As it would turn out, the new hive was all anyone in the both the supernatural and human worlds were talking about. Damien had finished dressing and made his way down the street to one of his favorite haunts--a particularly divey establishment that catered to just about anyone with a rap sheet and a bad attitude. He strolled in and immediately his face lit up at the sight of a particularly graceful, languid figure behind the bar.
"Hello Kitten," he growled. The bartender emitted a high pitched squeak and threw herself half across the bar to press a kiss to his cheek. Damien grinned to reveal a row of perfectly white teeth and took a seat, taking the drink that had been poured with unnatural speed.
"I was wondering where you were," Mae noted. "A bit of a late start for you, isn't it?" She continued to pour drinks and take money, stuffing the extra cash slid her way into various parts of clothing--if one could call it that.
"Mmm, yes, but rumor has it Xavier and Addison's prodigy has fledged at last. Dad was in all sorts of an uproar about it this morning," he explained, sipping on his whiskey and taking a cigarette out of the pocket in his leather jacket.
"And you're sure it had nothing to do with your little scuffle down in Southside last night," Mae teased, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow at him. Damien rolled his eyes at her. So much a sister, she was, despite being a werepanther. Regardless, she was considered a full Macevicius pack member. She and Damien were nearly the same age, though Mae a couple years older--a fact she loved to remind him of whenever it came to a disagreement. Damein found it infuriating because, really, in the grand scheme of lifetimes that stretched centuries what on earth difference did a year or two make? For god's sake his parents were nearly four centuries apart in age.
"Whatever," Damien scoffed, "Not my fault the fucking pixies can't take a joke." He swallowed the rest of his whiskey in a single gulp and held his glass out for it to be repoured. The ice had barely begun to melt. "Either way, that's not what he was on about. He wants me to 'check it out', whatever that implies." Damien snorted and ashed his cigarette.
"Oh my," Mae giggled, leaning against the bar and stretching her feline spine that was exposed nearly in its entirety. "Well that does sound like fun. Rumor also has it that they're staging a sort of...interview tonight. Looking for new recruits, trying to add to their numbers already. It's a who's who of guests, you know. All the rich human assholes who are using mommy and daddy's money to buy them immortality. Those types." Mae and Damien both had a certain distaste for human company. Petty, desperate creatures they all seemed to be. The rich, spoiled ones were the absolute worst.
Damien licked a few drops of smokey liqour from his lips and gave Mae a devilish grin. "Oh now there's an idea. What better way to see what they're on about than act like one of those rich little fucks, huh?"
"You do get to have all the fun," Mae pouted, sticking out her full lower lip. Damien stood, took the entirety of his fresh drink in a single go, and patted Mae's cheek with his enormous hand in a fashion he knew she hated. He let out a cackle at her high pitched growl and jumped back before her teeth could latch into his flesh, a habit she never had quite broken since they were children.
"You're with me in spirit, Kitten," he called out over his shoulder as he took his leave. It was a short jaunt back to the hotel that had, in the short time he'd been gone, turned into a hub of activity as the pack stirred and awoke for the evening. Damien slipped in through one of the back entrances, taking the service stairs to his room. He quickly showered and set out what was likely the most pretentious outfit he could string together. A quick shave eliminated his customary five o'clock shadow and some pomade slicked his thick and characteristically unruly hair back out of his face. When he looked in the mirror he could damn near believe it himself that he was some greasy vampire hopeful. Except...he paused to smell his skin. Well that wasn't going to work.
After literally decades of sneaking out and being places no werewolf had a right to be, Damien had amassed an arsenal of tricks. After digging through his bathroom cupboards, he found the small jar of cream he'd been looking for. He bought it off a low level crone some time ago, and it had always seemed to do the trick at least for a few hours. He rubbed it on his hands and neck before taking another smell of himself. Ah, much better. A bit of pheremone magic and some mild glamour always did the trick.
Damien took the elevator to the parking garage, bypassing his parked motorbike and instead heading towards the black Maserati. It was far too ostentatious to belong to Garrett. No, this was Maddox's car--a definite sign he had at one point lived amongst vampires, however many decades ago it may have been. A throat cleared behind him and he glanced over his shoulder to see Mycal working on one of the pack's many vehicles. There was a distinct disapproving look in the older wolf's eyes but Damien ignored him, instead sliding into the posh, black leather interior and pressing the ignition button. The car purred to life and with a few wild screeches and tire marks Damien left the parking garage, heading to the interstate that would take him north towards the new hive.