Hotel Carmilla
Entering the lobby and public space at the Hotel Carmilla is much like stumbling into a Bohemian artist's studio. The vivid and operatic display of seemingly haphazard combinations of surreal contemporary and centuries-old furnishings create a style that is akin to stepping into a real life painting.
The walls and floors are metallic grey, with a large piece of metal art marking the center of the lobby. Support pillars of metal and wood give the entire area an arty look. At the very end of the area is a hand-carved 10' Italian fireplace in front of which is a lush, red velvet couch, while a custom Venetian glass chandelier hangs above.
So as not to detract from the extravagant view of the hotel, the front check in desk has been settled into the wall at the left side; enough to be seen but not enough to stand out against the otherwise breathtaking room. The wall behind the desk is a lush deep pink. A unique piece of art hangs behind it, and on either side of the security guards can be seen.
Bridge building.
A simple stay in Dallas has been made rather complex but bridge building. Isobel was not intending on doing anything more than snapping photographs for a late night shifter wedding, and yet she's been here for days. Had her offices moved here, been invited to stay with the Sheriff, potentially helped a kidnapped and runaway girl.
Tonight, simplicity is in order. In that, she finds herself back at the hotel. To collect her things, checkout, and perhaps enjoy just a smidgeon of room service before leaving for the time being. After all, where else can one find her way a free meal without having to glamour some fangbanger?
Isobel is currently breezing into the hotel, night fallen not long ago. A gentle clack of heels upon the floor can be heard as she maneuvers through the small crowd of tourists to find the concierge.
Martin is standing at the lobby's front desk. He is currently talking to the gentleman behind the desk. It seems he's trying to get himself a room for the night. "One for the night please. Vampire accomodations are necessary."
Martin taps his foot a little bit before the guy behind the counter goes to get Martin a room key. Martin starts to sign himself into the little guest register. He stretches as the gent pauses to talk to the bellhop. +autospace "Make sure it's a V room.", the clerk says to the bellhop. The bellhop gives him a quick nod before walking over, handing Martin the room key and saying to him, "I'll take your luggage up to your room sir, and please follow me." He reaches for Martin's only bag….a duffel bag and waves to him to follow. +autospace Martin replies, "Nah I'm sure I can find the room myself. Go ahead and bring it up." The bellhop nods as he leaves with Martin's bags.
By this point, Isobel has slid quietly up behind the newcomer. "There is only a single floor that is not vampire ready," so far as she's been made aware anyhow. Very few human rooms in a place like this, and those only as rooms for human companions or workers.
"I presume it would be safe to say that you are quite new to Dallas," she says, her words not exactly archaic, but not exactly the typical Texas slang either.
Martin turns his attentions to the lady who just came up behind him. He gives her a once over, and his eyes betray a bit of approval in them. He replies to her, "Well…that's quite good to know. I really didn't want a suntan while going to sleep."
He gives Isobel a quick smirk and adds, "Yes, yes I am. Recent arrival from the good old corn fed Midwest." He smacks his chest in a joking manner. "I figured you Texans could use more transplants."
Isobel, eerily enough, has yet to move since coming up next to him. Her posture is still, and the only thing that shows she's potentially paying attention to him at all is the shift of her eyes. "Welcome to the city," she says, neutrally. "Though I am hardly Texan." There is a slight turn of her head, a look given to the concierge. A steady look, and then the man starts making orders to have her things brought down from her room. A bit high-handed of her perhaps, but it allows her time to speak to the newcomer.
"Have you made your presence known yet?"
Martin shakes his head. "No, I've only been here a matter of hours. I haven't had a chance to really talk to anybody yet. Excepting you of course. Then again, I don't even know your name. Mine's Martin." He gives her the typical vampire nod. "And, if I might ask, where might I find the rest of us anyhow? My knowledge of Dallas here is rather…limited and I came here just on a whim."
There are two vampires near the front desk, a male and a female simply talking with one another. Night has fallen just a short while ago, and thus it is dark outside. There are a few tourists - both human and vampire variety in the lobby.
