18485/Dinner for Dracula
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Dinner for Dracula | |
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Date of Scene: | 02 July 2024 |
Location: | Upper West Side |
Synopsis: | Rien's plans for a nice Italian dinner go awry when she ends up as Dracula's dinner guest! |
Cast of Characters: | Rien D'Arqueness, Dracula
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- Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
While Rien has been spending most of her time between Westchester and going places with Logan, she still likes to take time for herself as well. Tonight, that means treating herself to some of the best Italian food in the city at Carmine's. The osso bucco there is *fantastic* and they have a wonderful selection of red wines to pair with just about anything. To say nothing of Nona's cheesecake, the thick slabs are practically considered ambrosia!
The stir of magic in the air is unmistakable to those that have the senses for it, Rien appearing on a random penthouse balcony so she can scope out the situation on the street while debating if she should go with pants or a dress. Carmine's has a dress code, after all. Despite the winds up at this height, her hair doesn't stir and her clothes don't ruffle in the breezes that blow across the taller structures.
With a snap of her fingers, the leather jacket, tanktop, jeans, and boots become a sleek, sexy black dress with a deep neckline, a flirty handkerchief style skirt, and a pair of strappy black heeled sandals. Her nails and toenails take on a powder blue shimmer with an instant manicure, and her makeup is on point, eyeliner winged, shadow shimmery but not caked, just a hint of blush and a light stain of lipstick. A small black purse on a gold chain hangs from one shoulder.
Curving a smile, she runs a hand through her hair, settling it away from her face as she prepares to teleport herself to street level.
- Dracula has posed:
Vlad remembers the last meal he ever ate as a mortal man. Perhaps most ironic, he was never fond of meat in his living days, preferring what would be called today a Vegan dietary plan. For the time, this was quite the anomoly, but large portions of his past are subject to such mysterious differences to the creature he's become some six hundred years hence.
Seated in a small dining room of his penthouse, dressed immaculately despite the 'in-home' date for which he has clothed himself, Dracula has not touched his miso risotto while the gentleman across from him sips at the most expensive wines while indulging the cooking of a personal chef kept permanently on retainer for the eccentric Romani businessman.
Gustavo, the dark skinned servant who always accompanies Vlad and acts a number important roles, is nearby. In his equally expensive suit, he steps up to refill the young man's glass. Vlad, himself, is in a dark silk shirt with the cuff turned over to expose his upper wrists, matching slacks, covered in an unbuttoned dark hazelnut colored vest. His hair is neatly pulled back into a long ponytail and, as always, his nails are sharpened at the ends into slight claws upon each finger which run along his jaw as he recounts some tale of his daring adventures from ages long behind him.
The gentleman with him probably thinks this is some form of theatrics. A handsome date offering expensives food and amusing, if unbelievable conversation. "Please, tell me about what you do, Taylor.. You said... social influencer? What form of entertainment do you provide?"
While he may appear interested, he's not. He couldn't care any less what this child does for a living. For him it's all about the experience, the temporary reprieve from solidarity that ultimately culminates in a brief, forgettable, moment of ecstacy and sustainance.
Until someone lands upon his balcony.
Vlad glances to Gustavo, assuming it be one of the multitude of vigilantes that plague the cities that never sleeps. It is not until the sudden shifts of magic that his attention is fully drawn and his interest in Taylor is completely forgotten. Standing, he motions from Gustavo to the young man, "Get him out of here." There's indignation, get him out of here?!, but a curl of his fingers before the young man's eyes sends him into something of a trance, "You've had a wonderful evening. Your dinner will be packed for you, my number will be in your cellular device. Now be a good boy and go with Gustavo." Glass sniped from the table, Vlad makes his way towards the large bay windows and floor to ceiling sliding glass door. How she had stumbled upon 'his' balcony is an interesting quesiton.
The door slides, his presence long since known, with the glass of wine held out in Rien direction. "Il est souvent poli de frapper avant d'arriver sur le balcon d'une personne, chere." How did he know she was French? Vlad always knows the French. There's a scent in the blood.
- Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
She would have been gone from the balcony already, except for the sudden wave of intense 'demon' energy that she can feel radiating from within the penthouse. It's enough to give her pause. To draw a slight frown to her lips as she debates just leaving whoever it is within until after her dinner. Just long enough for Vlad to catch wind of her, to send his playmate packing before heading towards the balcony.
She can feel his approach, sense it in a way few could, and fewer would stick around for. Rien is not someone to run from trouble. She waits, looking out over the city skyline, for him to join her. It gives her a chance to analyze and sort through that energy, to try and pinpoint it. The conclusion is... intriguing.
