[Open/Dorian] The Missing Portrait

[THE NARRATOR]

It was a dark and stormy night over the city of New York, and everything was as it should be. Or rather: everything was as it should be to everyone, except Dorian Gray. The clock struck twelve, as the cursed man gazed above his fireplace at an empty hole where his portrait should be. It was not that he was fond of looking at this particular portrait, oh no. In fact he hung it in plain sight as a reminder to himself that the life he had lived was both a corruption and a monstrosity.

Where the portrait painted by Basil Hallward had once been a masterpiece, it was now lined with age, and animated with the dastardly deeds that Dorian had committed in his youth. Though the portrait, which was now missing, was now far from ordinary. Having, in passing, sold his soul to the devil: The picture now took his true form. Complete with mortal afflictions in return for eternal youth and immortality. It is because of this portrait and his eternal beauty, that he had long since understood some things are more beautiful because they change, or fade.

Though Dorian appears to be a little older than twenty years of age, this portrait has made him living proof that appearances are deceiving. Should he appear as his true self, his true soul, in the portrait: he would be grotesque and far from perfect. The truth behind Mr. Gray was he was born in the year 1869 in London. His mother, Margaret Devereux, had died at childbirth. His Grandfather, Lord Kelso, had taken him in out of duty and loathed and despised Dorian for resembling his father. A “No-Account” soldier, with whom he had paid off servants 'dispose of'.

His current state could be easily attributed to the fact that at a young age, Dorian inherited his grandfather's house and made friends with a posh crowd of nobles. Quickly befriending Lord Henry Wotton and artist Basil Hallward. Hallward had been instantly taken in by Gray's beauty and had painted an elaborate masterpiece, the portrait of Dorian Gray. It was Basil's very piece that granted Dorian what he believed to be the biggest gift in the book: Immortality.

Through his chosen father figure, and best friend, Lord Henry Wotton: Dorian learned to live under Wotton's philosophy of life, that he did not practice himself. Being able to live without consequences due to the portrait, Dorian lived life as if it were “a flame, that must be lived to its height before it burns out”. While deemed charming, and gorgeous, Dorian was considered heartless by many when he was young. Which was in fact truth. He would, if necessary, stoop to the level of killing his best friend in return for keeping his secret safe.

Which brings us to here and now. Let our story begin. Who has the missing portrait of Dorian Gray, and why did they steal it?

[DORIAN GRAY]

NOT FORGIVE US OF OUR SINS...

but smite us for our iniquities.

[atrb=style,border-top: 8px solid #333333; border-bottom: 8px solid #333333; border-left: 3px solid #1f1f1f; border-right: 3px solid #1f1f1f;][bg=0f0f0f][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,420,true][atrb=width,20%][atrb=vAlign,top]     Staring at the empty hole above his fireplace was far from settling. If there was one word that could have described him, it would be: Horrified. He had gone through several cigarettes from Cairo all ready, an acquired taste in which he had been introduced to in his youth by Henry Wotton. Vision obstructed by a thick smoke spiraling from his last cigarette, Dorian decided to take a walk to a local tobacco company and pick up some more. The beauty of living in New York was nothing ever seemed to close, the city never slept, which was for once rather fortunate for Mr. Gray, or unfortunate depending upon ones perspective. Straightening his tie, Dorian reached for his overcoat, smoke still flowing from his mouth. Crossing the large living space, he came to a halt before his side table and poured himself a strong glass of gin. Perpetually shaken, after drinking the remains of his personal selection, Dorian grabbed his cane and headed for the door. He flew down the stairs, a man on a mission, and repeatedly pressed the button to the elevator going down. Impatiently he waited, his time was ticking away, and even in a matter of seconds time stood still. Gray felt as if he had aged a century by the time he realized there was a group of girls also waiting for the ride down. One of them even had the nerve to wink. Unmoved, Dorian watched the numbers above the elevator as they ticked up floor by floor stopping at 13. Taking the last drag from his cigarette, he put it out on the trash can before flicking it to its doom. “Did you hear?” Said one of the girls. Dorian looked up, in need of a distraction. “Hear what?” Said the other. “I think they're shooting another Harry Potter movie or something here. They had one of those animated pictures, it looked horrifying. I can't wait to see it on the screen.” Dorian held his breath and looked at the girls standing beside the elevator. So this thief hadn't even bothered to use stealth, how very sure of himself. “Oh yeah, I saw one like it! I thought it was a new TV!” ”The better to see Daniel Radcliffe on!” The first one swooned. ”Oh please, Johnny Depp is a thousand times better!” Quirking a brow, his eyes met the first girls briefly, before refocusing his attention on the stalled elevator on floor 14. ”I think this one will do just fine.” Said the first girl walking a circle around Dorian. “For what?” Inquired Gray, his eyes weighing her interest. “I couldn't help but overhear that they were shooting a Harry Potter movie here?” He started out loud. “Any clue which way that portrait went? I'd love to have a look for myself. Big fan.” He lied. ”Oh they took it downstairs... like an hour ago!” DING! Finally! “Well, this one's me.” He said stepping onto his ticket out of another uncomfortable situation. Much to his relief the girls didn't follow him. Absentmindedly, Dorian reached into his pocket to claim another cigarette before realizing he was still out. Cursing to himself internally the girl stated something that startled him. ” They say it was custom made by a Mr. Gray. Sounds like another big name to me. There are so many here in New York!” The second girl exclaimed. Quickly jamming his hand between the almost shut doors of the elevator, tripping it to open again, Dorian asked “They?” The girls giggled and left with their friend who had gotten off on the last elevator waving at him giddily. The ride down to the first floor took longer than he had time to be comfortable offering. With his life at stake, it was clear someone knew the value of his portrait, and that someone had taken it into their possession. Keys around his neck Dorian swung the glass door of the building open furiously, toppling over a bystander, catching them by the arm. Goddamn you, New York City. The land of the sleepless. “Are you okay? My apologies.”

