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Belmont Hotel - Suite 103B

The third suite on the first floor is devided in two rooms, seperated by a door with flaky paint. Right by the main entrance is a small rack on the wall to hang coats and hats, after which the living room extends. There's a couch in a corner barely wide enough to host two people, a single leather chair, a low side table and against the opposite wall a tiny desk with a single hardbacked chair. One square table with another two chairs forms all there is by way of dining area, right beside the open plan kitchen with a couple of cupboards, a sink, stove, microwave and fridge. Through the door, the bedroom is just wide enough to hold a double bed, a double closet and a shower unit shielded by a thin plastic wall and ditto curtain. Everything about the suite has seen better days, but is clean.

There was the call, made it to his voice mail. At first he may've thought it was a random fangbanger who'd somehow got his number. But something in the double tongue sounded rather familiar and of course there was the little note in the end that said, "Ohyeah, this is Jo talkin'." But whatever the rest was what she said… There are special FBI departments specialized in translation. He might give them a go. "Jus' fuckin' call me, 'kay." Beep. Beep. Beep.

Twenty minutes past the unintelligible voice mail there is a stern knock at her door. Beyond the barrier stands Braeden dressed down for this evening in a pair of khaki pants and a Polo forest green shirt. He could very well walk into one of the preppy department stores and acquire himself a secondary source of income. Unnecessary as that was. Still he listened closely to the movements beyond the door while scrolling through the appointments imported into the blackberry for the next few nights.

There's stumbling - of course. And the tinkle of glass kicked into glass but since it doesn't break, that probably means bottle against bottle. And though she obviously opened her window, there's the lingering trace of weed being smoked. Someone's having a party? The door opens like a ta-da! In the doorway, Josephine. Squinting first, then quirking brows which she probably intended questioningly, but in her state of alcohol, it lacks purpose. "Hey?"

That particular odor was believed to have come from an apartment next door. Or even downstairs if you follow the desire of smoke rising. Once Josephine had came into view Braeden surveyed her demeanor with a detective's purpose. "Evening." He relays calmly while pressing the lock button to his blackberry before sliding it inside the leather clip attached to his belt. "Well you don't appear to be possessed by demons or currently undergoing an exorcism."

"'Scuse me?" The woman's at a complete loss, that much is obvious. There's the scratching of hair, the frown… She turns then, but leaves the door open for him. Old habit makes her smooth the faded black of her t-shirt right before she stoops to pick up two bottles from the floor to dump them in the kitchen sink. "What are you doing here. Did Mike send you?"

He waits until some distance has increased between the two before Braeden would calmly take a few steps inside. Maybe it's best not to arouse the suspicion of nosy neighbors so after passing through the thresh hold the Vampire closes the door. "No, not Mike. You called me Josephine. From what I could tell you sounded quite inebriated and barely comprehensible." He continues to inspect the damage to her suite, which was very little. "I was concerned."

At the last bit of his explanation, she can but snicker, turning while wiping her hands on the old denim of her jeans. "Concerned. You. About me. Since when?" And she's dead serious about that too, leaning against the kitchen counter, not inviting him to sit down. "I…" She mms, again running a hand through her hair, "…Might've?" Bit of a boyish grin there. "Though I don't think so." Maybe another shot of cheap whiskey will help her remember.

Her first inquiry is devoid of a response. Braeden shifts into the 'living room' and scans over the table before shifting his eyes towards her desk. Her work area where the computer and other sorts of journalistic necessities are scattered about. "Something was on your mind not too long ago that demanded my attention." He states while slipping the phone from his pant's pocket to thumb through the menu options. A few clicks and taps there brought him to the voice mail system which enabled to him to replay the exact message in question on speaker phone for Josephine's benefit. Once finished the phone was locked, again, and returned to his pocket. "So were you fired? Boyfriend left you? Death in the family?"

"Oh. That," is all she murmurs, sounding embarrassed, bordering on mortified. Gluck-gluck goes the bottle, then Josephine - not remembering or not caring about his little 'quirk'. She shivers and finds her toes the most interesting thing in the room, "I uhm… Was a bit down. Sorta."

