Sugar Baby
Aug. 31st, 2013 01:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tiny_dancer81 in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
birthright_rpgIt turned out that Dane either lied about Theresa losing the craving for coke or that he just didn't know she wouldn't, because she'd been a vampire for four years and she still wanted the high. It might have been just psychosomatic, the way other vampires drank alcohol despite the fact that they could barely taste it, but the fact remained, she was still a user of the white powder. Just through a filter now that her heart was no longer beating.
The brunette was currently parked in the lounge of one of the Strip's higher-end hotels, scoping the bar area and nursing a margarita. She'd had a fake ID made back in California when she was alive, and now that she was in Las Vegas there was no one to recognize her and say that she was presumably only eighteen. She'd only been in Sin City for a few months, having packed up what she could comfortably carry and get the hell out of Hollywood after Dane got torched.
Fucking vigilantes. Dane hadn't been the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he'd been her sire and he'd promised to take care of her. Theresa resented having to start all over, if only because it had meant she'd had to go back to turning tricks. She had no other skills except for theft, and she wanted to lay very low for a while, just in case one of those bright boys from Hollyweird managed to track her here.
There was an older man sitting alone at a table for two, and the vampire tucked some hair behind her ear and looked away when he made eye contact. Thank whoever there was no mirror behind the bar. She put on her best shy expression, looked his way again. He raised his glass in her direction, a silent toast. The corners of her mouth lifted into a smile. Then she patted the stool next to hers.
He joined her after a brief moment of hesitation, put his bourbon and water on the bar next to her cocktail glass. He'd already been drinking, she could smell it on him. He was fiftyish, probably divorced. Theresa crossed her legs, her demure skirt hitching up a single inch.
"Hi."
"H-h-hello," he answered, nervously pulling at the knot in his tie. "My name's Malcolm, what's yours?" "Hi, Malcolm, I'm Theresa." "Can I buy you a refill?" "Thanks, but I shouldn't. I don't want a headache in the morning, and tequila knocks me flat." "Oh. Uh..."
The bartender walked over, and Malcolm pushed away his nearly-empty glass when the server offered to fill his glass again. "Are you leaving now? I could...I could walk with you." Theresa let that hang in the air while she tried not to roll her eyes. Jesus, these old guys were predictable. "Actually, I was thinking of calling it a night. You're sure you wouldn't mind?" "I don't mind at all. I shouldn't drink alone anyway." "No one should."
She waited until they were outside on the sidewalk, then took his hand. No gold band. Definitely divorced. "I guess you know I'm not a tourist," she said, and he nodded. "I'm in town for a reunion, and the concierge at my hotel said I could find some...companionship if I wanted it." "That's why they call it Sin City." "I have money."
Theresa's smile was almost warm when she went up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek, then on the mouth. "Do you know where we can get some coke?" Malcolm's busy eyebrows went up, then settled back into place. "I'll ask Mike, the concierge. He knows how to be discreet."
"It is the better part of valor, at least supposedly." She'd wear him out (and at his age how long could that take?) then check his wallet after he fell asleep. And after she'd fed. His suit was decent, and that looked like a Rolex on his wrist. He might have as much as a couple of grand on him, and who would he tell?
"Let's go back to your place and party."
The brunette was currently parked in the lounge of one of the Strip's higher-end hotels, scoping the bar area and nursing a margarita. She'd had a fake ID made back in California when she was alive, and now that she was in Las Vegas there was no one to recognize her and say that she was presumably only eighteen. She'd only been in Sin City for a few months, having packed up what she could comfortably carry and get the hell out of Hollywood after Dane got torched.
Fucking vigilantes. Dane hadn't been the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he'd been her sire and he'd promised to take care of her. Theresa resented having to start all over, if only because it had meant she'd had to go back to turning tricks. She had no other skills except for theft, and she wanted to lay very low for a while, just in case one of those bright boys from Hollyweird managed to track her here.
There was an older man sitting alone at a table for two, and the vampire tucked some hair behind her ear and looked away when he made eye contact. Thank whoever there was no mirror behind the bar. She put on her best shy expression, looked his way again. He raised his glass in her direction, a silent toast. The corners of her mouth lifted into a smile. Then she patted the stool next to hers.
He joined her after a brief moment of hesitation, put his bourbon and water on the bar next to her cocktail glass. He'd already been drinking, she could smell it on him. He was fiftyish, probably divorced. Theresa crossed her legs, her demure skirt hitching up a single inch.
"Hi."
"H-h-hello," he answered, nervously pulling at the knot in his tie. "My name's Malcolm, what's yours?" "Hi, Malcolm, I'm Theresa." "Can I buy you a refill?" "Thanks, but I shouldn't. I don't want a headache in the morning, and tequila knocks me flat." "Oh. Uh..."
The bartender walked over, and Malcolm pushed away his nearly-empty glass when the server offered to fill his glass again. "Are you leaving now? I could...I could walk with you." Theresa let that hang in the air while she tried not to roll her eyes. Jesus, these old guys were predictable. "Actually, I was thinking of calling it a night. You're sure you wouldn't mind?" "I don't mind at all. I shouldn't drink alone anyway." "No one should."
She waited until they were outside on the sidewalk, then took his hand. No gold band. Definitely divorced. "I guess you know I'm not a tourist," she said, and he nodded. "I'm in town for a reunion, and the concierge at my hotel said I could find some...companionship if I wanted it." "That's why they call it Sin City." "I have money."
Theresa's smile was almost warm when she went up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek, then on the mouth. "Do you know where we can get some coke?" Malcolm's busy eyebrows went up, then settled back into place. "I'll ask Mike, the concierge. He knows how to be discreet."
"It is the better part of valor, at least supposedly." She'd wear him out (and at his age how long could that take?) then check his wallet after he fell asleep. And after she'd fed. His suit was decent, and that looked like a Rolex on his wrist. He might have as much as a couple of grand on him, and who would he tell?
"Let's go back to your place and party."