The softly spoken words have her smiling as she turns to face Vlad Tepes. "Mes excuses, mon seigneur. Si j'avais su que c'etait chez vous, j'aurais frappe en premier," the voice is soft, husky, and undeniably French. From one of the more remote regions of the French Alps, to be precise. He's likely run across that magical signature before as well. D'Arqueness. A clan of potent sorcerers(esses) with a lineage that spans centuries.
Blue eyes shine faintly in the darkness as she looks over him, one corner of her mouth quirking up a little higher than the other. "I'm sorry if I interrupted your dinner date. Perhaps I can make it up to you?" Rien cants her head slightly, watching him with a gaze that's as predatory as it is teasing. There's conflicting scents, she's something.. unique. A mixture of mutant and magic, but something else as well. Some quality about her that he can't quite place. Like a perfume that's teasing his senses but not giving enough of a whiff to place it.
Reaching out, she takes the offered wine glass with a smile, lifting it to her lips for a swallow. Holding the glass by the stem to ensure the heat of her hand doesn't interact with the sulfates in the wine. Drawing in the bouquet of the liquid with a soft sound of appreciation. "My thanks."
- Dracula has posed:
While he'd felt her presence before she landed, it was easy to ignore until she did. Until she preformed transmutation magics upon his doorstep, altering her clothing, and practically rolling out a welcome mat that even the lowliest of magical practitioners could have followed. However, as he grows closer the more he can actually sense from her. Aside from the familiarity of her particular stock of vitae, the intracacies of her magical abilities as well. A signature in the sand, as it were. Something even the peddlers would notice, but is a big flashing neon sign to the likes of Vlad Tepes.
He too is unique in that way.
The quality of his blood grossly out weighs the length of his life. It is said that he was turned by the blood of one of the first, but what little matter that has for those who do not know these rumors or care for their validity?
Her apology is met with a gentle flick of his free hand, dismissing such trivialities. "Dime a dozen." Said of his dinner date. Because she is certainly more interesting than a Social Media Influencer, whatever the fuck that is.
The wine is a 1986 Chateau lafite.
Upon exiting the environmentally controlled apartments cool interior, Vlad looks no more uncomfortable in the unusually warm New York night as he might in the arctic. "You appear to have plans of your own?" Motioning to her wardrobe choice for the evening, a playful turn of his pale lips and teasing perk of his brow. "Is it I who would be interrupting? Some handsome suitor awaiting you at a table, looking with Saintly patience at each entry in hopes his beautiful date has graced him with her presence?" He snorts a quiet chuckle and waves his hand inward, "I assure you I'm better company anyways. Please."
Gustavo has already ushered Taylor out the door where a car will be waiting for him. Still with a drunken fog over his mind until he's several blocks away, pleased by such an excellent evening he had.
- Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
"Chateau Lafite.." she murmurs, taking another sip from the glass, letting it linger on her tongue before swallowing, "an '86, I believe? Stunning." Rien enjoys the wine as any connoisseur might, savoring each sip and letting it play across her senses even as she keeps the glass near to her lips. Leaning lightly against the railing of the balcony with her legs stretched out before her, watching him with that mixture of interest and curiosity. No caution, not with this one.
Chuckling softly at his dismissal of his dinner date, she inclines her head and leaves it at that.
Her brows lift gently at his question, the smile growing as she straightens from the balcony, "Nothing quite so romantic, I'm afraid. No dinner date, just a treat for myself after a period of intense focus on work and family. But I would certainly not decline such a magnanimous and delightful offer. Thank you." Rien moves to enter the penthouse, that scent growing stronger as she brushes past him, allowing him a deeper glance into the intricacies of the blood circulating her veins. He can practically feel the warmth and vitality radiating from her as she moves through the chilled apartment while showing no signs of being cold despite the sudden change in temperature and humidity.
She pauses a few steps inside the door, glancing over her shoulder with a smile for him, "Please, lead the way." She'll offer up her arm towards him with a dash of playfulness entering the smile. Should he take her arm, he'll almost assuredly feel the differences inherent in the bone structure of her forearms, and will certainly feel an intense thrum of magic that persists from her.
- Dracula has posed:
"It was a good year, I'm told." Vlad says of the wine, nodding as she sniffs the particulars from the circulating notes wafting up from the circling glass. It's obvious that he's not, in any anatomical way, alive. The tingles of magic are ancient, of course, but there's are as many visual cues. A complete lack of persperation even in the differential climate change from chilly interior to sweltering warmth exterior. His eyes are dry. It gives them a surreal quality in the oddity of colors. Deep green with a ring of red around the iris'. Unblinking. Usually he may put effort into it, but he can tell there's no need.
His fangs. They're points, but not elongated. Always there, but not as obvious unless he bares them or extends them for dining. With a grin shown as she explains the course of her evening up to the point of landing upon his roof. "Well then it is my pleasure as well as my honor." Said as he does take her arm, the sudden proximity giving him a deeper impression of the quality of her blood as it courses her veinous system. Each pump of her heart is the twirl of a glass held up against his nostrils and while he's not crass about it, he does lean closer. Only for a single second, if that at all, to get an even deeper wash of the delicious aroma.
