Who: Mr. Fritz Hart [Narrative] What: An afternoon of shopping; or, what to get for the vampire who has everything? Where: London, out and about. When: This afternoon. Warnings: Subtle demonic influencing, hinting of bad things to come.
Mr. Hart was a very industrious businessman, prone to mercurial fits of activity and interest. Always on the move, whether in or out of The Hierophant itself, his schedule was a maddening mess of perpetual movement. And so, on this particular afternoon, Fritz had booked most of his day for a task outside the dark, smoke-filled rooms of the club and out in the brisk winter air; the shopping bags underneath one arm were an impulse, a frivolity wrought in the excesses of human wealth and that which one desires but never honestly needs, greed lovingly wrapped with delicate hands, but oh, it was pomp and show for the woman on his other arm.
She was a lovely young woman, hardly more than twenty-two, caught on vacation by a friendly stranger she’d met at the park and, as Mr. Hart so hoped, a suitable gift of well-wishing to a very old and very dear friend. Edward Belville, that toothy old bastard, was always enjoyable to shop for—for Fritz himself was a generous giver who looked upon such tasks with a near endless degree of mirth. Like a man who would spontaneously afford the bar with a round on the house, or something which fashioned itself as such, he’d thought of it on a whim and a smile, deciding very much that it would be a wonderful idea.
On what started as a lunch date, Miss Madelene Wilson, or so she fashioned herself, woman-child of curiosity and culture, who sipped wine at their table by the window and talked with him on all manner of things (all of them singularly wondrous and important and filtered through the excitement only someone so young and so dearly human could convey), might've very well thought so too. He leaned over the table, resting his chin on his palms, laughed louder than what propriety dictated and, with a dashing smile, offered to take the girl shopping. So they were, several hours later, traveling together along the busy streets of London, a lovely new dress and heels bought for his lovely new friend, by all appearances a charming young couple.
Madelene, of course, only took a small bit of convincing to let him in her apartment. Another bottle of wine, and he’d asked for her to try on the dress, that she was a magnificent gem, and truthfully, there in her rented flat, cheeks flushed with too much Riesling, trying not to stumble in deathly tall heels, he thought she really was. All the more reason for his efforts to be resolved, and for God to be denied her. Fritz smiled as she approached him and took her by the chin. Demons looked into the hearts of all men and women, saw the darkness there, the hunger and yearning and capacity for all they could do, all they might be, all of the ways they may fall from God, as he had, as so many of them had, and twisted them to their will. Just a suggestion, a pleasant nudge of charm to bind her will to his own, and Fritz asked of her a favor.
From his jacket he took an envelope, a card with a funny little cartoon cow and a pleasant note written in his own hand, and handed it to her with his instruction. A tiny favor, wearing such a wonderful gown, looking as beautiful and fetchingly debauched as she did in that moment. Madelene nodded assent, card tucked away in her handbag, for it was a small price for such a wonderful afternoon, she said. Fritz thanked her, kissed her on the cheek, and sent the young woman on a taxi across the city.
Cleaning up her apartment like a courteous guest (for why should anyone leave the rest of that wine to waste?), he locked the door on his way out, the rest of his bags neatly under arm. It was well into evening by the time he returned to The Hierophant, his temple, his priests and fools and worshipers all, and Mr. Hart was ready for his next appointment.