Savannah at the Super 8

Some Motel Room

This is a motel room, with all the distinguished trappings you would expect one to have.

Cabot comes in after having been gone for almost two hours for his solo trip to the vampire bar called Bloody Mary's a few blocks away. "Honey, I'm home."

Savannah is lying lazily on one of the two double beds provided by Whatever Motel We Are Staying In & Why Isn't It The Fancy Vampire One Anyway? She looks bored, cranky, and utterly lovely, fully dressed with her blonde hair spread about on the pillow. Her shoes remain on, likely because she doesn't trust that dirty bedspread against her dainty feet, even if they are no longer alive, and thus not really susceptible to germs. She rolls her eyes without responding at first, and then asks in that drawl she's certain is charming, "Did you find us better rooms?"

"I missed you; nice to see you; I got us dinner; hey darling." Cabot lists these all off as he closes the door behind him, grabbing the remote and clicking off the TV Savannah is probably blaring at an obnoxious volume. "All perfectly fine ways to say hello. Try one next time." He pulls out a dinky chair from the dilapidated table in the corner of the room, heaving his undead weight down on it heavily, kicking up booted feet on the chair opposite. "Looks like you haven't moved an inch." He doesn't dignify her question with a response.

Again with the drawl, and this time Savannah seems almost to be taking pains to sound like a charming Georgia lady. "Well where would I have moved -to-, dear Cabot?" She gestures around the room, which seems to be covered, what with the dingy beds and the dilapidated chair. "Your instructions were quite clear. Stay here. Don't go anywhere. Don't cause any trouble. Otherwise I might have considered slinking into something pretty and finding out what there was to see and do." She flashes what she hopes is her most endearing smile.

"At least I know you're listening," Cabot counters with a crooked grin, leaning back in his chair, its front legs raising from the ground. "And anyway, you'll be plenty pleased to know that my little voyage was a success. I met the Sheriff. We're moving in to the Hotel Carmilla tomorrow night. I done promised her you weren't going to be a nuisance."

Any sighing that the grammatical errors might elicit is momentarily forgotten as Savannah smiles. "The Hotel Carmilla is the Vampire Hotel that we passed coming in. The fine one. Have we nice rooms? I suppose it doesn't matter." She rises with lazy elegance to her feet as if she might consider packing, but then recalls that she was far too disgusted by these rooms to bother taking any of the designer clothes she'd shoved into suitcases for the trip out of the luggage to begin with, and thus slowly sits back down again. "I'm never a nuisance."

"Not too bad. A bit of a pain in the goddamn ass from time to time, but you're still cutting your teeth." And mention of teeth makes Cabot remember something. "Brought you something, sweet thing." From the pocket of his leather jacket he produces a bottle of Tru Blood, AB Positive. He holds it out, and looks like he's fixing to toss it over at her. "I won't tell you what the Sheriff served me up, or you'll be mad I didn't bring you along."

"You used to call me that before too." Savannah recalls. She takes the bottle with a shrug, opening it carefully so as not to spoil the manicure. "What did she serve you?" She speaks like she wants there to be an edge to her voice, something dark and dangerous and Vampire like. Or at least the sort of power that she could elicit over a man back before when she had choices. Here though it comes out sort of sulky, and she realizes it well enough to take a quick swig of the drink as if it will help.

"Not like you don't give me plenty of reason. Drink that stuff up tonight, and we'll get you some of the real thing tomorrow." Reclining in his rickety motel chair, Cabot watches Savannah gulp down a bit of the bottled Blood, and tells her: "Seems like the Bloody Mary serves real blood right at the bar, if you're someone fancy or friends of. The lady Sheriff doesn't trifle with the synthetic."

"Isn't that counterproductive to the movement?" Savannah asks the question but doesn't really seem to care about the answer, far too new to be entirely vested in Vampire politics. She drinks the blood daintily enough, her affect almost implying that it ought have been served in a glass. "If you really found me such trouble…" She muses on the earlier topic. "You'd have simply let me go, instead of courting me (seriously, she said courting?), claiming my blood, getting all sorts of irrational about my boyfriend and then…moving us to Dallas." Apparently 'moving us to Dallas' is socialite code for 'turning me into a Vampire'.