words:: HERE ♠ tagged:: HERE ♠ notes :: HERE

template by synchronicity

[ELEEN CREST]

Hetio grumbled under her breath, she had seemed to be claiming the body more and more. Eleen was just in one of those periods of her life where she liked to Hide and honestly Hetio did not have a problem with that. She could not complain that she got the body more often now then her counter part. She walked down the streets one hand in her pocket, it was chilly enough for Hetio tonight to put on a not to heavy jacket. which ended up being a faded out of style jean jacket, under that she put on a burgundy tank top that said in black letters at her breast " Bite me" which she had always found that Mankind term amusing, one of the very few things she found to be so in humanity. she wore black tight jeans and rain boots holding an Umbrella with her other free hand to protect her head from the rain. Much like a cat she absolutely hated the rain! she could not even forgive god for letting it rain like it did around her (not that she liked god anyways).

Even though it rained she was hoping to find a bar or club to escape to. Somewhere there would be alcohol waiting to meet her lips and slide down her throat. Oh! that sounded fabulous, she just needed to relax. She had taken all the waitress shifts at work for Eleen and if she had to serve another male one more time she would punch him in the face! when did it become OK to smack the waitress's arse? She did not work at Hooters, she worked at a Swedish restaurant! She hated Humans for a reason and that was most definitely a good reason to hate Male's, almost all of them.

She had let her head wander as she was hit by a glass door almost sent tumbling down. WHAT THE HELL!? what was with young men running into her or having her face almost meet the ground just to grab her arm in time, she supposed she would be grateful for not meeting pavement. Her red eyes met with the dark haired Male whom had caught her from falling. "Could be better" she responded softly almost under her breath now standing up straight, she had gotten more wet when she had dropped her umbrella and now looked miserable brushing her now wet bangs from her pale face. she picked up her umbrella, "Now My face is wet...' she said trying to dry it off with her Jean jacket sleeve which had also gotten wet. Why was it these kind of things never happened to Eleen? it was either a fight or a subtle event with her. No one had ever accidentally knocked her down that she knew of. "pardon me..." she finally said to Dorian forcing herself to be polite "for not watching where.... I was going".

[CARL GREENE]

"So, could you describe the creature again?"

God. Only a few weeks into his new job and he was already being given the terrible, terrible assignments. Those brought to the Bureau by delusional hippies and drug-addled tramps with nothing else to do. Right now he was looking into reports of savage creatures dwelling in New York's sewers. Said reports all came from the same source: a bunch of homeless people. He had interrogated every single one of them, and every time their accounts differed. Sometimes it was mole people armed with ray guns, sometimes it was the Rat Queen, and sometimes it was nothing at all.

Of course, Callaxiam was being quite vocal about it.

They're all lying, Carl. I can see it, and you can see it too. Just give up and go home already.

Be quiet. I'm trying to work here.

Work? Ah, come on. Your so-called 'work' is just asking about mole people that don't exist. Give up, and let's go get some pizza.

"No, not pizza again", muttered Carl, unable to contain himself. A passer by looked at him strangely. Bang, another man who thought Carl was crazy. The tramp didn't seem to notice as he started to describe the "monster" again.

"-Well, it was big n' scaly, like a lizard man. And it had a ray gun and a mask on."

"-Aha. And it took your dog?"

"-Yes, it took my dog."

"-Just a few minutes ago you said you never had a dog", said Carl with a tired sigh. The tramp looked confused and embarrassed, and Carl decided to call it a day.

Let's go hit up Domino's!

