2008-08-24 17:25:02 Deirdre rolls 9 dice to Hunting (3 hours) 7,8,10,3,9, 1,4,2,1 (2 successes)

Deirdre sits in the corner of the bar, nursing a beer that doesn't seem to be diminishing in the slightest, although ocassionally she appears to put it to her lips.

She's been sitting here for awhile, some nameless ramshackle, dime-a-dozen bar.  With Thorns down and her usual source of feeding gone for the time being, she's taken to bumming around these down-and-out bars, trolling for what mortals she can pick up.  And it usually isn't all that hard, really.  All you really need to do is sit there and look innocent and vulnerable, and without fail there's a drunk willing to come on to you.

And tonight is no different.

Already she's had a hit, from some greasy biker-redneck guy who smelled of sweat and cigar smoke.  She shrugged him off easily.  He really wasn't her type at all.  Rolls of fat like doughy pastry puffs, and d leather jacket-vest that looked like it could fit a organ grinder's monkey...no, definitely not her type.

Deirdre never had much ease with classifying herself sexually.  She doesn't remember when she began becoming interested in girls.  She'd never been much interested in men.  It wasn't that she didn't not like them...she was just never much interested.  There'd been no...enthusiasm, she guessed.  Oh sure she'd gone out in high school, and had plenty of male partners here and there through the years.  But it had always been going through the motions, accepting it because that was what she was, more or less, supposed to do.

But somehow women had always interested her more.  But even there, there'd been little impetus on her part to actually pursue a relationship with anyone.  Again, she'd always just let come what may.  Sometimes a girl would catch her eye and she'd be the one to push forward.  But as with the men, she oftened let them come to her.  She just enjoyed it more with women, or at least didn't mind it quite so much.  But she never really considered much her sexuality as a matter of definition.  And maybe it was better that way.

She pretends to take another sip of the beer.  Out of the corner of her eye she sees someone else slide in a few seats down from her.  Decent looking, young-ish.  A little down on his luck from the looks of it, but certainly no welfare bum or next-to-penniless biker.  She gives him a green-eyed glance, just to let him know she's noticed him.  The rest...is up to him.  

--Last edited by Tara532 on 2008-08-24 20:04:39 --

After a few minutes, the young man slips a seat or two closer to Deirdre.  She gives him another glance:  Yes I see you.  Dare to come a little closer?

And yes, he dares.  He turns around and flashes Deirdre a little smile.  "Comfortable in that corner?" he says with a little chuckle.  

Deirdre smiles at him.  She swirls the beer in the bottle.  "Comfortable 'nough I 'spose," she says with her lilting voice.  "Wouldn' be sittin' here if 'twere otherwise."

He chuckles at her little attempt at humor.  "Well, you looked a little lonely."  The young man looks over his shoulder at the rest of the bar:  the two ragged-topped pooltables, the high rickety tables and scattered stools, the sparse drinkers.  "Awfully quiet over here."

Deirdre shrugs.  "Maybe I like a wee bit o' quiet."

"Interesting accent...Irish?" he says, continuing the conversation.

She nods.  "Dublin born.  An' ye?"

"Nowhere near as interesting as that."

"Oh, no place is interestin' if ye've been born there."

"I guess so," he says and chuckles.

Yes, nice enough this one.  Sandy hair, decent features, a touch of innocence mixed with that self-assured guy-in-a-bar-meets-cute-girl attitude.

"Not liking that beer?" he says and nods towards the barely-touched bottle.

"Huh?"

"The beer...you've barely touched it, looks like.  Not your taste?"

"Well, ye know what they say about the similarities between havin' sex in a canoe an' American beer."

"No, what's that?"

"They're both fuckin' close t' water."  It's probably the only decent joke she knows.  Her brother used to say it all the time.

The boy laughs.  Deirdre slides her bottle across the bar towards him. "Here, ye can finish it.  I think I'm about done fer the night."

Deirdre rises and gives him a little smile.  "Well, I s'pose I should be gettin' a cab an' headin' out."

"Well let me wait with you," the boy says with a smile.  "Wouldn't want you hanging out alone on a street corner...not quite safe this time of night."

