Thread: Monster [ Burke x Arianna  ]

Lutheran moved from the shadows begrudgingly, unimpressed with himself in being so easily detected, but to continue to hide once called out would be an insult to them both. There was much to be gained in listening, inaction was often the smartest course of action, and information truly was power. But a group such as this was not so easily spied upon, and the tall lycanthrope felt a wave of disconcertion and disappointment in himself for having underestimated the power broker in front of him yet again. Men at this level, Lutheran had come to know, did not sell arms. They did not traffic in narcotics, or wage extortion wars. They could always be trusted to launder money, but they had no need of outside commodities save one information. There was nothing more valuable to men in their common position. With so much money, so many underlings, so many moving parts it was impossible for things to run smoothly. After a certain point you learn to stop pushing forward and turn your attention inward, expansion happening as a matter of policy and even inevitability, a leader's expertise required nonstop in the managing of what he has already accumulated and protecting the philosphic high ground from which his operation initially sprang. A small rash of hideous murders had cropped up in this city, and they had his particular clan's figurative fingerprints all over them. Every telltale element of werewolf involvement was present - each victim of some political significance or financial importance. The term 'political' is used here in the grand sense, beyond that of offices and public ribbon-cutting scenarios. What was worse, every person that had fallen victim to this nasty attacks had been a direct barrier to Lutheran's interests. He stood to benefit from every one, each of these people having fallen under the protection of some sect or another. Untouchables, theoretically speaking, and the windfall that would surely follow this string of deaths would be assuredly be calamatous to his purposes. The problem with vampires is thier hubris. Werewolves very much followed their primordial lineage, and tended to insert patience and attention where a frontal attack might be avoided. It was simple strategy to separate a calf from the herd and let it tire itself out, sprinting blind with panic until the muscles in its young legs ceased to follow orders and the pack might gain the greatest possible benefit with the smallest amount of expendature and effort. Vampires were posessed of life unending and strength usurping that of even ten men, their powers growing with their age, and the natural assumption would be that their patience would be nigh infinite. However, the opposite was generally true. There is much time to fill in a Vampire's life, and experience teaches that one in the hand is indeed worth two in the bush. They prized outcome and resolution above all else, and their natural advantages in afterlife carried with them a sense of entitlement. There is one law of the universe, and that is force. Whoever can take and keep the top of the heap will, and should whatever their rule entails is immaterial compared to this one rule. Any notion of modesty or restraint is extremely contemporary and even now less than unanimously held. This is not to say that existence is somehow easier for those on top, merely that whomsoever feels confident enough to move into that position and is correct inevitably will , and there's much to be won from even occasional example-setting. Vampires and Werewolves do not often clash, largely due to the fact that many of their ultimate interests are largely similar anonymity, continuing supply of humans, etc., and neither have much that interest the other. Coexistence is possible, and the two groups might exist in the same territory without infringing on another's pursuits for decades, but inescapably one or more of either side will grow ambitious and examples, as previously stated, will need to be set. It is impossible to explain to a Vampire that any given Werewolf was not interested in absolutely everything he could grab, did not want the best things available, couldn't see the value in a Top Spot. Whether lying or simply wrong, that kind of perception lends itself to Beta positioning, and can be percieved as an in-road. The two sides are destined to conflict eternally, if surprisingly Werewolf clans responding to Vampire incursions the majority of the time. Lutheran was not interested in ultimate domination. Do not misunderstand many Werewolves are. Ambition is largely tied to the man who holds it above whatever he's supposed to want. Having said that, philosophical differences between the two sects of the underworld lifestyle tend to produce consistently similar results. This new rash of killings was outside the norm. Vampires could only interpret it as a power play for territory and control. Humans could only see it as an insufferable and inexcusable affront, regardless of motivation, to leave mutilated bodies in public summer heat. The Watchers, these organizations of human meddlers, tended to interpret freely and choose sides according to political necessity rather than pragmatic or moral standards. At least, that was Lutheran's opinion. His position with them had to be tenuous, and they had a way of making life very difficult, knowing more than they possibly could, inviting themselves into delicate situations to disasterous result. He did so dread coming to these people, but as somebody once said, Politics makes for strange bedfellows. When a situation required a delicate touch he'd been known to commune with them, barter, organize, stipulate, demand. They had somehow engratiated themselves to the underworld and made themselves indispensable. Lutheran was six foot six, with black hair that collected around the level of his adam's apple and shrouded his face. Tonight he wore it down, straight, gleaming in the low lighting, his black trench coat better suited to a businessman than a leader in the savage world of the untouchable dark. Grey dress slacks and a pale red button-down shirt tucked in, black silk tie, and shining Italian loafers. He looked like something between the Devil's Advocate and a stock broker, if the two may be distinguished from one another whatsoever. No rings, no necklace, no visible tatoos or pentagrams. His eyes were a chocolate brown and deep with intimate knowledge of things mortal men never saw and wouldn't ever want to, alien in their point of view, too intelligent to be safe. Where do we stand? His voice rolled out of his throat with practiced animalistic intonation, coming to stand ten feet away from the older greying man. He blinked slowly and stood tall, hands limp at his side, calm with dread and understood peril.