Jazz and Cocktails

Bass Clef Club

Bass Clef is a fair sized Jazz club with the lighting dimmed so that the booths and tables along the back and side walls of the cafe area are slightly shadowed and more private. Eight booths line the bricked walls, four on each side of the club. To get up into the booths there is a single step so that they are not on the same level as the rest of the floor. The walls are decorated with posters from past and upcoming events and entertainers. Several cafe-style tables have been set up in the center of the club with two to four chairs surrounding each. Closer to the bar there are taller tables, being close to forty-four inches in height so that someone could stand next to it and rest their elbows upon them as they leaned in against them.
Across from the large wooden door that is the entrance, there is a very short stage comprised of black marble. In the center of the stage is a grand piano, and enough room for the remainder of the jazz-band to set up. The stage is normally lit up with a spotlight, making it the most illuminated area in the entire club. Settled on the right wall is the bar. The lights around the bar don't seem to be as dim as those in the rest of the club, but the lighting is still very low in order to keep the atmosphere of the rest of the establishment. Behind the bar the wall is done up in aqua-colored tile before the shelving for the various types of beverages; including soda. A door behind the bar presumably leads to the kitchen and storage areas.

The club is as hopping as it usually is. The jazz scene isn't as popular as some of the other more 'trendy' nightclubs, but this is where Aislin finds herself this night. The redhead sits in a booth with a fruity drink adorned with an umbrella, listening to the musicians perform on the stage. It appears she's alone tonight, her purse sitting beside her as her tablemate.

Walking through the door is a tall man in a bespoken, stylishly tailored suit. He moves with natural grace and ease, conveying an effortless elegance. The man is obviously attractive in an uncanny, magnetic sort of way. Those people that are in the jazz club are instantly drawn toward him, watching him with fascinated interest as he takes a seat at an empty table next to Aislin. Darcy's attention, for the moment, drifts up to the stage to enjoy the saxophone riff.

Fingers lift to pluck the umbrella out of the drink, straw stirring through the fruity thing slowly before Aislin picks it up and brings it to her lips. Her green eyes lift to follow the tall man as he moves through the club to one of the tables, gaze focusing on him briefly before she blinks once and returns her attention to the musical sorts, taking another drink from her glass.

"You know it is meant to be a garnish," Darcy says to Aislin, his eyes not moving from the stage. How did he see her take the umbrella out of the glass? Spooky. "You sip through the straw so as to not improperly mix the cocktail." His voice floats on the air like wisps of smoke. The accent is British; old, refined, posh. As the band finishes its set, Darcy extends his bony hands with their long fingers before him and claps several times.

Blink. Blink. Aislin looks back over to him as he speaks, glancing down at her drink before looking back to him. "That only works if the drink hasn't been sitting for a time and all the liquor has settled at the bottom," she counters, her own words coloured with their Irish accents. As the band takes its leave, her own hands come up to applaud politely and quietly.

With the same refined restraint and ease, Darcy raises his right hand to one of the passing cocktail waitresses. A few words are quietly whispered to the girl, inaudible to anyone else, and she smiles sweetly before heading toward the bar. "You enjoy Coltrane?" Darcy asks Aislin, in reference to the last set, still looking ahead at the stage as the band rests between sets, checking their instruments and talking with one another. The left side of the man's pale face is visible in profile. Two minutes after she left, the waitress returns with the same fruity cocktail - this one freshly made - that Aislin was drinking. With a lopsided grin, the waitress puts it down on a cocktail napkin and goes off to do whatever it is waitresses do.

"I enjoy music," the redhead tells him with a light smile. "I'm not terribly picky, but I enjoy jazz far more than the noise known as punk or metal." A slight wrinkle of her nose and Aislin releases a soft huff. Eyes follow the waitress as she returns with the same drink that gets plunked down. "Cute." She chuckles softly and picks up the old drink to consume it anyway. "I assume you enjoy Coltrane, then? At least you know whose work it was. Most people that come in here don't. It's just a good place for entertainment, drink, and food."