"Sort of down.." he repeats where it almost sounds as if he's questioning her choice of words. As she chooses to focus on her toes Braeden focuses on the woman herself. "And you called me. I can't pretend I am not surprised. I must have made a memorable impression the last time I was here." The vampire states bluntly while rounding the sofa in order to poise himself before it: a casual lean against the back's high edge and both arms made to cross about his chest. "You can use a kitchen knife or we can forego all that and get straight to it."

"Can't-not…" The words are murmured under her breath as she tries to work out the double negative. Then peers up, the green eyes -pupils visibly dilated- full of suspicion. "Hell, I suppose I thought it a good idea at the time?" A shrug. Even if 'at the time' was what, half an hour ago? She mimics his stance by folding her arms and frowning, blabbing defensively, "So I got lonely, okay. Is not a crime or anything and. And… And?"

He smirks as the eloquence of a journalist is reduced to stutters and faults. "A good idea to become the vice for a vampire with an addiction? I've heard worse." Right then Braeden pushes himself from the sofa while drawing further into the kitchen. There's another bottle she hasn't finished entirely. With a clean glass retrieved from one of the cabinets, he pours the contents of amber liquid until becoming half full. "I have friends who willingly do this for me with no expectations on their part. They're smart women, and not at all into the fandom craze of being bitten. Quite respectable too as they understand some things cannot be helped. I have tried a concoction of TrueBlood and whiskey or gin or anything. The taste is revolting and makes me succumb to illness." He states while offering Josephine the glass. "You're curious, I cannot fault you for that."

Josephine squints an eye and peers at him with the other, tensing up a little when he comes closer, pours the drink - which she accepts gladly. Drinks, gladly. Still, it's a far cry from the tension she showed last time he was here. "Am I?" She clears her throat and tries a little more cocky, "Am I, curious? Is that what this is. Me, being curious. Isn't that what killed the cat…"

"C'mon Josephine. You're smart enough to realize what your own mind is telling you." He quips while replacing the cap to the bottle. "You're so curious in fact you reached out to the one vampire you know would be safe rather than wandering the streets or probing around one of those fang banger clubs. You know I wouldn't hurt you or leave you for dead." From the corner of his eye he adds, "I'm flattered."

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she asks him, head tilted that much, "Flattered? A depressed journalist calls you -on a whim- t-" She really needs the last of that whiskey now and sets the glass down finally with hands that shake a little. "I don't know why I called you. I suppose… Everyone has moments when life seems too… Much. Too much, you know. Maybe I thought it was a good way to go?" It sounds almost like a challenge.

The pretenses of breathing have been long abandoned. No blinking, no idle movements as most living persons do as blood courses throughout their entire network of veins and arteries. It was easier for him, this way, to not taunt the beast. "To.. go?" He asks while lifting the bottle up and inspecting the label. "Don't tell me you planned to die."

Josephine tilts her chin and mutters stubbornly, "And what if I was." Right then, a trickle of common sense makes her lean away from the counter and refold her arms while she shrugs carelessly, "And why not. Everybody has moments like that. Ain't no superman or anything."

He chuckles then while settling the bottle back onto the counter top and shaking his head. "Dying always seems to be the answer until the time is actually near. I will tell you, feeling your organs shut down is no walk in the park. You people are always so melodramatic." He still utters a rumble of amusement as his hand is extended towards her. "C'mere and give me your hand."

"If this is you asking for my hand," she insinuates with a roll of eyes, "You'll be very sorry…" Yet, for all intends and purposes, maybe not even fully realising why, she does extend her own hand, placing her fingers in his. "Braeden…" For the very first time using his first name. "Can you… I know you can make me forget. I'd like that, if nothing else."

With her hand in his the vampire manipulates it's positioning in order to guide her wrist to face what heavens there are and his thumb to sooth over the surfacing veins. In this, he is able to encourage her frame to draw closer to his own scented mildly by Polo Blue, to complete the Ralph Lauren get up. "Are you sure? Usually this is something people never want to forget especially when done right." He states using his normal americanized voice without adding a hint of seduction or promise to it. "There is just one thing you must do." Braeden will state once the pair is closer. "You'll need to loose your pants. I always take from the femoral vein."

