Dahlia
If a place could be modern, hip, cutting edge and elegant all at the same time, this would be the place. The decor of the interior is both completely avant guard, with tiered and sculpted curved seating, the lighting an effortlessly shifting array of blues and whites and grays and comfortable enough that it would appeal to guests of both the older vampiric generations and the younger. The restaurant is not large, and is obviously exclusive, but there's an energy emanating from the building that is both exciting and inviting. A bar sits against the back wall of the restaurant, the shelves filled with an array of both home-made and imported wines, liqueurs and aperitifs. Opposite the bar is the kitchen, which is kept open to the public, at least through a soundproofed glass wall panel, the science and space-aged feel of the machinery and techniques used in the creation of the meals as much a part of the attraction of the restaurant as the meals themselves. A hostess station sits at the front of the restaurant, always manned by a maitre d'.
It's the middling hours of the evening, and Dahlia's prime time is in full swing. Customers come and go, the maitre d' checks reservations, coats are taken, and guests are escorted to their seats. All of the floor staff are vampires, all cordial and accommodating. The music is soft, the lighting subtle, even the conversations are hushed. If ever there was a sanctuary, albeit with some of the best food in the country, at least that's the story, this would be the place. There's a bit more life over by the bar, where the conversation picks up in volume, but the only real bastion of movement, light and life is in the kitchen, open to the view of all of the patrons, though, like a silent movie, the sound is completely muffled by the glass.
—-
Chef is making her usual rounds, having already set the kitchen to working in the perfectly orchestrated and exquisitely timed symphony of movement that is the only way in which she does her best work. The menu, tonight, is Chef's choice. While there are always staples, the tasting menu, some of the appetizers and desserts, one of the draws of Dahlia's is that the menu is different every night, based on Chef's whims and desires. A perfect way to insure that each visit to the restaurant is as new as the first. And so, she walks, dressed in her whites, exchanging words here, laughter there, mingling with her diners. She even pauses, now and then to explain this dish or that.
—-
Another tall, pale vampire enters through main door to the restaurant. His bespoke suit fits his body perfectly, and boasts an elegance about him that is mirrored by the natural ease and grace of his walk. As Darcy approaches the Maitre D', he holds out a pearl introductory card with only two names embossed in gold lettering on its front: William Pemberly. "I rang," the vampire explains, speaking with his British-inflected accent. Waiting to be escorted to his seat, Darcy takes the opportunity to gaze about and absorb the decor and interior design layout of the restaurant. He nods with approval, simply uttering, "Chic."
—-
Despite the newness of the setting, Chef has had decades to perfect the art of direction. The fact that this is a restaurant and not a courtly dining hall makes little difference. A subtle tilt of her head, as she watches the patrons move to and fro, a flick of her wrist, as the hostess comes to escort a guest, it's a symphony, to move her staff to tend to the needs of all of the guests in perfect time. She hasn't quite made it over to the side of the room on which the british vampire is being seated, but as it's on her way back to the kitchen, it's unlikely that she'll miss him.
—-
Darcy is escorted to a small table where he promptly takes his seat. The other place setting is swiftly removed by one of the waiters, who moves with poise and precision. As the vampire settles himself, he glances at the available menu. "Whatever the Chef has prepared for this evening sounds about suited to my palate," he says to an attendant waiter. "Oh, but do be so good as to start me with some O Negative, yes? It whets the appetite." The waiter nods knowingly, and disappears as quickly as he arrived.
—-
A twitch of her fingers directs the waiter leaving from Darcy's table towards her, and there's a moment for the two to speak quietly, before the man heads off towards the bar, placing his order and taking the few moments to wait while the drink is prepared. Chef continues on along her route, being waylaid by a pair of females who seem to be having an argument over some appetizer or another. But a motion to bring out a second order seems to put it to rights. The waiter returns not but a few minutes after the order was placed, setting the glass of what looks, well quite like ordinary blood down on the table. "Chef will be over in a moment to assist you with the menu." The blood, once tasted, is indeed the O- that was requested, but there's a subtle hint of something, sweet and spicy, exotic, that brings to mind a particular moment, or perhaps a place, many years ago, by human reckoning, someplace in what was once considered northern india, but more appropriately might be considered Afghanistan. Clearly the years have not been so long, that Chef has forgotten.
