Bloody Mary's Bar
Given to irony, Bloody Mary's Bar is decorated primarily in black and varying shades of red. From the black bench seats and chairs, black tables, black walls with chilling red blood flowing down them in a continuous manner, it's quite obvious why this bar has the name it does. Deep red mahogany makes up the floor and bar. Dangling red star lights illuminate the bar, lending to it's somewhat creepy look.
It's just around eight PM, and the popular bar has a moderate crowd tonight. Wit can be found at the bar with the titular drink in the bar's name in his hand, chatting with a 'young' vampire woman around his age. "Are you sure that you haven't seen a girl like that around here?" He asks her, unabashedly glancing her up and down. She shakes her head and takes her purse from the bar, muttering something lowly as she goes to find another seat. Wit sighs very quietly as he spins back around on his stool, facing the barkeep. He takes a long sip of his drink starts to look around the bar once more for someone else to question.
The door opens, and Isobel breezes in. It causes quite a bit of speculation among the majority of the vampiric patrons, many of whom saw her enter with the Sheriff the other evening. Many whom saw her leave with the Sheriff the other evening. To the questions that are posed amongst them, Isobel offers no answer. She slips up to the bar to hold a whispered conversation with the bartender, who quickly leaves to head to the back room. While she awaits his return, she settles a camera bag onto the stool beside her quietly scanning the room for one who may prove to be a willing donor this evening if the bartender falls through with her request.
The young man at the bar turns in time to notice Isobel, and he flashes her best debonaire smile — which although given face appearances, is actually quite debonaire. He glances towards the bag that resides on the stool next to her, though he makes no immediate move to displace it or vie for it's place on the stool. After slugging back the rest of his drink, he gets down from his stool and makes his way over to Isobel, standing beside her. He keeps a respectable difference and flashes that same smile once more at her. "Pardon me, miss. Could I ask you something? I assure you this isn't a corny pick up line. I'm looking for a friend of mine that no one has seen in a few days…" Wit starts out.
Isobel looks him up and down, then again. A quick flutter of eye movement before she turns back to the bar, seemingly ignoring him. Not the type she generally prefers to feed on, but he may do in a bind. Thankfully for Wit, the bartender returns at that moment to hand over a tall glass filled with a thick red liquid. Definitely not the synthetic stuff. As it has no straw, she brings the glass to her lips and drinks from it. Long, slow sips. It leaves a slight trickle of blood at the left corner of her lips, which her tongue glides against to lap up before it drips down her chin.
"You can," she replies finally. "But I should warn you that most in here would prefer to see you as food than to answer a question, so I advise you continue with extreme caution."
Wit seems oddly nonplussed by all of the blood drinking in the bar, even Isobel's more 'fresh' preference as to her beverage — until there's a look of dawning in his eyes. There's a noticeable leap in his pulse and heart rate after that. "Unfortunately for them, I'd taste fairly awful. No, that was not an invitation or an offer." Wit glances around the bar for a long few moments before returning his gaze to Isobel. "I'm looking for a girl. Her name is Faith, but she goes by Rose too. She has black hair, hazel-green eyes… she's about five five, five sixish? Lean. She's a bit out of sorts normally and it's important that I find her, otherwise I'm going to have to deal with her very upset twin sister." He pauses and recites, "Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn."
"Do not worry, you are far from my preferred meal," she says simply. From the look of her, she likely prefers the type that would be all business, and not someone who she may just consider to be a wannabe fangbanger. Isobel listens to the description, her head given a small shake. "I am afraid I have not seen anyone that would possibly fit that description this evening." A delicate hand slides down to the camera bag, giving it a small pat. "I was rather preoccupied with shooting a wedding."
Isobel's admission that Wit wouldn't be her type brings about a merged look of relief and insult. It's waved aside quickly, and Wit frowns upon hearing that Isobel hasn't seen anyone with Rose's description. "Could you keep an eye out for me, please? There are flyers being put up about her, I think. If you happen to see her, please call the number there. Her family is very worried — like I said, she's a bit 'out of sorts'… meaning she's utterly mental and can't really fend for herself. No one has seen her— it's all very complicated, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for having wasted your time." There's a bit of discouragement in Wit's voice, and he hails down the barkeep, telling him that he would like another drink.
"Why?" Isobel asks this with cool eyes seemingly peering through him. "It would seem to me that you are in this particular establishment for a reason, as opposed to somewhere one your age may go." Another long, slow sip is taken from the glass. This time she allows the blood to drip just a little. A napkin used to daub it up. "Which would mean that you believe there is vampire involvement, and should you question the wrong person chances are you will not make it out of here alive." This is, perhaps, something her sire should be made aware of as soon as possible. A rogue vampire who is not following the rules of the city will look bad for him, and whatever misgivings she may still have for the man the thought of him being chastised for another's folly does not sit well with her. "You will sit, and you will tell me all that you know." Less an invitation, more of a demand - one that will be supported by a glamour should it be necessary.
