[Rhythm of the Night] Give Me Love

One of the most beneficial aspects of his iced over form is that he is able to critically analyze both himself and anyone he is interacting with without an emotional bias playing a role. The more he listened to the others, the more confident he was that it was in his best interest to stay in his form. If he ended the contract, he would no doubt want to lash out at Gavin now that he had learned that Yasmin had been forced into human trafficking. He knew himself well and the kind of situations that set off his emotions.

Later on there would be plenty of time to challenge the Fall Courtier over his ethics or go lament  to someone like Kai about how awful it must have been for Yasmin when the ritual suddenly went awry. In the meantime, he needed to work with Gavin and keep a clear mind. The Winter Fairest could take consolation in knowing he had saved Yasmin from being shoved into a petri dish for the Fall courtier to poke and prod at until they had satisfied their curiosity.

"I disagree." Lucas replied to Gavin while studying the hotel wreckage.

"Each ephemeral essence operates on it's own frequency. It is not visible and it cannot be impacted by the material world unless it manifests. If any of the plant essence did not manifest to try and feed off of Yasmin, I'll be able to spot it and study it. It is...strange that plant matter manifested in this way. Ghosts are typically shards of emotions left by the living when they die because of the strong emotional impression they create when they die. Yasmin may even have a ghost because of the trauma she endured before dying."

Lucas folded his arms across his chest, the mist from his mantle growing more intense as his thoughts deepen.

"There are other ephemeral beings in Twilight...we maybe dealing with a spirit. It is not an area of expertise for me, but if there is any matter left, we could further research it and see what we uncover. Whatever essence is in Twilight will not be attached to Yasmin the same way it was when she was alive. If they are, then that means they are both on the same ephemeral frequency and this problem is bigger than what we first imagined."

While everyone else dispersed, Lucas found a dark spot in a nearby alley to step in. When he was satisfied he found a spot dark enough to cause any possible cameras to not be able to accurately film him, he called upon the magic within him to cause himself to switch into a new frequency all together. It was only a matter of time before a crowd appeared and he didn't want to deal with them during his investigations. The benefit of being in a different frequency outside of the physical realm is he could move more easily through the hotel wreckage.

A cheshire smile and a quick step. Oren leapt for the costume closet, throwing away the gauche and overstated in favor of something that really clung to him. And as he beheld himself in a mirror, he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt whose face (and whose legs) would be walking out of this theater. 

"I know just the woman."

He ran busy fingers through tousled hair. Touched up his face. Just a little. He wanted to get himself comfortable before getting situated in a new skin. A new form. A new person.  But they're never new, are they? They've been...waiting. In storage. For the day they'd get wheeled around and given their bold new premiere. One could never say Oren didn't have a hat for every occasion. 

When Calianna looked at herself in the mirror for the first time, she truly loved what she saw. And the men...or the women...of the Vegas Night certainly would too.

She'd make sure of it. 

"I'll do the rounds. See what creeps up."

She'd give Kai a good once over, pause at the doorway and truly stop. Turn back. 

"There isn't anyone I'd rather wage war with. But take it from me."

Tender. She sounded tender. "Take a fucking Tylenol. If you keep tapping your temple like that, you'll bore a hole."

"You should be boring holes in other people. Treat yourself."

She'd leave with that said, and nothing more. She had a reservation to make. The credit card was something Penrose had invested in. Something she could hold delicately between her thumb and forefinger. Something to slide across a bar or dining table. Her father was into cars. Italian leather. She was Venice, bitch. And she walked like she had something to give. Spoke like she had something to want, but had no intention of speaking its name until someone was already telling it to her. 

She put her money where their mouth was.