Silken hair whipping through the breeze, she turned toward a mouldy gravestone slowly being devoured by the earth. Such a pity, really. A perfectly good potential meal, stolen by death. Why was death so cruel? Denying her own death, and then thieving her of what she required to stave off death.

Ah, but yet, how beautiful death was. Sometimes a soft feather upon a being, sometimes a quick, sharp snap. And other times, a long, slow, grueling fade-away into nothing. And how it heightened beauty, especially for her own kin. Pallid complexions, sharp bones and the frightening effect on the living. She didn't care too much for the whole dissolving eye thing, but she admired those deceased and departed.

She craved the feel of blood rushing down her throat, and the occasional luring and murdering of so called "innocent" humans excited her; but she hated the limitations of undead life.

She plucked a wilted flower and tore it apart, petal by petal, until a naked stem and its shredded petals lay in a miniscule heap upon the moist earth. What was the point? Why had she even come here? She only longed for death; nothing else would suffice.

Iuliana, sharp nails pulling at the hem of her shirt to secure its place, turned sharply toward the newcomer. She hadn't heard her come into the cemetery, but her appearance hadn't been surprising in the least. One bonus of the vampire life was the heightened senses. True, she could hear only little more than a human, but she could feel things, like the slightest of breezes when someone stirred within a close radius. Such as this infant lycan. The winds carried other things, too: auras, moods, sometimes she could tell the species of a visitor.

She really didn't know how these senses helped her any. For sensing prey; that was its best benefit. To her, at least.

This newcomer wasn't a threat; or at least not now. Iuliana watched her, green eyes glassy and stationary. It obviously was not a human. Normal humans would not find themselves in the midst of a cemetery in the middle of the night.

Iuliana took the initiative, stepping forward with her usual stalk. "Is there something I can do for you?" she offered with a smirk. She wasn't about to give away her name, but if someone had sought her out, she would listen. If only for a minute or so.

She suddenly seemed to snap to life as she realized that the girl was walking toward her. A growl rose in her throat. She smelled the strong smell of Cainite blood in the girl, and to be confronted by her was something that she didn't plan on, nor did she want it. Her sharp amber eye and pale, pupil-less blue eye looked straight at the girl. A sort of threating glitter to them sparkled and became more and more visable as the girl got closer.

"Is there something I can do for you?" the girl said.

She stared at her, realizing the possible mistake she could have made dealing with this Kindred. The wolf rose within her and wanted to take over, but she pushed it back down as well.
"No. There is nothing that you can do for me. I was simply seeking out an old friend" she said in a voice that sounded like black velvet.
"Is there anything I could do for you?"

While she had to admit the appearance of this girl was quite bewildering and interesting, she didn't feel threatened by her presence. She just didn't get intimidated easily. Unless you stabbed her in the arm she wasn't generally impressed.

Anyway when the other girl relayed her question, she shrugged and crossed her arms. "I'm the one who's been here all night, I figured you showed up for a reason. You know, like you were looking for me or someone else." She stuck a red lip out, waiting for the girl's next reply. She was expecting it to be as annoying as the last.

"So then, what are you doing here?" She uncrossed her arms and waited. If the lycan girl wanted to make nice, then fine. But if not, she could just leave.

  Alken wasn't bewildered as to how he had gotten to the party... but more as how to get from the party to his  'home', his sanctuary. Sanctuary...

  Thoughts filled his mind as well as alcohol-poisoned memories. The fog lifted and it came rushing back to meet his once-sharp focus and grasp of things. Alken smiled, and got up and off the couch. He looked around for a moment, seeing a good proportion of the room was still dancing to a beat that sounded something around the lines of screamo/techno. But all around Alken called it 'Rave Music'. Something that only went well with... well... raves.

Alken felt a hand race up his thigh and grip just below his best friend, and he gasped. His eyes darted downwards to see a raving, high, drunken girl that looked like she was entering her late-teens. Alken shook her off, broke her arm, and she screamed. He shrugged and opened the back door... only to be met with a charge of Mary Jane.

  He wheezed, and frowned as the thick fog of the shit painted his lungs... put a weight in them. He exhaled, coughing, and passed the group laughing at him. Fucking hyena's... He thought bitterly, pulling up his silky collar, covering his face as though it had been a jacket.