—-
A slight smirk creeps across his porcelain features at the taste of the blood cocktail. "Capital!" Darcy says aloud, to no one in particular, before he takes another sip and places his glass back on the table. The vampire starts to look about the crowded restaurant, allowing his eyes to drift from one couple or group of bloodsuckers to the next before he finally spots her in the Chef whites: Vivienne Michiels. The grin expands to a wide, charming smile revealing two rows of perfect white teeth and lethal extended canines. Sitting upright in his chair, with perfect posture, Darcy merely watches her with that full-grown expression on his face. He patiently awaits for Vivienne to approach his table.
—-
A word here and there, and Chef manages to disengage herself, having heard the comment on her selection of the opening glass. It takes her hardly a moment or two to make her way through the tables, the woman having had enough practice to make her movements appear as graceful as possible, without giving away that she's adding some of her own innate abilities to the mix. But once she arrives at the table, she still Chef, but she's also something else, or perhaps, something older. Just Vi, as she leans down to attempt to place a kiss to Darcy's cheek, first one and then the other. The canines are noted, with just a sparkle of humour in her expression, "You always did love to show them off."
—-
Darcy leans forward, returning the kisses on opposite cheeks. The vampire soon rises from the chair. He folds his left arm behind his back and, after a bow, beings to recite Shelley in his prim accent:
"Yes! she will awake again,
Although her glowing limbs are motionless,
And silent those sweet lips,
Once breathing eloquence,
That might have soothed a tiger's rage,
Or thawed the cold heart of a conqueror."
"My dear, you look ravishing. Your beauty is exquisite, and more radiant than when we last met. And," Darcy continues, reaching to raise his glass in gesture to the restaurant, "I congratulate you on your fine restaurant. Quite the success, my sweet."
—-
Honestly, what is a woman to do? And despite the fact that, well, time changes all things, even the unchanging, no woman could ever truly say no to Shelley, and certainly not to being so delightfully recited to. If she still had a heart, it might just be fluttering. Which is the only suitable reaction to great poetry. "And you look as dashing and debonair as ever. The years have been kind to you. Though far too many, since we saw each other." She does take a moment, looking around at the restaurant, that soft smile returning to her lips, even as the waiter returns, "Thank you. We will begin with the caviar, and the consomme, then move on to the venison with forest mushrooms. Thank you." The waiter nods, before he steps off to deliver the selection to the back of the house. "Thank you, it seems to be doing quite well. After your meal, if you'd like, I can give you a tour."
—-
"A fine proposal," Darcy answers. "And I most heartily accept. How could I refuse you? Certainly not in the old India, nor in this new one. I say, do you remember when we first met? Both of us stalking through that desolate, horrid country tracking that camp of whirling Dervishes? I do confess, my darling, that was one of the most interesting dinner parties I have attended." His words flow languidly, eloquently falling off his lips like wisps of smoke. "I was fortunate then to have had such an attractive guest. Ah, but here I am keeping you from your patrons. Que bruta figura, non?" he adds with a charming laugh. "Please, my dear Vivienne, do not let this chatty gentleman keep you. I will be delighted to tour your restaurant after I sink my teeth into your cuisine."