Taking a deep breath, Josephine starts talking right through his words, a clear sign of the rising nervousness, blanketed though it is by layers of alcohol, weed and God knows what else. "Right now I'd ask you to make me forget everything I've learned since I came to this fucked up count-" Blink. "The what?"

Braeden smirks as he does another consoling act, smoothing the hair atop of her crown. "The femoral vein… In your thigh. If I did not care if you live or die I could go straight for your chest, the aorta which produces a very potent source of blood or any other major artery in your body. If I choose your neck or wrist you may not want it so blatantly advertised that you allowed a vampire to feed from you. From your thigh, the femoral vein or the saphenous vein, it can be hidden as well as be most satisfactory to me while causing you the least amount of danger upon your life. It will heal faster since this is where blood is carried from the heart. Oxygenated blood." The vampire is speaking directly to the journalist and keeping his eyes locked upon hers. "You may change into shorts if you will feel more comfortable. I do not have wandering hands."

That old stubborn streak makes her look directly back at him, eyes not wavering even if she's refocusing every so often. Her free hand is set to work on getting rid of her belt while she demands, "Promise me."

Braeden deeply nods his head. "I promise. You'll feel dizzy and weighed down but alive." His eyes remain on Josephine's even as she begins to release her belt. Not even assistance is offered for the removal of her clothing as he starts to clear the counter top to where she'll be sitting.

He can hear a shaky breath being taken once she's left to her own devices for a second, as well as the soft tinkle of metal on floor boards. The belt, along with the pants, pooling around her feet. "Don't care," she murmurs, staring at her toes peeking out, just. "You'll make me forget, I don't care."

It is a swift movement: both of Braeden's hands find her waist and effortlessly hoist up the woman to sit atop of the counter top. Gravity will take care of the rest as her pants are abandoned at the floor. As if this was a routine medical exam, the vampire pats to her thigh without doping his eyes. "You won't remember this at all." He states as one arm snakes around her frame, particularly about the waistline as the other hand lays a cool embrace upon her knee. Even in this her legs are closed with his wide torso hovering above them and nearing the point of his entry. Finally, as he allows himself to drink in her scent, secreting from her pores the inhuman nature growls in anticipation just as his lips are poised so close but yet so far from satisfying his monstrous core. She's already seen the change in him once and this way all Braeden gives her is his back. The rest she can only imagine. Pearly white fangs have sank down past their barrier and scrape against the pale contour of her skin. What came next was the feel of a duo pinch of needles while the vampire searches for the best point of entry.

It all happens a lot quicker than her swirly mind can follow, though the cool counter makes her squirm and the bite itself elicits a squeek. One that will become part of the Most Embarrassing Moments of Josephine's life if she ever were to publish a biography. Right now, writing is the last on her mind though and her hands grip the counter, tensing, her eyes shut firmly while she waits for whatever is going to happen. "Won't remember - won't remember." A whispered litany starting.

When he's satisfied to take from a particular area, high on her upper thigh, Braeden spares not a second in delaying the inevitable. Quickly two bone sharp prongs easily pierce into the multitude layers of flesh before another force is breaking through muscle. What vitae is offered to him has become enriched and accented with the alcohol and unfortunately the weed that has been coursing through her system. Braeden's grasp tightens, unconsciously, around Josephine's frame in prohibiting both her movement and escape. If she should look, the movement of his jaw line is wide as crimson nectar feeds him to sate the most irritable addictions. Surprisingly enough the vampire manages to keep the guttural resonance from his throat to a minimum rather than sounding like a starving dog that has just been granted steak. It is true the hands do not wander but the hold they maintain on both her knee and her hip are dangerously digging into the skin.