NO.

As Carl walked away from the tramp, something caught Callaxiam's attention.

Oh, just look at that adorable creature over there, said the demon in a tone Carl knew all too well. Callaxiam had seen a pretty woman. Carl looked up, and was not surprised to see a pretty blonde woman talking to someone. Apparently, the woman in question had been knocked over by the man as he left the building behind them. Despite the apparent normality of the situation, Carl noticed something out of place.

That man's not a normal man. And the woman's not normal either. Odd couple., said Callaxiam in conspirational tones.

"Indeed", said Carl, keeping his eyes on the strangers. He quickly headed over to a newspaper, bought a copy of the New York Times and idly pretended to read it as he kept watching the strange man.

"I can't believe I'm spying on these people", he muttered. Callaxiam laughed sardonically.

Ah, don't worry. I'm just curious.

"Didn't curiosity kill the cat?", said Carl.

You got me there...

[SNOW MOLDOVAN]

The darkened alley chilled Snow to the bone as he sped away from the hotel in which Hetio had just departed. The half elf had been tricked into drinking spirits for the first time by the human girl, staggering over himself he turned the corner, relieved to some extent, to see her get knocked backwards by a glass door. Running, he grabbed her shoulder “I *huff* told you *huff* that was a bad *huff* idea!” He exclaimed, readjusting his outfit sheepishly, tucking his shirt back in. Alcohol was not on his agenda and he had thought it was cider. Glaring at the girl he was still intrigued by the amritas strange toll it had taken upon his body.

Vision clouded from its poison, he stared dreamily at two Hetio's, his gaze matching that of a giddy schoolboy. Blushing in embarrassment, Snow stuttered. How would he ever explain this to the prince? “O-Oh, uh... A-are you h-her boyfriend?” He stuttered, his glazed over blue eyes studying the handsome man holding Hetio's arm. “I-I'm S-Snow.” He stuttered a bit nervous, the man was quite attractive, something he never noticed in a man prior to now. Perhaps it was the effect of the drug.

Timidly, he took the empty place next to Hetio, flinching at any sudden movements. He had been frightened of being slapped, among other unpleasant things after the nights events. “You...” He whined. “You tried to ditch me. Why did you do that for? I've never been to New York, it's nothing like the market!” He exclaimed, words slurred, obviously drunk. His hands expressed both his drunkenness, and his over abundance in emotions. “What was that we drank?” He asked. Nearly forgetting the company of the devilishly handsome man in their midst, his eyes glossed over another man in the background reading a newspaper. “What's that?” He asked pointing at the paper the man had just purchased.

Confused by everything around him, being the first time he had drank anything human, let alone alcoholic, he turned his attention to Dorian. “Y-You're really not her boyfriend are you?” He asked sadly, knowing he could not compete with someone as handsome as he was. “I really like her. Oh I know!” He pulled off his pocket watch, his violin dangling at his side. “I'll trade you this for your girlfriend.” He offered, laying his other hand on Dorian's chest. A moment passed in silence and forgetting why he had touched Dorian in the first place he patted his chest confused and put his watch back on. “Do I know you?” He inquired, confused.

Regaining his bearings, Snow's glossed intoxicated eyes took in the city at night for the first time. Panicked, he grabbed Hetio's hand, and pointed at the giant towering structures lit up in the distance. “What are those?!” He demanded, fear stricken. The towers seemed to be getting bigger as the city spun around him. “We have to run, they're going to eat us!” He declared, right before he doubled over to puke on Dorian's shoes. “Sorry,” he slurred out. “That was probably the pizza.”

[LUCY BISHOP]

Cities were not generally her cup of tea, and she never stayed for very long in any one, but New York City had warmed her heart. She loved the constant hustle and bustle, the New York attitude, and the food. Oh! The food!!Lucy could find any type of food she wanted here, and so easily! From four star restaurants to pizza by the slice, her bottomless stomach was always satisfied.

Unfortunately, food was not why she was currently in the big apple. As usual, Lucy had a job. This one was fairly easy, and she’d accomplished it without even breaking a sweat. A bank job, go in under the guise of opening a safety deposit box and then casually take some objects from the others. Of course she needed to play the part of some wealthy socialite that was a client of the bank in order to get in. That was why she was currently dressed like she was- patent leather pumps, high-waisted knee-length skirt and a patterned silk blouse, all under a Burberry trench with her makeup smokey and her hair pin-straight. Granted, she could have done all of this as a glamour, but she certainly didn’t mind actually dressing up every now and again. Every piece of clothing was high-end, with labels that ranged from Gucci to Prada. Definitely not her normal wear....in fact it was quite impractical, she would definitely not be able to do any high kicks in this skirt. What a shame...she had an excellent roundhouse kick. Here's hoping she didn't get into any street fights.