Always leading her towards a table that has been cleaned of anything that may remain of whatever date he'd been on meer moments ago. Servants make their way around, but they are careful not to be seen. None of them, at least, but Gustavo. He is the intermediary between the humans who work for Vlad Drakul and the Dark Lord. Some of that is his own design, some of that is because they are understandably terrified of him... but completely comfortable cashing their rather impressive checks.
Money is a powerful motivation against fear, it seems.
Upon reaching the table, his arm slips from hers so that he can pull the chair out for her. "Forgive me my old fashioned notions of chivalry, habits are hard to break. I've been told that it is demeaning to young women in this age." his hand out to usher her around into said seat.
"I've a exceptional cook on staff. He's prepared a miso risotto, but if there's something else you may want I'm certain it could be arranged. I have no real need for the food, but I keep a fully stocked kitchen. I abhor seafood, however. So I'd ask, but would not demand, that you not request fish."
- Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
"Surpassed only by the '74 and '21. An excellent year," Rien replies with a smile, enjoying the scent and taste of the wine. It's a natural flavor, no modern processing techniques and few chemicals. A vastly richer taste from the more modern wines. She glances up at him, looking him over with a faint quirk of her lips. She can smell the death on him, not just his own, but others. He's killed. But the lack of pulse or heartbeat, the chill to his skin, the lack of moisture... he's a vampire, a very old, very powerful vampire. Not that that bothers her, her smile turned towards him as they walk.
She notes the slight lean, her smile tugging up a bit more as she glances up at him. "The pleasure is mine, you're welcome to the honor," her tone playful and light, teasing him gently as they cross towards the dining room. Rien doesn't shy away from him at all, not even batting an eyelash over the fangs, the red-rimmed irises. She tucks a lock of hair behind one ear, stirring the air between them and exposing the side of her throat to give him that deeper scent.
While she knows where the servants are, sees and hears them, Rien doesn't acknowledge them at all. They're doing a job and they want to be anonymous at it, she has no intention of embarrassing them or her host by pointing them out. Gustavo, however, receives a smile and a tip of her head towards him, acknowledging his presence and imporance in the heirarchy without drawing too much attention his way.
Releasing his arm, she slips the purse from her shoulder and moves to the chair to allow him to seat her, glancing up with a faint smile, "Nothing to forgive. I don't find it demeaning at all, it is a sign of respect to one's dining companion, and I for one appreciate it for what it is. I find that there are a startling number of women these days going out of their way to nitpick the small kindnesses attempted towards them, all while bemoaning the 'lack of good men' to be found. Perhaps if they were less critical of such attempts, they would not find themselves quite so lonely." Rien places the purse over the back of the chair once she's properly seated with his assistance.
"I had been planning for an osso bucco, but that would take vastly more preparation than I believe would be feasible for them to take. Miso risotto would be lovely, and if they have spring peas or mushrooms to add in, that would be delightful." Rien pauses, smiling towards him, "I'm not overly fond of fish myself, so you have no concerns there." Her hands are placed in her lap as she smiles across the table, "I still feel a little guilty for interrupting your date, I do hope I can be at least as entertaining as.." she sniffs delicately, "he was. Though I question his taste in cologne, so little natural scent to it.. pity."
- Dracula has posed:
With the expossure of her neck, Vlad doesn't hide leaning a bit closer to smell the aroma riding the curl of her hand through the air. Treating it as she had the wine, with a soft sound of appreciation that, objectively, is a compliment, but realistically rather creepy given he's actually smelling her blood. She seems aware of it, however. The little smile met with a cold one of his own as he pushes her, in the seat, forward towards the table as effortlessly as he had pulled it out when it was empty.
The purse... He pauses and looks at it.
There's a slight tick in his jaw and he reaches to remove it from the back of the chair, holding it out towards Gustavo. "Your belongings are safe, I assure you. You do not have anything I have any intention of taking." It's one of his eccentricities. A quirk. "I don't like things hanging in my sight line." He politely, almost apologetically, explains as he circles around the table and retakes his seat across from her.
Gustavo places the purse out of Vlad's immediate line of view then makes his way towards the kitchen, presumably to instruct the cooking staff on what the lady will be having and the requests she's made regarding it. "It's the smell." He says of fish. "During my formative years, I was held captive by a man who primarily fed us in fish heads. The remains from his raids upon the lands he conquered.. I forbid fishing when I returned home. Forced his army, largely comprised of Turkish Muslims, to fish for their dinner. Along the Olt River. Which I had poisoned."
