her wry expression silently says 'Really, Daeva?'
"Now -that's- an opinion I have to argue with, if you think -I- would be the one to not keep up with -you-. No insult meant, but Muse, -darling-. You've no idea what you'd be getting into. I would -ruin- you for everyone who came after. It happens every time, a trail of destroyed and broken entities of every flavor. It's why I rarely lay down with anyone I -like-. So you're almost certainly safe." Pan glances up at the exit of the theater, unsubtley considering, before returning their gaze to the Mekhet.
"Text me the time and place. I'll be there. You need the practice. But I should go. I'm hungry, and I really need to learn to not be alone with pretty vampires when I'm hungry. Next time we talk, I'll be well-fed first, it'll be less distracting."
"No offense taken." The brunette oh-so-blithely accepts the calm dissent from Pan, withholding a grin.. just barely. The assurance of probable safety is met, in kind, with a gentle inclination of her head. "You are too kind, sir." Yep, there's that Southern accent resurfacing. She's amused. "I do, after all, rely heavily upon my charms, as any good girl ought, so I appreciate the concern for their remainin'.. intact."
Muse won't deign to actually stepping away; she merely watches the Primogen as they glance toward the doors, her own gaze unwavering and another of those unreadable smiles swift to follow. "Don't let me keep you.. I hope you got everythin' you hoped for, in any case." She privately doubts it. "Go. Have a good meal, my sweet drug-pusher."
Pivoting on a booted heel, the Mekhet starts in the opposite direction, down the slope toward the stage. Only once she's a short distance away does she call back over a shoulder, the shadows already beginning to enshroud her silhouette in the half-dark of the enormous room. "Oh.. and sweet dreams, Pan. Whatever that entails, for you.."
"Oh, darlin'. I'm not a 'sir'. Or a 'ma'am'. I know you've been asleep for awhile, so. Just in case you didn't know. Have Seth or Nik explain it, if someone being neither is new for you." Pan doesn't seem upset, there's a genuine amusement at the choice of gender Muse has assigned them in that 'sir'." When the Mekhet heads down toward the stage, Pan pauses to turn and watch her retreat, then, at some point...vanishes. Celerity or Obfuscate (and since Muse might well have some Obfuscate, we'll reveal it's Celerity), but Pan is there one moment and...gone, the next.