"Yes, I knew Coltrane," Darcy answers, not turning his head. "Most people, you will find, are troglodytes. They live empty, shallow lives unilluminated by beauty or truth. With such a void in the soul, the wellspring is dry, if you catch my meaning." The same waitress turns to Darcy's table, and the man only answers, "An Oldfashion, if you please."

"I agree," Aislin says with a nod, fingers grasping the straw and she -almost- stirs her drink again before returning her hand to the table. "Trends change, though. So hopefully they'll change for the better. And maybe people will get back to the root of music." She lifts one hand to rub the side of her neck, glancing towards the table to see who is setting up before returning her attention to the man sitting nearby. "I can see why you're more interested in this than some of the other nightclubs."

"It depends upon my mood," Darcy answers Aislin. The whiskey cocktail is brought to his table, and placed on another white cocktail napkin. It remains untouched; ignored. "One gains an appreciation for the spectacle and the absurd at those - what was it I heard someone call them? - ah, yes, 'meat markets.'" The expression seems particularly amusing to Darcy, who lets out a soft laugh showcasing two even rows of white teeth. Finally, the man turns in his chair and looks directly at Aislin. "And here I have been so rude not to introduce myself. My name is Darcy," he says. "Are you enjoying your cocktail?"

Aislin isn't sure whether to be amused or horrified at the term 'meat market' and instead gives him an odd look, head tilting to one side. "Spectacles can be quite entertaining, yes. But I'd rather not waste my time if I don't have to. I prefer to spend my time in places that I enjoy. I suppose if I had the right company, it could be worth spending some time watching people embarass themselves." She shifts in her seat in the booth, crossing her legs. "I'm Aislin. It's a pleasure to meet you, Darcy. Though I'm finding it difficult to properly speak with you as you sit all the way over there. I am enjoying my cocktail, yes. Would you like to join me?" One hand lifts to motion to another seat in the booth.

Don't these humans learn anything? "Delighted," Darcy answers, offering another charming smile. He stands from his chair, remembering to pick up the Old Fashion glass with him, and takes a few steps toward the booth. Without any cumbersome or awkward movements, he is seated next to Aislin. "What do you think they will play next?" he asks, off-handedly. The cocktail is placed on the table; once more, it is ignored.

Ah yes. She's simply a foolish human! Part of that 'meat market' perhaps? Aislin watches him as he moves with that simple grace and settles next to her. Her purse is shifted aside so that he can settle comfortably at the booth with her, hands lifting to bring her glass up to he rlips once more. "Next?" She leans forward a bit to peer over at the stage. "Could be anything. Could be modern, could be classic. I can never guess with these people."

The band starts playing something new, obviously their own creation, that is some sort of jazz-funk fusion. "It may not be the opera, but that trumpet player has some talent," Darcy observes. He has never raised his voice and, even though the trumpeteer is blowing out cascading, sharp riffs accompanied by the bass player, percussions, and an electronic keyboard, the words are perfectly audible to Aisli's ears. Softly spoken, the same measured, relaxed and calm tone of voice.

"I haven't been to too many operas lately," Aislin muses in response, settling her drink down on the table. "I don't speak most of the languages anyway. Now… Shakespearean plays… -those- are interesting if you can find them." She grins over at him briefly before returning her attention to the stage. "It can be difficult to play a trumpet with that level of accuracy in that range. He certainly has some skill with that instrument."

Darcy turns to look at Aislin, a ready smile spreading across his pale face. He says, perfectly audibly,
"If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again! it had a dying fall.
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour! Enough: no more.
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou!
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soe'er,
But falls into abatement and low price.
Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy,
That it alone is high fantastical."
Content with the stanza, Darcy turns his attention back toward the musicians on stage.

Amusement rises on Aislin's features as he recites the stanza, chin resting in her fist as she plunks it down on the table. She stays silent until he finishes speaking before offering a comment. "Now -that- I wasn't expecting," she tells him with a soft chuckle. "You are indeed well-cultured, Darcy. I admire that. I don't think many people would be able to recite a poem such as that. Brava." Glass is raised in a light toast in his direction before coming to her lips.

