Forums » General Roleplay » One Hell of an Evening

(Finally posted Sorry, I was busy today. And my keyboard's gone wacky, so I'm sorry if I didn't notice and correct any typos )

That afternoon was rainy, and cold, and rainy, with the sun hidden from view and the night looming on the horizon. Fat water drops fell onto the cat's head as he half walked, half sulked throughout the street, the weather as bad as his mood.

The cat was not lost, see. It was the street and the restaurant that were lost. The cat was merely inconvenienced by certain spacio-temporal attributes right then. And the rain, the rain was bad too.

It was not yet November, but the cold and the rain and the wind had already clutched the northern hemisphere in their frosty grasp. Not that the cat minded it much. The cat was a winter person, so to speak. Besides, he lived in London. You'd think he'd be used to the sodding weather by now.

Trying to keep himself under the warm safety of the shop's cover, and trying to duck and dodge the various human legs that came his way, the cat advanced through the streets, glancing upwards to see if he saw any chic five stars french restaurant that happened to be near by.

Typhe was curious, he had to give the restaurant that. It was not everyday that he got invited to an Asterix and Obélix fan gathering. Oh, wait, would it be Inspector Clouseau's?
As long as Typhe didn't see any men armed with rapiers and in blue capes, he'd be fine.

And, as the cat began to think that maybe he'd taken the wrong directions, there it was. Le Connossieur. The famous top notch restaurant that invited him and a bunch of other people to an exquisite dinner in the middle of New York. And apparently, he knew some of them.

The black cat quickly walked into the darkenss of an adjacent alley. It didn't come out. Instead, a thirteen year old human boy in a black jacket and with black hair came out, whistling absently as he walked towards the establishment and looking around to see if anyone had noticed anything weird. Nobody did, which didn't suprise him. Typhe was in New York, after all. Even if they saw him, well, they'd seen stranger thing.

A nervous waiter found himself face to face with a young boy with striking blue eyes* and a moody disposition.

"Bonjour! Mon nom est Nicolas Cain . Je suis un invité pour le dîner de ce soir." The boy said smugly, watching the man's** eyes dart at him in confusion. "It's french, mister." The boy pointed out to the possible american. "Like the restaur- oh, nevermind. I'm a guest...?"

To his credit, the man recovered quickly. "Oh. Yes. Right. Sorry. Uh, your parents...?"

"Are not coming, mister. I was invited for the rendezvous? The reunion. The dinner. The thing." The boy glanced inside, brushing off the man as he walked in. "So, the guests...?"

"Oh, there's only one yet. An old lady, actually.." The man said tentatively.

That was odd. There weren't many potentially supernatural old ladies he knew. Most entities like to keep themselves young and french- sorry, fresh.

"The table at the end. Table nine." The waiter informed Typhe, nervously adjusting his block of paper and remembering to write the name of the kid down. "It's Mrs-" But Typhe was already gone.

He saw table nine. And he saw the individual waiting there. A terrible being. A deadly, ruthless, destructive, terrible being. It knitted scarves.

The knitter of scarves waved cheerfully, unfortunately noticing the boy before he could get away. "Ha-llo! Nicolas! How very nice to see you again! Come, dearie, sit next to me." Said the smiling old lady. Typhe gave a halfhearted groan.

Oh, gods.

:::
*They really were striking. Typhe put a lot of work into that particular tone of blue, you know. Actually, they weren't even striking. They just seemed terribly cold, as if someone poured a stellar bucket of ice over the ocean and watched as the frost invaded the blue.

** Probably recently hired, obviously nervous about being equally quickly fired if he mucked up with the clients. Typhe took this as an invitation for gratuitious french.

Looking about seventy years old, with curled grey hair and twinkling green eyes, Hilda Polemos was the very face of elderly kindness. The old lady was sitting in the edge of table nine, wearing a large purple coat and a steadfast brown hat. To get into the spirit of things, Mrs. Polemos had also donned a necklace, and put some props in her hat.

She was very much of a traditionalist.

Polemos also liked to arrive early. She had, in fact, come at seven o'clock sharp, and had already enjoyed some interesting activities before dinner. Some time ago, there had been that lovely, lovely couple, sitting on table seven, staring at each other with flirtful stares and clasped hands.