He flashes a flickering smile that holds little amusement or pleasure in this. "Forgive me, that's hardly appropriate dinner conversation, but since I have forfeit simple pleasantries such as introductions, I suppose it is the least of my social sins." At some point he's rebuttoned his vest, though he hadn't let her seem him do so. Not that he would have needed to hide it, he's very quick when he needs to be.
Sitting upright, far better posture than he had with the young man who'd been ushered out moments prior. "I am Vlad Tepes Drakul.. and you, my dear.." He tilts his head, nostrils curling once more. "Are of the D'Arqueness, or descended from if you no longer go by this name. Potent magics.. I can sense it, of course, but I am familiar with your ancestors. Marie D'Arqueness, most recent, but before then.. I believe it was Agelina D'Arqueness.. no, her son, whose name I do not remember.. who nearly killed me in Avignon." How are the flowers, the weather is nice.
Whatever he may feel about the subject upon which he speaks, it was long enough ago that he harbors no ill will in present day. Obviously, the attempt was unsuccessful.
As for his 'date', Vlad laughs quietly, "He was incredibly boring. A lovely young man, certainly, but whatever it is he influences socially, I believe it far removed from any interest of mine."
- Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
Rien makes no attempt to reclaim the purse when it's taken, only smiling up at him, "You are going to the trouble of feeding me and keeping me company, I can certainly acquiesce to a few eccentricities to make you more comfortable." She waves a hand towards the purse, "It's only a phone and some cash, hardly anything worth worrying about. Please, think nothing of it."
Watching Gustavo as he heads towards the kitchen to pass along her request for the risotto, her gaze shifts back towards Vlad as he speaks, giving a small nod. "I understand. I have a sensitivity to certain smells myself. There's a number of food and drink items.. either the mechanical or chemical processes used in their creation.." She shudders lightly and shakes her head.
He expands on the why of his distaste and her brows lift gently before considering his reaction, "I'm not certain I would have gone so far as to poison the river, but to each their own. That's far longer past than anything I'm in a position to get upset ocer." Rien chuckles softly and offers, "Rien. I am called Rien." Nothing. Her name is Nothing?
She holds herself well, straight if not tall, but her posture is impeccable. "And you are correct, I am of the D'Arqueness clan. Though that is a.. long story." Espeically given there's no record of any birth of a girl matching her description to the D'Arqueness clan for.. as long as he can remember. In fact, she doesn't match the physical descriptors for the D'Arqueness clan at all, with them largely being dark of hair and eyes.
Chuckling softly, she gives a nod, "They can be a bit... arrogant, in their power. At least the D'Arqueness of this time are better than the ones I grew up with." Rien lifts a small shrug and smiles towards him, "But I will hold no grudge if you don't. Their actions and mistakes are not ours."
Letting out a laugh at his description of his date, she shakes her head, "Social Media Influencer... it's a made-up job that young people claim when they spend all day on the internet, taking money from companies to peddle products and services to the people that fawn over them." She rolls her eyes lightly and smiles, "At best they delide themselves and their followers. At worst, they actively cheat and lie to their followers for their own personal gain. And most who claim to be 'influencers' are never actually as popular as they like to act."
Lifting a brow at him, she smiles slowly, "What are your interests?"
- Dracula has posed:
"No trouble, the food was already prepared. A few changes seems a rather small inconvenience at best and I assure their compensation grossly outweighs whatever that inconvenience may be." Working for someone like Dracula has to come with benefits, given the very real threat of hunters that could crash into his penthouse or, as is now obvious, appear upon his balcony. He sits with a fist covered in the palm of his second hand, watching her as she speaks. Perhaps still lingering on the notes of her blood in the air.
But never truly distracted.
Enough so that he nods, "In hindsight it may have been over zealous, but I assure you the ends justified the means. My people hadn't been avid fish mongers, at least not in those days, so it was of little concern to them. The Turks, however, were. And they were a brutal, efficient army who threatened the lives of my people. I did what I felt would cause the most harm given the size of their army and their particular dietary needs. I also burned all the farms from the Danube River valley to the Curtea de Arges on the border of Transylvannia. We relied largely on wars of atrition, out lasting our enemy who would beseige our fortresses where we had stored large stock of food while they required a huge surplus of resources to be moved along unprotected supply lines through mountainous regions where my guerilla fighters could intercept them."
He flickers another of those cold smiles.
"A tactic I learned from one of their own during captivity, actually. They later used it to great affect against the Austrians in the later years of their Empire and Byzantine during their taking of Anatolia when they were still a mobile, consolidate series of Suljak tribes. Shock and Awe, you see.. I assume you've heard some of the stories of my more gruesome exploits during this troubling time of war, I shall not ruin a beautiful evening recanting them." He motions across the table towards her.
