milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Well, this is new. And that's OK! New is good. Unexpected is not, particularly, and that's why this particular young man's surprise at finding himself wandering strange corridors has quickly melted to suspicion, and then anger.

He schools himself out of it by the time he finds the stairs. He waits at the bottom of them, perfectly still apart from large, dark eyes that flit over the whole place, taking it all in with no expression on his face. Only the Window gets a second look, and when he's finished his surveillance he walks over to it and stands there, staring in mute wonder, one hand pressed to the glass.

He can investigate the room later. This is more interesting for now.

[OOC: Open all weekend! <3]

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'I meant you.'

He doesn't care much about groups as a whole, not when he's talking to one person.

"I haven't killed anybody yet," she says. "I probably will."

Sounding rather unconcerned.

He is not concerned with her unconcern. It occurs to him a moment later that he should probably pretend to be scared or worried, but there doesn't seem to be much point.

'Are you stronger and faster than normal people? Do you think you'll be able to kill them?'

She doesn't look particularly fearsome.

"Yes," she says. "I don't suppose there's somebody here I can try that with?"

Not necessarily kill, but to show off her strength and speed.

'Depends. What would you do to them?'

He looks around for a suitable candidate, and sees many. There's a lot of kids in here, and he doesn't care which one she might choose.

"The usual," she says, shrugging. "Charm them, lead them astray, jump them, pin them down, drink, and then muddle their mind so they hardly remember."

At least that's what she has been taught. She never did it all on her own.

'Choose someone then. I won't tell.'

He'd volunteer if she hadn't said charm, or muddle their mind. No one's messing with his mind.

She smiles at him. "Not one of the kids," she says. "That's unfair. We'd rather not drink from human kids."

Rather not, may be the operative term.

'There's adults too,' he says, and his voice takes on just a hint of challenge.

'Or are they too much for you?'

"No," she says flatly. "How about the gentleman in the booth over there?"

'Go on then.'

He slides on to the arm of a nearby armchair, and looks ready to be entertained.

'I'll watch.'

She gets up, and wanders over, sitting in the booth dangling her legs and talking to the man for a bit.

He tells her something, and she nods earnestly. Then, she beckons at him, and he leans over while she kneels up on the upholstered bench to whisper something into his ear.

It takes a while, and then he laughs, and she giggles at him. She puts a kiss to his cheek, then slides out of the booth and comes skipping back to Jim. She smiles at him, and licks her lips. They are still stained with blood on the inside, and there's some left on her right fang, until her tongue wipes it off.

Interesting.

'You didn't even take him somewhere out of the way of other people. What are you going to do if he complains?'

Or will he really not remember any of it?

"He won't," she says. "I realised he was guilty. Of something. Guilty enough not to complain. But he might not have realised what happened, and his memory is likely a bit muddled."

'How could you realise that? Can you read his mind?'

He understands that having people know you've done something gives them a easy hold over you, but if it can be plucked out of your head then it isn't fair.

"He smelled guilty," she says. "He acted guilty. He was a bit distracted, all the time, by his sunburn hurting so badly."

Edited 2016-04-10 18:59 (UTC)

James throws her a scornful glance.

'How can someone smell guilty?'

He's looking at the man, though. He might go and talk to him. Might go and tell him what she's done.

"You do know what fear smells like?" she says, almost scornful as well.

He thinks about it. The truth is, he's scared a lot of kids in his time. Maybe there is a smell to it, but he's never really thought of it in such physical terms. He's read the phrase in books, but not connected it with his own experiences.

'I don't think you do either,' he says, decisively.

'Fear is pheromones, and you can't put a smell on them. It's a feeling. It's not like it smells of oranges or anything.'

"It's very salty sweat, with a bitter tang of bad feet," Margolotta says. "It's quite distinctive, and enough humans can smell it, not just we and the werewolves."

Poor thing doesn't even have a well-working nose!

She says 'we' a lot. James knows what that means. That's what people say when they don't have opinions of their own, and are just repeating the words of others. Kids do it a lot. It annoys him.

'You're stupid,' he says purposefully, knowing it makes him sound stupid. But that's OK. He gets up off the chair, and looks at the man she just attacked.

'What do you think he'll do to you when I tell him you just bit him?'

"Nothing," she says, smiling sweetly.

He doesn't trust smiles like that. And he's had enough.

'You don't know that,' he says, and turns his back so he can return to staring out of the Window.

It doesn't even take a second, because vampires are fast. Really fast.

A cold hand touches his neck, and then two fangs briefly pierce his skin; cold lips suck at the incisions.

And then, a brief lick, and benevolent fog descends. He might have talked to some irrelevant girl just now, but he definitely did not resolve to do anything as a consequence, and nothing all that unusual happened.

For all the world to see, she just hugged him good-bye before she skipped off and was gone.

***

Later, in the evening, he might find very faint and faded puncture marks on his neck.-

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