milliways_bar | (no subject)

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As entrances to Milliways go, this is one of the more unprepossessing. A man stumbles through the door in slacks and T-shirt (a particular brand of underwear showing above his waistband); despite the fairly well-groomed hair and care with his appearance, he still seems a little crumpled and ungainly. The door swings near someone, and he instantly apologises before standing almost straight and looking around.

(Interesting.)

'...oh. Um.

...oh.'

Well, this is new. Jim likes new.

[OOC: Note on playing with Jim here. If more than one person tags, could we please only have one intro thread? Anything after the first will find him either sitting a little nervously at the bar, or gazing in wonder out of the observation window. Thanks! :D]

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"Does the wolf want the deer?" Eric says in a low, intimate voice.

'Yeah, but only to e...oh.'

Well, that's a whole different kind of want.

Eric smiles.
"Yes," he says. "There's that. And there's those other urges. We have those too. And to me, most humans look increasingly more appealing as their pulse picks up."

He takes a sip of his drink.

"As long as they're not pathetic. That's a turn-off."

Jim smiles. Pathetically.

'And how do you define that?'

"They're the growling ones, the needy. The over-eager. Those who are so desperate for attention that they will erase themselves completely to be whatever they think I want."

He sniffs.

They always get it wrong anyway.

'Oh?'

He smiles just enough to emphasise his nervousness.

'And what is it they think you want? What do you actually want?'

"They seem to think that I want crawling sex slaves. When really I prefer people who know what they want."

He shrugs.
"As long as they understand that what I want is what we'll be doing."
Smiling again.
Hungrily.

He is not missing the hunger in that smile, not at all. And he's laughing to himself, because someone talking about desperate people with such derision while being so desperate himself...is the irony not obvious to him?

'But what if-' and here, he gives every impression of having to steel his courage to ask such a bold question, complete with quickened heartbeat, '-they know what they want, and it's different to what you want?'

What a delicious sound.

Eric cants his head.
"Here, I walk away. At home - "
Another shrug.

"It depends."

'...on?'

His eyes flick to Eric's mouth, and he visibly swallows as he meets his gaze again.

"On how much I want them."

That's a simple enough answer.

So he's not inflexible. And perfectly open to manipulation, based on his level of desire and, most pertinently, how hungry he is.

Interesting.

Now he just needs to decide whether Jim from I.T. gains anything by offering himself up - not now, because he only just got here and the man's too unsure of himself to go for it right away. But at some point in the future. It's certainly something Moriarty would not bother himself with, unless he was really bored, so it's a pretty good cover. Also, might be fun.

'Oh. Well. I suppose you get a lot of good-looking people in your club.'

His tone suggests that he knows he himself is not really in that group, so is probably out of the running.

Eric looks at him. Flatly.

"We do. We gets all sorts. It's in Louisiana . Inbreeding is a favored, local pastime.besides, while I do prefer nice tits, there are more things to attractiveness that flesh."

He perks up again.

'Yeah, I think so. But not everyone does.'

Still, he looks a tad disappointed at tits, because maybe he got the wrong end of the stick here? Though he seems to tell himself not to lose hope; he is, after all, technically seeing a woman himself at the moment.

"When I look at humans," Eric says, and his voice goes smokey-intense and low, "I see the blood rushing through your veins. Everything else are just - details."

Hair color. Height. Genitalia.

Wow, this guy is easy.

Jim gulps.

'...oh.'

SCARY. INTIMIDATING. LOTS OF FEAR. YES.

'Well, I...have blood. But I'm seeing someone, y'know, and I don't think...I mean, if that's what you're saying, then I should ask her I expect-'

"Yes, you do," Eric says, looking at him intently.

He smells like prey.
Prey who is headed toward him which is fine, if somewhat - odd.

"I could just bite you," Eric says. Reasonably.
"Fucking you is not mandatory."

And yes, he says that's to see how he will react.

Jim opens his mouth. And then closes it, and appears entirely lost for words. Helplessly so, even.

'Um-'

Ahahaha.

He counts off the seconds until he can plausibly speak.

'...I don't know. I'd have to think about that. It's not that I'm a prude or anything - I mean, I go clubbing a lot, stuff happens, you know how it is...but this is something else.'

He wonders what happens to a vampire if you spike your own blood with drugs. Better for them? Kills them? Controls them? Perhaps some experiments are in order.

Eric is certain that stuff happens. To other people.
But the little vole here might watch.

He just looks at him.
One eyebrow slightly raised.

Jim is obviously not man enough to hold his gaze (and is certainly not about to appear challenging). He drops his gaze, and swallows again.

'OK, I should probably get going,' he murmurs.

Eric smirks and takes a sip of his drink.

"You probably should," he agrees. He seems amused.

He stands up clumsily, causing his stool to rock hard enough that he has to grab it. When it's still again, he backs away, alternating glances between Eric's face, and the floor.

'OK well, I guess...I guess I'll see you around. Bye.'

Eric raises one hand and gives him a tiny finger wave.
Then he utterly stops paying attention to him, looking around the bar instead. Or at lest, stops paying attention to him individually.

He still hears his heartbeat. His breathing. He can still smell him.

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