"Rien, then. A lovely name for a lovely woman." He is by no means an expert on the ancestroy of the D'Arqueness, but her not stamping the name to her own is interesting. "They were, but so was I. Still am, I suppose. On both counts." Again with a smile, this one a shade more charming than the last when he was discussing the brutalities of his war against the Ottoman.
"Ah, made-up shit. See? You saved me from an evening hearing about this.. I believe it is I who should thank you, not you who should apologize, for scurrying off my date."
Interests? He perks a brow and considers the question. "Well, that's a very complicated question, my dear. I've had so many interests over the centuries." Around the room are a score of paintings, ranging from modern artists to as far back as the Victorian era. A couple have to be reproductions, of course. The originals in their homes in some Museum across both America and Europe. Likewise there's music playing. Soft violin sonota compossed by Joseph Boulogne. "Since the late seventeenth century I've had a healthy respect for the arts. There's a theory of belief in military tradition that you can tell a lot about a culture based on their art, which is what originally drew me to it, but as I grew more refined in my tastes I took on an appreciation for the efforts and lasting expression of creativity that greatly extends beyond the boundries of a mortal lifetime. Mortals still listen to the works of Mozart and Haydn, the paintings of Van Gogh and Juan Bautista Maino.."
He offers quiet chuckle, "Most recently has been the cinema. I donate annually to several film and theater schools both in the States and Europe. The lasting historical relevance of it is a prime example of how artistic expression become the foundation of cultural revolution, but I also enjoy the more modernist interpretations of music as it relates to individuals from various social strata.." His smile widens dramatically, "I am a huge Kendrick Lamar fan."
- Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
"Mmmmm, my concern was less one of a food source and more that for people not at the castle, a river tends to be a source of water for crops, for animals, sometimes for the people themselves. They wash their clothes in it, bathe in it... I'm sure you see where I'm going with it. Water is life. Poisoning the water can kill more than just the stomachs of the army." Rien lifts a small shrug and curves a slow smile in his direction, "But again, hardly something for me to get upset about *now*."
Her own smile is warmer, though still more polite than heartfelt.
"Oh I've read many stories of your exploits, both before and after your death. You are, after all, the most famous of vampires, and a historical figure of no small renown. And that's just on the mortal side of things. You're also a capable sorcerer, a brilliant military tactician, and reportedly, vicious on the battlefield." Rien lifts a small shrug and chuckles, "Your past is well-documented, but I prefer to live in the present."
"Thank you. Is Vlad a shortened form, or was that the whole of your name?" It's probably no surprise that Rien prefers to get by on her own merit, rather than the power or standing of her family's name. While prestigious in certain circles, she has her own very long list of enemies, she doesn't need to take on familial vendettas.. again. Laughing softly when he claims to still being arrogant, "I believe a healthy ego is only right when one can back it up."
Her smile warms a touch as she gives a nod, "Very well, then. I will accept your thanks and not offer further apologies. I would hate to ruin such a lovely time as we're having."
Rien glances around at the art, then back to Vlad, "Sadly, my upbringing did not account for works of art, I had to be self-taught in that regard. I do enjoy artwork, though I tend to shy away from the most well-known artists... there's something to be said for those who were unappreciated in their time, or even to this day that do not have the following their work deserves. Memling, Munch, De Goya, Gericault... they were unafraid to explore darker subjects, to dive into the morbidity of humanity."
Chuckling softly, Rien murmurs, "I cannot recall the last time I watched a film... at least, one that was not part of a news reel or the like. And the last 'theater' I attended was a USO show, I believe." Still, she seems to enjoy listening to him expound on his own interests, though it's clear from her expression that while she's heard of Kendrick Lamar, it's only vaguely.
- Dracula has posed:
Vlod acknowledges her concerns with a nod, "We had wells in our fortresses established of course, but the concept of agricultural longevity was not my concern at the time. The price we would have paid should my plans have failed was the death of all my people anyways, with very little support from Hungary despite my attempts for diplomacy. Muldavia was already paying tribute to the Turks, it was only my small, poor, province that was largely forest lands until the Danube delta." He cants his head and glances down at the table, upon which he stares for perhaps a bit longer than is socially appropriate given he was speaking up to that point. "The rewards outweighed the risks." He, of course, knows how many probably died of his OWN people. There was no easy way to convey what he'd done to the majority of smaller communities, some of whom absolutely relied on those water ways for their livelihood.
His fingers curl into a single, clicking, drum across the tables surface.
When he looks up he no longer speaks on the matter at all. Letting what he said be all he says as if a period were placed at the end of the sentence when he spoke it and nothing was going to follow.
"No, just Vlad. Though the I was referred to as Voyvoda by the Turks and Voivode of Wallachia in correspondances from allies in Hungary. The former means 'Impaler Lord' and I do not believe it was said celebratorially.." The smile begins to return the further away from the realities of how many of his own he may have killed. A fact he no doubt knew then, has known all along, and has chosen to simply not acknowledge. If there's something of guilt that he's capable of... That small lapse in his expression is likely it.