A few minutes ago, a short time before Polemos arrived, the argument had started, that lovely, lovely couple yelling insults at each other as both stood up. Polemos had watched the woman give the man a ringing slap and rush for the exit, but not before the gentleman shouted bad, bad things as he followed her.
Hmm.

Well, Polemos had certainly found it dreadful. Dreadful! God's word, rising to anger like that...whatever could have happened with the couple?

Then the next guest had come in.

"Nick, it's been so long! Still eating badly, I see. Have you recieved a letter, too?"

"Please don't call me Nick, Hilda." The boy muttered, albeit in a rather low tone of voice as he sat in front of her. "I'm a shapeshifter, so please don't start. I got an email."

"Nicolas, then. It's a very nice restaurant, isn't it, dear? French. I do wonder who invited us all..."

"It wasn't you?"

The conversation was cut short by a new appearance.

The waiter was having a bad, bad day. First, he'd been accosted by a sweet-looking old lady, the first guest to whatever was happening in the restaurant.
Then, he'd been nearly thrown into the ground by a couple that seemed intent in shouting each other to oblivion.
Next, another guest had come forward, the kid who seemed smugly satisfied about the waiter's inability to speak french.

And then there was him.

The man had come forward from the rain, a black umbrella to match his expensive black suit. He was wearing white gloves and snakeskin shoes, but there was something decidedly unremarkeable about his face. Except the glasses. The glasses were red, the glasses were crimson, and the glasses made the waiter very unconfortable.

"My name is Alain Rosseau." The man said, with a thick french accent in his voice. "I am here for the dinner."

The waiter wrote the name down, peering at him afterwards. "There are already two people in table nine, actually, sir. A Mrs. Polemos.." Malvatre recognized the name lightly. Hmm. " ...and a boy named Nicolas Cain." Oh, but that one, however....

The man walked forward, ignoring the waiter.

The old woman and the young boy were staring at him. The boy was groaning, and the woman was smiling a little enigmatic smile that didn't bode well. "Lanthe. Or is it Lucas? I thought you were using that name now."

"Malvatre. What a suprise. " The blue eyed boy said, groaning even louder. "It figures you'd come. Reminds you of old Bastille days, right?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. Tell me, should I ask for a kids table?"

"Tell me, should I ask for an ambulance?" The shapeshifter shot back.

The man in the crimson spectacles finally gave a nod towards the old lady. "Have you also recieved a letter, madam?" His voice was smooth and elegant as his suit and shoes, as alluring as accentuated.

The old woman gave a chuckle. "Yes, actually. Mr. Rosseau, isn't it, dear? We've met before. In 1789. " She lowered her voice conspiratorially. Alain Rosseau could hear her perfectly well, but he didn't answer immediately. He finally recognized who exactly was sitting in front of him.

"I see. A bouquet, was it?"

"Of iris. Very nice ones, I might say."

The conversation was cut short as another guest was announced...

The plump little girl danced along the streets, skipping through puddles and miffed pedestrians. She held only a large, closed, indigo umbrella, which she twirled as if she were a majorette in a marching band. So focused she seemed to be on these small activities, and humming a little offkey tune besides, that the people around her assumed she was ignorant of their bother. However, when a dark cat flashed into view she squeal, "Kitty!" Immediately after, she scolded herself, "Rosemary, a woman your age really shouldn't get so excited about animals. What will people think?"

Little Rose took of after it, as fast as her stubby legs allowed, accompanied by the sighs of the grown-ups she bumped past. She almost caught up to it until she stumbled and fell, losing sight of the cat. Standing up, unconcerned that she was dripping with mud, she walked into the fancy restaurant she landed in front of. She barely had to glance at the sign, she knew it was the right place. If S.M. was in charge of this... Ugh.

She was barely tall enough to to see over the host's podium. "Um, hello, I'm here for the thing," she said sweetly. The host regarded her in shock, from her torn stockings to her filthy dress. He couldn't be expected to let this child in, least of all without a guardian, could he?

She wasn't paying attention, of course. She was eyeing the room. Each table had, well... There was a couple. There was a couple. There were three couples. There was a divorced couple with two sons on their late teens... Unless the were a couple, too. It seemed the only table here that didn't boast a rich couple was one that had a scary-looking man with red glasses, a kindly-looking old woman, and a boy who was clearly wear ridiculous blue colored contacts milling about it. She walked over to it, grinning. She didn't like the looks of any of these people, but took a seat next to the one who looked the oldest. "Hello, I'm Rose."