"Hey now. Dallas is a nice place. Just as nice as Savannah. A little low on the crinoline, I'll grant you, but there's no reason we can't make ourselves a fresh start here." You know, without your moneyed boyfriend and overbearing parents. Having made his case as far as he's concerned, Cabot lets the front legs of his chair find solid ground, planting his feet and leaning forward in his seat. "Anyway, seemed like it's the kind of place for people not too crazy about the movement. Plenty of bangers around, though, so it's not like it's a private club. Pretty weird."

"Oh? Were there?" Savannah looks intrigued, tilting her head to the side as she polishes off the bottle daintily. "Chasing the high I'd imagine. I remember it well." She muses quietly for a moment and then something of a shadow creases between her brows. "And is that what you…what you had? Did you -have- one or just, have one?" She twirls a lock of hair about her finger to show that she does not care at all, either way. Not a bit.

"Couldn't tell you where what I had came from. They served it to me in a mug from behind the counter. Like I said: weird. And anyway, I've already been interrogated once. No need for you to run me through my paces again."

Something in Savannah's features loosens, almost like a look of relief that she doesn't allow to settle. She smiles gently, even venturing to take a few steps over in his direction, gentle fingertips placed along a forearm. That drawl is almost a purr. "What did she know already?" The empty bottle is abandoned, why bother cleaning up after oneself in a room as miserable as this one?

"Not much. Asked me a ton of questions, though. Wanted to know if I was alone and what my plans were. I told her about you, and what a good girl you were. Like I said, that you wouldn't be a nuisance at all."

"I can be a good girl, sometimes." Savannah smiles daintily. "And a bad one other times." She adds a feigned dramatic sigh, running her hand up the length of that arm. "And I suppose a nuisance, now and again. But you asked for it, didn't you?" Her blue eyes grow big and wide with the question, flirtatious like. After a moment or two she follows up more seriously. "Do I have to meet her too then?"

"I'm sure you will, soon enough. It's her business to know our business, and she'll probably want to see for herself whether or not you've got your shit together." Cabot leans back in his chair, like a lazy tomcat content to be on the receiving end of her attention. Eventually, he halts the hand climbing his arm, bringing it to his lips and kissing at the knuckles. "Nothing better than a good girl who likes to be bad," he concedes.

"Is that what made you so fond of me?" Savannah asks with an extra lilt in that already breezy accent, moving to slide onto his knee. Turning her body so that it faces his own, she leans to trace lips and tongue across neck briefly, though not briefly enough to prevent fangs from appearing. "It's boring here." Her complaint is airy and cruel. "Let's eat someone."

Regardless of whether or not he can hear Savannah's fangs *click* when they extract from her canines, Cabot's supernatural senses tell him they're there, right up close against his throat. He rests his palm on the nape of her neck, tangling it through her lush blonde hair, and tells her: "We just got here. We've got to acclimate first. Don't you want to acclimate, baby? When we get to the fancy hotel, I'll let you order whatever you want off the room service menu."

Sighing, Savannah protests. "But they're expect…" Whatever else she was going to say she either loses track of or determines not to bother with, merely pressing herself closer to him instead. "We can…acclimate for a little while. Then take me somewhere fabulous. Or…become someone important. I'm not wearing the same off the rack Max Azria for the next fifty years." Eventually someone will explain to her that a Child doesn't stick around for that long, but so far so good, right?

"As far as you're concerned, I'm the most important person there is," says Cabot sternly, that 'serious edge' creeping its way into his tone as he says so. Hard to stay mad when there's a minxy blonde pressing up against you, though (at least if you're him, and it's this particular blonde, that's the case) and so he leans forward and puts his lips against Savannah's ear, tasting the lobe with a kiss. "I got an idea of some place you'd like."

"The most important person there is." Savannah echoes the sentiment in her Georgia drawl, batting those baby blues for extra effect. "Well I'm all yours, as they say." And cut off from the past and having made no introductions here as of yet, it's literally true in this case.

"That's right," Cabot agrees, when his words get echoed back at him. Or maybe he's speaking to the part about her being 'all his.' He does also add: "I brought you here because there's plenty left for you to experience that you haven't already. And lots that you have that needs experiencing again and again. You know what I always say about there being a lot for you to learn. You don't get an education like this in St. Bart's."

