Jubilee Oval 

Jo's decision to join would, for her, be a good one. The clutch was growing to a comfortable size, hardly the world's largest, but enough that it certainly offered the amenity of good company. Beauregard did enjoy an intimate crowd. And there was an undeniable pleasure in keeping his little ducks in a row. Den mother, Margaux had called him.

He certainly had gathered quite a number, now. Perhaps more than Bone Hollow had ever managed.

His mood was good, as one might expect. Cloudy skies made for a dark evening, and that was his preference. It was only some hour after dark, and the roar of a football game shook the circle of restaurants and shops outside the stadium. The noise was kind, and only some stragglers and ticket-scalpers remained within the outer ring.

Found a quiet spot to start a walk near Vinny's Wine & Spirits , let me know if you have any trouble finding your way over

Because within his territory, he could certainly track her.

Beauregard wondered if she might be wearing purple again, or an entirely different but consistent color scheme.


To be honest, she was hella nervous. Hunting with her new leader put a lot of pressure on a gal for a good impression. Looking down at his recent text, she gulped as she crossed the street, nearing the liquor store.

People pressed passed her, laughing drunkenly in her ears, stumbling and tripping on the curbs.

A few whistle and calls were directed at her, but Jo kept her eyes front and center, closing in on her location. She slipped her phone into her small clutch, and plastered a smile on her face, ready to see Beauregard any second.

And as soon as he came into view, she cleared her throat, readying her best excited high pitch greeting. "Hello, Beauregard," she beamed, waving a freshly manicured hand.

Skippable but she's keeping an eye on things, estimated three hundred feet away when she lands

She'd followed from a distance, which perhaps Beauregard knew. If it angered him, she was perhaps going to have to remind him the definition of a Guardian once more.

In either case, she flew along in her palm-sized form, keeping herself aloft with a view of his car as he drove.

Eventually he parked, and she took it upon herself to take a perch — again, a great enough distance to be respectful, but with the knowledge that he was likely aware of her presence regardless.

It seemed he was meeting a new vampire, and it meant that she would have to keep an eye on new dead blood to be sure she would not present any malice or threat.

Guarding. She could cross the distance in less than the blink of an eye if she needed.

He could sense her drawing nearer, and Beauregard took the opportunity to pay very close attention to the sensation. Could he determine her strength from a distance?

There was much to learn, but at least he would never again be surprised by an arrival within his territory. It was almost dangerous insight. What was there to stop him from making house calls for every single rogue to wander into the city, save perhaps his manners.

He heard the sound of some variety of catcall, and truthfully, it was enough to catch his attention for the sake of dinner. Some pretty thing would do nicely, and he wondered as to Jo's preferences.

But quickly enough, he would realize she was the target of such whistled advances. And, as predicted, she wore lavender.

"Good evening, darling," he greeted warmly. Was that some flicker of nerves he detected?


"Come, let's make a walk of it first," he said, a small wave to encourage her to walk beside him.

He considered taking her arm before deciding that was Taraneh's influence.

"I must know if your entire wardrobe is a shade of purple, or if I've simply caught you on very coordinated evenings."

Jo stepped into his pace along side him as he waved her on. He commented on her attire and her nerves slowly disappeared, but not for good.

"Well, purple is my color," she winked, "and I've got to stick with my branding."

If only Beauregard knew what her entire life looked like. Jo probably bled purple too. You could say she was pretty dedicated to that one color. All varieties were welcome in her life though she was particular to lavender. Plum, and royal purple were no strangers either.

"I'll be honest, I'm quite nervous," she admitted. "My first hunt with someone and it's the head honcho." Her hands waved enthusiastically as she talked, don't stand too close.

"Lavender Heights must have been a natural choice for you," he said, chuckling some at a joke that was admittedly perhaps a bit too obvious.

He couldn't imagine such dedication to a single shade. It had to be a certain variety of madness. But in the end, vampires were... very often a peculiar bunch. The prospect of immortality seemed to inspire curious natures in some.

She continued with enthusiasm despite her admitted nerves, and he waved a hand in light dismissal.

"This is no test, I assure you, though I admit to always being curious as to the meal preferences of others."