She was casually click-clacking down the sidewalk, moving through crowds and people with practiced ease, and was just about to pass a small group of people (who all sent off her witch sense...how odd?) when one decided he’d vomit, quite suddenly and forcefully all over the shoes of the well-dressed man in front of him. Sadly she was not quite out of the splash radius and had to jump, as well as she could manage in three inch platform pumps and a tight skirt to avoid getting anything on her.

“What the hell? Can't you damn tourists hold your alcohol?!” She narrowed her eyes at the drunken ‘man’...he ‘felt’ suspiciously like elf. Technically she was a 'tourist' herself....but she was a tourist just about everywhere.
“And there’s a perfectly good alley over there for you to puke your brains out into!”

So much for dressing classy, in NY it didn’t matter, because there were still a bunch of nutjobs drinking themselves sick at all hours of the day to vomit all over your brand new Louboutins.
Really, really cute Louboutins.

[DORIAN GRAY]

Dorian shot another apologetic glance at the unfortunate dame, reaching into his inner coat pocket and producing an old Victorian style handkerchief. “I beg your pardon, Miss...?” He retracted, carefully dabbing her face dry as a gentlemen. Even though such actions were considered outdated, it had become an acquired behavior of his over the years. Reality not escaping his mind, Dorian was still frantic, despite his calm demeanor.

While the girl was apologizing, Dorian's trained eyes spotted someone in the distance . Someone who seemed slightly too observant to be disregarded. A man, appearing to buy a newspaper, before the days newspaper was delivered. How... peculiar. Arching a brow in the mans direction, Dorian stared at where the mans eyes should be for a moment, curious of the mans intentions. Having lived for so many years, such strange behavior did not go unnoticed by Mr. Gray.

“You have committed no sin worth needing forgiveness for.” Dorian reassured her, pocketing his handkerchief subconsciously. “The blame is on me.” Bringing her hand to his lips slowly, his eyes dared not look away. Again, though the motion was outdated, it had been part of his unchanging personality since the 1800s.

Unchanging however, was to Dorian's incredible misfortune, not in the definition of New York City. Through the darkened alley came yet another being, a woman as exquisite as she would not be traveling alone. He bowed his head habitually, hinting at his era, though in vain. The man paid him no heed, as he was not in his right mind to do so. Observing the interaction, he forcefully kept his patience.

Reaching into his coat again he frantically pulled out his empty silver cigarette case. He only had a taste for cigarettes from Cairo, Egypt. The same brand he'd been smoking since his youth. Fortunately the tobacco store he desired to reach had them in stock, for a price. Being wealthy, it was a price he could afford.

The youthful man, full of energy was chilled to the bone and out of breath. Dorian had suspicion about the events the two must have gone through, but paid the drunken man no heed. An eye for an eye, was the old saying.

”Is she your girlfriend?”

Dorian almost laughed. If the boy had known just how old and cynical the years had made him, perhaps then the question would hold a different meaning. The man had clearly forgotten his name as no one in their rightful mind from any day in age would go by 'Snow,' save for maybe a groupie of Vanilla Ice.

The drunken man in question, was calling too much attention to them, as he declared insanely that the buildings were going to devour them. What kind of lunatics had crossed his path this time? Before he could inquire further, the man offered his dinner without awaiting a response. Not moving fast enough, the boys 'pizza remains' had scoffed his shoes. If looks could kill the boy would not be standing there. Dorian kept his cool, however the handkerchief would not absolve this conflict. “That is quite all right...” Dorian stated flatly, hiding any of his disgust or emotion.

He tipped his hat to the other passerby who had been splashed, as his proper background had taught him to do. Even after a hundred years, some personalities were left unchanged, though change was not really something Mr. Gray was capable of.

”What the hell? Can't you damn tourists hold your alcohol?!”
Dorian smirked, so the woman wasn't exactly ladylike. Though fiery tempers were expected.
There's a perfectly good alley over there for you to puke your brains out into!”

Dorian chuckled, not exactly amused, but rather in bewildered response. “I'm afraid before I pursue my goals for the evening I must retire to my room and get a change of clothes. You are all welcome to come inside and get cleaned up if you desire, but please do make haste. For some this is a matter of life and death.” He offered. Exceedingly annoyed, he shoved the door open and pressed the up button angrilly at the elevator. And so, back at square one. Goddamn you city of demons.

Pulling the key off from around his neck Dorian shoved open his door and entered his living room. Hoping no one took notice of the missing portrait. Stepping into his bedchamber he kicked off his shoes and changed his slacks before entering the living quarters. “We will leave if you are all ready.” He stated. “I am in desperate need of a cigarette, and have an agenda to meet.” His tone was flat, but still polite, and he desperately hoped that strange man outdoors had gone. Who bought a newspaper so late at night? He was watching them. Dorian was sure.