"Mmm. No." Now Savannah prods at him, watching the effect with a curiosity that thrills her as a vampire even more than it did as a manipulative human. "Only cocktails the effects of which I could no longer appreciate. Laying out under the sun. And long, lazy afternoons of languid sex." She leaves out the bits about potential marriage proposals. Her point has been made. Almost. "You ought have seen the swimsuits I'd bought for the occasion. Scandalous."

A few months ago, that comment would have been bait enough for Cabot to sink his sharp fangs into Savannah's neck; tonight, it wins a scoff and the following remark: "Did you bring them with you? I'm sure that ridiculous hotel has a swimming pool. Of course, you could always go naked, and settle for a lazy, sex-filled evening. I'll even make you a cocktail; O negative, A and B positive. Delicious."

The lack of reaction earns a decided pout, and Savannah huffs her way from his lap back to perch on the edge of the filthy double bed. "You're irritating and insufferable. And I may have packed one." Its clear that this Maker/Child relationship is going to force her to rethink her 'Ways to Annoy Cabot' strategies, but there's time yet to fine tune those.

"Welcome to the next century. Only difference between us and your parents is you don't get to block me out of your brain by dropping percocets in your iced tea." It's not the only difference, obviously, but Cabot seems to think he's mighty funny for saying so, and flashes Savannah a wink of the eye. He stands from his seat, following her to the bed, and kneels on the floor before her; clearly, he's not too worried about the state of the dingy carpeting. "Don't get mad at me. I'll run out and grab your copy of Twilight from my glove box, if you want."

"You're an idiot" Savannah kicks at him with a high heel, but she can't help but giggle just a bit. "Did you mean to make a Child who was fourteen? I'm sure there's a rich, handsome vampire somewhere who'd take me off your hands if you'd like to try again."

"Seems to me you could stand to learn a thing or two from that girl, Bella. She's real sweet to her vampire boyfriend. Always loving him and waiting around for years on end to see him. Nice girl." Cabot's sarcasm is rich, but he is a pretty big fan of goading Savannah, even though goading a baby vamp can be a little bit like playing with fire. Cabot grins. "You sure you don't want to stay here instead of moving to that pomp ho-tel? I bet this polyblend'll feel just as good as silk sheets, once you get proper naked."

"Doesn't Bella wait until she and her Vampire suitor are properly married before allowing him such liberties? I heard he was a gentleman. Perhaps I'd best stay dressed." Savannah's arguments for purity come late in the game, and dammit if these fangs don't totally ruin the whole "I'm not really interested in getting in on right now" game that she was always so fond of playing. Whatever. She moves to take off his belt.

Shrugging his way out of his leather jacket, Cabot tosses it aside and puts his hands on Savannah's thighs, spreading them. "Bella made it with a wolf. Do you want to make it with a wolf, sweet thing?" Okay, so he hasn't actually read the books, per se, and he takes a few liberties, but who's to say Bella didn't want to make it with a wolf? "Vampire marriage. That's the kind of thing a lonely house wife thinks up when her husband's at the office going down on his secretary. Every night that goes by and she doesn't get bit by a vengeful vampire's a night that I go to coffin surprised."

Slinking out of her jeans, Savannah answers in an airy drawl "I might. Are wolves any good in bed?" She wraps one arm lazily around his shoulders, the other fumbling with clothing as necessary. "Do you think they won't then? Get married? Vampires?" Its an idle question, asked by a former southern belle now made Vampire who at present is sliding her fangs lightly along the edge of her Maker's jaw.

Climbing up the length of Savannah's body, Cabot takes hold of her hips in his vice grip, a palm sliding around to cup one of the cheeks of her ass appreciatively. "Just me. I can growl for you, if you really want. Sink my teeth into your pretty little neck and hold you down?" Apparently that's just about how a wolf would do it, or something, or maybe he's not even talking about wolves anymore. The question about marriage is a tangential distraction. He swats it away like a fly, answering: "The Vampire League's doing its part to try and get us the right."

The topic of marriage is easily brushed aside by the still commitment-shy Savannah, or at least as commitment-shy as one can be left when thrust into her present situation. Better to focus on the wolves, and so she does. "Mmm. Do. All those." With that she pulls him further atop her on the dingy bed, ever able to make the most of what's in front of her. Or atop her.

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