Oop: Sorry for the wait, was AFK most of the day

Jaqulynn drove down the road. Jake was next to her, glaring out the window. UNlike Jaqulynn, who was wearing a black dress, Jake was in his average long sleeved purple striped hoodie-shirt with white and green short sleeved shirt over it, blue jeans, and gir toboggan hat. Behidn him was his younger sister Jenny. Like Jake she was clearly un happy, but was wearing a black, green, and yellow dress, along with her usual striped yellow leggings. Her hair was braided as well. Jal the youngest of the children sat next to Jenny. Her hair was in its usual pigtails, and she wore a blue dress. Finally Jared sat between Jenny and Jal. He was more relaxed then all of hsi siblings, and was wearing a fancy dress shirt, slacks and his normal shoes. "Will you two lighten up? We're getting free food!"Jaqulynn said, glancing to her eldest son and eldest daughter. "Yeah cause snails are exactly what I wanna eat for dinner."Jake grumbled. Jaqulynn roled her eyes. "The french eat more than snails y'know."She said.

Soon Jaqulynn pulled into the parking lot and got out of the car. She waited for her children. Jake and Jenny both had their arms folded across their chests and were glaring at the ground. Jal got out and quickly went over to her mother. Jared got out, adjusting the collar that kept his Soul fragment, Acid, in control. Jaqulynn entered the restaurant, and went over to the waiter at the podium. "Um, hi. I got an invitation to come here for this free dinner. Uh so yeah, where do we got to sit?"Jaqulynn asked. "Oh! If there's a list my name is Jaqulynn Willow"She added.

The Willows headed to table nine once the clearly nervous waiter had directed them to it. She blinked surprised they were sharing a table with strangers. "Uh... hello."Jaqulynn said nervously. She wasn't exactly too social.

Roxxie slowly approached the restaurant. She held a cigarette in her mouth and had an irate and on edge expression. She was constantly looking around, keeping her eyes and ears wide open. This was the part of the city that a Werewolf hunter lived, and she was certain that she would not run into him. She pulled the invitation out of her pocket, inspecting it. She came to a stop in front of the restaurant. She walked in. "Roxxie Berland. Got this invitation for free food. Where do I sit?"She asked holding the invitation out. "Uh... Table nine"the Waiter said nervously. Roxxie rolled her eyes. "It would help if you grew a pair, nobodies gonna eat you or anything."She said as she passed the waiter and went to the table. She sat down at one end alone, glancing at the other people at the table. One was an old woman, didn't look to dangerous or mean. Near her was a boy with striking blue eyes, which Roxxie assumed were contact lenses. Then she noticed the family of changelings, then the young girl in tattered messy clothes, apparantly without a parent or guardian. She finally took not of the man in the suit with red glasses. She let out a frustrated puff of smoke waiting for someone to come and take their orders.

A pale blue dress, lovely yet conservative, just formal enough. Black heels, a sapphire necklace, and a diamond ring, on her left finger. It wasn't like her to dress down when she was suspicious. With her heavy shades and personal driver, she looked like a movie star. Or rather, she would, if anyone could bring themselves to notice her.

The black car pulled up to the restaurant. Thanking the hideous abomination in the front seat, the woman excited gracefully and strolled into the fine (well, fine-ish) eatery. The car disappeared behind her; if anyone had noticed, they'd soon forget.

She walked up to the host stand and said simply, "Table nine, correct?" She was already looking over towards where the rest of the fantastic and phantasmagoric freaks had gathered. A quintet of tailed elves, a bespeckled man, a formidable looking granny, a boy with eyes so blue he had either sold his soul for them or was just a vain shape-shifter, a smoking woman, and that filthy little girl who reminded Isolde of one of her oldest friends... a tiny, adorable murderer.

The host listing the names of the people there so far. "...Hilda Polemos, Jaqulynn Willow and her children, Nicholas Cain..."

The woman just shook her blonde head and walked overto the table, calling back, "I'll be under Avery. Last name." Rosemary scowled. The little girl didn't exactly like this woman.

Isolde removed her glasses, revealing... brown eyes. The weren't hers. Those were in the bag.