—-
"They are guests, and they will likely be here for hours. They can wait. It has been years since I have seen a friendly face. Much less one that reminds me of such a…delightful time in my life." And it was a delight, in those first few decades of freedom, free from the restrictions of being under her Maker's thumb. "And besides, it will only make them more curious, to see me sitting with a guest. It's quite the honor. They'll wonder what you did to deserve it." And Darcy does love the limelight. The caviar is soon brought to the table. Pale, red, translucent, it look for all the world exactly like what it's intended to be. But the flavour is a succulent combination of the finest Beluga, and a delightful AB+, with just a hint of sea salt in the finish. The wafers as well, are a deep, vibrant crimson and equally edible. Vivienne won't loom, of course, but she does at least wait to see Darcy's reaction, before she returns to her rounds.
—-
"Perhaps it was that tiger?" the vampire muses with a soft laugh. Darcy has always been something of a gourmand; even without a pulse, and having mostly abandoned eating actual foodstuffs, the pleasure of the meal has not lost itself on him. After several bites, he says to Vivienne, "My dear, you are going to take us into a new culinary age. This is delightful; absolutely superb." And he does enjoy dining on the delicacies as much as the curious attention by the other patrons. Not that it was the wisest course of action, but he could not be bothered. After finishing with his meal, Darcy dabs a few drops of blood from the corners of his mouth with the linen serviette and rests it on his seat as he stands. The vampire makes his way, with calm purpose, toward the kitchen to rejoin Vivienne. "Simply marvelous!" he exclaims upon making it to her side. "I must kiss the Chef." And he does: leaning forward, two pecks are planted on each cheek.
—-
"Perhaps, but I would never give away your secrets." And with that, Vivienne removes herself from the table, continuing with her rounds, with the occasional stop at the bar, and then inside the kitchen, preparing this piece and that. Not every table gets something touched by Chef's hands, but those that do, well, it is something of a treat. Of course, there's no small amount of whispering, as the kitchen, off-limits to the patrons, is opened up to Darcy, but it's as much a draw as the food. The mystery. The kitchen itself is something both completely traditional and something from the next century. Tanks of liquid nitrogen, a variety of odd chemistry arrangements, canisters, glassware. And Chef seems in the center of all of it, even after she steps away to join her guest, as though the energy of the room travelled with her. The staff, for the most part, as vampires, but there are mortals, all human, all untouched, and obviously well-treated. If ever there was an ideal place for a human to work, if one had to work with vampires, this would be it. "You've become so…demure in your old age, Lord Pemberly." There's just a hint of teasing, as she returns the kisses, before she lifts a spoon from the table at which she's been working. A perfect, glistening, lush raspberry sits on the silvery surface, "A gift from a very special member of my…supply." The concoction has the look, smell, even mouth feel of the fruit, and the blood is redolent with it. A perfect marriage of the two flavours.
—-
"Demure?" Darcy answers, arching an eyebrow. "If only you knew, my dear." He follows Vivienne into her strange world, not fully comprehending all the gadgets and apparatuses used in her preparation. The vampire nonetheless keeps quiet, and interestedly observes the workings and preparation in her kitchen. "I see you have a fresh supply of groceries on hand," he quips on glancing one of the human line staff. "And did we not agree in Kashmir that I prefer the diminutive, Darcy? Or William, if you must. Lord Pemberly died many, many years ago." He is definitely not cross; by all intents and purposes, the vampire is enjoying in the fun. Maybe it is because he is well-fed at the moment, and on a euphoria from the meal? "This all looks quite exquisite."
—-
"Oh, I am certain that you will enlighten me." Vivienne seems keen to show him around, pointing out this or that, allowing him to sample, if he chooses. Or not, as it pleases him. "Oh, they are not my supply, unless they do exceptional work. I keep all of my stock off-site. You know how long it takes to infuse the blood with certain flavours." They certainly did enough of that in their day. Not in the way Vivienne does it now, but many of the seeds she uses now, she perfected during her time with Darcy. The indian subcontinent was a garden of culinary mysteries and they explored most of them. "I call you Lord because I know you do not prefer it." Sort of like when a parent uses your full and legal name. Though, in this case, it's done out of teasing, and not out of a need to chastise. Whatever it is that exists between Vivienne and Darcy, it's certainly not a familial relationship.
