Post by Deleted on Oct 5, 2017 21:54:40 GMT 10
CION william CONNOLLY
Down in a hole, losing my soul. I'd like to fly, but my wings have been so denied.
:: BREED/RACE OF FATHER :: Traditional Werewolf
:: BREED/RACE OF MOTHER :: Traditional Vampire
:: AGE // HOW OLD DO YOU LOOK :: 92//25
:: GENDER :: Male
:: FAMILY ::
Conan Connolly- Father, deceased.
Louisa Connolly (nee Robinson)- Mother, alive.
Spencer Robinson- Maternal uncle, alive.
Benjamin Robinson- Maternal uncle, deceased.
William Robinson- Maternal grandfather, deceased.
Mabel Robinson- Maternal grandmother, deceased.
:: PACK//CLAN :: The Thraeston Clan
:: HUMAN APPEARANCE ::
It should come as no surprise that Cion is extremely attractive. His mother is of a species renown for their beauty while his father was a proud member of a race widely known for their flawless fitness. Having said that, Cion physically leans more toward his vampire heritage and so has inherited the 'handsome curse.' The kind of handsome that has older vampiresses pinching his cheeks eighty years past decency. He can't pull off the rough and broody look, but the 'handsome curse' coupled with his vampiric allure and natural charms lends him plenty of weight in the 'smoldering and sultry' department. Nature gave him a sweet face and baby blue eyes in order to lure in victims easily, and so he has never been able to shake off his peers' teasing. He is just such a pretty, pretty boy. But to mortals, he is much more irresistible than the average vampire. Even werewolves have been known to walk into incoming objects when he comes into their line of sight.
Cion is a tall man at a respectable and even six feet, and his build is slim and athletic. He doesn't ever work out or train in any way, but his metabolism and natural muscle mass ensure that he always looks to be in peak physical condition. His smile is more of a roguish smirk when he reveals it on purpose, but unexpected laughter makes his devilish grin morph into a boyish beam. His facial hair seems to be in a perpetual five-o-clock shadow and the deep brunette hair atop his head is kept short and stylishly tousled. Cion's style leans toward the more casual-formal styles; nice jeans and a pressed shirt do wonders to his appearance.
:: WOLF APPEARANCE ::
Cion's fur is a deep blue-grey, his build long and lanky; he is made for speed and endurance rather than brute strength. At the shoulder, he is a respectable 4”6. His baby blue eyes appear all the more striking set against his thick fur. Cion's ears are rather large and set low on his skull- more similar to a coyote than a wolf.
:: PERSONALITY ::
A hybrid is a marrying of two separate species with many polarizing attributes; where nature makes contradictions of them, nurture is there to tip the scales and eliminate any lingering discrepancies. Cion was raised with vampires, and so his 'favorable' characteristics were encouraged until they overlapped and eventually ate away at the contrary traits.
His most defining characteristic is his obvious identity as a ruthless devil's advocate. Because of his uncanny and often ruthless method of communication, Cion has developed not only an insight into others' reasoning, but also a solid understanding of opposing ideas in general; he would make an accomplished diplomat if only he would commit himself to doing actual work. He is on a constant quest for knowledge- and what better was to gain it than to attack and defend an idea from every angle and side? His tendency to lock horns with everybody for fun often rubs others the wrong way; it is difficult for him to make meaningful conversation without turning it into a passionate debate (though he is working on it) and as such, he is difficult to get along with. The fact that many people avoid direct conversation with him bothers Cion not at all, for he is rather choosy with the selection of his inner circle; he is drawn to characters who reflect peculiarities that he holds in high regard, especially those that can either take his words with a grain of salt or face off against his 'playful banter.' He is quick to spot a kindred soul, and bonds are formed surprisingly quickly with those he 'clicks' with. He doesn't mince words and cares little about being seen as sensitive or compassionate, and so he is not the prime example of the proverbial shoulder to cry on; he is the friend you go to when you need a problem solved or solid advice. In the case of romantic relationships, Cion has not had many. Being not only a hybrid, but the scion of a rather grandiose clan, he is seen as unapproachable and unobtainable by many. Those that dare to attempt a seduction likewise find themselves rebuffed by either Cion's exacting standards or his overparticular relatives. After all, he is practically a prince amongst his fellows- why should he settle for anything less than his absolute vision of loveliness? He has been surrounded by the beauty and grace of vampires since his first memory, the allure of physical perfection does little to attract him if there is no character to back it up. And if there existed a woman who had the courage to proposition him, and if that woman also met Cion's almost ridiculous standards, she would then have to pass the inspection of his mother and uncle. The clan as a whole is protective of Cion due to the sheer rarity and usefulness of his blood, but his blood family surpasses the clan when it comes to matters of Cion's company. Nothing but the absolute best may be permitted to stand next to the hybrid.
It is no surprise, then, that Cion is a sheltered young man. His family is overprotective, and his clan enforces his family's will to ensure that Cion is always safe and given everything that he may want. Because of his generally soft and coddled lifestyle, he has become an irresponsible and entitled man; Cion may love to brainstorm and solve problems in theory, but he will avoid 'grunt work' at all costs. He maintains that he is the brains, and everybody else should be 'maintenance and logistics.' He holds tradition in low regard and takes glee in discarding existing systems and modes of thinking in favor of pulling together disparate ideas and gluing them together with raw creativity (of which he has an abundance.) Since Cion is forever arguing circles around everybody, he has had enough practice to develop a remarkably quick wit and way with words that lures most people to him out of intrigue. His confidence, quick thought and ability to connect disparate ideas in novel ways creates a style of communication that is charming, entertaining, and informative if Cion manages not to scare the person off with his sheer passion when speaking. People tend to adore him, and so they go to great lengths to please Cion. This has fostered a sort of laziness- why do anything at all when he has multiple people who are more than happy to shoulder the responsibility?
On the opposite side of the coin, Cion is seen as very argumentative, insensitive, and intolerant. Most people rarely appreciate the vigor with which Cion tears down their beliefs and methods and the way he pushes well past others' tolerance levels. If one is not able to back up their ideas, he is likely to dismiss not just their ideas, but the person themselves. This leads to a sort of extreme polarity when it comes to his reputation. One either loves and cherishes Cion, or one loathes him with the intensity of a thousand suns.
Because Cion is hidden away from the world, he practically salivates at the idea of adventure and schemes- he often daydreams of slipping away and throwing himself deep into the life of a man on the run. His creativity in these imaginings is not entirely wasted on speculative escapism, for Cion has a knack for innovation. He can be sometimes found eating away at his eternal time with writing- poems, stories, and plays for the most part- his capacity for word-weaving is impressive, and one day he might have his work shared with the world if he ever deigned to finish a single piece.
Cion is an extroverted intellectual, to be sure- but his kinetic energy is not entirely spent on speaking. Since he is a hybrid (and a young one, at that,) his physical demands are quite intense. If he does not burn off his vast vigor, he can become quite moody and difficult to deal with. He often throws himself into running around their territory at least once a day to avoid the cabin-fever that he can easily develop.
He is a man that laughs easily, speaks fervently, cherishes deeply, and thirsts for life and adventure. Nothing is ever boring with Cion around.
:: HISTORY ::
There is not much to tell of Cion's history; it was completely average by a clan child's expectations. His very early childhood is but a blur in his memories, so long ago as to be another life entirely; Cion had a father in his first few years, he knows this. He knows that his father was a good man, a loving man, a werewolf, but Cion cannot describe his face, the sound of his voice, the feelings he evoked within his child's heart. His mother, Louisa, had to kill his father to protect herself and Cion from his mindless moon-rage; he faults her not for it, necessity is the mother of violence. What he can recall from his earliest reckonings is the clan, his Uncle Spencer, and Mother. He can remember running through throngs of legs stretching above his line of vision in order to escape his mother's tickling fingers, Cion can remember being light enough to sit on his Uncle's lap as Spencer read him fantastical stories full of wonder and adventure, he can recollect clan members sneaking him sweets and ruffling his hair for no reason other than adoration. What Cion can recall with utmost clarity, chief among them, was that he was the only child within a house full of eternal adults without the means to procreate. To say that he was spoiled rotten would be an understatement. He had countless 'aunties' and 'uncles' indulging his every whim and wish, bringing him presents almost every day for no reason at all, being told at all hours of the day how precious and cherished he was. His actual Uncle Spencer took the mantle of 'father' and attempted to balance the clan's over-indulgence by attempting to be stern- more often than not, Cion's baby blues would do the man in until he too succumbed to Cion's indulgences. Despite the fact that the child was showered with love and gifts at every turn, Cion was lonely. The grown-ups played with him when they could, but it was only for a few moments until they had to attend to their duties. His mother listened to his imaginative tales with bemused affection, but she never told him any herself. Uncle Spencer made up scavenger hunts to occupy him and bought him expensive toys to make up for the fact that he had little time to actively engage the boy, but Cion had nobody else to play with. The loneliness ate away at him and he became a withdrawn boy, given to wandering the halls aimlessly to try and invent new ways to distract himself- until Uncle Spencer took notice. Cion's uncle has always been more intelligent and observant that people realize, often employing the power of common sense to see through a problem to its core. It's what made him such a good leader, among other things. Uncle Spencer knew of Cion's penchant for imagination in the way that the little boy would weave completely fictional stories off the top of his head, and so the man gave Cion a fill-in-the-blanks book to occupy him for a few hours. Cion made quick work of the little story book; not only did he fill in the blank spaces with imaginative ideas, he added a full page to the back of the cover and insisted that Uncle Spencer fill it out. He was hooked, instantly. After that came a much thicker book to fill in, then a small notepad, a large notepad, a leather-bound journal, a typewriter, and a primitive computer later on. The computers kept getting upgraded when something new and innovative came around. Cion often divides the chapters of his past into the mediums that he wrote in.
