• Edit

    The North

    Within the Northern vicinity of the city the wealthy gather behind meticulously trimmed hedges and high class victorian architecture. The streets are paved with stone, the buildings are made of brick, and the storefronts are brightly lit and inviting. In the North every establishment is made to cater to the rich and the wealthy. Many such places are used to the sometimes peculiar requests of the otherworldly but here there is little that money cannot buy - weather it be illegal or merely looking the other way. Vampires and Dark Hunters are often found upon these Northern streets, their long lives often contributing to their sizable wealth which allow them the luxuries that the North provides.

    What's You'll Find Here

  • Edit

    St. Pancras Station

    owned by Eve Thorn
    0 employees

    St. Pancras Station

    A historical train station renovated in to a luxury resort-style country club that unites Victorian elegance with contemporary style. Relax in the full-service spa featuring spa treatments, saunas, spa pools with hydro therapy & aqua bar, and relaxation lounges. The club offers many dining and entertainment options including Seven Sisters Lounge, Victoria Bistro, Barlow Gastropub and the formal St. Pancras restaurant as well as boutique shopping and event halls. Join The Chambers Club for a more exclusive entertainment experience.

    Owner Eve Thorn

  • Edit

    The VooDoo Room

    owned by Ceara Hade
    0 employees

    The VooDoo Room

    The Voodoo Room is an award winning bar that aims to provide an eclectic and exotic atmosphere. The bar is filled with intoxicating liquors and a voodoo vibe to keep you coming back. Their mixologists meet the highest standards with our fantastical themed selections of cocktails and specials.

    Owner Ceara Hade

  • Edit

    The Witchery

    owned by Rowena Metcalf
    1 employees

    The Witchery

    Dark, gothic, and throughly theatrical, the Witchery is a place to indulge yourself with it's fabulously lavish suites. Whatever room you choose, you'll find glamor, indulgence and luxury. The suites you have to choose from are: the Vestry, Sempill, the Old Rectory, the Library, the Turret, Heriot, Guardsroom, Armory.

    Owner Rowena Metcalf

    Sous Chef Elenore Dorian

I'll be a flatliner for a heartkiller;184.148.43.114Posted On May 18, 2017 at 11:37 AM by Petra Ambrose



The North bustled with activity, a large and imposing crowd forming to catch but a glimpse of racing cars and some action. The scent of it was assaulting, burning rubber and gasoline lingered like an ugly, putrid haze above the crowd’s heads. People of all walks of life gathered here, the perfect place to draw out her next plaything, like fishing, she would simply toss out her line with nothing but the bait and hook. Then just add time, it did not take long for someone to bite and for her fun to begin. She would remain almost unseen in the bustling, rambunctious crowd, which stunk of desperation and eagerness, while people placed their bets and guzzled booze like cars drank gasoline. Adrenaline was palpable as though it were a perfume worn upon the human’s skin even though it was slightly sullied by that toxic smell fuel. But it was almost impossible to hear anything over that repulsive and aggressive sound of rap over the loud speakers.

Despite the money that was being thrown around left and right, she had no interest in money, not when she could create the illusion of it. She could make a stack appear within her hand in a moment’s notice and it would feel as tangible as the real thing. It could be counted and seemingly possessed until it was too late and the illusionist simply disappeared, the money would too. Petra could possess anything she ever needed and still, she remained unfulfilled. An angry gaping hole left behind from that impulsive Sebastian's wake, a nameless vampire who destroyed that lull she once knew. She didn’t know his name, only the memory of that deadly evening where she put herself on the line for someone she hardly knew. That male vampire had made her feel, it was an understatement, it felt more like an almost violent surge of emotion and then it was simply severed like it never actually existed. Such emotion she has not felt since her humanity withered and peeled away like cracked weathered paint. Not like she did anything to stop its decay. She embraced the downfall of her own humanity, welcomed that sterile cold so wholeheartedly and that lone vampire destroyed that. He did something to her that somehow let a small sliver of humanity weasel its way back into her mummified heart. He was gone and it was no doubt she would ever see that weasel of an Englishman again but she loathed him for welcoming such chaos into her wicked heart. The humanity left in the aftermath of that evening, after their encounter was her curse for being entrapped from his horrid spell. Somehow, the master of illusions was duped, the greatest trick of all and it was played upon her!