—-
"I had not the faintest knowledge you were in the New World," Darcy remarks to Vivienne. And he most certainly does sample the sanguine delicacies! As they move about the kitchen, he listens with interest as she passionately talks about her gourmet craft. "I had thought you had decided upon Finland? To be sure, I had not the foggiest inclination I would find you here amongst these colonials. But I must say, I am delighted that I have, my dear."
—-
"I did travel up to Scandinavia, but in the least few decades this continent has simple exploded with so many possibilities. I had to come and see what they had been working on. And it was so much like it was when we were together. Exploring a new place, new people, new cultures. New flavours, just waiting to be tasted." That smile returns, as she finally gets to the end of the tour, "I did not think I would see you again outside of Europe. And for the next long while, that place is closed to me." If only to keep herself from committing patricide.
—-
"Europe," Darcy echoes Vivienne after she finishes speaking. "Yes, I have not been back to the Old World for /quite/ some time. Perhaps I ought to visit, but these Americans - yes, I know, they are so pedestrian, but what can one simply do? - have a knack for being ever so amusing." He pauses and looks at her intently. "We have become quite the pair of gypsy nomads, yes? I do suppose that suits our lot and our tempers, if not to mention our kind." A soft smile tells Vivienne that Darcy infers what she means by her last comment, and possibly shares some similar experience. "To think: this country was nothing but wild savages and Spanish peasants but only yesterday. I told you these Americans are amusing. Always building, expanding, fattening themselves up. But now that they know all about us, who is to say what to think?"
—-
"Have you noticed this penchant they have for calling things old? Things that are barely thirty, forty, even fifty years old? But nothing lasts here. It's as if they only build things to give themselves something to tear down again. But…to have such life and fire. It is an exciting country. Not that either Vivienne or Darcy lack that sort of vitality. Neither of them has yet succumbed to the ennui that overtakes many vampires as they age. And so prejudiced. I fear we have much to compete with. They seem to hate every race and colour equally. I do not think they know, yet, exactly what to make of us." She takes a moment, testing the temperature and texture of a selection of flavoured foams, all of which have been made from deconstructed blood. "So tell me," she offers, as she leads the way back to the small private area where she experiments, "Have you come all this way alone?"
—-
"Yes," Darcy answers, aloud. "Come," Darcy says suddenly in an earnest, quiet tone as he reaches out and gently holds on to Vivienne's left forearm. "Let us speak somewhere private, away from these prying ears; that is, if you can pull yourself from your kitchen for a few minutes. I have something I must urgently discuss with you, and I fear that you are perhaps the only one on this continent to whom I can confide it." Secrets and intrigue. Even between old companions, it was always a dangerous game to open one's self up to another vampire. What is amiss?
—-
"I always have time for you, Darcy." Vivienne might be curious, even slightly alarmed, at the sudden change, even so slight, visible only to someone with long history with the englishman, but she knows well enough not to allow it to show. "I trust my chefs to make certain the kitchen runs as smoothly as it would if I were here to watch over it." She's spent years cultivating her sous chefs. And they certainly wouldn't still be in her kitchen, if she didn't trust them to follow her orders to the letter, "Should I take a moment to change, or will you take me as I am?"
—-
"Whichever you prefer, Vivienne," Darcy answers.
—-
"I'll only be a moment." And with that, Vivienne disengages herself, slipping away into the back rooms of the kitchen. True to her word, she returns just a short while later. This time, she's slipped out of her whites, and into something more fitting the attire of her erstwhile companion. A silken chocolate brown dress, her hair let down and allowed to curl around her shoulders. And if she notices the looks she receives from her staff, as she returns to join the man, she gives them no mind. And this time, she extends her hand for his arm. "Lead on."
