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Who: Demetrius
Where: 'Arsenic and Lace' club
When: Just after 11
What: people watching mostly.
The movement was fluid, almost as if his fingers didn't rise up slightly to move and propel the gold coin forward; as if it moved on its own accord across his closed hand. He sat as still as a statue, and as quiet as the grave. The night club, full of rich dark reds and blacks, romanticizing the room and disguising it for what it was; a hole in the wall club, peeling walls were covered with rich draping faux silk fabric. The lacquered black bar covered up what was once a home to a nest of rats. He could see through the decor as if all that it had been was still there. The day he found this place he envisioned turning it into a turn of the century themed place, dark and sinful. It had been an abandoned factory, the depression had ravaged it, and it was rumored that its old owner actually killed himself there. It gave it a bit of a haunted feel, and he liked it.
From his corner table tucked away, he could see the majority of the club. Most of the inhabitants were humans even though it was notorious for those of his kind (not to mention others). He let out the barest of sighs as his eyes scanned the crowds once more. There was no one he particularly felt inclined to talk to. It was rare, he loved company. It kept himself out of his head-- a dangerous place to be depending on the time. And normally, if he didn't want to be seen he would just melt into the shadows. He liked watching people. Being part of the scenery. It wasn't at all like his nature, to be so vibrantly and utterly himself.
This didn't happen to him. He didn't dwell over his trysts. Demetrius did not day dream about a certain mortal's touch grazing his skin, the softness of their skin and the taste of their lips. No. Demetrius didn't believe in love like that. Love was moments, stolen but true-- not lifetimes of it. Not marriage. Nothing more than the time that they spent together. But, then why could he not forget those hands deftly exploring his body, or the beautiful expression that captured his features when he came? Demetrius clenched his jaw. He would not allow one night to plague him like this. If he wanted Jude once more, he would make it happen. End of story.
Where: 'Arsenic and Lace' club
When: Just after 11
What: people watching mostly.
The movement was fluid, almost as if his fingers didn't rise up slightly to move and propel the gold coin forward; as if it moved on its own accord across his closed hand. He sat as still as a statue, and as quiet as the grave. The night club, full of rich dark reds and blacks, romanticizing the room and disguising it for what it was; a hole in the wall club, peeling walls were covered with rich draping faux silk fabric. The lacquered black bar covered up what was once a home to a nest of rats. He could see through the decor as if all that it had been was still there. The day he found this place he envisioned turning it into a turn of the century themed place, dark and sinful. It had been an abandoned factory, the depression had ravaged it, and it was rumored that its old owner actually killed himself there. It gave it a bit of a haunted feel, and he liked it.
From his corner table tucked away, he could see the majority of the club. Most of the inhabitants were humans even though it was notorious for those of his kind (not to mention others). He let out the barest of sighs as his eyes scanned the crowds once more. There was no one he particularly felt inclined to talk to. It was rare, he loved company. It kept himself out of his head-- a dangerous place to be depending on the time. And normally, if he didn't want to be seen he would just melt into the shadows. He liked watching people. Being part of the scenery. It wasn't at all like his nature, to be so vibrantly and utterly himself.
This didn't happen to him. He didn't dwell over his trysts. Demetrius did not day dream about a certain mortal's touch grazing his skin, the softness of their skin and the taste of their lips. No. Demetrius didn't believe in love like that. Love was moments, stolen but true-- not lifetimes of it. Not marriage. Nothing more than the time that they spent together. But, then why could he not forget those hands deftly exploring his body, or the beautiful expression that captured his features when he came? Demetrius clenched his jaw. He would not allow one night to plague him like this. If he wanted Jude once more, he would make it happen. End of story.