- Aug 9, 2016
- 5,922
- Gender
- Male
- Pronouns
- Him/Her/Them
- Posting Status
- Daily, Weekly
Pietro, for his change in professional direction and public facing demeanor, was still a man with his heart firmly in his community. He couldn't help it: he had spent so long building Manta Carlos up that he was bound to fall back into doing what he could for his people. Tonight was a party at his club, Popov, celebrating Islander's Day for the vampires that had come to live on the island within the past year. Drinks, both of the alcoholic and sanguine varieties poured freely from bottles, kegs, and willing participants alike. Pietro was firmly in his element, a graceful effeminate shadow moving through the crowds on heels clicking mutely underneath the tide of revelry.
He was dressed far more modernly than usual: a white v-neck t-shirt tucked into leather slacks tucked into matching calf length boots, all held together under a draped muted plum coat slung over his shoulders like a cape. He looked strangely decadent even dressed so clearly for a party, a snifter of blood held delicately between his fingers. Pietro's attention was split, his senses all over the place to try and anticipate any problems that may arise.
What he hadn't expected, but possibly should have, was one Natasha Lockwood skulking around his venue. He remembered their last meetings distinctly, and specifically remembered that they had not left on good terms. She had seen him as dismissive and disingenuous and he had found her to be disrespectful to his dedication to his people. He had no idea if there was still active animosity on her end, but he intended to find out.
Gliding across the room to where she stood, Pietro stopped behind Natasha and cleared his throat. A useless gesture, given the volume of the club at the moment, but one he did out of habit before speaking, "Miss Lockwood. My my, what a surprise. I didn't think you would sully yourself coming to an establishment like this."
He was dressed far more modernly than usual: a white v-neck t-shirt tucked into leather slacks tucked into matching calf length boots, all held together under a draped muted plum coat slung over his shoulders like a cape. He looked strangely decadent even dressed so clearly for a party, a snifter of blood held delicately between his fingers. Pietro's attention was split, his senses all over the place to try and anticipate any problems that may arise.
What he hadn't expected, but possibly should have, was one Natasha Lockwood skulking around his venue. He remembered their last meetings distinctly, and specifically remembered that they had not left on good terms. She had seen him as dismissive and disingenuous and he had found her to be disrespectful to his dedication to his people. He had no idea if there was still active animosity on her end, but he intended to find out.
Gliding across the room to where she stood, Pietro stopped behind Natasha and cleared his throat. A useless gesture, given the volume of the club at the moment, but one he did out of habit before speaking, "Miss Lockwood. My my, what a surprise. I didn't think you would sully yourself coming to an establishment like this."