Bloody Mary's Bar
It's a dark night, with clouds settled dark and foreboding over the streets of Dallas. The murky, moist air is as thick with pollution as it gets, the windless skies squatting like a broody chicken over Dallas.
Outside Bloody Mary's bar, a youthful man, of slender figure and handsome in his way (and don't he damn well know it) walks towards the door, his easy saunter in complete defiance of the thud of his heart, the gulped air in his chest. He is scared, scared to the bone, but still Gabriel Rosco is determined to search in this place, not the first he's been to tonight.
As he makes it through the door, his expression doesn't change from the relaxed, open friendliness he normally bears. He glances around, seeking his prey- well, more like seeking his predator, as he scans for the woman that haunts his dreams.
Dark nights are best left for those who live their lives in the darkness. The promise of rain on the air tends to make a certain vampire feel as though she should be running through a field of heather. Sadly, Dallas is not known to have fields of heather, and so she is able to keep her composure and maintain her business demeanor.
Rather than being out frolicking, Isobel is ensconced with several others at a booth. The topic of conversation cannot be heard by the door, though the tones and expressions do not appear to be at all happy or joyful.
Gabriel finally does spot her, and his teeth suddenly catch at his lips, the heart rate quickens further, beating a techno massive against his ribs. He doesn't take eyes from her for a long moment, before he turns towards the bar, avoiding eye contact with anyone until he reaches it. When he does, he attempts to gain some attention, waving a hand a little to ensure it.
"Hi," says he, to the nearest bartender, all congeniality. "Look, I need to speak to-" He pauses, turning to gesture in the booth's general direction. "-the blonde? Blonde lady, that is. Problem- I don't wanna interrupt her or anything. Mind if I just sorta, y'know, wait 'til she's done? Oh, and an orange juice, please." Keeping his blood clean today, the better to run like hell if necessary.
Poor Gabriel is given an extremely odd look by the bartender who is, in fact, a vampire. "Orange juice?" A long laugh is followed by, "You're serious?" Shaking his head, the bartender turns to the fridge full of the mix components and pours a glass of orange juice, straight up, and slides it toward the breather.
Vampire hearing is a very wonderful thing. Each word that falls from Gabriel's lips is caught, though Isobel makes no move to leave her current conversation. "I expect you in attendance tomorrow," she says to the two men, "though you must leave your human playthings at home."
As realisation hits Gabriel, taking in the pale flesh of the tender, a distinct 'oh shit' briefly flits across his expression, disappearing as he regains a measure of control and smiles. "Yeah, just trying to let my body recover from the weekend, y'know?" says he, brightly. Money slides across the counter with an easy, "Change is yours," before he turns again, resting against the counter with one elbow, glass in hand. Sip taken, small enough to taste for added extras. Can't be too careful.
He lets his attention wander briefly, taking note of a few women, a whispered approval meant only for himself for one particular brunette, then the thought that she might be dead hits, and he starts taking a much greater interest in the wall. Hello, wall.
"Heh," issued from the bartender as he rings up the drink and pockets the change. He would have been happy leaving well enough alone, but the kid at the bar looks scared shitless, and so he flashes a bit of fang to see if he can't make him wet himself.
Some vampires just take a great deal of pleasure in terrifying breathers.
Gabriel has to wait perhaps ten minutes or so, which when staring at a wall can seem like a small eternity, for Isobel to conclude her business. As a group, the people at her booth remove themselves. Even going so far as to exit the bar as one entity rather than five separate ones.
It is not until each of the five in the group is through the door that the Sheriff of Area 9 stands gracefully, and begins a slow walk across the establishment.
Hello, fang. Gabriel barely keeps a hold on himself, but manages another bright smile to the bartender. His heartbeat speks volumes though, the faint perspiration of cold fear giving a salty touch to the air. He does wait, occasionally scoring a look across the group at the booth, and as they stand to leave, sudden recognition takes hold. He turns rapidly once more, hoping that the creature walking out knows nothing about the dirt in his parents' books is there, on his own computer. Eyes close, awaiting fate, but then they are gone, and so Gabriel feels safe enough to spin again. He watches Isobel stand, and start walking, involuntarily his eyes drop to take her full visage in.