—-
"Ravishing," Darcy murmurs, grinning lopsidedly as she returns. "Please, do follow me." The Englishman walks out of the kitchen with ease and poise. Nothing about his movements suggest he could possibly be nervous as he walks with his natural, effortless grace. As they pass his table, the nobleman reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out his wallet quickly pulling out several hundred dollar bills and leaving them on the table. Upon reaching the door, Darcy holds it open for Vivienne to guide Vivienne outside. "I have my automobile nearby," he explains, handing a valet a ticket stub. "Do not worry. I shant take us too far."
—-
"Unfortunately for you, my dear, I know how great your skill is with flattery." That same gracefulness comes back into play, as Vivienne joins Darcy on the walk through the restaurant, though she does offer him a tsk as he pays for his meal. As if she would accept it. A mental note, to pull the payment from the day's receipts, as she makes her way out and onto the street, "Oh, I'm not concerned about the distance. But then, we've walked so long and so far, anything shorter than a transcontinental trek would seem like a moment."
—-
As they stand by the entranceway to the restaurant, flanked by the Dahlia's tuxedo-wearing armed security guards, Darcy nods to Vivienne. "Yes, you are quite right. The Hotel Carmina is barely a few blocks away, but I shant wish to alarm any humans out for a midnight walk, yes?" His automobile pulls up to the curb directly in front of the door, a black two-door BMW 645Ci luxury sports car; and the human valet steps out of the driver's side. With preternatural speed, Darcy has opened the passenger door for Vivienne. "Besides, are you afraid of my driving?" the vampire asks with a mischievous grin.
—-
Vivienne takes a moment, not speaking, but looking at each of the guards in turn, both of whom give an imperceptible, at least to human eyes, nod, before she steps over to where the valet service delivers the vehicles of patrons as they depart the restaurant, "I think more to the point, you would not like for either of us to be tempted by the memories of the past." Hedonism is not always in the past, even as one grows older. "In this car, not so much. Though I do seem to recall a particularly…breathtaking romp through Dehli with a rather spirited pair of stallions." A smile, comes in answer to the gesture, as Vivienne slides into the passenger side, following Darcy's movements as she settles herself.
—-
With Vivienne in the passenger seat, the door is closed and Darcy is almost immediately in the driver's seat starting the engine. The vehicle does not peel out, but glides away smoothly from the restaurant. Only once they have left the Dalhia does Darcy actually give the vehicle some gas, and starts to race through the streets at high speeds which would most definitely be too dangerous for a human being to control. He does all of this with extreme ease, as with almost all of his actions, making it appear as if nothing he does cost any effort. And it does not. "You have always been politically astute, my darling. What do you know about the politics of this Kingdom?" Darcy asks Vivienne, speaking seriously. It is obvious that they are not headed for the Hotel Carmilla. Darcy just keeps the sports car racing through the streets of Dallas, circling through the city, as it heads to no exact destination. "More specifically, the King of Texas and the Sheriff of Dallas?" He does not miss a beat when he adds, "There is plenty of time for that my dear, after we talk."
—-
Vivienne, if she were any other woman, or even any other vampire, might either be frightened for the safety of her immortal existence, or worried as to the exact nature of Darcy's need for privacy. Cars, after all, are terrible handy for disposing of remains, even ones that would stain their leather. "Only what any other vampire would know. The King manages his kingdom with a strict hand, the Sheriff is molded into a similar vein. I have heard tell of a new Whip, who, by all accounts is neither mainstreaming, nor attempting to fit in to our society. The rumour, is that he a vicious beast of a man. Dallas is particular, as the King's capital city, seems to be made to run in a fashion that even the strictest magister would consider an exemplary example of vampiric law. I have been to court only once, when I first presented myself in the territory, when I was first looking at Dallas as a location for the restaurant. But that was many months ago, and times seem to be moving quickly in the city, even for our kind."