When Uncle Spencer gave him his first real journal, he had just entered his twentieth year- still a child in the eyes of the clan, but old enough to make his first real friend amongst their numbers. Uncle brought in a young man newly turned, only three years older than Cion. Gregory was his name. Newly blooded and scared, he latched onto Cion's side like white on rice and the two of them formed an unbreakable bond of friendship that promised to last for centuries. That is, it would have lasted, had Gregory lived past his ten-year anniversary. He was killed in an automobile accident, of all things. He would have walked away from the crash and healed within a day had his car not blown up- it was only a small consolation that the drunk driver that hit him was also blown sky high. Cion was inconsolable after that, and the loneliness once again took hold of him. He couldn't write, he was in too much anguish. But then, a clan member introduced him to whiskey. Perhaps if Cion had not taken to the liquid fire so well, that particular clan member would not have been banished- as it stood, Cion found that he really liked being drunk. In his grief, he would often sequester himself into his bedroom and not rise unless it was to eat or throw up the previous meal; mother and uncle were less than impressed with Cion's handling of the situation. They hired a councilor when their words and attempts proved fruitless- her name was Francesca, and she certainly got him out of his slump. On her first day, she threw back his curtains at the risk of burning herself with the rays of the sun and threw a chilled bucket full of water and fish heads onto his sleeping form. She handled him roughly and without mercy, poking and prodding at his pride and naturally argumentative nature to get a rise out of him. She physically attacked him when he began to slump into depression once more to give him an outlet for his energy; that woman treated him as no one has ever dared save for Greg- an equal rather than a superior. She put him on no pedestal and in fact delighted on knocking him down a few pegs on numerous occasions. When Cion began to fall for the 'councilor,' it came as no surprise to her; unfortunately, she was already spoken for- and had been for the past few centuries. She stayed around for a few more years and then had to leave for her own clan when her contracted time was fulfilled, back to her family and mate. Cion didn't mourn her loss because she had taught him how to circumnavigate that deep pit of despair he would be prone to falling into every time he lost somebody dear to him- she taught him to meet his grief with logic. He would live forever if he was not killed, he will love and loose countless people in his lifetime. Enjoy and cherish them now, while he has them, and celebrate the life that they led when they eventually left him for the grave.
It was when Cion received his first type writer (around the age of forty) that he experienced the first stirrings of rebellion. He was a man grown to the humans, long past his prime; but to the vampires he was but a new adult. He was still not allowed outside of the compound without a gaggle of well-armed and highly trained elders, and Cion longed to break away and go find what others of his age group named 'fun.' He began to defy his uncle and sneak out past curfew, and he found a new group of human friends that loved nothing more than dropping acid and living in the woods well away from prying eyes. He had his share of becoming one with his consciousness and stumbled upon a great feeling of morality and righteousness in the process. He grew his hair long and began bellowing revolutionary radicalism to any who would listen and dared those who disagreed to defend themselves from a passionate tongue. Ah, the sixties. To this day, Cion would look back on those memories with a fond and vivid affection. He spent nearly a decade laying with any woman who would have him (of which there were many,) talking of justice and truth until the sun began to ascend, the music, the freedom. Cion took to staying for months with them, living as modern gypsies instead of going home every night as he had in the beginning. His family indulged him for a while, as they were wont to do with the young hybrid, but a five month absence put his mother into enough of a frenzy that Uncle Spencer had no choice but to steal him away like a thief in the night. His family might have been content with the knowledge that Cion was safe, healthy, and happy; they would have let him go on his merry way the next day, but Cion had to go and muck it up by opening his big fat mouth. He started arguing with his uncle. Loudly. He started making grand claims of abstract realism, aired his wishes to march on the capitol with his fellows, threatened to run down to Mexico to escape the cage of the clan. Uncle Spencer has always been a shrewd man- able to read between the lines and draw hidden conclusions. The argument came to an abrupt halt when the older vampire muttered a simple inquiry, 'what have you been taking, boy?'
Cion bristled at the insinuation that he was but a child, and so he haughtily answered with the truth,
'everything I can get my hands on.'
Rebellion could be forgiven, it was part of growing up and finding oneself- but putting one's life on the line due to youthful folly? That was not tolerated. Cion was too rare and adored, like some priceless diamond- he would be corrected of his stupidity. Even a hybrid, strong though he may be, can stop his own heart with the right concoction. Cion was locked up for the better part of a year- that is- confined to the house and watched like a hawk. It had been terrible for the first few months; he needed to purge his system of the chemicals he had unknowingly grown dependent on. He was sick for a very long time, and quite pitiful if his mother is to be believed. When Uncle Spencer finally trusted his judgment enough to release him from his overwhelming custody, the age of Aquarius was already over.
The seventies were a blur to Cion, quite boring in total honesty. He spent the better part of a decade in college and earned a bachelor's degree before entering law school. He became a lawyer because he was good at it, and because he had enough time on his hands to do whatever took his fancy. Then came the eighties and with it, a new chapter in Cion's long life.
The clan took in many vampires over the years from every walk of life- and so it was quite alright for Xandra to wheedle her way in. Perhaps wheedle was the wrong word. Her sire was granted entry, and that invitation extended to her newly-blooded ward. His first impression of her, standing behind her mistress with her arms clasped about her petite frame, was that of pity. She was young by human standards, a new adult, and she was young by vampiric standards- only a few days old. Frightened, uncertain, and angry. Uncle Spencer was less than pleased when the new sire turned up dead only days later, her heart split in two by a wooden stick that had been meticulously whittled into a deadly point. Cion's uncle was prepared to cast the young vampire out, but Cion himself stepped forward and insisted that she be given to him, instead. Call it a gut feeling, but the young hybrid could sense a kinship with the girl standing defiant against a centuries-old man, daring him to throw her away. Uncle Spencer might have seen an opportunity for Cion to learn the responsibilities of siring, or maybe he just wanted Cion to quit nagging him about it. In any case, the girl was his to take under-wing from then on. That gut feeling proved to be a true instinct when the two grew close, not romantically, but platonic in every sense. Thick as thieves, two peas in a pod. She would bait him with a comment, even if she didn't believe what she was saying, and he would rise to the challenge; therein, they would engage in a sort of intense banter made easy with the knowledge that both of them understood each other. He taught her to control her hunger, but that was really all of the instruction she needed. The girl was born to shadows, and it turned out that it was in fact Cion who benefited most from the relationship- he was desperately lacking in the talents that she had an abundance of. He was never taught to use weapons, there was never a need when he was surrounded on all sides by people who would lay down their lives for him. Really, he'd never given the topic much thought before. What need had he of a gun when his natural abilities gave him an advantage over every living creature on earth? Xandra had laughed so hard at that particular comment that she actually began snorting. Her training was a humbling experience, to say the least. Cion tried his hand at it but quickly decided that it was not the trade for him, he had neither the patience nor the foresight necessary to excel.
Xandra and Cion were hardly apart from one another, and so Uncle Spencer never called upon the girl to go to work; the fact that the two of them never let onto her talents might have been a small part of Uncle Spencer's lack of attention. She and Cion would go get 'dinner' together every night (which they did,) but what they did after was a mystery to everybody save them. Uncle Spencer and Mother knew that the two of them weren't 'involved;' they would have put a stop to them being around one another if they had suspicions. Cion was too 'valuable' to just get seriously involved with a lower-ranked new blood; it was an unspoken yet completely understood aspect of Cion's relationship with his family. That didn't stop others from pining after him- after all, it was easy to fall for those baby blue eyes. Of those that sighed longingly at Cion, one young girl took it upon her jealous self to 'catch' the two of them and subsequently get Xandra expelled from the clan.