He could have been a ghost; or perhaps, with that kind, soft smile, an angel without his wings. At least, that's all there was to see on the surface. His pale blonde hair might have been strands of silk attempting to drift away, and his eyes were a bright, snowy blue. He whistled a merry little tune as he strolled along, hands tucked into the pockets of light grey trousers, with an equally grey dress vest over a white button-up shirt, and a clear umbrella to keep himself dry. The chill in the air didn't particularly seem to effect him.

The young man stopped across the street to gaze upon the restaurant. It managed to be little different from the buildings around it, but he supposed it did manage to make its doorway fancy.

He leaned into the street to peer around parked cars, then quickly stepped back again an lowered his umbrella to block the cascade of water that flew at him when a car drove a bit too fast through a puddle of water that couldn't drain off the street fast enough. He managed to avoid most of it, but he'd no doubt have damp pant legs for most of the hour. With a sigh, the young man checked again and crossed over to the man at the door.

"Hello," he said pleasantly, and the doorman seemed a tad relieved at the sight of a normal, friendly-looking person. Granted, he could just barely pass as an adult, but unattended children had already gone in, so what would it matter if this one was a little shy of voting age? "I think there is a Jackson on your list?"

The doorman skimmed through the names and asked, "Albert Jackson?"

"No, just Jackson. I was invited to some sort of mysterious dinner."

That brought a little of the nervousness back, but the man dutifully looked back down. "Um... I have a... Jack's Son? As in son of Jack?"

"Oh, curiouser and curiouser! Someone knows me?" Jackson's eyebrows lifted, but is face remained otherwise relaxed.

"The, uh... the rest of your party is at table nine."

"Thank you, sir," the youth said, and left a dollar on the man's list as he headed on in. The umbrella was abandoned at the door.

It was a trap of some sort. No doubt about it. Free food from some anonymous person at some unfamiliar location? It had to be a trap. And yet Loki found himself pacing outside the building anyway. He even had an actual shirt on under his vest: some purple paisley thing that still smelled like the thrift shop he'd gotten it from earlier that day. Well, more like wet thrift shop now.

The half-demon watched people going in and out. Some of them made him very nervous and pushed him closer to a decision to abandon this whole thing. Others... seemed like innocent people likely to get caught up in whatever terrible thing was going to happen. Even children went in.

Well, maybe it wasn't a trap after all? And if it wasn't, then he shouldn't be so nervous, right? But if it was a trap... then others were walking blindly into it. There just wasn't any way around it, was there?

Despite his efforts, Loki's hair was still dripping when he finally approached the man at the door, and his wet shirt was clinging to his body and making him shiver slightly. "Um, h-hi," he said nervously, now suddenly doubting that he was supposed to be there, despite the invitation in his hand. He held it out. "I, uh... I got this? I'm Loki. Um, Nightblade. I know, it's, uh... it's a strange name."

"Yes, you are here," the man said. "Table nine. But, sir, before you go in, I'll... I'll have someone bring you a towel."

Loki breathed a sigh of relief. "Y-yes, thank you sir."

The man radioed someone inside, and soon large, warm cloth napkin was brought out. After a great many words of appreciation, he headed in, patting up the remaining moisture on his way to the table. Upon seeing the others collected there, though, he again began to feel a bit nervous.

"Is... is this table nine? For the dinner?"

“Ahem.”

A quiet cough soon turned the waiter’s attention to the newest guest’s arrival, a very elegantly dressed woman whom he had failed to notice before. Confusion was paramount upon his features. After all, he hadn’t heard the door open, nor noticed anyone else come in, let alone anyone so lavishly draped white silk. Surely he would have noticed her.

In reality the woman was simply there, as if she had been occupying this space the entire time. Truly she preferred to save her teleportation spells for an emergency, but it was raining outside, which was emergency in itself; she hated getting wet.

The businesswoman now stood there silently, her right elbow cradled in the palm of the opposite hand and with a single finger rested upon her lower lip. The waiter remained silent, waiting politely for his guest to continue. Silence endured, and prompted by the awkwardness of it all her elevated wrist eventually rotated, turning its palm upward as she sarcastically gestured for him to begin with.. well, whatever his job was.

“Oh. Right.” He recovered, flustered. The ruby at her throat was enormous. And enormously distracting. “My apologies, Miss?”