"Isobel," she offers, her head barely dipping in a nod. Not that she's snubbing him, she's just keeping her movements to a minimum at the moment. "I do believe the concierge has directions on how to find the Sheriff, though there is a place not far from here called Bloody Mary's." A faint grin, as though she's curious if he'll need explanation of what exactly a place like that is.
Martin chuckles softly as Isobel mentions the name of the place where the Sheriff might be. "I see. Cute name. I'm sure the concierge can give me directions on where that is.", he smirks and replies. "Also, It's a pleasure to meet you Isobel." He gives a small stretch again, perhaps it's a quirk when he's just standing around talking.
Ivan is a young, ambitious youth. A young, very ambitious youth, with dreams of doing great things. It is only his desire to realize these vague dreams that promotes him to show up at Hotel Carmilla in the first place, a good forty minutes ago. From then, he was ushered into the room of a particular security-oriented vampire, where he negotiated the employment of said vampire to possibly protect the Sheriff of Dallas. And now? Well, now Ivan's just pleased to have that done with and be able to go home. The elevator 'dings', opening it's ornamental doors into the lobby and spreading the smell of Human all around the lower floor of the Hotel. Stepping out of the machine, the man smiles indulgently, fixes the sleeve of his well-tailored pinstripe suit, and begins to head out towards the exit.
Cute name? Isobel quirks her brow at that, giving the Martin what one can only deduce is an odd look. "It was quite common in my time," she offers by way of explanation. It looks as though she is about to say something else, when her eyes just happen to fall upon the elevator as it dings. "Ah, I do believe dinner has arrived." Poor Ivan is about to become a snack, and he's not even aware. "Please excuse me momentarily," she says to Martin, meaning only to leave his side for a few seconds.
Suddenly appearing beside Ivan with quite a great deal of speed, she brushes his arm. "They have certainly outdone themselves this time. Even the suit is impeccable."
Martin lets out a small laugh at her answer. "I meant the name of the club. But…sure, your name is quite cute also." He folds his arms and adds, "Not a problem.", his voice sounds sincere. He watches her walk over to the gentleman who came through the elevator. While Isobel starts off talking to Ivan, his eyes scan over the whole lobby, and his eyes land casually on the window, watching the cars go by for a moment.
Ivan should be used to the sudden appearances of vampires. They're sneaky, sneaky creatures after all. But he isn't, and so he starts slightly when faced by Isobel's appearance, his brows furrowing as he automatically recoils from her presence, pulling the arm back. "What?" He offers, confusion ringing in his voice. But then Isobel is looked at - examined from head to toe. And once this is done with, the man finds himself calming slightly.
She's just appreciating his appearance, that's all. Right? 'They' must be his parents, or humanity or something, right? "Ah…thank you. Yes, I do like to take care of myself." He agrees, glancing down to his dapper outfit with the faintest of smiles.
"Hah." Humans and their egotism amuse her a little at times. Isobel doesn't bother with a glamour at all, like she normally does when she wants a little nip to feed her hunger. Instead, she moves to loop her arm through Ivan's, flashing her fangs at him. "Oh yes, you will do quite nicely." With that, she begins to start dragging him toward Martin if need be.
Picking up the previous conversation as though she didn't just rush across the room and back, Isobel nods. "Well I cannot take credit for either name, but the bar is only a few blocks away. You will not be able to miss it, there is generally a large crowd of tourists and fangbangers outside attempting to be so lucky as to get in." Nose-wrinkle. Someone doesn't like fangbangers it would seem.
Martin 's attention turns back towards Isobel and the gent who she just grabbed and started dragging over towards him. "Erm…" he lets out of himself. He thinks about something for a moment, hesitating before he answers. "I'm really not that hungry and besides, I'm sure they have some synthetic stuff at the place if need be. But thanks for the offer."
He sees Isobel's nose wrinkle at the mention of fangbangers and tourists, "Yeah, I'm sure they're seriously hard to miss. Great little willing snacks though when need be." He eyes over Ivan once more and can't help but let out a laugh again.
