2am, Le Masquerade Bar


Tristan had obliged the usual tradition of this establishment by pairing a glitter-grey mask over his casual ensemble this evening.  He was here on business of sorts rather than to observe the variety of menu items patrons who were dancing away on the main floor beyond the bar area - a slow, catchy beat presently gave them reprieve from wilder tunes.

"Sorry, mate. Haven't heard anything."
           
"Ça va," the vampire shrugged as he conversed with the friendly bartender who was sliding him a shot glass of sirop de sang, "It was what you would call a long shot."

Tomorrow night[1], he would be addressing the only real lead he had been able to find in regards to the murders in March. This little visit was not a serious one; Tristan was only curious to know if any of his kind had been playfully preying on the frequenters of Le Masque. It wasn't unheard of and nothing violent usually became of it.

Even so, there was nothing useful here. He sighed as he sank back down on to his bar stool and worried the rim of his glass with a thoughtful frown. Terrence Hook had better know something. Tristan glanced up along the bar counter now, recognising the odd face hidden underneath scanty masks. He could not detect any vampires among them.

Ah, but he did detect a Vaillancourt.

"Pardon, barman-" a gesture and a surreptitious indication towards the young wizard not three or four seats along. "- you will bring him a fine drink? Whatever he likes. And say it is from me, his old cousin."

That was, Tristan suspected, the least he could do for a stranger who shared his family name. And he hoped Mathieu felt the same.

1.	This is Our Playground - 3rd April

Two o’clock in the morning was neither very early nor very late for one masked patron sitting at the bar. This time of night was his comfort zone, a time when inhibitions were down and people were willing to just have fun, and Le Masque offered the perfect atmosphere for this behavior, as no one knew who you really were – so it was easy to just be yourself and let your wildest dreams come to pass, if one isn’t too afraid.

Mathieu Vaillancourt had been graced with VIP status in the establishment long ago, and he never missed an opportunity to come show his patronage. As a professional quidditch player, it was difficult finding a magical establishment to grab a drink from without being bombarded by fans and haters – and while Mathieu truly reveled in all the attention, sometimes anonymity was a welcome respite.

It was the perfect evening to sit around and get properly tipsy with the club attendees, and if any were lucky enough – they might just get to meet the man behind the mask. Mathieu was just finishing his third cocktail, and as he placed the empty glass on the bar, it was immediately replaced with another, courtesy of his old cousin.

Mathieu took a moment to look up toward where the bartender was gesturing and offered a nod toward the man claiming to be related to him. There was no way that could be possible, however, because Mathieu was wearing a mask and he was relatively sure unless the other bloke had x-ray vision that he could tell who was under the mask.

Still, it would be impolite to not at least acknowledge when another person buys you a drink, so the keeper rose gingerly from his bar stool and shuffled his way through the few people waiting in line for drinks to stand near Tristan, “You say you are my cousin?” Mathieu asked jokingly, letting out a peal of mirthful laughter afterward, “I thank you then, family, for the beverage,” though he wasn’t drunk – nor even really very tipsy yet, a couple of drinks had Mathieu’s thick French accent amplified. Mathieu raised his glass in gesture of a toast and took a healthy swig of the hearty cocktail. 

Tristan dark eyes dropped down to this young man's bright red shoes on the approach, and then sharply back to that masked face. Now... he knew how his Vaillancourt cousins looked based on photographs here and there but better than that, he knew the fragrance of Vaillancourt blood. It might have been his imagination. With the new moon this close, the keen scent of mortal ichor was heightened to almost painful extents.

His suspicions were confirmed when Mathieu was close enough for the smell to become obvious. And there was the matter of his accent. “I thank you then, family, for the beverage,” and the drink went down the Quidditch player's long throat.

"Mathieu, is it?" Tristan asked softly while his 'cousin' still drank, and he rested his elbow on the counter to lean against a propped up hand. "I forget what the other one does. Thomas. You are obviously not pretty enough to be a Juliette, even with the mask."

Ah, but it would be rude to guess at someone's name without offering his own. Even if he had done so quietly: no need to advertise the other man's identity. The being had nothing to hide of his own. "Tristan," he offered his free hand with care before lowering his voice, "Consultant vampire."

The strong cocktail was raised to the French man’s lips far longer than he originally anticipated. It was his intention to only take a quick sip, but when his drinking companion softly spoke Mathieu’s name aloud, the drink continued to pour down his constricting throat. It took great skill to keep from sputtering and spitting up the alcohol down his shirt. It was breaking one of the cardinal rules of the establishment – total anonymity was one of the main reasons the Quidditch star enjoyed La Masque so much.

When he finally lowered his drink, he placed it carefully on the bar then braced himself against the counter. Not only was the man going to out Mathieu, he had the audacity to speak his siblings’ names aloud as well – family indeed. The younger Vaillancourt took a calculating look at the elder – confirming with his eyes the words Tristan had spoken, ”Consultant vampire”.

His choice of drink, his mannerisms, the hint of a fang behind his words – Mathieu wasn’t sure how to feel. He realized that the man identified as Tristan wanted a handshake, and with only a slight hesitation, Mathieu released his grip on the bar to briefly grasp the vampire’s hand. At least that explained how the bloke knew Mathieu even with his mask on, though it would have been nice to actually see the vampire’s face – to see for sure the family resemblance.

“Enchanted to meet you,” He said, relaxing a bit after looking around to make sure no one perked up at the low utterance of his name. “What brings you out on this fine evening?” Mathieu ventured to ask – he wasn’t really sure what to say to a blood relative that drinks blood, he didn’t even know how old the bloke was. 

The handshake was reciprocated and - in spite of trace hesitation -Tristan took this as a good omen. Mathieu's hands were warm; he could detect the anxious pulse beneath the skin. They were in a club. It could have been the dancing or the drink or even the exertion at the end of a long day. But somehow it was no stretch of the imagination to assume that the vampire largely contributed. That was fine. A trace of anxiety was good for humans.

It made their blood smell less appealing.

            "What brings you out on this fine evening?"

Tristan finished his shot of blood syrup, ignoring the sweetness in favour of the metallic tang. He slid the empty glass back across the counter and then fixed his cousin with a forced smile. "Work. I'm seeking the more predatory of my kind," a nod in the direction of the dance floor.

The ambience there was different, he could feel the heat coming off the jostling crowd in vibrant waves. They were a heady cocktail of sweat and spit and musk. Marinating themselves.

"I'm afraid there are none here tonight." Tristan sighed softly as his gaze trickled past the dancers and returned to Mathieu. "You have heard of the vampire murders, have you not? I am helping the Aurors in their investigation," he had drawn himself a little closer to the other man.

It wouldn't do for others to hear, though it was well-known in his community that he now worked for the Ministry of Magic. "As they say, it takes one to know one."