“-Madame.” She corrected, turning her lips up into a tight smirk. “Cathziel Del Adrame.” Her name sounded strange to him. As if her vocal chords could not quite wrap themselves around the correct pronunciation, and yet through it all her speaking voice was unsettlingly calm. “I believe I am to be expected?” Her smirk became a smile, close lipped, and mirthless. An expression that failed to reach her eyes.

“Yes, of course.” The waiter sighed, and turning toward the already eclectic gathering at table nine. Lifting a hand he gestured, and all but jumped as a pair of manicured fingers gently brushed across his breast pocket without warning. He hadn’t seen her move but there she was, beside him all of a sudden, and a little too close to be considered polite. Up close she smelt like perfume, and seemed bemused as she tilted his nametag forward for a better look.

“Excuse me.” He began.

“What a lovely name.” The woman commented without looking up. “Did you know that in some mythologies, merely knowing the name of a creature, of a person, can give another absolute power over them?”

Her dark eyes turned to his as she withdrew, taking a slow stride back as the metal tag slid from her fingers and remained pinned in its place. “Fascinating, don’t you think?”

”I.. uh, never really considered it, Mis--, Madame.” The waiter cleared his throat, and lifted a hand to smooth all hairs on the back of his neck. He did not get paid enough for this.

“Pity. But perhaps you will now.” Her brows raised, amused. “Table nine, then, is it?”

The waiter nodded, and the woman breezed past him without another word, followed by what was best described as a passing wind. Or maybe a shadow? He wasn’t sure, but only then did it suddenly dawn upon him that she had not been wearing shoes. Wisely, he made an internal decision to let the matter slide. Just this once.

---

Cathziel moved with purpose; she always did, and a quick stride took her across the dining room in short order.

Those gathered at the table were certainly interesting, but interesting was nothing new to her. There did appear to be an obnoxiously large amount of child-looking things here, however, which in her previous experience had led her to be suspicious of anything with a child’s face. Her nostrils flared as she caught the scent of cat. Ew. She hated cats, and anything that tended to leave fur all over, really. But another glance found none at the table, and she was content with that. At least for now.

A tactile person to a fault, the woman’s fingertips brushed the backs of the chairs as she circled the table, pausing only while passing behind the chair belonging to Jared, lingering there a little too long, her eyes upon his soul fragment. Those of keen observation would maybe notice more than a passing interest here, as the woman selected a seat directly across from the shapeshifter, and slid herself into it, reclining languidly after a moment.

Behind her, a shadow moved, lurking into place in the background before it settled still once more. The fact that she had been hailed here by name, by an unnamed host had made the she-devil almost reluctant to attend. Outwardly relaxed, her mind was turning with in, seeking an answer to this riddle.

Loki, it seems was not the only one with suspicions of a trap; The Lady Cathziel had too many enemies not to have brought with her a friend.

"Mademoiselle, I see you are done harassing our dearest waiter. " The highly accentuated voice announced, a shade sarcastically. No, not sarcastically, that would be going to far. It was merely...ironic.

It was a pleasant, soft voice, hard to describe, to which the term "velvety" would be lacking.
It was the sort of voice that was instantly associated with excellent wine and five star hotels.
It was the sort of voice that was instantly associated with charming words and evening escapades.

It was the sort of voice that was not instantly associated with the crying of widows or the shouts of broken men, nor the cold silence of daggers in the night or the dripping poison in a freshly drunk chalice.

But it should be.

Alain Rosseau straightened his red tinted spectacles, smiling a pearly white smile. Perhaps the smile didn't reach his eyes. Nobody could be sure.

"Shall we all take a seat, then? It seems most of the guests have already arrived, and I am terribly curious about a few letters and emails."

A few of the guests had already taken their seats. The family, for example, the mother and her numerous brood. Malvatre wasn't quite sure what to make of her. He had spotted her and her children's pointed ears and teeth, not to mention their tails. A species of elves, then. And their eyes... changelings? Now that greatly amused the infamous Mr. Rosseau.

The new arrival, the woman, had already sat down too. Malvatre had did not notice her entrance into the restaurant. He did notice, however, that she was not wet, in such a terrible weather, and when talking to the waiter, she did not have an umbrella.

And, of course, she was barefoot.

The last person sitting was the first one to arrive. The old woman.