Something like politeness makes him move to match, as he starts walking towards her now, opening his face into a polite smile. "Hello," says he, polite as he can, with no real idea how to address the woman he once called a whore.
"I could smell your fear from across the bar," Isobel states, her voice masked in icy neutrality. "You may wish to tone it down, or you may not make it out of here in one piece. The blood is rapidly coursing through your veins, bringing them to the surface. Just here," she says, barely touching his neck as she draws a nail along the jugular. "Other places as well, though they are well covered by your clothing."
Though he's come up to her to speak, she smirks and brushes past him, well aware of the effect she seems to have on him. Sometimes taunting the breathers can be fun and there is no doubt that she could use a little fun this evening. Dealing with Area 7 is always a pain in the backside.
The Sheriff does not stop until she reaches the bar. "AB negative, please. Mary's reserves, none of that synthetic."
His eyes close at the touch, a shiver runs down his back. He forces calm unto himself, a deep breath taken in, and released slowly. The heart rate changes little, but at least now he's in the presence of a vampire, rather than looking like a tasty snack for all. That's the thought, so a certain element of false calm does come upon him. Maybe it's fatalism, and his blood does begin to slow.
"Yeah, well it's not exactly the sort of place I'd normally spend a Monday night," he says, quietly, not quite bitterly. He turns, following her like a little puppy, and takes a mighty gulp of his drink; alas, no false courage in there. "Look, I wanted to speak to you about something. It's, uh, not exactly for public consumption though." He glances around at he reaches the bar alongside her, resting against it with that one elbow again.
His reaction is absolutely delicious to Isobel. "You fear us, yet you like the touch. You are a might conundrum, Mr. Rosco." The blood is set before her in a glass, the thick red liquid visible to all. Definitely not synthetic. Heated to perfection. Her lips set to the glass, and a rather large gulp is taken. Several drops of blood trickle at the side of her mouth, though her tongue is quick to catch them before they can leave a mess.
"If you are here to proposition me, then I should warn you that you will no longer desire another should you get what you want."
Gabriel follows the blood with sick fascination, with a complete inability to take his eyes from it. "Well, not so sure it's 'the' touch as much as it is 'your' touch," he admits, with a wry, self-deprecating humour. "No propositioning- well-" Not unless you want, suggests the brief pause. "-no. It's complicated. As for the fear, d'you blame me?"
Licking her lips, and leaving them a beautiful blood red, the Sheriff smiles. "'My' touch, you say?" Oh, but there is a somewhat manipulative gleam to her eyes. "You will allow me to finish my drink, and then we shall go for a small stroll. You may tell me of your supplication then." Without waiting for confirmation that he will allow her to finish, she does so. Slowly.
Twice vampires approach the young man from behind, one male, one a certain brunette that was being eyed earlier. Each is given a look which sends them off before they can approach him fully.
Only a nod meets her response first, and Gabriel just sips further at his drink, finishing it rapidly. His eyes catch the brunette as he turns once more, eyes widening as they flash between Isobel and the other. Heart rate skips back up once more, slowly and carefully brought down with slow breathing. He makes as if to speak, then stops himself. Just waits, occasionally glancing to Isobel to see where she's up to with her drink.
Only when the glass is emptied, with just a small smattering of thick blood remaining on the side of the glass does Isobel nod. Before leaving the bar though, she runs her finger along the inside of the rim, coating it with the remaining blood. Which she gingerly licks off her finger as she makes her way to the door. "Come along, Mr. Rosco. Perhaps destiny awaits you outside."
Again his eyes are locked on the blood, locked on her tongue as it moves. "Yeah," says he, dejectedly. "Hopefully not, eh? Not final destiny, anyway." One hand snakes into a jean pocket. Two buttons will summon assistance. Maybe. He dutifully follows her, lips pursing to something like a pout as he considers phrasing, cadence, and general how the hell to say what he wants to say.
"Had I wished to kill you, Mr. Rosco, you would have been dead the moment the word whore issued from your lips." Despite recent events, Isobel is not a mean, cold-blooded killer. She must bear that appearance, but it is not whom she actually is. Rather than taking a stroll though, she walks up to a limousine that waits outside and opens the door. All to usher Gabriel into the vehicle. The stroll was for any who thought to follow the pair as they had their discussion. This way, they will simply believe the Sheriff has found a new breather to feed from for her own enjoyment.