It was of of the girls from the financial wing of the clan who followed them in the hopes of catching them in a compromising position, but instead she found Xandra scoping a target in a tree and Cion at the base with a bottle of whiskey and an off-key song on his lips. Regardless of how innocuous their position was, she reported them none the less, and Uncle Spencer was not happy that they had been keeping Xandra's knowledge from him. As punishment, he ordered her to join the ranks of the lowly scouts while Cion reaped the consequences in the form of absolute boredom. Now that Xandra had a job, she was no longer available to occupy his time, and a bored Cion meant trouble for all. He was underfoot so much that Uncle Spencer almost gave into Cion's constant requests to go out alone. Almost. At that point, the clan had moved to California and they were immediately met with outright refusal and resistance from the local ruling werewolf pack. They tried the diplomatic approach, but that was no good. Spencer wasn't about to give up; he seemed to be quite taken with the territory, and Cion could see how the potential for growth appealed to his ambitious uncle. The wolves weren't showing any signs that they were the type to gracefully bow out, one thing led to another and one day the bubble of rising tensions burst. The reports still weren't clear on who initially attacked whom. A handful of vampires got into a scuffle with a handful of wolves, somebody died, and suddenly they had a war on their hands. The confrontation was quick to rise, but the conclusion was not. For all of Spencer's perceived superiority, the wolves were proving to be an equal match. They met him blow for blow, and their strategies were proving to be the result of a sharp mind at work behind the scenes. The vampires were vicious and precise with their attacks, often ambushing pack members and elimination them without a sound or a trace. In comparison, the wolves out numbered them three-to-one and made up for their lack of speed and subtlety by simply brutalizing any vampire they caught; their noses were so keen that it was almost child's play to hunt one of them down. The fighting was limited to alleyway brawls and drive-by shootings in those beginning days, but as time wore on the fighting got larger and more elaborate. It would have surprised no one in the least if it eventually escalated into an actual pitch battle in the middle of sunset strip. Vampires were getting bitten left and right, and it was Cion's job to cure them. At least he was able to help- if it wasn't for Cion's blood, Uncle Spencer would have lost most of his clan. Near the end of last year, things took a turn for the worst. Cion was loosing so much blood that it was affecting him enough to keep him in bed most days, unable to do much with the exception of eating and using the bathroom. The enemy werewolves had been growing suspicious over the past months as their victims kept coming back again and again, so they launched an investigation. Uncle Spencer knew that this had been coming, so he sent an interception for the hunting party. Of course, Cion was not privy to this information (he rarely was,) so he had not the first clue that his best friend had been sent with around fifteen other vampires to head the werewolves off. It was by complete coincidence that the young hybrid happened upon the news that she had gone missing along with the rest of her party when he stumbled downstairs and into the parlor. He encountered the scene of his uncle standing stiffly in the entrance way over a bleeding vampire who was wheezing out his report.
“All taken.” He'd coughed. “Jimmy, Xandra, and Colin took out their alpha before they were taken.”
Cion could tell by the way Uncle Spencer smiled brightly that he'd completely tuned out the second part of that sentence, the one where Cion's best friend was revealed to be in a great deal of danger. Hell, he hadn't even noticed Cion standing on the steps in numb shock. Which was quite convenient. Slowly, he backed up until he was out of sight and headed to his room. Cion wasn't a fighter; he'd never been allowed to train with the others, and it was only by Xandra's good graces that he knew how to shoot and clean a hand gun. He dressed himself in black, tucked a knife in his boot, and loaded his .45 before hopping out of the window. Exhausted as he was, he pushed aside his comfort for the sake of the one person on earth who seemed to care what he wanted and what he had to say. She was the closest thing that Cion had outside of his immediate family, and even then he preferred her over his uncle and his mother most days. He followed her scent with his nose for a very long time, pumping his legs with every ounce of energy that he could spare until he was well out of the city and into Angeles National Forest. She was close. He would be at a severe disadvantage in the trees and the dirt, the wolves would have home field advantage. He'd seen the remnants of the vampire group in between the forest and his home; he'd counted only eleven headless bodies, none of them were Xandra. He had four people to rescue. On top of that, there had been eight werewolf bodies along the path as well.
Hybrids are unreasonably fast, and even in his tired state he'd covered a vast amount of distance in an impressive amount of time. Truth be told, Cion never realized how fast he actually was; there was never been a reason to push himself like that. It gave him a boost of confidence that helped him overcome his initial apprehension upon identifying the eight werewolves currently standing frozen in the shadows of the trees, their prizes slung across their shoulders like lambs carried to slaughter. Eight against one. And they could smell him. His four clansmen were still breathing, and Xandra was indeed among them; she looked so small and helpless over the shoulder of the large brute carrying her. Her gun was gone and she had blood oozing from her temple, so she wouldn't be helping him any time soon.
Cion had never been one to be quick to anger and in fact he was more accustomed to others getting irritated with him; but at this moment, his anger was fast swelling in his chest until he felt as if he would burst if he didn't let it out. Cion bravely stepped from the trees and leveled his gun at the wolf holding his friend, and that's when chaos broke out amongst them. By the time Cion was done, there were seven dead wolves strung around him and one missing- run back to his pack, probably. Cion's logic demanded that he go and take down the errant escapee, but his emotions held him back. He was too anxious to think much about what had just transpired, instead he worked with a single-minded intensity in order to get his comrades to safety. One of them was up already after Cion healed his bites, but the other three were still out cold. The young hybrid slung the smaller male over his shoulder and cradled Xandra in his arms while the other man hefted the bigger male onto his back. They made it safely back to the clan, never letting up on their speed for fear of what would happen if they'd gotten caught.
Uncle Spencer was furious when they stepped in the front door. He hadn't even realized that Cion had left, he'd been discussing strategies with the other higher ups in the parlor when the damn butler informed him that his blood-covered nephew had just gotten back from his excursion. Spencer ranted and raved at him right there in the doorway for all to hear, and when he was done he demanded a report. Cion had stood there and taken the verbal punishment, his unconscious charges taken from him the moment he arrived. It was the other vampire who delivered their accounts while Cion stood passively, his exhaustion finally catching up with him. The other man- Cion couldn't recall his name- spoke his account of the initial attack. The alpha himself had lead the charge and had immediately spotted the vampires hiding amongst the shadows of the streets. Out of the sixteen vampires, thirteen were ground soldiers while the other three provided cover from high on the rooftops. The werewolves numbered nineteen in total, or so they had thought. Apparently, the alpha had fed information to Spencer's informant with the full knowledge that the vampires would plan accordingly. At least, that's what they assumed when a number of hidden werewolves surprised their rooftop snipers before the ground party ever engaged. They must have been lying in wait for hours. However, what they didn't take into account was the nature of chance. Xandra wasn't in command, but she started yelling orders regardless. The alpha was put down just moments before the triad was over taken and without their cover, the ground squad was demolished. The four that survived did so by the graces of the next wolf in command, but it wasn't known exactly why they were being spared. At least they found out where the main den was. Somewhere in the forest. The next thing he knew, he was waking up to Cion covered in blood and ringed by dead bodies- he then cited that he had no idea that hybrids were so capable. It was then that Uncle Spencer got a gleam in his eye; it was a certain look that he often got when he was coming up with a particularly clever scheme. He sent them away to rest without an ounce of previous anger in his voice, and it was then that Cion began to feel suspicious. It was almost a week before he was summoned to his uncle's study.
He arrived in the lavish room filled with apprehension. Nothing good ever came of being summed to the study- his uncle had a week to come up with his punishment, and now he was going to execute it.
Cion was more than a little surprised when the room was already occupied by not only his uncle, but three other vampires. Xandra stood stiffly before his uncle's desk with her arms crossed, a very tall man beside her; Uncle Spencer was seated at ease in his large wing-backed chair behind the mahogany desk and a young-looking boy stood at attention near Spencer's shoulder. Cion entered and all eyes turned to him; they seemed to have been waiting. He recognized the boy next to his uncle, a newly-minted scout, just like Xandra. The bigger man was also familiar, he had been in the clan for going on fifty years now; Tommy. Cion never had much cause to speak with the man, and neither did Xandra. He was a ground-man, extremely skilled and specialized. He wasn't the type of man to be sent out in skirmish, nor was he the type of man to have any reason to stand next to a lowly scout. Tommy was one of Uncle Spencer's elites, it was whispered that he was the best solider that the clan had, and Cion could believe that. After all, he was Cion's personal body guard. You had to be a very special vampire to be trusted with Cion's wellbeing. He didn't speak much at all and refused to engage with Cion when he was on the job- which was a constant thing. Cion's own personal shadow, always watching, always prepared for the worst.
“Glad you could find time in your busy schedule to join us.” His uncle gestured to the empty spot next to Xandra, who threw a roguish smirk at him over her shoulder. Cion was quite confused at this point, but he followed the gesture obediently until he stood next to his best friend and faced his uncle. Silence reigned supreme, but Spencer looked at ease draped over his chair. He sat up and gathered a stack of papers from atop his desk,
“I have an assignment for you three.”
Excitement warred with suspicion and battled with bewilderment. Cion had never gotten an assignment before, hell, Cion didn't even have chores like the rest of the clan. Spencer knew this, and yet he continued as if this situation was a normal and expected thing. He proffered the stack of papers to Tommy, but it was Xandra that took them from Spencer's hand with a cheeky smile.