Mrs. Polemos was what she called herself. Malvatre had met her centuries ago, in the storming of the Bastille, the day he withdrew his support from the french royalty and took the side of the revolutionaries. Polemos had been there, in the shadows and in the dark, cheerfully standing in the midst of explosions and warcries and screams and blood, holding a bouquet of iris and plucking their petals off one by one.

Malvatre didn't trust her. In fact, Malvatre trusted her only a fragment more than he trusted the conniving, arrogant, scheming métamorphe that was currently in the form of the dark haired boy: Alain Rosseau had a long memory, and had not forgotten the circumstances in the last time he and the and the shapeshifter had parted ways.

There were others, too. A woman who suspiciously smelled of dog, a little girl with a muddied dress and an angelic-looking youth with skin as pale as his hair. Malvatre took a cautious mental note about this last one. Something was off about the man. Malvatre just hadn't find out what yet.

There were two more guests. The devils of the lot, so to speak. A young woman in a blue dress and a nervous young man who seemed to be quite uneased. Hmm.

"Oh, I agree. Let us sit down and start the introductions, shall we?" It was Polemos that had spoken. Malvatre noted with interest that the shapeshifter had taken the spot in the table that happened to be furthest away from her.

Typhe gave a little groan as he heard the conversation, glumly leaving his area near the arguably finely ornamented walls. He contented himself in knowing that this deranged attempt at introductions and subsequent socialization would eventually end in an awkward silence.

Typhe positively adored awkward silences. Awkward silences were usually the time in a fancy dinner reunion where everyone's nerves were more on edge.

Then again, with the host of guests that had come forth....

...Well, he was starting to regret having come to the restaurant. He had spotted a woman, a werebeast by the looks (and smell) of it. Typhe reckoned she was probably a werewolf, which was the fashionable monster to be at the time and era. That or vampires.

The shifter also recognized another woman in a blue dress who was most likely a demon. Those eyes of hers were very well glamoured, but there was only so far you could go with a glamour to trick a millenia old shapeshifter.
Besides, the spirit had a very interesting view of the usual nuanced black/dark/EEEVIL power reeking from the woman in the third plane. In the fourth and in the fifth, too, which didn't exactly reassure Typhe. There was also another supernatural entity in the room, but Typhe wasn't sure what conclusions to make to make about him. No demon was ever so awkward.

There was a girl in a muddied dress and with a shining blue scarf, which Typhe instantly disliked. A blue scarf, oh, the divine* irony. The girl herself, though, couldn't be more than eleven, but then again, well...

There was a family of elves, judging by their tails and pointed ears. And their eyes. And their teeth. Changelings. For goodness' sake, it was getting better and better. Typhe wished he had a sledgehammer nearby in case they stood up simultaneously and started singing Earth Song.

Typhe started to head over to the tables, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket as he approached them, his eyes flickering over to whatever person interested him at the moment.

Then it got tricky.

Yes, Typhe was decidedly starting to regret having come to the Connossieur.
For a start, the rest of the guests.

Rosseau. Now there was someone Typhe wasn't eager to talk in private with, not after the last incident.** Well, what could he say? That assassin really didn't have a sense of humour.

There was the newcomer, the woman in white that had talked the waiter into a quivering mess. Now there was your classic mysterious vamp. Richly dressed, rich in allure, capable of appearing inside a restaurant without nobody batting an eye.
Typhe didn't feel confortable around the woman. Perhaps it was the nagging feeling that there was someone else present alongside her. Perhaps it was the nagging feeling that walking barefoot in a restaurant was unhigienic. Seriously, it was gross.

And finally, there was Polemos. Polemos. Typhe had done what he could not to run like hell when he saw the overtly agressive, friendly, unbelievably psychotic old woman.

Not that he was afraid, mind. Nah.

The being in the form of the boy quickly started to sit down on a chair, the furthest one from Polemos.

There was only one other guest, the young man with pale skin and pale hair and pale blue eyes. Typhe began to eye him throughout the seven Planes. Now that one didn't look particularly menacing, but you really never do know, the friendlier looking ones usually were the-

Typhe smoothly stood up, pushed the chair back, and sat somewhere else, trying to balance the distance between Polemos, Malvatre and the thing as he processed what he just saw.

Right.

Right.