[ELEEN CREST]

Hetio stared at the man, slightly shocked by his gentlemen gestures to her, She was not used to this so there for she was unsure how to react. Not even in the war had a man treated her in such a way so she could only stare at him blankely. If one Knew Hetio at all it was known that she would rarely draw a blank. She opened her mouth finally to speak when suddenly a hand was on her shoulder and that ONE voice she had been trying to avoid she closed her eyes and let out a sigh of dissatisfaction, well there went her dream moment.

Her eyes grew almost as big as dinner plates as he mentioned a boyfriend, what was Snow Doing!? Her face flushed from red now to just pale. She gritted her teeth and her eyes Narrowed on him. Of course she tried to ditch him! This man was like a four year old Child in this place and honestly it was her best intention to leave him there when she went clubbing, she doubted it would end well if he tagged along Why did he not stay where she put him? Then another few words came from his lips trade you this for your girlfriend well first off, why did he like her? She was being nothing but cruel to him, secondly he thought he could trade her for a watch!?

“Snow what is Your D-“ she stopped as he drunkenly took his watch and put it back on, then stared in shocking surprise as he burst out in a frenzy grabbing her hand. She grumbled “No snow, the buildings won’t eat us! God Damnit! Stop touching me!” she said trying to pull her hand away from his grip she had let her umbrella fall now, Snow right now was worse then Rain. Then All of a suddenly he bends over and does one of the most horrifying things he could… he let go of his dinner all over Dorian’s nice shoes and some of it towards a bystander. Thank god for snow Hetio was at the right angle to be out of the way.

Though Hetio did do something surprising, when the Bystander began to yell at him for being a tourist she glared at her, “It’s the first time the Man has had Alcohol, Give my Tourist a damn break” she groan taking the collar of his shirt making him stand up “You are in SO much trouble” she snapped at him “And don’t get a big head because I just took up for you , but this means you do what I say GOT it?” she told him her red eyes glaring into his. “The Fact that this man just told you it was ok to throw up on his shoes is BEYOND me, Its NOT ok got it?” she warned him, he smelled bad right now otherwise his face would be forcefully leveled with hers.

Feeling now That snow was her responsibility she had to get him cleaned up, otherwise she would not Have followed Mr. Dorian gray. So she firmly grasped Snow’s wrist, soaking wet herself and followed the gentlemen to his living area, she had not said a word to the journey to his dwellings then shoved snow into the room “Find the bathroom and try to sober yourself up…” she sighed not wanting to step into Dorian’s home with how wet she was. Not to mention she rather be shot right now then endure any more of the embarrassment.

[CARL GREENE]

Carl kept on observing the strange man and woman. To his surprise, the man and his female companion were soon joined by two other strange individuals, both of which stood out from the crowd like flames in the darkness.

“They’re not normal humans. None of them are normal”, said Carl from behind his newspaper.

Yes. The other man isn’t even truly human. He’s a half-elf, said Callaxiam. Such a gathering almost seems too fortuitous. Too many coincidences. Something’s happening.

Carl had to agree with Callaxiam there. It was just too much. As he watched the odd group, he quickly noted that the half-elf was inebriated, and pretty badly. His attitude towards the others was one of confusion. Anger maybe? No, just confusion, and some drunken fear. One of the women shouted at the drunkard. A heated exchange. Soon after the shouting, the strange man who had caught Carl’s attention spoke urgently to the others before taking them into the fancy-looking building he had exited so hurriedly only a few minutes ago. As the group vanished into the building’s entrance hall, Carl lowered his newspaper.

“Well they’re a very odd bunch”, he said. “Any idea as to what they’re up to, Call?”

I’m afraid not. And please don’t call me Call.

“I’ll call you whatever I want”, said Carl. “I think we’d better call for back-up and keep an eye on these people.”

Good idea.

Now who could he call? Were there any Bureau agents in New York? He was pretty sure someone else had gone to New York. Someone who had insisted driving there by motorbike. A woman…Ludmila Ilyukhin. Carl fished his mobile out of his coat pocket and quickly dialled her number. The phone rang for a few minutes before being answered.

“-Hello?”, said a cold and crystalline female voice.

“-Ludmila? It’s Carl. Carl Greene.”

[LUDMILA ILYUKHIN]

Ludmila couldn't believe she'd been sent all the way to New York to look into a supposedly haunted church, which in actual fact turned out to be as haunted as a plastic fork. The church was a miserable little shit hole with pews splattered by pigeon shit and kept by a priest so senile he'd been completely unable to describe what the supposed haunting was like. Annoyed, tired and hungry, Ludmila had quickly checked the church for any spectral activity. Predictably, she had found none whatsoever.