"Br-Braeden…" Josephine tries softly after an initial gasp at the equally inevitable pain of teeth piercing flesh that's still quite alive. She tenses a little more and maybe the hands are justified in that she does try to shift, it's involuntary, a biologically logical thing for a body to do. "Oh, damn…"

Even while feeding, and not to loose himself entirely into the act, Braeden keeps a counting the pulse at her thigh. Waiting and measuring just before too much blood has been taken while at the same time draining her source slowly to savour the nourishment that comes to him. He is reminded that she is not one of his regulars so from Josephine he cannot take more than just a sampling taste. With much reluctance the vampire withdraws his fangs an sees to cleaning what little mess he has created. A scrape of his tongue against his own sharp incisors allows him to draw his own blood and use it as a solvent to expedite the wound's healing. After all has been done, and not before he can make sure there are no blood smears across his chin and lips, Braeden stands upright to view the puncture under the kitchen's lighting.

It's unkind, that lighting, blue and made with but one purpose: make visual anything that's not spotless and clean. There's the two small wounds, even with his effort still and angry blueish purple. There's the different hue of the vessels underneath the skin. There's the sharp black of her choice of underwear. And the white knuckles still gripping the counter, Josephine sitting still like a statue now, her lips moving with the litany still, even without sound, the lips showing a slower speed of words than before.

"It will take a few days to heal properly." His voice is impaired by the elongated prongs extending from his mouth. Braeden then raises his green eyes to meet Josephine's own glossy gaze. "Do make sure to take iron supplements other wise you'll feel severely lethargic as your body attempts to replace what I have taken." Another doctorly pat to her thigh makes him smile, "Josephine?" She's been too silent.

"Iron pills, I get it…" the woman nods faintly, not feeling entirely there and it shows. Her reactions just a little slow, the eyes meeting his showing more of what's running through her than she'd like to admit for sure. She tries to make a brave face, but he'll undoubtedly see the strange mixture of fear and excitement, as well as a deep longing. "Now keep your promise, alright?"

Easy enough, he would but not before seeing her to bed or the sofa safely. The hypnotism of glamour was too easy to turn on and off. In his all too calm voice, "You've had a lot to drink Josephine. You can pass out now and remember to head to the store when you wake up for iron suppliments. You've been feeling anemic lately."

So yes, she is comfortable, on the bed, pillow under her head, though at the same time still tense and uncomfortable at the light head and her own moral issues over what she just allowed him to do. Her uncertainty shows in her alto when she asks, after he's done with the glamour, "The pills, I got it. When will the forgetting begin?"

Figures, only a fragile mind can succumb to the ability. A strong will always presents a challenge and thus making the efforts null. The vampire stares to Josephine for a moment after retrieving her jeans and tossing them into one of the hampers with caution. "I already did." He states all too casually. "You just don't want to forget."

Josephine elbows herself up higher, swallowing a wave of dizzy away. "Hell no, I want to forget. Trust me, I really want to. Do it again, maybe you didn't do it right." Refocusing to get the blur back to Braeden, and again she swallows.

Braeden laughs, "Very well." Shortly after composing himself the vampire furthers himself into the room and takes his place at the side of her bed. Both arms form as pillars upon the mattress as he hovers over her to match her gaze. He's focused now, perhaps he wasn't really making the effort and blew it off as some casual whisper. "Josephine, when I leave you will remember nothing. After calling me, you drunkenly made your way to your bedroom and passed out. I was never here. When you look to your thigh it will look like an old wound from a dog attack you suffered many years ago." Easy enough with the new blood coursing throughout him and making him feel a bit warmed at the core. Afterward Braeden stood up and started for the door. "Good night."

Sniff. "So you did it better now? When will it start?" Still sitting up, blinking, refocusing. New to the picture is the glossiness of her eyes, tears threatening in her need to just forget all about what happened. More if she could.

"We'll see." Braeden states just before passing through the door of her bedroom and closing it. He himself knowing it wouldn't work knowing how she appeared afterward. He smirks to himself while exiting her suite and closing the door to her domain. The little power of telekinesis he did have allowed him to lock the door after his departure and no doubt expecting her call.

[ Which comes close to dawn as a text to his cell: "Asshole, you promised!!!!!!!!!!!" ]

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