"Ah yes, the Last Judgement. I will admit that my knowledge of art is foppish, based largely on the styles of the time when I was most interested. It was never a subject for which I had any talents, personally, so I followed the artists whom others spoke of. Sometimes simply to impress them, sometimes to show that I was more sophisticated than I actually was for the sake of gaining favor. It's interesting circumstances... when I was a mortal there was no time at all for matters of art. I existed presistently during those days in one conflict or another. I was a soldier from the age of twelve until I was mortally wounded in battle. Everything that came after for nearly three hundred years was equally as brutal."
He sweeps his hand around at everything around him, "This has all been within the last hundred to two hundred years. The mid to late eighteen hunreds. As the world changed I realized that I had to adopt new interests. Or perhaps I simply grew to appreciate finer things once I had nothing left to prove... I'm embarrassed, ultimately, by my upbringing. See, I was the ruler of peasants and come from a very poor place in Europe.. During a very troubled time. Hah.." He sits up straighter, rolling his shoulders.
"But I have grown increasingly more knowledgable on these matters. I have never drank a twelve thousand bottle of wine, but I own dozens of crates of it. I have never tasted three hundred dollar an ounce beef, but I've had it cooked in my kitchen. And I'm not certain why. Who am I impressing? As you said, I'm easily the most famous of my kind to ever exist, and one of the most well known historical figures besides... and yet."
His nails dance across the table again. The mood has definitely shifted. As if he feels as if he's been judged for his crimes in his mortal life and following artists simply because they were famous. His eyes darken, his expression sours, and his skin appears paler. More monsterous. "Your food should be ready soon."
- Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
The clear end to that part of the conversation is understood without having to be stated. Rien dips a small nod in his direction and says nothing more on it, only watching him curiously.
She watches as he speaks, talks of different names he was given, what they mean, the artwork and artists he followed, and why. His acknowledgement of being embarrassed by his own upbringing. It casts Rien back to hers, remembering her childhood, her teens years, none of which included any of the things they should have. No friends, no parties or celebrations, no family that showed affection or caring. She was a tool, a weapon, a living means of atonement for a mistake made by her grandmother. The vaunted Marie D'Arqueness that Vlad had mentioned. She blinks once, then looks back to Vlad. Watching him grow more and more dour as he continues to delve into his own motivations for why he has so many fine things that he can't enjoy himself.
Standing from her chair, Rien moves around the table, heels tapping lightly on the floor until she's invading his personal space. Seating herself on the arm of his chair and leaning in close to him, pitching her voice so none of the servants could hear her even if they tried, "You don't have to maintain habits just because you're used to them. You can form new habits, take on hobbies or interests that *actually* interest you. Do the things that you enjoy doing. People, by and large, aren't worth impressing. They aren't worth the effort you put into them. Find the ones that are. Spend your effort there. On people that will appreciate what you do for them, that won't expect you to do or be something you aren't. If you don't care about art, then fuck it. Sell it, donate it, whatever. Seek out the things that make you *feel* and enjoy them."
She's close enough that he can *hear* the strong pulse of her heartbeat, see it thumping at the base of her throat. Smell that intoxicating scent of vital blood pumping through her veins. "And you know.. you've gone to no small expense for a meal that you don't get to enjoy. Perhaps I can offer a meal to tempt your palate? The least I could do after bringing you down this road."
- Dracula has posed:
It would be a mistake to think Vlad isn't still paying attention, but it's clear in his demeanor that he realizes the facade bubble he's created was popped. He knows very little about art, certainly none of the things in this room. The music is nice, but he could no more tell her what the composition was meant to portray than he knows how to build a rocket, despite understanding the mechanics of said rocket. Dracula is old, but the stories of vampires, especially those who get to be his age, is that they become stagnant. They surround themselves with things that they see other people enjoying, for one reason or another, without ever really growing to appreciate those things for what they are.
He glances around at some of the paintings, but always turns his attention back to Rien when she begins to speak. When she sips at the glass of wine. When she's standing up... The sound of her heels clicking against the tile floor beneath the expensive rug where the table sits. Then she's seated on the arm of the chair close enough that he can see the blood flowing through the veins in her neck, which she exposes to him when she leans closer to speak about adopting new hobbies. His eyes flick upwards, the creases at the corners of his left eye twitches, the corner of his lip twitches and bulges. The implication is fairly obvious that his fangs are response to the sudden, strong, scent of blood under the fragrance of her skin.
When his upper lip lifts, those small points are longer. Needles laid against his bottom teeth and his nostrils flare. Flare enough to drink in the scent and have it wash over him. She's sitting within his personal space, where it's even colder than the room itself. He smells clean, some body wash that is without a specific scent that would overpower his light, but probably very expensive, cologne of sandlewood.