Wit doesn't seem inspired to argue with Isobel's demand. "Alright then." He moves to sit down in the other seat, his eyes fixated on the bar top as he thinks about it. "My friend Rose is an innocent, you know? She doesn't know any better. Anyhow, something odd has happened to her. She lost her mind when she saw a friend of hers get killed. By a vampire." Wit's tone is kept as low as he needs for it to be. He doesn't want to attract too much attention — not more than he's already garnered, certainly. "So from what I know, she's been in Green Oaks… a mental institution for a while. They let her out with day passes. Or were." There's a pause and anger takes over Wit's features, his jaw clenching as he concentrates on his next words. "She didn't come back for a few days and she got bit by a vampire somewhere in that period of time. When she did go back, they drugged her and tied her to a bed. She wasn't the only one they had been doing this to, either." With a quiet huff, Wit accepts his drink from the bartender and mutters something of a gruff thank you. "Now Rose is missing. And yes, as impressionable as she is, we think that she might have fallen in with the wrong sort of vampire. Just for clarification I'm not saying that all of you or evil or anything, I quite like vampires sometimes myself… it's just that she's an easy mark."
That is quite a bit of information to take in, but it does confirm her thoughts. Which causes her lips to press together tightly. Her Maker will not be pleased at all with this news. "Her mind may yet be retrieved." Certainly if it is just a matter of suppressed memories. "I admit that I am not familiar with this area. This Green Oaks you speak of is an asylum?" Nasty places that she's unfortunately seen in the past, and it is doubtful that they are much better these days. "Have you spoken to the human authorities on this matter? Surely they would be more well equipped at aiding you than asking questions and making accusations that may fall upon the wrong ears in a place like this." Considering that the vampire in question may just be somewhere in the bar. At least that is the point she is trying to make to him.
"You've been around long enough to know how 'human' authorities are. She hasn't been gone very long this time. I don't know if they're likely to do anything about it since she's, y'know, mentally compromised… I get the feeling that they may decide she's jus taken off and there's no hope, or that she's dead somewhere. And as much as I realize that's a likelyhood, I'm holding out for something a little more substantial at this point." Wit takes a long drink of his bloody mary and glances out over the patrons of the bar once more, careful not to make eye contact or linger on their faces too long. "But for the record, her parents have contacted the police. The hospital is refusing admission to the parents though — and things'll get a lot more messier before they get a lot more clearer, I have a feeling." He sighs and reaches up to rub at his temples with his fingers before looking to Isobel. "Her mind may be recovered? You'd think that someone else would be working with her in that asylum," he says, confirming Isobel's question of Green Oaks being just that.
"I have never much bothered with human authorities or politics," Isobel answers blithely. Generally because she kept her nose clean and remained under the radar. "Child, I am going to ask you something that you may just disagree with. Yet, I am going to ask it regardless of that fact." A finger dips down the side of her glass, dragging up the inside of it to pull up a little blood. Said finger is sucked between her lips as she cleanses it before she makes her request. "What I ask is simple. Do not further your questioning here. You will arouse suspicion and find yourself, as well as your friend in a bit of trouble. Allow me to bring this matter to someone who knows the city well, and who can handle such things."
It dawns on Wit that if it were anyone else, he'd be offended by being called child — even though he is a child by most anyone's standards. But right now doesn't seem a good time to argue, so Wit simply acquiesces with her wishes. He steps down from the stool he sits on and finishes off his drink, setting it on the bar. A few dollar bills are extracted from his pocket and laid on the bar as payment. "I'm sure that this could be worse, but at the present things look fairly bleak. If you know someone who might help… then I'd appreciate that. Do you want my phone number?" Wit asks as he reaches for a napkin, glancing once more around the bar. He sucks in a deep breath — something that perhaps many of the patrons don't have the pleasure of doing.
In the midst of slipping her finger back into the glass - much like a child might with a bowl of melting ice cream, Isobel nods. "Should I find anything, I will need a way to contact you." Flashing her fangs at him, she chuckles. "Unless you wish to share blood to form a more lasting bond?" Her right eyebrow arches upward as she asks the question, while she waits for him to jot the number down.
"If you had asked me a week ago, the answer would have probably been yes. But I have the very distinct feeling that if I felt Rose's twin sister see this mark on me… things aren't going to be so good." Wit pulls a pen out of the pocket of his jeans and scrawls down the number in surprisingly neat block lettering: Wit, 555-3066. He leaves the napkin beside Isobel and looks over towards the front door. "Now, if I happen to get pounced or something as I walk out, I'm not expecting you to save me. But if you could call the proper authorities, I'd appreciate it."
"Until you leave this establishment, you are under my protection. However, I would advise that you do not show your face here for a while, as if you are correct in your supposition that a vampire has your friend, you may have just notified them that you know." Isobel lifts the napkin, folding it neatly and slipping it into the camera bag. "We have excellent hearing, and not a single one of your words has gone unheard by the majority of the patrons. If you value your own safety, you will wait for my call."
Evidently that's all Wit needs to hear. He raises his hand in nonchalant thanks to Isobel before he strides out of the building. A short time later, the revving of a high horse power engine can be heard, along with the peeling of tires. Someone is possibly driving home looking into his rear view every five seconds. Possibly.