Darcy raises his own glass in a perfunctory toast, clanging the two together. As she goes to drink from her cocktail, he puts his back on the tabletop. "You said that you wished to hear some Shakespeare performed," he offers. "I confess, I am not the best actor, but there you have my Duke. Or would you rather another play than Twelfth Night?" The faintest edges of a smirk are tugging on his ruby red lips as his brown eyes look intently at Aislin.

Eyes lift upward as she considers that offer, considering some of the other plays. Of course, she's also attempting to decide whether to try and test his knowledge. Eventually, Aislin offers her suggestion. "What about… The Tempest?" she suggests, eyebrows arching as she looks at him almost expectantly. It's on now!

Darcy does not flinch, nor does he miss a beat. Flashing a smile of even rows of white teeth, he answers her by reciting:
"You do look, my son, in a moved sort,
As if you were dismay'd: be cheerful, sir.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe iteself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep."
There is a double-meaning behind these verses which, for his part, Darcy does not convey. That is a thought left for his own mind. "Did you study your Shakespeare in school?" he asks. "If not, it is never too late to brush up your Shakespeare."

A wide grin comes to her face as he recites the next passage without missing a bit. "Well done," Aislin tells him with a soft laugh, raising her glass to him again. "You're good." She shifts again in her seat and uncrosses, then recrosses her legs. "More on my own time than in school. I'm a musician by trade. Theatre simply acts as a side interest. I'm a terrible actor."

Darcy has played this game before; for two centuries, in fact. He notes Aislin's body language signaling her sexual interestedness, even availability. He can smell the alcohol on hear breath, hear her pulse, and see the goosepimples on the back of her neck like a wild animal scenting another's pheromones. And he was a wild animal: or was he supposed to play domestic? Looking into Aislin's eyes, Darcy observes her slightly dilating pupils. Had he even tried to glamour her? The slightest prick on the underside of his lip alerts Darcy to the fact that he has been paying too much attention to these minute details, even watching the bluish vein throb on her neck as she spoke. "You are a musician?" he asks, looking back into her eyes, breaking himself from his own spell. "I am exceedingly fond of music. Do you play an instrument, or are you sotto voce?" Yes, to be sure, we are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded by sleep. And in this case, Eternal Sleep is discussing art and music with a charming British accent.

The redhead quirks an eyebrow slightly as he simply stares at her, her own green eyes focusing on his face and studying his features calmly. Her head cants a bit to one side, a couple strands of hair falling into her face. There isn't an excessive amount of alcohol in her system just yet. The night is young yet. But her heart beats, and her breathing is steady. And she just radiates warmth, both physical and emotional. When he finally begins to speak again, Aislin grins and finishes off her cocktail. "Harp, violin, and voice. Soprano. I don't typically perform a cappella." The now-empty glass is set down at the edge of the table, making it easier for the waitress to take it away.

The waitress, a blonde girl in her early twenties who could easily be an SMU student, is good at her job. The second she sees an empty glass, she appears immediately next to the table and scoops it up. "Would you like another?" she asks. A curious look is offered to Darcy's untouched Old Fashion. "Something wrong with your Old Fashion, sir?" the girl asks Darcy, her voice drawing out with that lazy and charming Texas accent.
"Yes, a fly landed in it," Darcy answers. "Two more, if you would please," he quickly adds. The waitress gives him an odd look, as if to say that /she/ didn't see a fly in the cocktail, but scoops up the pair of glasses and goes about her job anyway. "And do you study this at school?" Darcy asks Aislin, not missing a beat of the conversation.

A fly? Aislin, too, gives Darcy a somewhat odd look, but doesn't comment on it. Instead, she lightly links her fingers together and rests them on the table, shrugging at the waitress as she scoops up the glasses and wanders off to replace and refill them. Her attention returns to Darcy as the conversation continues and she chuckles softly. "I did. I'm finished with school. I don't currently study anything. I haven't had a -lot- of career opportunities just yet, but I'm still getting my name out. What about you? What do you do?"