Cion never knew how she could be so disregarding of his uncle, the venerable leader of a powerful clan; a celebrity among the west-coast vampires. He suspected that Uncle Spencer indulged her as a favor to Cion, either that or he was just tolerant towards pretty girls. The three of them were dismissed without another word.
The hybrid was in a daze as he followed Xandra towards her bedroom on the lower levels, Tommy trailing behind at a respectable distance as usual. Cion was fairly blindsided by the whole thing; his uncle had sequestered himself in his study all week, presumably in a fuming rage at Cion's blatant disobedience. Cion assumed when he was summoned that he would get reprimanded and then locked in his tower again, but instead his uncle had given him the one thing he thought that he could never have. A mission. Just like he was just a normal clan member that could be trusted to carry out orders. There was a mixture of excitement and apprehension swirling in his gut; on the one hand, adventure and excitement beckoned. On the other, he was completely unprepared. He had no training in anything save for basic defense- probably why he was partnered with Xandra and Tommy. Their combined expertise would cancel out his inexperience. Still, if Cion wasn't good for anything out in the field, why was he being sent? And how on earth did his uncle convince his mother to let Cion off his leash?
Xandra unlocked her door and let Cion into the familiar maelstrom of her personal space and he trailed in on auto-piloted legs while his mind was otherwise occupied. He shuffled over to his favorite spot on her bed and sat down heavily, but his attention was drawn from his introspection to Tommy who stood firmly in the doorway. He was easily over six feet, and Cion knew for a fact that Xandra was only 5”2, so the image of her arm barring the other man from coming in was almost comical. Especially since Tommy looked very unintimidated and Xandra was giving him her very best glare.
“Beat it, bigfoot.”
The blond man's face was stoic save for the twitch of a smile that almost made it to the surface.
“You're having an assignment meeting; I'm commander of the mission. If you didn't want a stranger to come in your room, then you should've gone to the library.” Xandra snorted indignantly and Cion stared in wonder at Tommy. He hadn't heard that man say so much in the half of a century of knowing him. Xandra and Tommy didn't know each other, not really. She had been hanging out with Cion exclusively for the past thirty years, so Tommy had three decades of observance in his favor; still, it irked Cion that the big man gave her precedence over him. To be fair, Cion had always gotten the impression that Tommy didn't like him in the slightest. One of those gut feelings again, and Cion's intuition was usually spot-on. Xandra and Tommy stared at one another in a silent battle of wills, her eyes abrasively staring him down while his expression conveyed how utterly unimpressed he was. Tommy lost his patience before she did and made a 'tsk' sound before grabbing her by the upper arms and lifting her. Xandra squealed and kicked out with her feet, but all Tommy did was carry her over to the bed and drop her unceremoniously next to Cion. He walked back to the door and shut it before crossing his arms and leaning against the wood. He motioned with his hands that the two of them should carry on. Xandra and Cion just stared at one another for a moment, him in befuddlement and her in consideration.
“So...”
She glanced back at Tommy with a distinct look of calculation etching her features. For the most part, Tommy was glancing around her room with lifted eyebrows and judgmental eyes; the floor was covered in clothes, books, and papers- her closet, desk, and bookshelf were filled with weapons, tactical tools, and shoes. Lots and lots of shoes.
“You're the boss, huh? Old man tell you that, or did you just decide?”
That bare hint of a grin twitched Tommy's cheek once again, but this time he let the corners of his mouth lift marginally,
“Oh, I wouldn't be saying that, little girl. I'm older than Mr. Robinson, so you'd be calling me ancient.”
Well, Cion didn't know that. He could see Xandra straighten up out the corner of his eye,
“That still doesn't answer my question...” As an after thought, just to get him riled up, she tacked on “geezer.” If she was trying to piss him off, which- she totally was- it wasn't working. He just looked evenly at her and said, “he did.”
Cion tuned out to their bickering when he took a packet from the top of the stack still held firmly in Xandra's hand and flipped through the first page.
OPERATION: RSCB17-HH
DEPART AND RETURN: OCT 1, N/A
AGENTS: 00C1C010H, 9066XBBL6, TTFF18555
CODE: JAGUAR, PANTHER, LIGER
FREQUENCY: 05
TARGET: UNKNOWN, MEG
CODE: SPARROW
PARTY OBJECTIVE: Reconnaissance and acquisition of target using non-lethal, non-aggressive force.
AGENT OBJECTIVE: JAGUAR: COMM: Ground support, protection detail, record, enforcement.
PANTHER: SCOMM: Distance support, infiltration, observe, re- enforcement.
LYGER: BAIT: Infiltration, acquisition.
There was more. Much more. A single packet was made of approximately nineteen pages, but the cover page had his full attention. The first thought that came to him was 'my codename sucks,' his second thought was “I'm f**king bait?!' but it was Xandra hovering over his shoulder that confirmed it.
“Your codename sucks. We should just call you earthworm” She declared. When Cion didn't give her a reaction she simply elbowed him and elaborated. “Get it? Cause' you're the bait...” There was a brief pause in which Cion refused to give Xandra a response and Tommy strode over to them to make a grab for his own packet. Cion flipped the page and began reading while the other two stayed quiet. Xandra, who was still reading over Cion's shoulder, broke the silence with a sharp intake of breath and a mutter of “Has he lost his f**king mind?”
Cion was inclined to agree with the sentiment. If this was his first mission, shouldn't he be observing and training? Throwing him in head-first wasn't characteristic of his uncle, surely it was a miss-type.
“Maybe you should read past the first page before jumping to conclusions, little girl.” Rumbled Tommy. A glance at him revealed that he was already three pages in and not giving the two of them a shred of attention. Xandra ungracefully plopped herself on her back with her face below Tommy's line of vision,
“We can't read all that well. Could you read to us instead, grandpa?” Her voice was pitched, almost a baby's coo. Without missing a beat, Tommy flipped the page and replied evenly, “Call me daddy instead, and I might.”
Cion halted in his own reading and raised surprised eyes at the man. For somebody who hardly ever opened his mouth, he sure was sassy. Likewise, Xandra was staring up at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw. The silence ticked away at the warm comfort of the room until Xandra filled it up once again with riotous laughter. Cion couldn't help but join in. Maybe he could get along with Tommy after all.
“You're alright, old man.”
Xandra sat up and gave him a companionable punch in the upper arm. Cion propped himself back on the headboard and delved deeply into his reading. “Do I have to memorize all of this?” he asked to whoever was listening.
“Yup.”
That had been the night that it started, not officially- of course. It wouldn't be another month until they actually left. Missions were given in advance to allow the teams to plan accordingly. The three of them took to hanging out in Xandra's room most nights; they studied maps and routes, booked rooms, invented cover stories, and talked shop. Really, it was Xandra making the plans and Cion observing while Tommy offered a rare comment or suggestion. At some point Cion was called into his uncle's study once more, and that's when he was given his real objective outside of official documentation. It sounded ludicrous, but leave it to Uncle Spencer to make even the most ridiculous thing sound entirely reasonable. When you broke it down to its raw form, devoid of pretty words and claims of grandeur, it was simply this: Cion is going to be a stud hound. For the good of the clan, of course. He was expected to lure an unsuspecting female hybrid into the clan and quickly get her with child. It wasn't kidnapping if she wanted to come. More hybrids equals more fire power, and they needed more of that if they didn't want to loose this war. Never mind the fact that they could simply move to another place where the werewolf population wasn't as dense and influential. Cion himself was hesitant. He felt a little used, but at the same time he could logically recognize the sound reasoning. At least he wasn't being ordered to kidnap the target in question, all he had to do was charm her into agreeing to stay with the clan and pop out a few babies. He didn't have to mate her or anything- they might stumble upon more hybrids that needed to be fertilized.
Cion felt like a total creep. When he informed his teammates of his actual role, their reactions polarized each other. Tommy was silently disapproving; Cion could read his stern eyes like an open book. The man was disappointed in the decision but would ultimately play along like he was ordered to do. Xandra just laughed it off and insisted that their mission was doomed if it relied on Cion's charm. Outwardly, she acted dismissive as if it weren't a big deal. He'd known her long enough to be able to tell when she was lying; she was disturbed by the notion that Cion would be churning out children for the sole purpose of war. She was usually so upfront about her opinions that it surprised the hybrid when she wasn't more forthcoming about talking to him about it; whenever he brought it up she would violently change the subject. So, he stopped trying to talk about it with his team and instead resigned himself to his uncle's whims. It wouldn't be all that bad, it may actually be fun. He just had to push his personal feelings far away from the assignment and do as he was told; that was what it meant to be part of the clan, after all. To trust explicitly in your leader's judgment and follow orders without question so that the bigger picture could be achieved- Spencer hadn't steered them wrong yet. Cion would do his job without complaint and his uncle would see how trustworthy he was; after this, he would get more missions and more leeway. Maybe one day he might even gain enough respect that he could go out on his own without anybody fretting over him or dragging him back home. He wasn't a kid anymore, play time was over.