When her phone rang, she was pleased by the distraction it offered. She was somewhat surprised to find out that her caller was Carl Greene, another new agent in the B.P.R.D. who shared his body with a demon. He too had been sent to New York to investigate claims of sewer monsters.

"Ah, Carl. I'm surprised you even remembered my number", she said coolly. "How about those sewer monsters?"

"-Absolute bollocks", said Carl. "But I've got something more interesting...we've got four abhumans and a non-human, all gathered together. Call and I think they're up to something."

"-Oh, that sounds interesting", said Ludmila, heading down the church's steps straight towards her Harley. "Where are you? I'm coming over."

Carl gave her his location, and she started her bike up. She drove through the streets of New York, her Harley's motor rumbling away happily till she reached the place Carl was at. She immediately noticed the posh-looking buildings, and she quickly spotted Carl waiting on the side-walk and apparently deeply ensconced in a newspaper. She pulled up in front of him and stopped the motor. She then removed her helmet and looked up at her colleague.

"-You could have come more quietly and discreetly", said Carl. "That motorcycle of yours made enough racket to rouse the dead."

"-So Carl, where did the abhumans go?", she asked, getting off her bike and looking around her. She was wearing her black trench-coat and leather trousers.

"-They went into that building", said her British colleague, furtively indicating the entrance of said building.

"-Good. Let me handle this", said Ludmila before crossing the street and approaching the building's doorman, a young and bored-looking man. As Ludmila reached him, she smiled and spoke to him in a tone so charming even a stone would have listened in thrall.

"Excuse me sir", said Ludmila, "but I saw a strange-looking man enter this building with a few other people..."

Under normal circumstances, the doorman would probably have sent Ludmila packing. However, those were not normal circumstances. From the moment Ludmila had got the doorman's attention, he was at her mercy, held in thrall by her her unnatural charm.

"-Oh, yes. That was mister Gray", he said, smiling sheepishly. "Don't know who the others were, though. Possibly friends of his. He's a strange man, mister Gray."

"-I see...thank you for the information, you were a darling", said Ludmila. The doorman smiled in beatitude at Ludmila's little compliment, and the Rusalka quickly returned to Carl's side.

"Done. The man's a certain mister Gray...oh, you can lower your newspaper. Nobody reads the paper at this time of day."

"-So now we wait", said Carl, looking up at the door. "Do you think they'll show up again?"

"-Oh yes", said Ludmila, her tone so confident and chilling that Carl almost shivered. "Definitely."

[LUCY BISHOP]

Lucy nodded her head in thanks to the well-dressed and courteous, though currently still anonymous young man as he invited them upstairs to his apartment. She actually could have lived without cleaning her shoes right that second, but the man, woman, and watch-obsessed drunkard all tingled of something decidedly not human, and Lucy was quite interested to know more about all three of them. Before she entered the building she turned to take note of the man across the street, seemingly reading a newspaper after dark. The man was either a nut, though he seemed too well-dressed to be one, or an agent. Only a government man would think he was being conspicuous by reading a newspaper at midnight. Gods, she hoped the BPRD weren’t in the area, she really didn’t want to deal with a couple of fumbling suits right now. Please be some well-dressed New York hobo with an inclination for the Times.

“It’s the first time the Man has had Alcohol, Give my Tourist a damn break”

“If you knew it was his first time, why did you let him have so much to drink?” Lucy breathed through her teeth, eyes hooded. She wasn't furious, but no one liked to be thrown up on so she was not currently in the best of moods. First time drinkers were worse than tourists. Ugh, one of the downsides to New York. Plus, she was now fairly positive the drunken man was part elf...she didn’t think they drank. Apparently this one took exception to heathen human spirits.
This whole situation was very odd.

She rarely just ran into other beings of the mythical realm or those who were touched by magic especially on human streets, and now every single one of the people who stood in the room of this well-off young man who spoke as if he were from another era were all of the world of the mythical....at least in some form or another.
Lucy briefly took to one of small bathrooms of the apartment, slipping off her heels to rinse them of the vomit that was currently splattered across the toes. Gross. She could deal with gutting a harpy or stabbing a chimera, but vomit, from any creature, was disgusting.

Slipping her heel back onto her stockinged foot, Lucy made her way back into main living quarters of the residence. This apartment was quite nice, which meant that its tenant was wealthy. Perhaps a potential client? Or maybe a victim? With her hands tucked into the pockets of her now open trench, she called the key she had seen the man pull from around his neck to her Keyring. Definitely could prove to be useful.

“We will leave if you are all ready.” He stated. “I am in desperate need of a cigarette, and have an agenda to meet.”