A certain element of defiance rails, as Gabriel responds, "I never actually said-" before cutting himself off. Not a good line of discussion. He stops and stares at the limo for a long moment, new found suspicion and interest gleaming in his eye as he looks over Isobel. "I'll trust you on that," says he, "in that you're not gonna kill me." Yet. He slides into the limo in a swift movement, the immediate fear starting to fade as he starts to convice himself that what she said is true. "So," says he. "I need your help."
"My help." Isobel repeats this as though it is quite an amusing thing to hear from a breather. "What, pray tell, do you need my help with?" Immediately followed by, "Bear in mind that I do not help anyone without attaching a price to it. Before you make your request, ask yourself if my help is worth any cost that may come with it." Settling herself neatly into the seat opposite him, she taps the window to notify the driver that she wishes the vehicle to move forward.
For a long moment, Gabriel simply stares at Isobel, thoughts of impending doom rapidly scoring across his mind. "What I want isn't going to cost you anything," says he, quietly, eyes dropping to the floor. He fidgets in place, fingers twining into each other. "This isn't easy, y'know," he says, before swallowing dry, the taking a deep breath. Eyes lift. "I want you to glamour me."
"Requests rarely cost me anything, Mr. Rosco, but they always cost the requester something." The Sheriff is no mind reader, nor does she need to be. There is no doubt in her mind that he, like most breathers, believes she wishes to drain him dry. "Why would I glamour you, little Kegan?" The name thrown there just to irk the poor young thing all the more. Testing his limits.
He forces himself to match her eye now; that simple thing costing him a lot. There's a visible wince at the use of his middle name. His voice wavers a little, and his expression is strange, like a man baring his soul. "Because you're stuck in my head, and I dream about you, and I can't get rid of you from my head. I want it out, and I can pay. Cash."
"Do you honestly believe that I need money?" Isobel arches an eyebrow at him, allowing him a moment to think on this before she continues. "It bothers me not that you, young breather, cannot stop thinking of me. It is not as though I employed sorcery for such a thing. Perhaps if you truly wish to stop me from being in your head so often, you should look inside yourself."
"Well, what _do_ you want?" he asks, exasperation starting to take hold, his fingers clenching against each other, knuckles glowing white. "Don't you think I've _tried_? Don't you think I've tken every chemical enhancement, meditation, even laying on of hands? You're a _vampire_." He starts towards entreating, not quite pleading, not yet. "Please, be the one who shows altruism, play nice like vampires are supposed to be doing, and help me out."
"Chemical enhancements will rarely work, and will make things worse for you." Isobel gives him a pointed look, and then laughs. "Altruism? You ask far too much, breather. There are many vampires who do not agree with the Revelation." The Sheriff, however, is quite happy about being able to be who she is openly, though that will never be admitted to another soul, breathing or otherwise. Flashing her tongue over her lips again, she reaches out to idly stroke a nail over his neck again. A taunt? Habit? "I shall consider your request on one of two conditions."
"I'm sure there are," says Gabriel, with bitterness. "The same ones who've been running half the damn' country for so long, and didn't want their precious toys messed with." With that frustrated outburst, he clamps down his lips, looking towards Isobel to see if there is danger coming from it. Then there is the touch; his eyes close and that same shiver comes back, along with a little noise from the back of his throat. It might be pleasure, might be fear. Might be both. "Tell me the conditions, and I'll see if I'll agree," he says, through teeth clenched.
"The first option is that you no longer pollute your body. You keep yourself absolutely clean. You will find that you live a much longer life if you do." The nail gently glides over the area near the carotid artery, almost lazily as she does it, trying to ascertain whether it is fear by the pulse, or whether it is pleasure. "The second option is that you obtain every file, every piece of documentation on Kegan Kinnel that your parents have acquired over the years."
The pulse has slowed enough now that's its unlikely fear that's driving through the youth. The first option brings a faint frown to his face. "Why would you want me to live longer?" he queries, "or is it just a form of punishment?" The second; his lips purse, and he looks at her, long and steadily. "If I was to obtain everything they have," says he, not bothering to mention he already has it, "you'd do it? Ensuring that you have a scapegoat should they realise?"