His skin is cold, the tips of his claws sharp, when he lifts his hand to rest it against the outside cheek. Using the tip of a finger to turn her to face him, right into those intense green eyes. Eyes that stare through the obvious to the deep, delving into her curiously. Until he simply nods, the claw of one finger running down, tracing the pulsating juggular vein of her neck. "Dangerous proposition. You haven't even eaten the meal yet. It could be terrible." His fangs remain, his hand drops down to her arm across the curve of her shoulder, then turns over with the palm up in her direction.
- Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
Her lips twitch into a small smile even as she reaches up, placing her hand in his, bracing against it as she slides deeper into the lair of the beast, dropping down onto his lap to lean back against him. Her head resting on his shoulder as she looks up at him. "As if you would allow that," her tone is teasing, playful even. One hand reaching up to pull the blonde hair away from her throat, exposing the slender column, the pale skin with the light blue tracing of veins, the heavy, steady pulse of the artery. "You're hungry, and it's terribly rude to eat before the host."
Rien meets that red-rimmed green gaze and smiles, "And after, if you like, we can talk about art or music, if you want to know about them. Or we can talk about other things. Death. Magic. War. Shitty childhoods. Or we don't have to speak at all." Chuckling softly, she murmurs, "Or we could go kill something that provides a challenge. A real challenge. Get your hackles up, let the beast loose. Feel *alive*."
It's almost too good to be true, this strange woman with powerful, vital blood and a hefty lineage. This woman he knows almost nothing about, but who offers him something he craves, without strings or hesitation. Who is as confident in offering him her throat as she was in talking about wine and art or war and death.
- Dracula has posed:
That is a very dangerous combination. A rarity even for a creature who would fancy that he's seen everything. Stood over Kings in their own Court to have them take a knee before him. Consort with Demons in their own domain and is on first name basis with the Reaper herself. He watches Rien settle into his lap with only the slightest jostle of the table when his knee strikes the table's leg. The rattle of dishes in a symphonic melody to the violins playing throughout the Penthouse.
Offering her neck to what she absolutely knows is a monster.
Her neck and then distractions meant to tempt him further.
Vampires are very suspicious and it's for good reason. No one of any level of sanity sets down roots in their lair with this level of confidence without considering all the pieces on the board. It 'is' a game of chess, whether it's so obviously set out before them or not. No, Vlad is aware of exactly what kind of game is being played because he's thinking of all the moving parts. The fact she arrived on his balcony out of nowhere and accepted his offered welcome without hesitation. Humored his stories despite the darkness inherent to them, knowing full well that he was playing a game as well.
"You're dangerous." He murmurs, nose brushing the curve of her jaw, with his nail catching at the curve of her clavical then sliding upwards to cradle the curve of her shoulder and neck. His fangs extend outward further as he opens his mouth, cold lips brushing along her skin covering the pulsating vein running beneath. A kiss, intimacy of a vampire, before the needles pierce her flesh. The only pain is the initial pop, then a wave of euphoria running outward. In both directions, no doubt, as the blood begins to course through the holes covered by his pale lips providing a gentle suction to draw it into his mouth and down his throat.
- Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
The smile on her lips tugs up further as she murmurs softly, "I wouldn't be nearly so interesting to you if I weren't.." Rien isn't immune to the gentle touches, the brush of his nose against her jaw, the tease of his nails across her clavicle and shoulder. He can hear the soft, swift intake of breath. Feel the heat rushing her body. See the pulse picking up in the base of her throat. But she's no less aware than he is, settled into his lap, leaning back against him, touching him at some point all the way down from her head to her feet. She can feel every tiny motions and twitch he makes, can feel the thrum of his voice in his chest as he speaks.
She offers no resistance when his lips cover her pulse point, no cry of pain when the fangs pierce her skin. The flash of pain is so brief that it barely registers, though she offers some advice before he can retract the fangs, "Leave them in.. otherwise.. otherwise the holes will close." Even as the euphoria washes over her, Rien's pupils dilating in the pleasure of the act, she helps him get a full taste. "Healing factor.. very, very strong healing factor." And indeed, he can feel the skin trying to close up, the puncture marks trying to close. He'll need to either re-bite her every few moments, or keep his fangs piercing into her throat while he drinks.
One hand lifts up, fingers sliding along the line of his jaw, feeling the working of his mouth, his throat. Rien's hand slides up along the back of his neck, her fingers threading through his hair to curve around the back of his head. Not pressing on him, but showing a willingness to let him keep drinking. Even as he draws on the blood, her breath gasping from between her lips, she retains that slight flush to her cheeks. Not growing any paler despite the blood being taken. That healing factor keeping her going even as he's drawing on her vitality.