"Investment Banking," Darcy cooly replies without the slightest indication of duplicity. He turns the conversation right back to Aislin. "I think, perhaps, things could be picking up for you, yes? You never know. Life should be lived optimistically. One never knows when it could all go away." Spoken without the slightest hint of an ulterior motive, his words sound like the same old 'live your life to the fullest' cliche. Yes, Darcy has had a lot of practice. The waitress returns again with a bus tray upon which rest the two cocktails. She puts them both on fresh cocktail napkins and, with a smile, turns and heads off to serve some of the other tables. And what about that band? They're in the alleyway smoking marijuana cigarettes.

"Okay banking doesn't surprise me," she muses with a chuckle. "Not sure why. Just seems appropriate." A smile and a nod are given to the waitress as she places the drinks down and one of them is scooped up easily by Aislin's fingertips. "Oh things aren't bad. Just not terribly steady. No contracts or anything like that. Things could always change, sure. But I'm not going to put the cart before the horse, right?" The drink is brought to her lips and she sips it slowly… not stirring it first.

"Yes, it is decidedly dull, do believe me," Darcy answers. "Keeps me working in the office from sunrise to sunset. Which is why I /enjoy/ my evenings." To make a show of doing something with his cocktail, the man reaches forward and picks up the Old Fashion glass containing its namesake cocktail. He cradles the drink in his right hand, but does not do anything else with the beverage. "Dallas does not surprise me for its dearth of classical and operatic music," Darcy continues, picking back up the conversation. "Have you thought about travelling to New York?"

"Lots of work, I don't doubt," Aislin says with a laugh. She's certainly warming up to her new tablemate. Or maybe it's the liquor. Or maybe she's just friendly. Either way, she has a smile almost perpetually on her lips now. "I can see the evenings being valuable if you're crunching numbers all day. There's only so much of that that can be done before you go crazy." The drink is swirled slowly and carefully in her fingertips, sipped slowly from time to time. "New York? Thought about it. Too busy for me, I think. Everyone who goes to New York is seeking opportunity. I think my odds are better here. For now, anyway."

Darcy is certainly attractive and amenable company! "They seek it because it can be readily found," Darcy answers. The cocktail is neatly placed back down on the table, ignored once more. Keeping his eyes on Aislin, Darcy offers the same charming smile. "It is a charming little city, Dallas, yes. I take it you live in the city, else I shant think you would be out this late if you were out in the suburbs, yes?"

"Perhaps," Aislin concedes with a nod of her head. "But I still prefer Dallas to New York, I think. One of my friends came here from there. Still says he misses it from time to time. Might give it a shot some time." Fingertips run slowly around the rim of her glass as she speaks. "Yes, I live in the city. It makes no sense to live out in the suburbs when all the work is here."

"New York is decidedly one of this country's great cities. A marvel of architecture, I must say. But that is everywhere; you Americans like to build," Darcy observes. "Perhaps you would indulge me with a concert at some time, yes?" he also asks, quickly adding with a broad smile, "Since I sarenaded you with my rendition of Shakespeare."

"I'm not American," Aislin tells him with a bright grin, finishing off her drink and setting it down at the end of the table again. She breathes deeply and closes her eyes for a moment before exhaling slowly, feeling the warmth of the booze coursing through her and then opening her eyes again. "I see no reason why not. I enjoy performing. And you gave me a sample, after all. No reason not to return the favor."

Darcy had been away from Great Britain for over one-hundred and fifty-years. To think, an Englishman not knowing the difference between an Irish and an American accent. But, then again, he was no longer an Englishman. He had no nationality. "Capital!" smiles Darcy, his grin growing wide. Signalling the waitress, he orders another cocktail for Aislin. "You will need to have your instruments, I should think." This is also suggested in his characteristically off-handed, careless attitude. "Unless you wish to sing sotto voce?"

Ah, but Aislin's time to take the stage is not right now. Coming back from their extended "smoke-break," smelling of a strong and acrid aroma, the musicians return and immediately start playing jazz: real, smooth, cool jazz. They were obviously all drunk and stoned, because not a one of them look like they were playing from notes or a pre-written structure. It is all improvised; it is jazz.
The waitress returns. "Here is your cocktail, miss!" she says with another smile, clearing the empty glass before she leaves.

