2147/Fangs in the Night

Fangs in the Night
Date of Scene:	24 August 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Dracula, Jubilee

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Dracula has posed:
Hamba, Transylvania

Unlike how it was portrayed in the movies, much of Transylvania was actually a beautiful country full of sunshine and happy people. However, deep within the countryside, reachable by rarely traveled and poorly maintained roads and dirt paths, there was a small hamlet known as Hamba. The people were a dispassionate, dreary lot who distrusted outsiders as a rule. It was a dark place, surrounded on all sides by an ancient and undisturbed forest and almost always overcast or dampened by a thick fog. The single inn, a relic of a long past era, was the only place one could find a shred of hospitality in the form of the innkeeper and her husband. Their livelyhood came primarily from the bar and kitchen, with only the odd, occasional visitor to supplement their income for a night or two. Most of the hundred or so villagers kept to their own lives, their own routines, entertained by the small town gossip only rarely, and never, ever taking the gravel road that lead from the town square and into the woods. This road continued on for five or so miles, and came to a stop at the base of a large hill -- almost a small mountain -- and the paved, broad path that wound its way up past snarling gargoyles and dispassionate marble and black, steel statues to the gates of a sprawling castle with enough turrets and towers to be vaguely reminscent of a snarling mass of teeth and fangs.

Jubilee has posed:
Declining to go back to the States felt like a betrayal. Jubilation had been unable to persuade Rogue to return with Scott and herself, and that in itself felt like defeat. It felt almost as great as the defeat she felt as Gambit lay dying in Rogue's arms, instead of kissing his bride and facing a bright and prosperous future. But something pulsed within Jubilation's heart and mind in Paris. Something stronger than she had felt since the night she kissed the man with beautiful eyes. Her world fell apart that night. She'd found something steady, to ground her, since then, and for that she was thankful. But upon arrival in Paris, she felt there was something more. Something she sought. Or rather, something that sought her. Rogue wasn't going home, opting instead to take the honeymoon meant for two, alone. What was left for Jubilee in America was an empty safehouse, and wondering night after night if she would sleep alone. Not that she slept.

If something was calling her, it was not in Paris. It was here, in Transylvania. That's where the vampires go, right? Not to Xavier's. Not to a safehouse in New York. And so she bought a plane ticket. And then a train ticket. And then a taxi ride. And now, a room for the night. The inn isn't so far removed from the ones in all the movies. It's quaint. Quiet. Secretive. And most of all, it is convenient. For whatever pulsed in her heart and mind in Paris is so much stronger here than ever before. There is something that calls her here. Wrapped in a black peacoat, the mist-bedraggled young Asian woman enters the inn, and claims her room. And declines dinner. And retires to bed, alone and hungry. Again.

Dracula has posed:
An hour later the front door of the inn opened again, revealing a tall, dark-haired man. He wore a dark cloak, the hood deep and concealing, and as soon as he stepped inside, the quiet milling crowd fell deathly silent. The innkeeper came out from the kitchen, summoned by a terrified serving girl. Without a word, the inkeeper approached, her head bowed, hands clasped and shaking.

Long, spindly fingers emerged from beneath the man's cloak, the ends tipped with dark, sharp nail -- more akin to claws or talons. He pressed his palm to her forehead, a gleaming bronze bangle dangling from his thin wrist. For a second, all eyes still frozen on the two, no one moved or said a word. Then, without a sound, the newcomer withdrew his hand and proceeded up the stairs and out of sight.

Immediately, with only the sound of their hurried footsteps and the clink and rustle of exchanged currency to mark their departure, every man and woman at the bar was gone, and the innkeeper and her staff were locked in their personal quarters.

The newcomer's steps were virtually silent as he walked across the short, upstairs hall, and arrived at Jubilee's door, raised his hand, and knocked once.

Jubilee has posed:
His arrival was unexpected, but not quite unanticipated. Jubilation heard the door open...heard the guests fall silent. All the while the pulse inside her mind grew stronger until she felt...alive. Whatever she had sought--whatever had sought her--was here. She knew it was coming, and sat up in her bed, hearing every hushed and silent footfall upon the stair. Heard him stop outside her door.

"Enter."

It just sounded like the right thing to say. And so her tongue bore the word softly. Jubilation sat up in her bed and waited to see who had called her here.