Typhe ended up sitting to the right of one of the changelings, a boy with sharp teeth that looked as old as The Renegade's current form. The blue eyed boy didn't say anything, merely leaning backwards in his chair and waiting for the cheesefest to start. Typhe wondered what was the tradition formula for a supernatural entity to introduce oneself.
It probably was Hallo, my name is [insert suitably mystical name here], and I'm a [insert suitably special name here]! I have horrible eating habits, I like to dissecate human beings as a hobby, and I am a member of the [insert suitably ominous organization or species' name here]!

Really, it never got old. Maybe he should have brought flowers. Carnivorous ones.

__
*An incredibly lame pun was just wasted. It happens.

**It involved quite a lot of gasoline, a flame, dynamite, a group of russian spies and a detonation. It happens.

Jared hadn't noticed Nick nor Cathziel sit near him. Jenny as on the other side of Jared. "Uh hi, my name's Jaqulynn. Uh if you all can't tell these are my children."Jaqulynn introduced. She frowned when none of her kids said anything. She elbowed Jake. "What?" He asked irritably. Jaqulynn indicated the others at the table. "I'm Jake"he grumbled, not looking up from his phone. After a while none of her other kids said anything. Jaqulynn sighed. "This is Jenny. That's Jared and this Jal"Jaqulynn grumbled. "Its nice to meet all of you."Jaqulynn said


Roxxie grumbled. She didn't introduce herself, and didn't intend to. She watched the other people move around the table and take their seats. She glanced over at Jaqulynn who spoke up introducing herself. "My name's Roxxie."She grumbled, sitting at the end of the table.

"As if knowing the names of people we aren't ever likely to meet again is more important than ordering our food..." The little glutton grumbled, annoyed and not at all caring whom might hear her. She swung her feet back and forth and glanced around the table. 14 guests. Unless one of the people here was the host... She still wasn't sure whom it could be.

She turned to the old woman. "Say, you wouldn't happen to be the one who called us all here, would you?" The ancient pile of wrinkles was one of the only three there when Rose got there, and was the only one who didn't seem shocked or displeased by the presence of the recognized people at the table.

Rosemary looked around again.These people need categories, she decided. She grouped them all. There were the ones who smelled: like a cat, of dogs and smoke, and clothing ripped from a recently deceased corpse (or maybe just bought at a thrift store...). Then the secretive ones: Mr. Glasses and Ms. These-Aren't-My-Real-Eyes. There were those with tails, a whole family actually, and an even more dangerous group: the old woman and the pale boy, the ones who look so very innocent. Rose didn't trust innocence. Still, she ended up sitting next to the old one in avoidance of the one person at the table she recognized. That left the barefooted woman... Little Rose filed her away under "instantaneously hated" simply because Naid had forced Rosemary to actually wear shoes that night. There was a final group, again with one member: mature and respectable 49 5/8ths year-olds who really should have known not to come here. She sighed.

"My name is-" she stopped realizing she had been mimicking the Frenchman for a while without noticing. She coughed and said "Rosemary Glass," absently lifting her excessive amount of silverware into the air telepathically. It all flew in a loop. "I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but I'd rather be rude than a liar."

Rose glanced back at the blonde woman, whom was staring at the set of feet at the table that were bare. She didn't seem to be paying attention.

She was, however. As soon as the girl stopped talking, Isolde got her introduction over with, "Isolde Avery. I'd like to know who invited us here." She didn't blink at the child's theatrics. She was still concerned with the shadow of the woman next to her. It wasn't ordinary.

Experimentally, she reached into her bag and withdrew a pitch black marble. It was obvious that no one at the table was rightly human, but she now saw that everyone here was powerful... At the very least, quite deadly. Blood stained many corners of this table, and there was plenty of room for more. Isolde smiled. The thought about what kinds of horrors this host could have in mind... But any guess towards the intentions of the one who had invited them here was as good as hers.

She glanced around one last time, eyes lingering on a few choice guests, before she slid the orb back into a box in her purse.

So far as he could tell, none of these people were quite as human as they appeared to be. And oh, the little traces he was picking up from the room! There was no doubt that this would be an interesting dinner. He also took note of the boy who had seemed certain about his seat until looking at him; and certainly that boy was hiding something himself. The curl of his smile increased slightly.