“I’m ready. Thank you for providing us the use of your apartment to freshen up, Mr...?”
It could definitely be beneficial to know who exactly this man was. She accompanied her request with a charming and grateful smile.

[SNOW MOLDOVAN]

Gasping for air, while clutching his chest through his shirt, the half elf was anything except content. With hesitant eyes following up the mans leg, Snow had a sudden realization of something most might have overlooked. This man was wearing clothes like that of a history book he had studied. This man was dressed to belong to the late 18th century, early 19th century era. With his headache not throbbing as terribly now, due to relieving the pressure by less than pleasant means, Snow realized the man wasn't wearing a jacket, though he was using a cane. “Who are you?” He asked again, he wasn't sure they had received an answer. He had heard the upset womans voice, but this man had stolen the spotlight from her. People didn't dress like this anymore.

Hetio: It’s the first time the Man has had Alcohol, Give my Tourist a damn break”
Lucy: “If you knew it was his first time, why did you let him have so much to drink?”
Normally Hetio's behavior would have been an encouragement to Snow, but she was the blame for the alcohol. He had known not to drink it, but of course the human was sly and clever. He fell right into her trap. Feeling an absence of satisfaction, he had noticed too much. While Snow was not quite sober, there were things about this man that disturbed him. Things he wanted to get to the bottom of. Things that could not be explained. He dressed and acted as if he had been from another time. Snow would place him around the early 19th century, and he looked to be around twenty. Something wasn't adding up here. Much to Snow's dissatisfaction, going up the elevator had not cured Hetio's temper.

“You are in SO much trouble”

Concerned about the strange man, Snow did not argue, he was not phased. He could be leading them to their doom. Something was off about him. “Hetio...” Snow mused quietly. “Hetio, he's older than he looks. He's... There's something wrong.” He assured her, unable to pull his eyes away from the mysterious man who had smacked his companion with a door.

“And don’t get a big head because I just took up for you , but this means you do what I say GOT it? The Fact that this man just told you it was okay to throw up on his shoes is BEYOND me, Its NOT okay got it?”

Snow looked at her apologetically through his large pale blue eyes, as she had forcibly taken a hold of his collar. “It was a mistake, I... Yes... As you wish, Hetio.” He murmured fighting the urge to throw up again. “I am so sorry.” He said to the man again, not completely settled. Before he knew it, he was shoved into the rather exquisite apartment belonging to the man with no name.

“Find the bathroom and try to sober yourself up…”

Annoyed with his current situation, Snow could not remember the mans name. Had the man dropped it he was too drunk to recall. Would he remember his own reflection? Snow was not familiar with the art of drinking, an now he knew he would never do it again. Taking one of the smaller bathrooms, Snow again realized too much out of place. The decorations were far from modern, and he recalled a book he had once read. One about a cursed man. He shook his head and splashed his face with cold water, there was no way such stories existed. Washing his mouth out with tap water, the half elf tried desperately to sober up. What was that mans name?

Gray: “We will leave if you are all ready... I am in desperate need of a cigarette, and have an agenda to meet.”

Lucy: “I’m ready. Thank you for providing us the use of your apartment to freshen up, Mr...?”

Snow composing himself exited the bathroom and joined the others in the living area. Why did everything look so old? “My apologies, sir. I did not intend to be such a menace.” He stated running his finger over a vase curiously, his eyes noticing only one bottle of gin on the table near the door. “I am ready when you are. I truly am sorry.” He said ashamed. He suspected that it was his elf blood that had helped him recover from the head-spinning feeling he had moments ago, though perhaps it was vomiting that alleviated the sensation.

[DORIAN GRAY]

Fidgeting with his key, he had tucked it under his shirt while riding up the elevator, whilst the questionable couple bickered. His mind not leaving his portrait, he felt the cold steel of his key against his chest. The cold steel belonging to his old home in London, to where the portrait was originally kept safe. Biting his lower lip he had repeatedly pressed the up button, immediately stepping out of the elevator once they arrived on his floor. Dorian pretended not to hear the drunken claims from the blond man in the elevator. Not aware of the world of magic, Dorian simply assumed they would deem him drunk. Which this 'Snow' obviously would have trouble discrediting.

Straightening his tie in his bed chamber, he could hear the sounds of the water running in two of his bathrooms simultaneously. Leave it to New York to bring in the clowns, he thought to himself as he slid his feet into a second pair of shoes. Deciding that it was time to play it safe. The man outside still rubbing him the wrong way, Dorian opened the top door to his bed side table, and pulled a white cover off of his pistol. Tucking the pistol into the front of his pants, Dorian covered it up with his usual overcoat, and grabbed his cane. Though modern in appearance, the cane actually hid a long blade, a blade he had been very familiar with.