Ivan's arm is looped through, and before Ivan has the time to protest or ask her, politely, exactly what she's doing. Instead, he's jerked along, and as a result he looks just a bit harried and hassled. "I - whoa there! What's goin' on!" He inquires, brows arched and almost lost behind his dark bangs.
Now, Ivan is a quick witted sort - a very intelligent sort of guy. And so, Martin's comment, coupled with the hungry way he is eyed speaks volumes, however. Suddenly met with that niggling bit of suspicion in the back of his brain, the man proceeds to try and break himself free of Isobel's grip, frowning emphatically. "Hold up a second - snacks? Now, I know I'm a good specimen and all, but why exactly did you accost me?" The question is posed to Isobel, obviously. "I don't do snacks, unless you want me to warm up a bottle of True Blood for you. And even then, that'll cost you - I'm not some sort of servant."
"Not for you," Isobel replies to Martin. "This one is all mine. Room service here is so very… delicious." Brow-waggle. Beyond that, she's unable to actually imbibe the synthetic as it has a nasty tendency of making her violently ill. "Bloody Mary's? Oh, yes. They have various different types of the synthetic, from the cheap Red Stuff, up to the occasional bottle of RoyalBlood."
Dinner is speaking to her, and here she believed the hotel had them trained so well. "Tch. Not snacks, dinner," she says with a grin. Then she considers briefly. His comment about it costing her causes her eyes to narrow. Arm unloops from his and she makes a noise of disgust. "Ah, I thought you were room service," she answers, "not a prostitute." No apology made to the man about the comment either.
Martin gives her a nod even though she didn't have to be so honest about it. Sharing is caring anyway. "Ah, I see. And I thought you were just being overtly giving with your meal. Good choice though even though he's not room service." Martin thinks over the thought of RoyalBlood, great stuff but he wouldnt want to go broke on his first night here. "Yeah, well too bad I couldn't afford the best stuff. All the other stuff well… as Crocodile Dundee once said, 'It tastes like shit but, you can live on it.'" He gives a quick smile and mentally pats himself on the back for his fairly recent movie knowledge.
"Anyhow I suppose I should leave you to find yourself some real dinner, unless you'd care to join me over at Bloody Mary's?" By her reaction earlier, the assumption would be a turn down but hell, he's new, figures he'll ask anyway.
This…this is a strange, strange moment for Ivan. He's left staring, in slight disbelief, at Isobel - blinking once, then twice before finding the capability to speak once again. "I…This is the first time I've ever been called a prostitute." And he likes it. No - no, he kids. Clearing his throat, he summons his professionalism, schooling his expression into something more indifferent. "I am not dinner. I am not a prostitute - I do that bit willingly and for free. And I am especially not sticking around here - now, unless you have something to say to me, then I'm going to have to duck out now. It's late, and I have matters to attend to."
Pop culture references are not Isobel's friend, though she nods as though she understands what he's saying, and offers no comment about not being able to live on it. "TruBlood is probably their most popular," she replies. It's between the brackets of 'not being the cheapest on the market' and 'not going to break the bank'. "Perhaps another time. I still need to vacate the room here this evening, and move things to my other lodgings." A slight pause, then a wink. "I am certain we will see each other again, Martin. It was a pleasure to meet you."
Isobel eyes Ivan, and laughs. "Run along, little dinner. I do not hold meals under duress." But at some point she will ensure she feeds from a willing non-prostitute Ivan. At /some/ point.
Martin replies, "Oh I'm sure TrueBlood is the big one. And sure, not a problem on the decline. It was definitley a pleasure to meet you also Isobel." His voice inflection stresses the pleasure just a little too much, perhaps he noticed the wink. Martin starts to scoot off towards the door, hoping to grab a cab to Bloody Mary's just because he's too lazy to walk or run there. Besides pulling up in a cab is more styllish than just trotting up.
Ivan finds himself growing quite irritated by the conversation that continues to be held as though he's not there. Martin and then Isobel are eyed in succession, followed by a short-lived snort. "Little Dinner? I'll have you know, there's nothing little about me. Now, good night to you two, and I'm off." And, oh yes he is. It's going to be another one of those nights cradling a can or two of beer, looks like.