Oh geez. More booze. Aislin blinks a bit as another drink is ordered, brain not clicking into gear quickly enough to stop it. "I need to stop drinking," she tells him as the waitress wanders off. "I -do- need to get home at some point, and I don't want to be completely drunk." The new drink is accepted, however, and brought to her lips for a slow sip. "I will need an instrument of some kind. Usually I perform with my harp. I have a small lap harp that I use for small performances. It's nigh impossible to sing while using a violin." Her gaze flits over to the stage as the band returns and the music begins again with its original (and never to be heard again!) tune. Cheeks are flushed with the liquor now, one hand lifting to push loose strands of hair out of her face and tuck them behind one ear. She moistens her lips and sets the glass down, leaning back comfortably in the booth.

"Would you like me to see you safely home, Aislin?" Darcy asks, putting on a concerned look. "If you are close, I can walk with you; and I also have my automobile with me, if you like." How easy it was to fall into the snares of the Devil. Is this not what mothers always warned their daughters against? But he was just being a gentleman; how bad could it be?

It's tempting. She's really considering it. Aislin squints slightly at him, weighing the pros and cons to the offer. Lips purse slightly and she sighs, shaking her head a bit. "I can always call a cab. And I'm not so intoxicated that I can't walk." She doesn't -think- she's that drunk, anyway. "If it's on the way, you're welcome to come with me, though." Cautious and careful… sort of. He's harmless enough, right? Who quotes Shakespeare that easily and is a serial killer?!

Darcy leans forward, brushing aside her red hair as he rests his left hand on the nape of Aislin's neck. The hand is strong; it's grip, firm. It is also a bit cold to the touch, as if he had been sitting on it for the past half hour. Bringing his lips and mouth near her neck and ear, Darcy attempts to draw Aislin in with his magnetism. "I would be delighted to walk you home," Darcy whispers, his cool voice rushing against her skin. His breath smells like a mixture of honey and lilacs. A sweet smell.

Colour rushes into her cheeks as his hand rests at the nape of her neck, the cool touch actually feeling quite pleasant with the warmth of the alcohol flowing through her. A shiver runs through her and Aislin swallows a bit drily as he leans in to whisper against her ear, breathing deeply at the close proximity of Darcy at her side. He's likely getting the effect he's looking for: Rapid heartbeat, hitched breathing, and flushed cheeks. "Thank you," she offers after a moment of composing herself, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly. "It isn't a terribly long walk, fortunately."

He certainly senses all the right signs, and grows excited at the prospect of feeding. Inside Darcy's mouth, his fangs extend at the prospect of a meal; but the vampire is careful to conceal his anticipation. He backs away from Aislin, swiftly standing form the booth. A leather wallet is produced from his breast pocket, and several twenty dollar bills are pulled out and tossed on the tabletop for the waitress. Offering Aislin his left hand to help the girl up to her feet, Darcy is ready to escort her out of the nightclub and to her home.

The fangs are missed with his careful concealment. As he rises, Aislin scoops up her purse and pulls it up over her shoulder, sliding to the edge of the booth and accepting his hand as she rises up onto her feet, standing at her five-foot height. It takes a moment for her to balance herself, a brief wave of light-headedness moving through her. She blinks a few times before nodding to him and exhaling slowly. "I'm okay," she tells him, taking a few slow steps towards the exit.

"Decidedly so," Darcy answers. With nimble precision, he guides Aislin through the nightclub toward the exit steering her around the high-top tables, chairs, and other patrons still lingering about listening to the music. Opening the door, he leads her out into the warm night air. Nor will she likely stumble, trip or fall. Darcy walks on her left hand side, his arm stretched out behind the small of her back. His fingers are barely grazing the fabric of her clothing, but were she even waver Darcy would react within the fraction of an instant. He continues to lead the girl down the sidewalks, following her directions, until they approach their destination. Why would he not seize her, and take her to an alleyway to have his late morning snack? That sort of impatience was for younger vampires who lacked tolerance and control.

A couple trips almost come to pass, but his quick reactions manage to keep her upright with a touch of embarassed laughter. Her path is steady and unwavering, though. At least Aislin isn't so drunk she can't find her way home. As they move closer to the building, one hand lifts to motion towards the tall apartment tower. "There. I should be okay. Definitely going to sleep well tonight. I haven't had this much to drink in a long time," she tells him with a grin, looking up at him as he steadies her from another sway that threatens to topple her.