Down in a hole, losing my soul. I'd like to fly, but my wings have been so denied.
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:: BREED/RACE OF FATHER :: Traditional Werewolf
:: BREED/RACE OF MOTHER :: Traditional Vampire
:: AGE // HOW OLD DO YOU LOOK :: 92//25
:: GENDER :: Male
:: FAMILY ::
Conan Connolly- Father, deceased.
Louisa Connolly (nee Robinson)- Mother, alive.
Spencer Robinson- Maternal uncle, alive.
Benjamin Robinson- Maternal uncle, deceased.
William Robinson- Maternal grandfather, deceased.
Mabel Robinson- Maternal grandmother, deceased.
:: PACK//CLAN :: The Thraeston Clan
:: HUMAN APPEARANCE ::
It should come as no surprise that Cion is extremely attractive. His mother is of a species renown for their beauty while his father was a proud member of a race widely known for their flawless fitness. Having said that, Cion physically leans more toward his vampire heritage and so has inherited the 'handsome curse.' The kind of handsome that has older vampiresses pinching his cheeks eighty years past decency. He can't pull off the rough and broody look, but the 'handsome curse' coupled with his vampiric allure and natural charms lends him plenty of weight in the 'smoldering and sultry' department. Nature gave him a sweet face and baby blue eyes in order to lure in victims easily, and so he has never been able to shake off his peers' teasing. He is just such a pretty, pretty boy. But to mortals, he is much more irresistible than the average vampire. Even werewolves have been known to walk into incoming objects when he comes into their line of sight.
Cion is a tall man at a respectable and even six feet, and his build is slim and athletic. He doesn't ever work out or train in any way, but his metabolism and natural muscle mass ensure that he always looks to be in peak physical condition. His smile is more of a roguish smirk when he reveals it on purpose, but unexpected laughter makes his devilish grin morph into a boyish beam. His facial hair seems to be in a perpetual five-o-clock shadow and the deep brunette hair atop his head is kept short and stylishly tousled. Cion's style leans toward the more casual-formal styles; nice jeans and a pressed shirt do wonders to his appearance.
:: WOLF APPEARANCE ::
Cion's fur is a deep blue-grey, his build long and lanky; he is made for speed and endurance rather than brute strength. At the shoulder, he is a respectable 4”6. His baby blue eyes appear all the more striking set against his thick fur. Cion's ears are rather large and set low on his skull- more similar to a coyote than a wolf.
:: PERSONALITY ::
A hybrid is a marrying of two separate species with many polarizing attributes; where nature makes contradictions of them, nurture is there to tip the scales and eliminate any lingering discrepancies. Cion was raised with vampires, and so his 'favorable' characteristics were encouraged until they overlapped and eventually ate away at the contrary traits.
His most defining characteristic is his obvious identity as a ruthless devil's advocate. Because of his uncanny and often ruthless method of communication, Cion has developed not only an insight into others' reasoning, but also a solid understanding of opposing ideas in general; he would make an accomplished diplomat if only he would commit himself to doing actual work. He is on a constant quest for knowledge- and what better was to gain it than to attack and defend an idea from every angle and side? His tendency to lock horns with everybody for fun often rubs others the wrong way; it is difficult for him to make meaningful conversation without turning it into a passionate debate (though he is working on it) and as such, he is difficult to get along with. The fact that many people avoid direct conversation with him bothers Cion not at all, for he is rather choosy with the selection of his inner circle; he is drawn to characters who reflect peculiarities that he holds in high regard, especially those that can either take his words with a grain of salt or face off against his 'playful banter.' He is quick to spot a kindred soul, and bonds are formed surprisingly quickly with those he 'clicks' with. He doesn't mince words and cares little about being seen as sensitive or compassionate, and so he is not the prime example of the proverbial shoulder to cry on; he is the friend you go to when you need a problem solved or solid advice. In the case of romantic relationships, Cion has not had many. Being not only a hybrid, but the scion of a rather grandiose clan, he is seen as unapproachable and unobtainable by many. Those that dare to attempt a seduction likewise find themselves rebuffed by either Cion's exacting standards or his overparticular relatives. After all, he is practically a prince amongst his fellows- why should he settle for anything less than his absolute vision of loveliness? He has been surrounded by the beauty and grace of vampires since his first memory, the allure of physical perfection does little to attract him if there is no character to back it up. And if there existed a woman who had the courage to proposition him, and if that woman also met Cion's almost ridiculous standards, she would then have to pass the inspection of his mother and uncle. The clan as a whole is protective of Cion due to the sheer rarity and usefulness of his blood, but his blood family surpasses the clan when it comes to matters of Cion's company. Nothing but the absolute best may be permitted to stand next to the hybrid.
It is no surprise, then, that Cion is a sheltered young man. His family is overprotective, and his clan enforces his family's will to ensure that Cion is always safe and given everything that he may want. Because of his generally soft and coddled lifestyle, he has become an irresponsible and entitled man; Cion may love to brainstorm and solve problems in theory, but he will avoid 'grunt work' at all costs. He maintains that he is the brains, and everybody else should be 'maintenance and logistics.' He holds tradition in low regard and takes glee in discarding existing systems and modes of thinking in favor of pulling together disparate ideas and gluing them together with raw creativity (of which he has an abundance.) Since Cion is forever arguing circles around everybody, he has had enough practice to develop a remarkably quick wit and way with words that lures most people to him out of intrigue. His confidence, quick thought and ability to connect disparate ideas in novel ways creates a style of communication that is charming, entertaining, and informative if Cion manages not to scare the person off with his sheer passion when speaking. People tend to adore him, and so they go to great lengths to please Cion. This has fostered a sort of laziness- why do anything at all when he has multiple people who are more than happy to shoulder the responsibility?
On the opposite side of the coin, Cion is seen as very argumentative, insensitive, and intolerant. Most people rarely appreciate the vigor with which Cion tears down their beliefs and methods and the way he pushes well past others' tolerance levels. If one is not able to back up their ideas, he is likely to dismiss not just their ideas, but the person themselves. This leads to a sort of extreme polarity when it comes to his reputation. One either loves and cherishes Cion, or one loathes him with the intensity of a thousand suns.
Because Cion is hidden away from the world, he practically salivates at the idea of adventure and schemes- he often daydreams of slipping away and throwing himself deep into the life of a man on the run. His creativity in these imaginings is not entirely wasted on speculative escapism, for Cion has a knack for innovation. He can be sometimes found eating away at his eternal time with writing- poems, stories, and plays for the most part- his capacity for word-weaving is impressive, and one day he might have his work shared with the world if he ever deigned to finish a single piece.
Cion is an extroverted intellectual, to be sure- but his kinetic energy is not entirely spent on speaking. Since he is a hybrid (and a young one, at that,) his physical demands are quite intense. If he does not burn off his vast vigor, he can become quite moody and difficult to deal with. He often throws himself into running around their territory at least once a day to avoid the cabin-fever that he can easily develop.
He is a man that laughs easily, speaks fervently, cherishes deeply, and thirsts for life and adventure. Nothing is ever boring with Cion around.
:: HISTORY ::
There is not much to tell of Cion's history; it was completely average by a clan child's expectations. His very early childhood is but a blur in his memories, so long ago as to be another life entirely; Cion had a father in his first few years, he knows this. He knows that his father was a good man, a loving man, a werewolf, but Cion cannot describe his face, the sound of his voice, the feelings he evoked within his child's heart. His mother, Louisa, had to kill his father to protect herself and Cion from his mindless moon-rage; he faults her not for it, necessity is the mother of violence. What he can recall from his earliest reckonings is the clan, his Uncle Spencer, and Mother. He can remember running through throngs of legs stretching above his line of vision in order to escape his mother's tickling fingers, Cion can remember being light enough to sit on his Uncle's lap as Spencer read him fantastical stories full of wonder and adventure, he can recollect clan members sneaking him sweets and ruffling his hair for no reason other than adoration. What Cion can recall with utmost clarity, chief among them, was that he was the only child within a house full of eternal adults without the means to procreate. To say that he was spoiled rotten would be an understatement. He had countless 'aunties' and 'uncles' indulging his every whim and wish, bringing him presents almost every day for no reason at all, being told at all hours of the day how precious and cherished he was. His actual Uncle Spencer took the mantle of 'father' and attempted to balance the clan's over-indulgence by attempting to be stern- more often than not, Cion's baby blues would do the man in until he too succumbed to Cion's indulgences. Despite the fact that the child was showered with love and gifts at every turn, Cion was lonely. The grown-ups played with him when they could, but it was only for a few moments until they had to attend to their duties. His mother listened to his imaginative tales with bemused affection, but she never told him any herself. Uncle Spencer made up scavenger hunts to occupy him and bought him expensive toys to make up for the fact that he had little time to actively engage the boy, but Cion had nobody else to play with. The loneliness ate away at him and he became a withdrawn boy, given to wandering the halls aimlessly to try and invent new ways to distract himself- until Uncle Spencer took notice. Cion's uncle has always been more intelligent and observant that people realize, often employing the power of common sense to see through a problem to its core. It's what made him such a good leader, among other things. Uncle Spencer knew of Cion's penchant for imagination in the way that the little boy would weave completely fictional stories off the top of his head, and so the man gave Cion a fill-in-the-blanks book to occupy him for a few hours. Cion made quick work of the little story book; not only did he fill in the blank spaces with imaginative ideas, he added a full page to the back of the cover and insisted that Uncle Spencer fill it out. He was hooked, instantly. After that came a much thicker book to fill in, then a small notepad, a large notepad, a leather-bound journal, a typewriter, and a primitive computer later on. The computers kept getting upgraded when something new and innovative came around. Cion often divides the chapters of his past into the mediums that he wrote in.