Dracula has posed:
Upon her invitation, the door creaks open, pushed by some unseen force as the man's hand retreats back into his cloak. For just a moment, he lingers at the doorway, silent and still, then takes a single gliding step within and somehow, impossibly, ends up in the middle of the room.

"Hello, my child," comes the deep, sibilant voice from within the cloak. The voice is measured and careful, and bares an accent similar to that of the people of Transylvania, but there's something different, something... older to it. With a quick, effortless motion, the cloak folds in on itself, the rustle and flap of fabric the only sound before it reforms into a dark cape that sits on his shoulders and bound to him by a thin chain across his collar. Beneath, the man reveals himself to be wearing a suit of blood red armor, overlapping upon itself like the belly scales of a viper. The color runs from his hair in the process, each strand turning a bone white, only slightly paler than his face and contrasted by his eyes, utterly black save for pinpricks of red where the pupils should be.

"Welcome to Transylvania. Welcome home."

Jubilee has posed:
Jubilation is transfixed. Her hair is pulled into a braid that rests over her shoulder. Even her goggles are missing, having been laid on the bedside table as she retired. She doesn't give a second thought to her apparel, as she folds back the blankets and steps bare-footed onto the creaky wooden floor. Quietly, still clad in a short and flowing white nightgown, she approaches curiously, stopping a few feet away, uncertain and awed, by whatever it is that this being has which makes her feel as if she's...floating? Or flying. But not of this Earth. She stands before him and studies him silently a time, before she bows her head to him. "You are my Lord."

Dracula has posed:
"Indeed my young, lost fledgling," Dracula replies, his hand reaching out, palm pressing against the side of her head, thumb against her brow. As his talon bares down on her skin, though not enough to break it, a soft, keening song reaches out and brushes against her mind. It's a presence many centuries old and underscored by the whisper that accompanies nightly storms, that whips against closed windows and coaxes the occupants to open their homes. It presses against her mind, and like the window, coaxes and urges her to open herself to it so that it can learn everything it needs to know about her. "I am Lord Dracula, and it is I who called you here. I could sense your confusion, sense that you had been left to discover your new life on your own. Abandoned by a negligent master."

Jubilee has posed:
Jubilation closes her eyes, hearing the song, her mind and all of its beliefs torn asunder. A single bloodstained tear wells and spills over as she feels true warmth for the first time in weeks. In the time since he--

"He left me. I don't remember..." She struggles with the words, so enraptured is her mind by his song. And the windows are thrown open, and the song enters, thronging softly through her mind. Here is one who opens himself to her, even as no one has. Accepts her without the trepidation she has sensed even in those who proclaim to love her. She opens her eyes again to look upon him, looking broken, and bewildered, but feeling somehow whole again.

Dracula has posed:
The timeless, ageless face of Lord Dracula shifts to reflect an empathetic sorrow for the state Jubilee has come to him in. The song changes slightly when she welcomes him into her mind, changes into something more darkly enchanting, promising safety and sustenance in return for simple, undying loyalty. "No, of course you don't," he murmurs sympathetically as his hand drifts from her head, the song quieting slightly but never fading as his fingers wrap loosely and elegantly around the jeweled hilt of a blade on his hip. "He left you to drift amongst the unwashed masses, never told you what you had become. A master unfit to sire children. No need to think on him any longer, however. You have come to me now. Come to the Lord of all Vampires, and I shall teach you our ways. You need only obey..." With that final word, the song grows louder and more insistent, promising now wealth, power, and the companionship of those like her. All it would cost was her loyalty. Her devotion to her new Undead Master.

Jubilee has posed:
"Obey." Jubilation repeats the word quietly. Something inside her longs to tell him that even the X-Men couldn't drill the meaning of that word into her. Just ask Logan. But the rest of her quiets the jest, and speaks to her in hushed tones of longing. Urging her to stop standing. To stop trying to be brave. To stop going hungry, and feeling herself die more each day. One simple word will make it all go away. One she has used before, in different settings. But how is this, really, any different? This, her Lord, can teach her and provide. He called to her when others spat upon her and bade her leave her life behind. Quietly, without preamble, Jubilation lifts her eyes again to Lord Dracula. "Master."