"I'm Jack's son," he said as he looked over the collected crowd. He imagined it would be morphed into a name again, but he might as well use the old anonym. "It is a pleasure to meet you all. And if any of you happens to be the host, you have my appreciation for calling us to this fine dinner."

He even gave a slight bow to the table before taking his seat. So respectful for a young man who looked to be within the most rebellious and experimental years.

Some of these people made Loki uncomfortable for one reason or another, while others he perceived as hapless and helpless. Well, he supposed that the little girl putting on the show with the silverware might not be so helpless. But there was still the question in his mind: was this or wasn't it a trap? And if it was, should he speak up when whoever was orchestrating it could very well be present? On one hand, if it was forced to spring early, one could hope it would prove inefficient. On the other hand, if he waited, he might be able to identify the best way to beat it. And then, if it weren't even a trap to begin with... Loki really didn't want to be the butt of any jokes tonight.

He was so caught up in trying to decide what to do that he didn't immediately realize introductions were happening, and was unsure how many he had missed. "Oh, uh... I'm Loki. It's... it's just a name. Um, n-nice to meet you all."

"Loki? I knew a Loki once. A very nice man. He hosted this dreadfully exciting events. A bit on the blue side, though."
The old lady commented cheerfully, glancing at the flying forks, spoons, knives and assorted cutlery the little girl was levitating.
"I do hope you're not thinking about throwing that at anyone, my dear girl. It'd be terribly rude to do that before the dinner even started! I personally would recommed right before the deserts, they're always a special time."

It was hard to say if the old woman was being sarcastic or not, but she still cleared her throat, firmly arranging her brown hat and whispy white hair.

"My name is Mrs. Polemos. I am not the host of this event, in case any of you are wondering. I also do believe that the gentleman with the glasses is- Mr Rosseau , would you introduce yourself?"

The eyes of the man at the end of the table probably bore into the old woman. The eyes made it difficult to be sure. "Certainly. I am Alain Rosseau, and also not the host of this evening's dinner. I am also inclined to think none of you are the host, correct?"

The old lady hummed slightly. "But who knows, is it not? Alain, let us finish our introductions so we can order the food."

A deafened sound of something crashing was heard in the kitchen, followed by some lightly heard shouting.
Hmm.

The shapeshifter watched, rather unconfortably, the telepath levitating the silverware. He wasn't unconfortable by the actual act, mind. That was an old trick. No, he was extremely unconfortable by the fact that it was silverware.

How were humans expected to eat with this again?
Well, there was a good chance the silver was fake. A good chance. Not a certainty.
Blast.

Lanthe raised his head to see the old woman staring at him. Oh, yeah, the introductions. Lanthe didn't like public introductions. They were a small step away from one too many drinks, a few dances around a campfire, and a cascade of angsty backstories to which the shapeshifter would rather shoot himself in the earlobe than to hear and process. Again.*

"I'm Nicolas Cain. Hi. I'm also not the host, if anyone cares."
Nobody probably did, he mused darkly. "Anyways, I'm absolutely certain we're gonna have a wonderful night! I'm loving the themed Halloween convention, by the way..." This one was no more as a half murmur, but the boy and the woman closest to him could have heard something.

*Forgive him. He still hasn't recovered from an encounter with a couple of heroes with an epic quest in an inn in a crossroads.
Things had gone downhill when the elf took out his magic guitar and the dwarf started reading poetry about his past with gold. Gold, gold, gold.
There were sightings, oddly enough, of a monstrous troll chucking the inn into a (large) well that very day.
Shame.

"Not always," She murmured out of the blue...ish. The girl studied the "blue eyed" boys expression. Mild fear. She smiled. The silver dropped from the air. It all landed with a clatter- but in exactly the correct location.

She looked at the old woman, analyzing her. The little girl wasn't the best with languages, but she spoke a bit of a few. She prayed nobody noticed her pale skin lose any color it didn't have when the old woman introduced herself as Mrs. War. The mythos of course, followed the name, but not apparently the woman. Polemos... A deity of war, ranking below his sister Enyo and further beneath his brother Ares... She stopped. She knew very well that stories were often wrong. Still, if there was a certain strand left tying it all together, then Rose dear friend, the little "Sandman Jr." was this old woman's... Second cousin

The girl shook her head. Why was she concerning herself with the genealogy of these freaks? She sighed. "I really can't wait for dessert," she said, fully focused on eating once more.