As they stand outside the building, Darcy leans down and presses his body close to Aislin. He left arm has embraced her around her back, and now holds her body close to his own. Speaking softly in her ear, he begins, "I very much enjoyed being with you tonight." Using the dark power of his charisma and animal magnetism, Darcy softly pulls Aislin's head back so that their eyes lock. "Will you invite me in for a minute to show me your harp?" he asks, the brown eyes a soothing pool of warm and comfort. His presence has a calming, trustworthy effect - or at least that is its intention.

Again, the sound of her heartbeat increasing likely echoes loudly in his ears. Aislin's breath hitches for a moment before she inhales deeply when his body presses closer to hers and his cool breath flows against her ear. "I've enjoyed it as well," she tells him quietly, lifting her green eyes to meet his as his head pulls back to look down at her. Her cheeks are almost as red as her hair by this time. The effect he's seeking, however, doesn't come. He's met with even-minded (albeit intoxicated) hesitation. "Now? It's a bit late for that. And I don't think I'd be able to play very well with this much alcohol in my system…" The redhead chews slightly on the inside of her lip, reaching one hand over towards her purse to begin idly hunting around for her keys.

"Darling," Darcy continues. "You are ravishing. Perfect. An exquisite flower holding the first morn's dew in its soft peddal." And what better way than to press his case than by leaning forward, and planting a long, passionate kiss on her lips? His free hand fiddles with her hair, raising to caress her earlobe. "Are you going to make me recite a sonnet?" Darcey adds with a light grin and a soft chuckle.

His pretty words may have been having an effect of some kind on her, and the kiss is certainly unexpected. At first, the girl completely freezes, seeming a bit uncertain about what's happening before a bit more of that liquor takes hold and she leans into the kiss. Her lips and breath are warm against his. She's very much alive right now, in many different aspects. As he begins speaking, breaking the kiss, Aislin takes another deep breath and… hesitates. "No, you don't need to recite a sonnet. I just… don't tend to bring strange men into my home." A nervous laugh bubbles up from her lips and she squirms a bit uneasily on her feet.

"And I do not normally meet beautiful, intelligent, artistically savvy women when I go to the lounge for a cocktail to listen to some jazz," Darcy answers, not missing a beat. "Yet here we are!" Seduction. Beauty. Eternal Youth. If Darcy could not exploit these natural gifts, the vampire race was in serious trouble. He leans forward once more, offering another tender and passionate kiss. "Yes, but you forget, I am not a stranger. My name is Darcy. Your pretty name is Aislin. At the very least, do invite me in for a drink? I am sure you have something about the house." Another kiss.

Oh it's so hard to resist such things. Especially while intoxicated. If she was in her right frame of mind, she'd have told him to shove off already. But he weaves such pretty words, and Aislin… hesitates. She melts a bit more as another tender kiss is pressed to her lips. The glamors may be having no effect, but the traditional methods are slowly working away at her uncertainty. "I… don't really need more liquor, and I really should sleep. I know your name, sure, but I don't know anything else about you… and to be perfectly honest, I don't tend to have sex on the first date. I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression…" Her tongue pokes out briefly, tasting him on her lips and sighing quietly, forehead pinching together in a conflicted frown. "I might have coffee…"

"Yes, coffee would be lovely," replies Darcy in his prim tone of voice. "And I respect that; I truly do. It is just that we did not get much of an opportunity to chat in that nightclub, and I should hate to go home tonight without the change for a little more time to talk with you. I promise I shant stay late. Just one little cup of coffee?"

"One cup of coffee," Aislin concedes with a slow nod, taking a step back from him so she can dig around in her purse for a few moments more before triumphantly withdrawing a set of keys. "I'm not sure I'll be very good company this evening. Like I said: I don't usually drink this much." She flips through her keys for a moment before selecting the appropriate one and opening the door to the main building and heading over to the elevator. "Fifth floor. Don't think I'll be able to walk up five flights of stairs." Hey, coffee is harmless enough. And in a building filled with people, -someone- will hear her if something happens.