When Uncle Spencer gave him his first real journal, he had just entered his twentieth year- still a child in the eyes of the clan, but old enough to make his first real friend amongst their numbers. Uncle brought in a young man newly turned, only three years older than Cion. Gregory was his name. Newly blooded and scared, he latched onto Cion's side like white on rice and the two of them formed an unbreakable bond of friendship that promised to last for centuries. That is, it would have lasted, had Gregory lived past his ten-year anniversary. He was killed in an automobile accident, of all things. He would have walked away from the crash and healed within a day had his car not blown up- it was only a small consolation that the drunk driver that hit him was also blown sky high. Cion was inconsolable after that, and the loneliness once again took hold of him. He couldn't write, he was in too much anguish. But then, a clan member introduced him to whiskey. Perhaps if Cion had not taken to the liquid fire so well, that particular clan member would not have been banished- as it stood, Cion found that he really liked being drunk. In his grief, he would often sequester himself into his bedroom and not rise unless it was to eat or throw up the previous meal; mother and uncle were less than impressed with Cion's handling of the situation. They hired a councilor when their words and attempts proved fruitless- her name was Francesca, and she certainly got him out of his slump. On her first day, she threw back his curtains at the risk of burning herself with the rays of the sun and threw a chilled bucket full of water and fish heads onto his sleeping form. She handled him roughly and without mercy, poking and prodding at his pride and naturally argumentative nature to get a rise out of him. She physically attacked him when he began to slump into depression once more to give him an outlet for his energy; that woman treated him as no one has ever dared save for Greg- an equal rather than a superior. She put him on no pedestal and in fact delighted on knocking him down a few pegs on numerous occasions. When Cion began to fall for the 'councilor,' it came as no surprise to her; unfortunately, she was already spoken for- and had been for the past few centuries. She stayed around for a few more years and then had to leave for her own clan when her contracted time was fulfilled, back to her family and mate. Cion didn't mourn her loss because she had taught him how to circumnavigate that deep pit of despair he would be prone to falling into every time he lost somebody dear to him- she taught him to meet his grief with logic. He would live forever if he was not killed, he will love and loose countless people in his lifetime. Enjoy and cherish them now, while he has them, and celebrate the life that they led when they eventually left him for the grave.
It was when Cion received his first type writer (around the age of forty) that he experienced the first stirrings of rebellion. He was a man grown to the humans, long past his prime; but to the vampires he was but a new adult. He was still not allowed outside of the compound without a gaggle of well-armed and highly trained elders, and Cion longed to break away and go find what others of his age group named 'fun.' He began to defy his uncle and sneak out past curfew, and he found a new group of human friends that loved nothing more than dropping acid and living in the woods well away from prying eyes. He had his share of becoming one with his consciousness and stumbled upon a great feeling of morality and righteousness in the process. He grew his hair long and began bellowing revolutionary radicalism to any who would listen and dared those who disagreed to defend themselves from a passionate tongue. Ah, the sixties. To this day, Cion would look back on those memories with a fond and vivid affection. He spent nearly a decade laying with any woman who would have him (of which there were many,) talking of justice and truth until the sun began to ascend, the music, the freedom. Cion took to staying for months with them, living as modern gypsies instead of going home every night as he had in the beginning. His family indulged him for a while, as they were wont to do with the young hybrid, but a five month absence put his mother into enough of a frenzy that Uncle Spencer had no choice but to steal him away like a thief in the night. His family might have been content with the knowledge that Cion was safe, healthy, and happy; they would have let him go on his merry way the next day, but Cion had to go and muck it up by opening his big fat mouth. He started arguing with his uncle. Loudly. He started making grand claims of abstract realism, aired his wishes to march on the capitol with his fellows, threatened to run down to Mexico to escape the cage of the clan. Uncle Spencer has always been a shrewd man- able to read between the lines and draw hidden conclusions. The argument came to an abrupt halt when the older vampire muttered a simple inquiry, 'what have you been taking, boy?'
Cion bristled at the insinuation that he was but a child, and so he haughtily answered with the truth,
'everything I can get my hands on.'
Rebellion could be forgiven, it was part of growing up and finding oneself- but putting one's life on the line due to youthful folly? That was not tolerated. Cion was too rare and adored, like some priceless diamond- he would be corrected of his stupidity. Even a hybrid, strong though he may be, can stop his own heart with the right concoction. Cion was locked up for the better part of a year- that is- confined to the house and watched like a hawk. It had been terrible for the first few months; he needed to purge his system of the chemicals he had unknowingly grown dependent on. He was sick for a very long time, and quite pitiful if his mother is to be believed. When Uncle Spencer finally trusted his judgment enough to release him from his overwhelming custody, the age of Aquarius was already over.
The seventies were a blur to Cion, quite boring in total honesty. He spent the better part of a decade in college and earned a bachelor's degree before entering law school. He became a lawyer because he was good at it, and because he had enough time on his hands to do whatever took his fancy. Then came the eighties and with it, a new chapter in Cion's long life.
The clan took in many vampires over the years from every walk of life- and so it was quite alright for Xandra to wheedle her way in. Perhaps wheedle was the wrong word. Her sire was granted entry, and that invitation extended to her newly-blooded ward. His first impression of her, standing behind her mistress with her arms clasped about her petite frame, was that of pity. She was young by human standards, a new adult, and she was young by vampiric standards- only a few days old. Frightened, uncertain, and angry. Uncle Spencer was less than pleased when the new sire turned up dead only days later, her heart split in two by a wooden stick that had been meticulously whittled into a deadly point. Cion's uncle was prepared to cast the young vampire out, but Cion himself stepped forward and insisted that she be given to him, instead. Call it a gut feeling, but the young hybrid could sense a kinship with the girl standing defiant against a centuries-old man, daring him to throw her away. Uncle Spencer might have seen an opportunity for Cion to learn the responsibilities of siring, or maybe he just wanted Cion to quit nagging him about it. In any case, the girl was his to take under-wing from then on. That gut feeling proved to be a true instinct when the two grew close, not romantically, but platonic in every sense. Thick as thieves, two peas in a pod. She would bait him with a comment, even if she didn't believe what she was saying, and he would rise to the challenge; therein, they would engage in a sort of intense banter made easy with the knowledge that both of them understood each other. He taught her to control her hunger, but that was really all of the instruction she needed. The girl was born to shadows, and it turned out that it was in fact Cion who benefited most from the relationship- he was desperately lacking in the talents that she had an abundance of. He was never taught to use weapons, there was never a need when he was surrounded on all sides by people who would lay down their lives for him. Really, he'd never given the topic much thought before. What need had he of a gun when his natural abilities gave him an advantage over every living creature on earth? Xandra had laughed so hard at that particular comment that she actually began snorting. Her training was a humbling experience, to say the least. Cion tried his hand at it but quickly decided that it was not the trade for him, he had neither the patience nor the foresight necessary to excel.
Xandra and Cion were hardly apart from one another, and so Uncle Spencer never called upon the girl to go to work; the fact that the two of them never let onto her talents might have been a small part of Uncle Spencer's lack of attention. She and Cion would go get 'dinner' together every night (which they did,) but what they did after was a mystery to everybody save them. Uncle Spencer and Mother knew that the two of them weren't 'involved;' they would have put a stop to them being around one another if they had suspicions. Cion was too 'valuable' to just get seriously involved with a lower-ranked new blood; it was an unspoken yet completely understood aspect of Cion's relationship with his family. That didn't stop others from pining after him- after all, it was easy to fall for those baby blue eyes. Of those that sighed longingly at Cion, one young girl took it upon her jealous self to 'catch' the two of them and subsequently get Xandra expelled from the clan.
