1524/Fangs and Hellfire

Fangs and Hellfire
Date of Scene:	05 May 2020
Location:	The Wick
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Blake Riviere, Daimon Hellstrom

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Blake Riviere has posed:
Another night out, another visit to the 'Wick'. The little candle-lit bar in New York had never failed to disappoint Blake of late, having introduced her to interesting minds and equally interesting natures some nights...and amusements the other nights. Of course, such places tended to bring in some of the more modern fans of 'Vampire Culture', and that in itself was facinating for Blake. First it had been books, then TV, then movies...sometimes it was close, sometimes it was -far- from the truth, but always was it interesting!

Currently resting at the bar, the pale 'young' woman was absently toying with the straw in her drink as she watched the crowd playing their parts and barring their false fangs with a little smirk on her painted lips. She'd only been here a few moments, but at least noone had approached her claiming to be a 'Prince' this time.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
Daimon Hellstrom, Son of Satan, half-demon...ah, titles and terms but what -does- it all actually mean, really? The man himself, he's interested in finding more out about -that-. He knows more than anyone should or would normally like to know about demons, souls, damnation, exorcisms, and the like, but the rest of the world of the supernatural? Oh, he's crossed paths with plenty of inimical things of one sort or another, but a chance to observe or learn when not in a battle or thrusting some gibbering thing from the outer realms back to whence it came? Too little of that by far.
    So it is that, with a little hint from some of Anton Devine's Church of Satan members (the ones who actually know something real, not the hangers-on) he finds his footsteps leading here. Nice little place, but it had a whispered reputation as a place where some of the patrons were not what they seemed, because...as Daimon enters the place and takes a moment to take it all in, most of the patrons here looked like what you'd expect - poseurs, goths, lifestylers, and fortunately some people not taking seriously and just here for the ambiance. And yet...
    As he walks in, a few turn their heads, he draws a little notice, he has that kind of look about him, dressed in a nice but casual suit, refined but not -too- much, also the rare man who makes red hair really -work-. The bar's easiest, he cn take the place in from there, and of course, get himself a good, stiff drink. That damn 'duplication' thing a bit ago really took it out of him.

Blake Riviere has posed:
There were rumors that vampires could read minds, know one's inner-most thoughts and secrets with a look. For some it was true, for others it was fiction...but mostly? It was other clues that gave it away. Blake's gaze, irises still a more human blue, shifts towards the new arrival of Daimon. The slightest, most subtle flare of her nostils suggesting a 'scent' on the breeze had reached her. Or perhaps, like some other patrons no doubt, simply his appearance had drawn her eye.

In the midst of people playing their part, Blake certainly looked it, between those red hair ribbons, stockings and the lacing all matching mingled with the black dress clearly cut short to draw the eye...but that was half the fun that one could dress more extravagantly and noone would bat an eye here. But if one were to look for clues to a 'real' vampire, the sip of her drink that was very clearly some sort of red-colored fruit beverage suggested innocence.

How many people really knew that she could truely eat or drink whatever she wanted, but without blood it was like a human being eating nothing but rabbit meat. Only blood had what she needed to sustain her life.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
The tall, readheaded man sits down at the bar like he'd been coming here since forever. He has that way about him, like he belongs anywhere he happens to be. No self-consciousness whatsoever. He takes a moment to eye the blackboard above the 'tenders, orders a lime gose to start, sour and salty...he chuckles softly at his own thought, like him. He actually smiles a bit at the humungous candles, he likes those, unique. After he opens a tab he turns and does what anyone might do, takes a long, clear look around the place while sipping his drink. Few attractive women, yes, don't imagine his eyes don't linger here and there for a moment, but he's certainly not crass about it. But more to the point...there's more here.

    Places where the supernatural tends to linger have an...'aura' is too simple a term, but things outside the natural order tend to bend it around themselves, color the local scenery, as it were. There's a sense of that here...and more...Daimon pauses and inhales slowly, deeply, scent of old wood, liquor, people...and more...he casts out with senses even many sorcerers do not have...the 'scent' of the souls here, he seeks certain things, not darkness exactly, but if it's here, if anyone here is hiding some horrid, secret sin, he'll quickly notice, but more than that...it's a little game of 'Who's not human?'. It's not as simple as one would think, it's a synergistic art...things that are there, that are lacking, the feel of the soul, how they warp the world around them...it'll take a little, but he has time.

As for what the vampiress might notice...his scent is off, not unpleasant, a strongly male scent, a nice cologne, clean clothes, but there's something else there, something like burning rosebushes, old soot, books, and hot stone. That's just right off the bat.