Did she pick Lavender Heights just for the color? Yes.

Jo pushed some hair off her shoulder and off from around her neck, using her hands to smooth it nicely.

Her nerves eased even more when he mentioned it wasn't a test. Phew.

Hello, relief.

"What is your preference if you don't mind me asking?" Her eyes observing the crowds of people weaving around them. Was it the shy and cutesy, the bold and daring, or the mysterious and quiet? Perhaps he liked to see his meals struggle and squeal?

Jo shook her head. Did she even have a type? Hmm.

Beauregard did not like questions turned back on him. There was a flicker of disappointment, and he was uncertain as to where to set the bar.

He had his preferences, as every man did. But women were delicate things, and he had to be mindful not to offend her with his answer.

And so, he would offer a perhaps less salacious form of his response than he might have shared with, say... Taraneh.

"To be terribly truthful," he began. "Female and striking."

He smiled somewhat roguishly. That was a very sterile version of it, certainly.

"And you?"

Some scattered gatherings in sports jerseys pushed toward the stadium, the crowd thinning to smaller pairs of stragglers as they continued.

Jo wriggled her eyebrows at him.

Female. And. Striking.

He left a lot to the imagination not giving a more descriptive answer.

He turned his question onto her next.

"A sense of style never fails my appetite," she grinned wryly. Her eyes scanned the humans before them. "Though it appears we don't have much of that tonight. So I guess my second choice would be male and striking."

A finger pointed at a stumbling group of college students, laughing obnoxiously and throwing a few silly punches at each other.

Beauregard believed rather confidently that he happened to fall into all of the groups Jo described. Perhaps he'd have to count his blessings that he could not be on her menu.

Neither of their answers were particularly interesting, but this was the result of his playing it safe. In time he would learn her boundaries, whatever they were for some purple-clad "priestess."

"What about for your... sacrifices, of sorts? Do you have different requirements for those?"

Beauregard did have some nice style, it was true. Her eyes scanned him over in his more casual attire nonchalantly. He was handsome for an older looking man, but his style was on point.

Her attention returned to their conversation when he brought up her sacrifices. Her type for sacrifices?


She pondered a moment, thinking over the commonalities in her past sacrifices.

"The spirits will tell me, usually humans," she shrugged. It was a simple answer. Humans were more innocent and pure than shifters, but if she could get her hands on another witch. Oh yes, a witch would be most excellent. Extra powerful and the spirits never denied more power.

"I'm sorry," she laughed politely, "that's a super basic answer. I try to appease the spirits in what they are asking for. Sometimes they show me a particular person, or there is criteria I need to meet, like a female with the astrological sign of Libre."

There were a lot of different criteria, and Jo did her best.

A Libra.

Beauregard wondered if she convinced herself she saw spirits right now, in this moment. Could he close her off from it? He had some ability to shut away powers, these days.

Best not risk a piercing headache amidst a hunt, he supposed.

"They sound very fickle," he said thoughtfully.

Ahead, there was a distraction. Some young man, dressed perhaps as some variety of valet. Hardly the epitome of fashion, but better than some football jersey.

The boy, likely in his twenties, was ducking behind a tent. Perhaps sneaking off for a break?

Beauregard nodded toward him, then looked to Jo for some sense of approval.

"The spirits guide me," she explained to his fickle comment. The hardest part for her was cleaning up her mess.

It was amusing, pointing to random humans on the street to see who would fancy their appetites, almost like driving down the street looking for a fast food place for dinner.

But this time, Beauregard found a quite the specimen.

Jo smiled and nodded at him, quickening her pace to follow suit. She was hungry, yes, but her nerves returned knowing Beauregard was with her.

Spirits, mental illness.

Whatever it was, it would need to guide her carefully enough not to cause problems in his territory. She seemed sharp enough besides that particular issue.

"You are better suited to lead the way," he said quietly, and he would lean gently into his ability, to offer the edge of her nerves some calm. "I am certain he will be more interested in chatting with you than me."

A faint smirk, and he would slow to watch her approach.

Perhaps it was a test, but she was unlikely to fail.

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