Now this thing. This sliver of light corrodes her, slowly like a disease and she loathes it completely and no matter what she did she could not stop its slow momentum as it poisons her. So this was how the vampire woman wound up here, in a place full of stimuli and options, a distraction and a mere attempt at find that emptiness she sought, once again. Hopefully, it would be enough to distract her from this pesky, aggravating feeling that Petra could not shake.

Thick black lavish hair falls unbidden in gentle waves down her back, her skin luscious and white as ivory with not a hint of blush adorning her features, it gleans from the light overhead. She doesn’t even try to hide what she was, as her powers could make her into anything she wanted to be at any given time. For now, she just wanted to blend within that sea of people. She wore casual attire tonight; a pair of beaten in dark grey jeans that clung almost too well to her inviting curves and a shirt that flatters the appearance of her form. It was a printed tank top, of deep reds and grey tones on a black backdrop, although hidden behind a comfortable deep grey (the colour of a cloud of a relentless storm) jacket laced with black embellishments.

The illusionist was peering out at the commotion of the sports cars revving their engines with impatient delight much like racehorses eagerly chomping at the bit. That was when someone crashed into her lissom form, instantly the prickle of power washed over the back of her neck in that familiar feel of her kind. Vampire. Her attention was jolted from the cars skittering away and the angry voices of the people that were indeed losing their hard earned money. That heavy attention landed upon the vampire that crashed into her, annoyance flickering behind those pale eyes mysterious eyes. One shouted the singular word ‘rigged!’ his face red with blood rushing there from his anger. It was no doubt the man had lost more than he had anticipated. The vampire that crashed into her now spoke in rushed tones, before she faced him entirely, eyes settling upon a clumsy vampire. Vampires by nature were not clumsy creatures and yet this was the second time one crash landed into her like a bird into the glass. She pats down her jacket as though smoothing out the surface of it. Do I know you from somewhere? The vampire male asked. Of course, she didn’t know him and this astute woman was not one to ever forget a face.

However, a spark of curiosity twitches inside of her. “Hm..” That nightingale sang. Just before the illusionist allowed a twisted a smile that only seemed to urge him to continue. He seemed convinced that he knew her. Alright, she would bite and play this demented little game that so happened to fall right into her clutches. How could she resist?

The dark haired woman completely faces him now, pivoting on her toes, tilting her head as if assessing the man before her. Her stare is unreadable and then suddenly she allows an uncharacteristic warmth flood her pale porcelain features. “Now that you mention it.” She sang, only a hint of dark tones dancing in her words. She would play this game knowingly something was amiss. He would have to keep it up unless he were to admit to his deceptive lies. Somehow, she doubted it.

Petra hated alcohol and yet there were a few drinks she has come to realise she didn’t mind. If he knew her he would know she disliked the substance it was only used as a prop, a guise, for her own lies and trickery. “You must forgive me, my mind was a little hazy. I was a little drunk. But how could I forget that face?” She chuckles a sound more akin to a giggle filled the rich tenors of her feminine voice. She reached out to let her fingers feel the fabric of the arm on his hoodie, with lighthearted and friendly ease. An easy smile finding her darkened lips, perhaps only slight impish in nature. “I have to admit, I am surprised to see you here. I didn’t think cars were exactly your scene.” She leans in just enough for her singsong voice to cut through the loud music and imposing music. “I’m sorry, I suck at names. I’m sure you remember mine and here I go forgetting yours. I blame the alcohol.” She shrugs easily, an almost sheepish grin falls upon her face as she weaves her impish web of deception.

Come on silly little vampire, two can play that game.




Replies

Post A Reply