It was of of the girls from the financial wing of the clan who followed them in the hopes of catching them in a compromising position, but instead she found Xandra scoping a target in a tree and Cion at the base with a bottle of whiskey and an off-key song on his lips. Regardless of how innocuous their position was, she reported them none the less, and Uncle Spencer was not happy that they had been keeping Xandra's knowledge from him. As punishment, he ordered her to join the ranks of the lowly scouts while Cion reaped the consequences in the form of absolute boredom. Now that Xandra had a job, she was no longer available to occupy his time, and a bored Cion meant trouble for all. He was underfoot so much that Uncle Spencer almost gave into Cion's constant requests to go out alone. Almost. At that point, the clan had moved to California and they were immediately met with outright refusal and resistance from the local ruling werewolf pack. They tried the diplomatic approach, but that was no good. Spencer wasn't about to give up; he seemed to be quite taken with the territory, and Cion could see how the potential for growth appealed to his ambitious uncle. The wolves weren't showing any signs that they were the type to gracefully bow out, one thing led to another and one day the bubble of rising tensions burst. The reports still weren't clear on who initially attacked whom. A handful of vampires got into a scuffle with a handful of wolves, somebody died, and suddenly they had a war on their hands. The confrontation was quick to rise, but the conclusion was not. For all of Spencer's perceived superiority, the wolves were proving to be an equal match. They met him blow for blow, and their strategies were proving to be the result of a sharp mind at work behind the scenes. The vampires were vicious and precise with their attacks, often ambushing pack members and elimination them without a sound or a trace. In comparison, the wolves out numbered them three-to-one and made up for their lack of speed and subtlety by simply brutalizing any vampire they caught; their noses were so keen that it was almost child's play to hunt one of them down. The fighting was limited to alleyway brawls and drive-by shootings in those beginning days, but as time wore on the fighting got larger and more elaborate. It would have surprised no one in the least if it eventually escalated into an actual pitch battle in the middle of sunset strip. Vampires were getting bitten left and right, and it was Cion's job to cure them. At least he was able to help- if it wasn't for Cion's blood, Uncle Spencer would have lost most of his clan. Near the end of last year, things took a turn for the worst. Cion was loosing so much blood that it was affecting him enough to keep him in bed most days, unable to do much with the exception of eating and using the bathroom. The enemy werewolves had been growing suspicious over the past months as their victims kept coming back again and again, so they launched an investigation. Uncle Spencer knew that this had been coming, so he sent an interception for the hunting party. Of course, Cion was not privy to this information (he rarely was,) so he had not the first clue that his best friend had been sent with around fifteen other vampires to head the werewolves off. It was by complete coincidence that the young hybrid happened upon the news that she had gone missing along with the rest of her party when he stumbled downstairs and into the parlor. He encountered the scene of his uncle standing stiffly in the entrance way over a bleeding vampire who was wheezing out his report.
“All taken.” He'd coughed. “Jimmy, Xandra, and Colin took out their alpha before they were taken.”
Cion could tell by the way Uncle Spencer smiled brightly that he'd completely tuned out the second part of that sentence, the one where Cion's best friend was revealed to be in a great deal of danger. Hell, he hadn't even noticed Cion standing on the steps in numb shock. Which was quite convenient. Slowly, he backed up until he was out of sight and headed to his room. Cion wasn't a fighter; he'd never been allowed to train with the others, and it was only by Xandra's good graces that he knew how to shoot and clean a hand gun. He dressed himself in black, tucked a knife in his boot, and loaded his .45 before hopping out of the window. Exhausted as he was, he pushed aside his comfort for the sake of the one person on earth who seemed to care what he wanted and what he had to say. She was the closest thing that Cion had outside of his immediate family, and even then he preferred her over his uncle and his mother most days. He followed her scent with his nose for a very long time, pumping his legs with every ounce of energy that he could spare until he was well out of the city and into Angeles National Forest. She was close. He would be at a severe disadvantage in the trees and the dirt, the wolves would have home field advantage. He'd seen the remnants of the vampire group in between the forest and his home; he'd counted only eleven headless bodies, none of them were Xandra. He had four people to rescue. On top of that, there had been eight werewolf bodies along the path as well.
Hybrids are unreasonably fast, and even in his tired state he'd covered a vast amount of distance in an impressive amount of time. Truth be told, Cion never realized how fast he actually was; there was never been a reason to push himself like that. It gave him a boost of confidence that helped him overcome his initial apprehension upon identifying the eight werewolves currently standing frozen in the shadows of the trees, their prizes slung across their shoulders like lambs carried to slaughter. Eight against one. And they could smell him. His four clansmen were still breathing, and Xandra was indeed among them; she looked so small and helpless over the shoulder of the large brute carrying her. Her gun was gone and she had blood oozing from her temple, so she wouldn't be helping him any time soon.
Cion had never been one to be quick to anger and in fact he was more accustomed to others getting irritated with him; but at this moment, his anger was fast swelling in his chest until he felt as if he would burst if he didn't let it out. Cion bravely stepped from the trees and leveled his gun at the wolf holding his friend, and that's when chaos broke out amongst them. By the time Cion was done, there were seven dead wolves strung around him and one missing- run back to his pack, probably. Cion's logic demanded that he go and take down the errant escapee, but his emotions held him back. He was too anxious to think much about what had just transpired, instead he worked with a single-minded intensity in order to get his comrades to safety. One of them was up already after Cion healed his bites, but the other three were still out cold. The young hybrid slung the smaller male over his shoulder and cradled Xandra in his arms while the other man hefted the bigger male onto his back. They made it safely back to the clan, never letting up on their speed for fear of what would happen if they'd gotten caught.
Uncle Spencer was furious when they stepped in the front door. He hadn't even realized that Cion had left, he'd been discussing strategies with the other higher ups in the parlor when the damn butler informed him that his blood-covered nephew had just gotten back from his excursion. Spencer ranted and raved at him right there in the doorway for all to hear, and when he was done he demanded a report. Cion had stood there and taken the verbal punishment, his unconscious charges taken from him the moment he arrived. It was the other vampire who delivered their accounts while Cion stood passively, his exhaustion finally catching up with him. The other man- Cion couldn't recall his name- spoke his account of the initial attack. The alpha himself had lead the charge and had immediately spotted the vampires hiding amongst the shadows of the streets. Out of the sixteen vampires, thirteen were ground soldiers while the other three provided cover from high on the rooftops. The werewolves numbered nineteen in total, or so they had thought. Apparently, the alpha had fed information to Spencer's informant with the full knowledge that the vampires would plan accordingly. At least, that's what they assumed when a number of hidden werewolves surprised their rooftop snipers before the ground party ever engaged. They must have been lying in wait for hours. However, what they didn't take into account was the nature of chance. Xandra wasn't in command, but she started yelling orders regardless. The alpha was put down just moments before the triad was over taken and without their cover, the ground squad was demolished. The four that survived did so by the graces of the next wolf in command, but it wasn't known exactly why they were being spared. At least they found out where the main den was. Somewhere in the forest. The next thing he knew, he was waking up to Cion covered in blood and ringed by dead bodies- he then cited that he had no idea that hybrids were so capable. It was then that Uncle Spencer got a gleam in his eye; it was a certain look that he often got when he was coming up with a particularly clever scheme. He sent them away to rest without an ounce of previous anger in his voice, and it was then that Cion began to feel suspicious. It was almost a week before he was summoned to his uncle's study.
He arrived in the lavish room filled with apprehension. Nothing good ever came of being summed to the study- his uncle had a week to come up with his punishment, and now he was going to execute it.
Cion was more than a little surprised when the room was already occupied by not only his uncle, but three other vampires. Xandra stood stiffly before his uncle's desk with her arms crossed, a very tall man beside her; Uncle Spencer was seated at ease in his large wing-backed chair behind the mahogany desk and a young-looking boy stood at attention near Spencer's shoulder. Cion entered and all eyes turned to him; they seemed to have been waiting. He recognized the boy next to his uncle, a newly-minted scout, just like Xandra. The bigger man was also familiar, he had been in the clan for going on fifty years now; Tommy. Cion never had much cause to speak with the man, and neither did Xandra. He was a ground-man, extremely skilled and specialized. He wasn't the type of man to be sent out in skirmish, nor was he the type of man to have any reason to stand next to a lowly scout. Tommy was one of Uncle Spencer's elites, it was whispered that he was the best solider that the clan had, and Cion could believe that. After all, he was Cion's personal body guard. You had to be a very special vampire to be trusted with Cion's wellbeing. He didn't speak much at all and refused to engage with Cion when he was on the job- which was a constant thing. Cion's own personal shadow, always watching, always prepared for the worst.
“Glad you could find time in your busy schedule to join us.” His uncle gestured to the empty spot next to Xandra, who threw a roguish smirk at him over her shoulder. Cion was quite confused at this point, but he followed the gesture obediently until he stood next to his best friend and faced his uncle. Silence reigned supreme, but Spencer looked at ease draped over his chair. He sat up and gathered a stack of papers from atop his desk,
“I have an assignment for you three.”
Excitement warred with suspicion and battled with bewilderment. Cion had never gotten an assignment before, hell, Cion didn't even have chores like the rest of the clan. Spencer knew this, and yet he continued as if this situation was a normal and expected thing. He proffered the stack of papers to Tommy, but it was Xandra that took them from Spencer's hand with a cheeky smile.