"Why would I wish you to die when you are amusing?" Isobel smirks, continuing to trail the finger along his neck as the vein becomes a little more prominent. It would be so easy to take a little nip and glamour him into not remembering anything. So very easy.
"Should they wish to retain their vampiric clients they would not act on it anyhow. There are certain things that I wish to ascertain about the man known as Kegan Kinnel, and only extensive files will allow me such knowledge."
Sitting as still as he can, which is not particularly, considering the touch, Gabriel fidgets gently in place, though not daring to pull his neck away. "Amusing," he comments, wryly bringing forth the inner actor. "No wonder the human race is terrified of you, if that's all we are. Amusing." There's a darkness to his tone; he doesn't like not being in control, especially when it comes to females.
"If I got you this information, you'd do what I want?" he asks, trying to bring the conversation to an end, to better run away. His eyes close, and clearly there's more than just removal of her from his mind he wants, at least by the way he swallow, throat moving against her finger.
"Unless you can think of another way to pay me?" Isobel's icy stare locks onto his face, and she makes a show of running her tongue over her lips. Slowly. Sensuously. "Amusing," she repeats, her tone soft, almost lulling. The first faint strains of a glamour coursing toward him. "You will remember nothing of this request, except the way you felt from the touch, and the knowledge that you are to bring me the files on Kegan Kinnel. You will remember having a pleasant, and pleasurable conversation with an altruistic vampire."
Leaning back, she releases the glamour, and smiles at the young Rosco. "Tell me, Mr. Rosco, where would you like to go this evening. My driver would be more than pleased to bring you anywhere you desire."
Eyes widen slightly as the glamour takes hold, and he leans back into the chair, stunned slightly by the shift of his mind. "Well, if you want to swing by my place, I'll get you the information right now," he suggests, with a smile. "Either that, or we could go drin- well, I could go drinking some place, and you could watch." He offers up a smile, open and easy now his mind sees her as altruistic; not the monster that so many of her kind are. "You really are beautiful you know," he continues, "even if you won't tell me your name."
"What is in a name, Mr. Rosco? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet." Ergo, who she is should not be important to him, at least not by name. "That sounds like a wonderful idea. Let us attend your home and gather the information. I do so appreciate your help with this. You have no idea how much." Again, the smile. Again the look of a young woman and not the hard woman Isobel has been forcing herself to become. "Perhaps we can have a little drink at your place…"
"Then you'll just have to stay as the beautiful blonde of my dreams," says Gabriel, "up until I find a way to, y'know, fix my head." For the rest of the conversation is completely gone from his mind. For a long moment, he simply stares out of the window. "Well, I don't have any Trueblood, but I'll get some for you if you like. Got a microwave, though I was intending to stay sober tonight."
"I am quite certain that I will find something to refresh myself with," Isobel says gently. Her fingers slide over the vein in his neck again, and she gently leans over toward his ear. "You had best hope that we arrive at your apartment swiftly, Mr. Rosco. I do not think you will be able to contain yourself momentarily."
Not entirely untrue, the tracing finger is distracting the youth greatly, and he shifts against it once more. No more uncomfortable, it's clear the gentle noise that occasionally escapes from his throat is of desire. "It's not far," he says, before piping up with quick directions. "Not far at all." He eyes skip over to her, draw along her body, and his head falls back against the seat. One hand does move, to aim to draw fingers up her side; no more fear.
Though he will not see it, there is disgust that runs through her as this particular breather touches her in an intimate manner. Were he not in possession of information she wants, she would not allow it. But the game will be played until they are out of the vehicle. The moment the limousine stops, so does Isobel's touch. She waits patiently for the door to be opened, and slides out of the vehicle waiting for the breather to do so as well. "Then let us see this information and celebrate with a drink, hmm?"
Gabriel spends the remainder of the journey relaxed against the seat, relaxing as only he is able, completely at ease. As the door opens, he slides out after Isobel, now shamelessly glancing her over. "Absolutely," he agrees, flashing her a grin as he strolls to the door, opening it with ease. "Won't take a minute, I'll stick it on a flash drive for you." He climbs the stairs in graceful silence, opening the door to his apartment with a quick twist of a wrist. Not even locked; lazy boy.