—-
"Decidedly bad news," Darcy answers. The car continues its high speed trek through the downtown streets. "I fear, my dear, that I might be soon called before their august courtly body - or, at least, this is the rumour that I have heard. Something about not properly following their protocol for Southern patronage. Dicey business, to be sure. From what I understand, this Sheriff does not appreciate my business practices. Quite different than New York, I assure you."
—-
"And what do you plan to do, if you are brought to court to answer for the way you have been doing your business." Vivienne does have some idea of the things that Darcy is likely getting himself into. "You've always played a dangerous game, Darcy. You play things fast and loose, living for the moment. Which is always something that I adored about you, but it also makes your life a bit…uncertain."
—-
"Yes, quite," Darcy answers in an off-handed, non-plussed way. He swerves the car out of the way of a taxicab, and actually steps on the accelerator. "There is a lot of opportunity in this city," he adds. "If I did not have to take a holiday from New York, I shant think I would have ever made my way down to these south States." He takes a short pause before continuing, "And I do not plan on appearing before the Court, if I have anything to say about it. Bureaucrats!" He finally sneers before banking the car into a hard turn, and eventually slows it to street-safe levels. If Katherine notices, they are back near her restaurant. The vampire pulls the car over to the side of the road, idling its engine. "What would you recommend, hmm?"
—-
"Well, my first suggestion would be for you to curb your profligate ways. But I've known you long enough to know that that's unlikely to happen. You have too much of your Maker in you." Whereas Vivienne has almost none, and she thanks whatever watches over vampires everyday that that's the case. "The Great Revelation has been a godsend for us, Darcy, to use a human expression. We have so many more opportunities in front of us than we did before. We're not living in the Age of Eternal Prohibition. You have more than a few avenues open to you for legitimate, honest, legal income. And I would suggest that you look into them." Vivienne sighs, reaching over to attempt to settle one of her fingertips against the curve of Darcy's jaw closest to her, "But your life is about the thrill of the chase, the passion of the conquest. And there's very little of that in the legitimate world. Unless you're truly passionate about what it is you're doing. But I don't think that I've ever known you to be truly passionate about anything, except Anna."
—-
Darcy stiffens at the mention of his Maker's name. He stares directly ahead of him, looking out the windshield at nothing. "We are predators," the Englishman says after a lengthy pause. "Meant to hunt our prey, and to enjoy ourselves. Else this Dark Gift is one long, tedious monotony." He shifts the vehicle into gear, and brings them back up toward the restaurant. "My dear," he begins, straining to sound more cheerful, "It is so very good to see you. For the time being, I shall most certainly be staying in Dallas; and I wager that we shall have a chance to - what is the expression? - to 'catch up.' It should be good sport, yes? I am sure of it."
—-
Vivienne settles back into her seat, as the ride comes to an end. There always was a reason why no matter how bright the fire, it always cooled to embers between them. "A predator survives by being smart, by being cunning, by knowing how to get what it wants, what it needs, but to come out the other side alive and well, with the prize in hand and the flock none the wiser." Oh, yes, she was quite sure mentioning his Maker would upset him, for good or ill, and there's nothing that can mask the sadness in her voice. "Yes, it was good to see you again. I hope I won't have to wait so very long to do it again." But Vivienne won't kid herself. She knows better than most that it's unlikely Darcy will look her up of his own volition a second time. "Take care of yourself, Darcy. You know that my home is always open to you." And with that, the door is unlocked, and it's not Vivi, but Chef that steps out of the car, starting off back towards Dahlia.
—-
"The article was correct," Darcy calls after Vivienne as she leaves the car. "The food was excellent." Perhaps their meeting was not as coincidental as he earlier let on? The British-born vampire watches her figure retreat and fade away into the confines of the restaurant and, reaching for the dashboard stereo, blasts the Overture to Mozart's Don Giovanni. With a squeal of tires and the smell of burning rubber against asphalt, the sports car races off down the street.