"At least I can see that you get up and into your apartment safely, yes?" Darcy adds. He moves to follow Aislin into the foyer, passing the metal drawers of mailboxes until he reaches the elevator. As the doors close, he looks up and watches the lights change from floor to floor. Yes, anyway you look at it, elevators are boring!

And the lame elevator music plays as she pushes the button and the doors close. One hand curls around the rail at the edge of the lift, holding herself steady until the doors open onto the correct floor. Aislin steps out carefully, making sure she doesn't trip over the tiny gap between the lift and the hallway. The keys are flipped through again and she moves down the hall to her doorway, unlocking it and stepping inside. "Come on in. I'll find some coffee. I could probably use a cup anyway." The keychain is dropped into a bowl by the door and her purse is hung up by the door. The apartment is tidy, and a large harp is sitting in the center of the main room. Hand against the wall to steady herself, Aislin moves towards the kitchen, flipping on lights as she goes.

The door closed with a slam! It happened so quickly that everything would have seemed a nauseating blur as if an incredible gust of wind had swept through the apartment. The moment Aislin said the words, "Come on in," Darcy's long anticipation was over. Aislin manages to get one lightswitch on before she is literally swept up, and laid out on her bed by the incredible supernatural force. At the same moment, a sharp piercing pain would throb through her neck as he sank his razor-sharp fangs deep into her neck. Excruciatingly painful, even strong enough to make some people faint, but would only last a few moments. Soon the only sensation Aislin would feel would be a weight on top of her as her energy was literally sucked out of her body. And as the pain subsided, the horrible reality of this nightmare situation might begin to unfold itself….

The slam was certainly unexpected. Had he fallen? The switch is flipped and Aislin half-turns back towards the door to check and make sure that he's okay, but… she isn't in the kitchen anymore. "Wha-.." That's about all she has time to speak and think before she's pressed down onto her bed and his sharp teeth pierce her flesh like butter. Her eyes widen and she gasps in shock and pain as her mind tries to catch up with the situation. As the blood flows from the pair of wounds in her neck, she doesn't even have a moment to consider struggling as the strength is pulled from her and her mind focuses in on the new and not-entirely-unpleasant sensation of the vampire's kiss.

As the rush, violence, and adrenaline of the initial attack pass, Darcy softly settles down next to Aislin. He continues to suck on the wound, surprised and delighted at the extremely rare and delicious AB- being drained from the woman's veins. His right hand reaches out, and softly smooths the girl's brow wiping away a few strands of hair that have fallen across it. Darcy is very aware of her vitals, and keeps enjoying his late morning snack!

Soft, quick breaths fill her lungs as Darcy takes his fill of her, a mixture of panic and pleasure warring in her mind. Aislin's eyes open and close slowly as she struggles to clear her mind enough to speak, but she's still some distance away from that. Her body is warm, and so long as he takes his time, she'll be immobilized for some time before he needs to stop. Aislin squirms slightly on the bed, shifting uncomfortably beneath his weight and groaning softly.

Darcy is experienced enough to stop feeding before his victim starts to get into distress (especially for the first feeding); if he wanted to drain a vessel dry, he would have found some transient in the street and murdered him in an alleyway. The vampire finishes feeding, lapping up the blood and sealing the veins on her neck. He takes a moment to gaze down upon her, his brown locking with her green eyes, before he leans over and offers a soft peck on her lips. "Good night, my pet. Sleep softly and soundly. And do not worry; I will visit you again." With these last words spoken in a grave voice that suggests his true, ancient age, Darcy is gone! It looks as if he vanished in a whirl of air, but in reality he merely walked out the door with preternatural swiftness.

Exhaustion floods through her as the blood loss begins to catch up with her, eyes staying closed more often than being open. At least she's laying comfortably on her bed. Aislin looks up at him as he rises, a glazed over and somewhat confused look in her eyes. She opens her mouth as if to speak, but her words are cut off by the soft peck to her lips, and no words are spoken before he's gone. Instead, her eyes close and she releases a breath, falling asleep readily and easily.


Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License