"Wonderful," Isobel says, knowing that she will have to get Gregory to pull the information for her. While she is keen on the use of digital photography, her dealings with computers are limited to just that. "Afterward, the drink, and a little fun." A slow smirk appears upon her face. She can already smell that the boy is clean this evening which will make for a decent drink in one of the 'other places' she was mentioning earlier. The implication of fun? Easily glamoured into him before she removes herself from the presence of the breather.
Gabriel is oblivious to the intention, it never even crossing his mind that the altruistic blonde would dream to feeding without full permission. He enters the apartment, dragging a small laptop from a shelf with practised ease, and letting it fire up as he collapses into the sofa. "Fun sounds good," says he, largely to the screen, though his face lights into a grin. "Anything particular you got planned?"
"Nothing but bringing a smile to your face for sharing this information with me," Isobel replies, teeth gritting just a little as she smiles. "Let me know when the computer is completed with your request, and we can… get the party started." The mainstreaming side of her is kicking in though she still seems to be quite ill at ease with a few phrases.
Fired, up, USB drive in, five seconds, USB out, and Gabriel lifts his head. "Aren't- oh, of course. Please, come in to my home." He flashes another smile, before tossing the blob of plastic that contains so much damning information on Kegan her way. Then he skips to his feet, turning body as though towards the kitchen. "Any particular drinks you like the smell of, so I can make sure at least the stench in here isn't too bad?" he asks, congenially.
"Thank you, Mr. Rosco. I was wondering when you would invite me properly. A lady does enjoy having a proper invitation after all." Stepping into the apartment, she easily catches the USB drive. "Scotch if you have it," she near purrs at him, "though I would really prefer if you brought yourself out to the common area now so that I can properly thank you."
"Scotch is-" Gabriel's attention shifts, and he comes smoothly to his feet. He does as suggested, moving out towards Isobel, towards the thanks. "Scotch can wait," says he, with a sly and wicked grin starting to touch at his lips. His steps are the smooth, easy, graceful steps of the consumnate playboy.
Dallas' Sheriff is quick to make a grab for the man, her speed and alacrity possibly alarming. She twists, spinning him back toward the couch and in the singular graceful movement already has his pants half removed. Her goal? The femoral artery. "A proper thank you, Mr. Rosco, has very little do do with a kiss. Do not worry, I assure you you will enjoy yourself." He will remember enjoying himself at any rate.
A cry of surprise leaps from Gabriel's lips, and his heart starts to race again; fear does wave a tiny flag in his mind, battling internally with the previous glamour. "Woah, blondie," says he, "careful with me. No biting, right? Just isn't my thing."
"Shhh," Isobel says, her voice calming and smooth. "You are about to have the best sexual relations of your life, Mr. Rosco. The most pleasure, the most fun. Come morning, you will remember nothing of this evening except the fact that you brought a blonde woman home due to your recollection of the one you labeled a whore. Due to being unable to get her out of your head. You will recall each moment with great clarity. The bite upon your thigh merely a love nibble she gave while play-acting as the blonde vampire woman." There is a pause as she lowers herself to the floor, slipping herself between his legs. Eye contact is not yet broken. "The blonde will remain in your thoughts, though she will only appear in your dreams whenever you obtain new information on a vampire that is moving in or out of the city via your parents. She will remain there until you deliver a USB drive with this updated information, haunting your thoughts, your dreams. She will be all that you can think about during this time. Do you understand?"
Relaxing against her touch, Gabriel's eyes glaze slightly at the extended glamour, on top of the recent touches. He dreamily replies, "Sure," as his eyes close, and he writhes gently against the floor in a relaxed, cat-like movement of pleasure. "I'll take the stuff to her."
Once he is in that state of dreamy submission, Isobel flicks her tongue out against the thigh. Feeling for the pulse of the femoral artery. Then she strikes, swiftly, drinking gently. She is mostly sated from her beverage at the bar, so she doesn't take much. Just enough so that she'll know if and when the glamour begins to fade in the man, so that she can stabilize it. When she is done, she lifts herself up and has the gall to pat him on the head. "Enjoy your evening, Mr. Rosco." Then she speeds toward the door, closing it softly behind her so that he can lose himself in the glamour-induced dream state.