Once armed and presentable, Dorian Gray had reclined in his chair and awaited the others to clean themselves off. The all ready foreboding night had dawned upon him, and he knew that the portrait was in the wrong hands. Of course it was! The only hands the portrait belonged in were his own, and he would kill to protect something so valuable. His life. Very aware of his possessions, it did not take a snap of the finger to notice the most valued item he owned had gone missing.

“I’m ready. Thank you for providing us the use of your apartment to freshen up, Mr...?”

Knowing this information, Dorian rose from his recliner and casually moved to the doorway. Grabbing the girl in the doorway he forced her inside, shutting the door behind her and locking it. While staring daggers, Dorian allowed an introduction. Should they be avid readers they'd be familiar with his story, though he did not intend on releasing the information in his rush had they not.

“Gray. Dorian Gray. And no one is leaving.” He said coldly, “Until you return my key.” His eyes fell on Lucy, who had bee present at the time the key had vanished, and extended his hand, palm-side up. Confident in his accusation, Dorian knew he never misplaced an item, particularly one as treasured as this. It always hung around his neck, and he was not easily deceived. Many times in the past had someone tried robbing him. Being wealthy was not all it was cut out to be.

The boy joined them, what an inopportune moment. Dorian did not let his hand fall, he knew she had it. “What are you?” He asked both of his guests. “No one has been able to claim the item that I now sense in your possession. I will ask you once nicely. Please return it.” Though his words were kind, his eyes were cruel, backed with the deepest of his fears. “I have all ready been robbed once tonight. I will not have my kindness go to waste.” His other hand resting on his cane, he was prepared to fight for it if needed. He had fought since the 1800s to protect his life in such scenarios, killing one more would make only a small indentation to the blackness of his soul.

[ELEEN CREST]

Hetio was not much paying attention now, her mind had wandered off now thinking of Snows own worries. She leaned against the door frame her arms crossed showing her deep concentration in thought. She was unsure if she should take him seriously or if he was just to drunk. He did scream about building eating him earlier, but she had realized she did not ask for the gentlemens name, and to think about it now there was something odd about him. She finally came back to earth letting her arms fall to her side and now got up from the door frame to stand directly in the middle of the door. She opened her mouth to speak to snow, now she just wanted to get out of here. Though she closed it as the other female spoke. She rose a brow looking for snow so they can thank the gentlemen and leave.


However it was not to be so, Mr. Gray pulled her inside the room while introducing Himself. It gave her little time to react as she stumbled into the nice Living quarters and glanced around to collect her thoughts. Had He just GRABBED her? Her eyes shifted to the man as he spoke of thievery ready to snap at him for forcing her inside, then her brain seemed to slow down time. “Dorian… Gray…” her lips let those words escape, she was not an Avid reader herself… oh no she hated those books that Eleen always read. However she remembered flipping through the story of a man and a portrait one of the days she was stuck at home. She breathed out, these thoughts only took a moment as she stared at Snow. She instinctively stood at his side, her comfort level was now downhill only hoping the similarity was a coincidence or a bad memory on her part.

“Whom ever has stolen whatever, even by mistake, return it I have things to do tonight and I need to change…” she groaned, really her senses were on Alarm even if Mr. Gray was not a threat to her she rather not take the chance. She could not move correctly move in defense in case (if at all) things got a little to high energy for her. She looked up at snow a moment to see if she recognized any drunkenness still in his features. Maybe she was over reacting… well better safe than sorry.

[LUDMILA ILYUKHIN]

While Gray and his impromptu helpers were getting ready in his abode, Ludmila and Carl were both waiting outside on the side-walk opposite the building. Carl had followed Ludmila's advice and had thrown his newspaper away and was now leaning his back against the wall behind him. Ludmila, on the other hand, was standing a couple of metres away and looking up at the building. After a long, long silence, Ludmila turned around and approached Carl.

"Do you have a weapon?", she asked.

"-Well, yes", said Carl, pulling his coat back to show his pistol, a Walther P99. Ludmila looked at it and nodded before showing Carl her own pistol. A much more impressive model, an APS Stechkin machine-pistol.

"-Just in case our little friends turn hostile on us."

"-Isn't that a bit extreme though?", said Carl uncertainly. Ludmila shook her head.

"-When someone pulls a weapon on you, you're entitled to strike back", said Ludmila, her tone militaristic as the sound of jackboots on paving stones. "Ever used a gun?"

"-Well the Bureau taught me how to shoot when they recruited me."

"-Hmm", said Ludmila thoughtfully. She'd participated, directly and indirectly, in three wars. She'd also been trained by the Spetsnaz and the Soviet Union's airborne troops. She knew guns and fighting like the back of her hand, so she wasn't worried about a confrontation.