Can never get enough Who: Domina and Zaviar Where: Clearing in the woods When: 10:00 a.m. Warnings: ...guaranteed to go badly.
The good thing about being a teacher was that it gave one the entire summer to do whatever they wished, within financial constraints. For someone like Zaviar who had grown up with hardly any money of his own to spend it was easy to remember what those limits were and not stretch them too far. Which was why he had done nothing this summer beyond move into his new home in Scarlet Oak, the small city where he would be teaching come all, and furnish it a bit. No elaborate vacations or trips to distant lands to learn about this or that, no attending lectures by "famous" professors who might have something he should hear. No, no, Zaviar was content in this little place if only because it had turned into such a delicious hotbed of supernatural activity. The demons may have been everywhere when they came but everywhere did not have a Bram Moriarty, a Cameron Calvert, a Liliya Kennedy and all of the various underlings and in-betweens that were just poised on all sorts of edges and possibly ready to tear each others throats out - a sight that might actually be fun to see. Let them do as they wished, all that Zaviar cared about was finding others like himself who wanted to be full and rid of the vanillas who were nothing more than demon-fodder.
Well, and master his magic. Which was why he was sitting cross-legged in a meadow that morning with a small, smokeless fire burning away merrily, causing the blackish liquid inside of the iron cauldron he had brought to finally begin bubbling away. Other than the veritable melting pot of races and personalities that it held, Scarlet Oak was also home to quite the impressive magic shop and Zaviar was guilty of spending too much money and too much time there since his arrival. Better to be practicing his spells than playing with the humans just yet. Exciting comment in a new town after not even a month would only make him have to leave sooner and really, no. Tilting his head, Zaviar picked up a small clay pot and popped the lid of with his thumb, nose wrinkling at the scent. Rat tails never had a particularly appetizing smell, that was true, but these were very clearly rotten and no good. "Damnit," he whispered. Without those tails the potion would come out useless. As he was about to tip the cauldron over and declare it a failure, hoping that the concoction would at least kill the plants in the area, he felt the faint whispers of a tremor in the ground like little tiny feet were running across it.
His expressions did not change but Zaviar froze, right hand poised as the little tremors came closer and closer. Tongue darting out to taste the air he allowed a satisfied little smile to cross his face at the scent of rodent. One good thing about forests was that there were almost always pests and if he sat very still then it would come closer, drawn no doubt to the scent of locusts that he has used moments before - yes! The man's hand darted out and suddenly there was a squeaking, squealing rat dangling by the tail from his hand. "Good to see you, little one," Zaviar muttered, flicking open the pocketknife that he kept with his spell kit. A quick flash of steel in the early morning sunlight, a splatter of crimson and the rat was squeaking loudly as it vanished in a rustle of grass, leaving behind a small trail of blood with the tail squirmed for a few brief seconds in Zaviar's hand. Nodding to himself he began to slice the thing, hairless tail up. Fresher really was better.