"Well aren't ye the perfect gentleman," Deirdre says.  "I don't s'pose I'd mind th' company."

A few moments later Deirdre and the young man are waiting on the curb outside.  The streetlamp gutters, making intermittent hissing noises as it sparks.  Deirdre leans against the corner of the building, and her newfound companion stands a few inches away.  He fishes in his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes.  He pulls out two, lights one, and offers the other to Deirdre.  Plucking it from his fingers she sticks it in her mouth and chews at the end without lighting it.  

"So where do you live?" he asks.  "Hope you don't have to go too far," he quickly adds to cover his intentions

"Jus' a little apartment a few blocks away," she says.  She gives him a look like she knows what he's hinting at.  And she dares him to go a little further.  She pushes off from the building, walking around him a little.  "Now, ye wouldn't be wantin' t' come fer a little ride wit me, would ye?" she gives him a coy smile.

He chuckles and blushes, then shrugs.  "Hey, can you blame a guy?"

"Aye, 'haps not.  But we barely know each other now don't we.  I mean, we only jus' met.  How're we t' know if we're compatible an' all that?  How d' we know there's passion?"

He takes a few steps forward, a little emboldened by the bait Deirdre's laid out in front of him.  "Well, if I can suggest...maybe we give a little test run.  A kiss perhaps?"

Deirdre smiles, lets him move closer.  "Tha's an idea."  He places his hands lightly on her hips, and she takes a few casual steps into the alley, where the flickering light of the lamp barely penetrates.  He leans into her further, and she lets the cigarette drop.  His lips touch hers, soft and hesitant at first.  But as she opens and eases into the kiss, he pushes forward a little harder.  A tiny bit of tongue.

They kiss for a few long moments.  Deirdre lets the boy probe at her mouth with his tongue, while she plays the pliant young girl, letting "her man" do all the action.  She lets a little moan escape her lips, to add all the more into the act.  

They break the kiss and Deirdre looks into his fogged eyes for a few moments before leaning up to him, pressing her lips to his.  They kiss again, this time her taking control.  She trails across his cheek, little wet sucking kisses.  She feels him both relaxing...and stiffening...with her delicate ministrations.  Her tongue comes out, the little pink tip snaking along his throat before her lips close over and suck at the skin.  She feels him moan as his breath deepens.

And then her fangs extend, slowly, and she eases down.  She feels the slightest bit of resistance before the sharp points puncture through the layer of skin.  For a moment he stiffens, gasps -- perhaps in pain -- and then she feels his body loosen in her arms, shuddering.  The breathing is heavy and shallow as he gasps.  Deirdre can't help but moan herself, her black fingernails clinging into him a little tighter as the sweet vitae flows into her, both more powerful and wholly unlike any mere sexual pleasure.  It floods through her system, flowing smoothly down her gullet like warm molasses.  It seems to instantly spread out through her body, in an invigorating sensation.  It pounds in her temples, and she knows its not the long-dead beat of her own heart she hears and feels, but the pulsing of this mortal's life as it flows into her along with his blood.  She seems to be drawn into it, pulled deeper and deeper within even as she pulls more and more out...

And she pulls away, gasping, pushing the boy back.  He stumbles in the darkness and staggers, slumping against the wall.  There's a stain against the front of his pants and she knows the ecstasy of the Kiss overloaded his bodily self-control.  She wipes her mouth.  The blood is tingling though her, giving a warm and thoroughly alive feeling.  Yes, this is what it felt like to be living...least as far as she can remember.

She looks back at the poor boy, breathing shallowly, but still breathing.  She made sure to pull back before she drew out too much blood.  She leans down to him, brushing her lips across the two puncture wounds and sealing them closed.  She draws back, examining him for a few more minutes.  Yes, he should be alright.  Someone coming out of the bar will no doubt stumble across him, take him for another drunk, and call a cab for him.  No real harm done.  And just in case...

Deirdre pulls a few bills out of her pocket and pushes them into  the young man's breast pocket.  Something for taxi fare.  

She turns, taking one more glance at him, and walks off down the street.