Cion never knew how she could be so disregarding of his uncle, the venerable leader of a powerful clan; a celebrity among the west-coast vampires. He suspected that Uncle Spencer indulged her as a favor to Cion, either that or he was just tolerant towards pretty girls. The three of them were dismissed without another word.
The hybrid was in a daze as he followed Xandra towards her bedroom on the lower levels, Tommy trailing behind at a respectable distance as usual. Cion was fairly blindsided by the whole thing; his uncle had sequestered himself in his study all week, presumably in a fuming rage at Cion's blatant disobedience. Cion assumed when he was summoned that he would get reprimanded and then locked in his tower again, but instead his uncle had given him the one thing he thought that he could never have. A mission. Just like he was just a normal clan member that could be trusted to carry out orders. There was a mixture of excitement and apprehension swirling in his gut; on the one hand, adventure and excitement beckoned. On the other, he was completely unprepared. He had no training in anything save for basic defense- probably why he was partnered with Xandra and Tommy. Their combined expertise would cancel out his inexperience. Still, if Cion wasn't good for anything out in the field, why was he being sent? And how on earth did his uncle convince his mother to let Cion off his leash?
Xandra unlocked her door and let Cion into the familiar maelstrom of her personal space and he trailed in on auto-piloted legs while his mind was otherwise occupied. He shuffled over to his favorite spot on her bed and sat down heavily, but his attention was drawn from his introspection to Tommy who stood firmly in the doorway. He was easily over six feet, and Cion knew for a fact that Xandra was only 5”2, so the image of her arm barring the other man from coming in was almost comical. Especially since Tommy looked very unintimidated and Xandra was giving him her very best glare.
“Beat it, bigfoot.”
The blond man's face was stoic save for the twitch of a smile that almost made it to the surface.
“You're having an assignment meeting; I'm commander of the mission. If you didn't want a stranger to come in your room, then you should've gone to the library.” Xandra snorted indignantly and Cion stared in wonder at Tommy. He hadn't heard that man say so much in the half of a century of knowing him. Xandra and Tommy didn't know each other, not really. She had been hanging out with Cion exclusively for the past thirty years, so Tommy had three decades of observance in his favor; still, it irked Cion that the big man gave her precedence over him. To be fair, Cion had always gotten the impression that Tommy didn't like him in the slightest. One of those gut feelings again, and Cion's intuition was usually spot-on. Xandra and Tommy stared at one another in a silent battle of wills, her eyes abrasively staring him down while his expression conveyed how utterly unimpressed he was. Tommy lost his patience before she did and made a 'tsk' sound before grabbing her by the upper arms and lifting her. Xandra squealed and kicked out with her feet, but all Tommy did was carry her over to the bed and drop her unceremoniously next to Cion. He walked back to the door and shut it before crossing his arms and leaning against the wood. He motioned with his hands that the two of them should carry on. Xandra and Cion just stared at one another for a moment, him in befuddlement and her in consideration.
“So...”
She glanced back at Tommy with a distinct look of calculation etching her features. For the most part, Tommy was glancing around her room with lifted eyebrows and judgmental eyes; the floor was covered in clothes, books, and papers- her closet, desk, and bookshelf were filled with weapons, tactical tools, and shoes. Lots and lots of shoes.
“You're the boss, huh? Old man tell you that, or did you just decide?”
That bare hint of a grin twitched Tommy's cheek once again, but this time he let the corners of his mouth lift marginally,
“Oh, I wouldn't be saying that, little girl. I'm older than Mr. Robinson, so you'd be calling me ancient.”
Well, Cion didn't know that. He could see Xandra straighten up out the corner of his eye,
“That still doesn't answer my question...” As an after thought, just to get him riled up, she tacked on “geezer.” If she was trying to piss him off, which- she totally was- it wasn't working. He just looked evenly at her and said, “he did.”
Cion tuned out to their bickering when he took a packet from the top of the stack still held firmly in Xandra's hand and flipped through the first page.
OPERATION: RSCB17-HH
DEPART AND RETURN: OCT 1, N/A
AGENTS: 00C1C010H, 9066XBBL6, TTFF18555
CODE: JAGUAR, PANTHER, LIGER
FREQUENCY: 05
TARGET: UNKNOWN, MEG
CODE: SPARROW
PARTY OBJECTIVE: Reconnaissance and acquisition of target using non-lethal, non-aggressive force.
AGENT OBJECTIVE: JAGUAR: COMM: Ground support, protection detail, record, enforcement.
PANTHER: SCOMM: Distance support, infiltration, observe, re- enforcement.
LYGER: BAIT: Infiltration, acquisition.
There was more. Much more. A single packet was made of approximately nineteen pages, but the cover page had his full attention. The first thought that came to him was 'my codename sucks,' his second thought was “I'm f**king bait?!' but it was Xandra hovering over his shoulder that confirmed it.
“Your codename sucks. We should just call you earthworm” She declared. When Cion didn't give her a reaction she simply elbowed him and elaborated. “Get it? Cause' you're the bait...” There was a brief pause in which Cion refused to give Xandra a response and Tommy strode over to them to make a grab for his own packet. Cion flipped the page and began reading while the other two stayed quiet. Xandra, who was still reading over Cion's shoulder, broke the silence with a sharp intake of breath and a mutter of “Has he lost his f**king mind?”
Cion was inclined to agree with the sentiment. If this was his first mission, shouldn't he be observing and training? Throwing him in head-first wasn't characteristic of his uncle, surely it was a miss-type.
“Maybe you should read past the first page before jumping to conclusions, little girl.” Rumbled Tommy. A glance at him revealed that he was already three pages in and not giving the two of them a shred of attention. Xandra ungracefully plopped herself on her back with her face below Tommy's line of vision,
“We can't read all that well. Could you read to us instead, grandpa?” Her voice was pitched, almost a baby's coo. Without missing a beat, Tommy flipped the page and replied evenly, “Call me daddy instead, and I might.”
Cion halted in his own reading and raised surprised eyes at the man. For somebody who hardly ever opened his mouth, he sure was sassy. Likewise, Xandra was staring up at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw. The silence ticked away at the warm comfort of the room until Xandra filled it up once again with riotous laughter. Cion couldn't help but join in. Maybe he could get along with Tommy after all.
“You're alright, old man.”
Xandra sat up and gave him a companionable punch in the upper arm. Cion propped himself back on the headboard and delved deeply into his reading. “Do I have to memorize all of this?” he asked to whoever was listening.
“Yup.”
That had been the night that it started, not officially- of course. It wouldn't be another month until they actually left. Missions were given in advance to allow the teams to plan accordingly. The three of them took to hanging out in Xandra's room most nights; they studied maps and routes, booked rooms, invented cover stories, and talked shop. Really, it was Xandra making the plans and Cion observing while Tommy offered a rare comment or suggestion. At some point Cion was called into his uncle's study once more, and that's when he was given his real objective outside of official documentation. It sounded ludicrous, but leave it to Uncle Spencer to make even the most ridiculous thing sound entirely reasonable. When you broke it down to its raw form, devoid of pretty words and claims of grandeur, it was simply this: Cion is going to be a stud hound. For the good of the clan, of course. He was expected to lure an unsuspecting female hybrid into the clan and quickly get her with child. It wasn't kidnapping if she wanted to come. More hybrids equals more fire power, and they needed more of that if they didn't want to loose this war. Never mind the fact that they could simply move to another place where the werewolf population wasn't as dense and influential. Cion himself was hesitant. He felt a little used, but at the same time he could logically recognize the sound reasoning. At least he wasn't being ordered to kidnap the target in question, all he had to do was charm her into agreeing to stay with the clan and pop out a few babies. He didn't have to mate her or anything- they might stumble upon more hybrids that needed to be fertilized.
Cion felt like a total creep. When he informed his teammates of his actual role, their reactions polarized each other. Tommy was silently disapproving; Cion could read his stern eyes like an open book. The man was disappointed in the decision but would ultimately play along like he was ordered to do. Xandra just laughed it off and insisted that their mission was doomed if it relied on Cion's charm. Outwardly, she acted dismissive as if it weren't a big deal. He'd known her long enough to be able to tell when she was lying; she was disturbed by the notion that Cion would be churning out children for the sole purpose of war. She was usually so upfront about her opinions that it surprised the hybrid when she wasn't more forthcoming about talking to him about it; whenever he brought it up she would violently change the subject. So, he stopped trying to talk about it with his team and instead resigned himself to his uncle's whims. It wouldn't be all that bad, it may actually be fun. He just had to push his personal feelings far away from the assignment and do as he was told; that was what it meant to be part of the clan, after all. To trust explicitly in your leader's judgment and follow orders without question so that the bigger picture could be achieved- Spencer hadn't steered them wrong yet. Cion would do his job without complaint and his uncle would see how trustworthy he was; after this, he would get more missions and more leeway. Maybe one day he might even gain enough respect that he could go out on his own without anybody fretting over him or dragging him back home. He wasn't a kid anymore, play time was over.
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