- Dracula has posed:
There are ways for a vampire to feed that are far less intimate, as well as there are ways that it is nearly obscene. Vlad has experienced both and every variation between, but it's always that initial bite and the rush that victims seem to enjoy the most. Whatever enzyme produced by his fangs generally keeps the wound open until it's sealed, but it is of little effect against Rien's healing factor, save it keeps the holes from closing immediately. What it 'does' do, however, is force him to press his fangs through her flesh again..
And again..
And again...
Each time with that same flash of euphoria through whatever mysticism keeps him forever immortal. The same is true of the vampires kiss. With his lips curling around the puncture wounds drawing suction that runs the intensely powerful vitae down into his system. It's always a drug, no matter the quality of the blood. It's wine. Some of it is out of a box, which is fine. It serves the purpose it's designed for... This is different.
His hand squeezes the other side of her neck and his mouth opens against the other, lips pulling and painting crimson in the thick flow. Adjusting beneath her weight, with his other arm snaking around her waist until they're no longer sitting, but hovering above the chair with both their legs dangling.
He can always tell. He can always feel the pulse of the heart growing harder as less blood circulates inside a person. Needing more force to move anything around the system, the heart beat grows slower, but more forceful, and that never happens..
Until, finally, he's drank more than he ever could have had he had twelve Taylor's waiting in a line for a chance at incredible food, mediocre conversation, and a visit to his parlor. His mouth pulls away and a crimson tongue drags along the wounds that are already healing. Until his nose and mouth are pressing against her jaw with his hand spread out across her neck and cheek, claw up behind her ear.
Green eyes watch her, nearly level to hers, but at the side. Both of them still hovering in the air as if suspended by invisible strings.
- Rien D'Arqueness has posed:
She's heard stories, both sides of them, cautionary tales to keep young members of the D'Arqueness clan from rushing off to find vampiric lovers that almost always end with a dead sorcerer or sorceress. Not that they've ever applied to *her*. She was different. There were never any warnings against deadly mystical creatures for Rien. She existed to fight and kill or banish them. The whole reason she was born was in anticipation of fighting and banishing a demon. But she'd heard the stories as they were told to the other youth.
And yet, it still doesn't really compare to actually feeling it. That rush that hits again and again, each puncture of his fangs starting it all over again. A cycle that repeaats, to her enjoyment, every so often.
Rien watches him, his eyes, as he feasts on her. And a feast it is, her heartbeat every bit as strong on that first bite as on the last. Allowing him to indulge in a way that would normally be cause for some level of suspicion if so many were to disappear at once. Instead, he can drink his fill and she's no worse the wear for it. Watching him, smiling that little smile even as she lets out a small moan when his tongue traces over the already closing holes.
Rien watches him, and when those eyes focus on hers, her smile grows. Her head tilts, the hand at the back of his head stroking lightly as she flicks her tongue out, running it along his lower lip to gather up a taste of her own blood before murmuring, "Now that was an experience. Do you want to keep it going, or do we return to sitting politely at opposite ends of the table and talking about nothing of consequence that means even less to either of us, pretending like we're normal people?"
The rich scarlet of her blood still stains his lips, her throat, and now can be seen on her own lips as well, even though she's every bit as vital now as she was then. A stark difference from the pale cream of her skin, the pink of her lips, and those very blue eyes watching him.
- Dracula has posed:
There are ages past where the notion of feating upon a Sorceress of Clan D'Arqueness would have been done as a final victory and certainly left the individual little more than a husk when the last drop of vitae ran down his throat. In Vlad's experiences with them, it very rarely ended amiccable, and certainly wouldn't have involved a conscious willingness to allow his drinking of such powerful blood. Now he's staring at her, full of that very potent life running through his body giving him access to a strength that would terrify any hunter who happened upon him in that moment.
His mouth opens out at her in a playful nip when she draws her tongue across his crimson painted pale lips, still cradling the side of her face in his palm with every finger extending out. Spread along her jaw, with the bloody smile peeling out from bloody teeth when she asks that rather pointed, guiding, question.
Their feet touch the carpet, lowering down from where they'd been hovering, and he pulls backwards until on the curve of his fingers remain along her neck, with his thumb scraping her jawline. "I think we're well beyond pretenses of obsolute conversation." He can feel her now. Part of her exists inside him, he could track her effortlessly so long as her blood remains in his system. It's what makes him such an efficient hunter. It's how he takes the forms of peoples from whom he's fed, access to their abilities and knowledges if he drains them completely. A notion that is both thrilling for him and terrifying to consider for them.
And impossible for her.
His drops down, palm once more up with his fingers spread. "I believe we're both playing very dangerously. What was it you said? 'Get our hackles up, let the beast loose. Feel *alive*?'" He inclines his head and nods, "I believe I have just the idea."