  Alken wore something somewhat relevant to a up-to-date, stereotypical Goth. He wore thickly applied onyx eyeliner, the best you could buy (or steal, in his case) and his hair was windblown... -like usual. It looks like the wind blew all his hair to one side and some of it flew forwards... the back flew in all directions. He wore a silk, jet black button up long sleeve with fancy, buttoned cuffs that were slightly ruffled, and ragged. He wore some tight black jeans that looked aged, and well-worn, and some black boots that clipped up closed.

  He pushed past some brush and found the trail home. It was wind, and dark, and it didn't take long before the smoke of Mary Jane had settled in.

  He found himself running, hysterical, through the woods... barely clinging to the path now. His breathing became shorter, and faster, and his pupils dilated. His bronze-colored skin didn't pale or become covered with beads of sweat; it was fairly cold outside as it was. His cheeks became a deep red and before he knew it... he burst into a clearing. He tripped over a root, and looked up to see a large, spread-out old maple. It was somewhat comforting, but the fact that he was in a cemetery all of the sudden was quite un-reassuring.

  He got up, and dusted off his jeans. The bottoms were more ripped up as before, but at least he didn't lose his belt this time. A thick, graffiti-styled belt with fake, metal bullets neatly filled up around it.

  He looked around, and heard a small bit of a conversation.

"...is there something I can do for you?" Alken's eyes darted around once more, and he crept up close enough to identify what was... -exactly- talking. "I'm the one who's been here all night, I figured you showed up for a reason. You know, like you were looking for me or someone else... So then, what are you doing here?" Alken was positioned away from them, behind a large gravestone, a metal pipe clutching close o his chest. He had been carrying it since he had thought of even going to that blasted party. He was still high, and he was shaking anxiously... deciding to either jump out and swing at them, or... putting the pipe away and just walk casually by. But then a common sense-based though came into his mind. They damned well could have heard him bursting through the brush. Why couldn't they hear him now? He was panting like he'd just ran a marathon... not a mile.

  He got up, putting the pipe gently down, and walked past... slowly. Or, at least that's what it seemed like he was doing. He was running past them as if he was being chased by a mob. But he was high. What did he care? It wasn't like they were attracted to the buzzed blood coursing through his body... or the lean meat that flexed right through his jeans.

He tripped, because to him the world looked pretty flat. Felt like it too. He stepped over... nothing, and tripped. Right between the lot of them, and the only thing he could manage to say... the only brilliant thing he could manage to say... ?

  "Sorry." He mumbled, his face grounded into the dirt.

  Alken heard footsteps... barely audible, but he could hear them nonetheless. Who the fuck... why the fuck... He thought to himself, slightly agitated.

  Drugs are for the weak...

  Alken's ear twitched.

  Drugs are for the weak? Pardon me, ma'am, but I don't care much for your comments of what theme my life is... Alken was tempted to speak his thoughts aloud, but... he didn't feel like talking. Too lazy to bother bitchin' back to a woman such as this one.

  Lycan...

He frowned, alarmed by her new renown. She said this word with slight disgust, so... she must be the opposite. A vampire. Alken didn't believe in those stories quite just yet. Whenever he hung out with his friends that claimed to be 'vampires', he went along with it. They're all just crazy anyways, right?

  Alken would have preferred some more of that lovely PCP back at the party, but... he wanted it then and there. He wanted to crash, and fall asleep, just like that. But Scott didn't like him coming home drug-filled, and to the brim. Scott said it hurt his nostrils sometimes. He could smell Alken from thousands of miles away. But... Alken smelled like -however feminine this may be- sweet, non-harsh cologne. It smelled somewhat earthy, musk-touched even. But it wasn't overwhelming. It just covered the drugs. Sometimes, like now, however, it didn't work as well as it should.

  What'cha got there?

Curiosity stung the words, as if to quickly change the tone. Like when a child is screaming for fun through a sprinkler, and then they are screaming out of pain. Quick to change.

Alken kept his voice a-sweet, monotone. "It'was a pipe from a sewer that I had acquired wandering through the streets of London, some time ago. Now... 'tis my life source. I could snap a neck'r two, but... well, if you are what I thought you were, then I guess I really have no just but to play noice." English accent explained he wasn't American, and he was damned proud of not being apart of a filthy, corrupted bloodline.