Louise ("LT"/"Elle") Thompson (elle_tee) wrote in btvsal,
The air in this city was rank. In the past sixteen years, Louise had been all over the world. There was a lot she'd seen and done, not all of it awful. She was still new, on a vampire age scale. Then again, these days, a lot of idiot neophytes got dusted before they ever had the chance to learn the ropes. She'd been lucky, she supposed, to fall in with a couple of older vampires after she'd been turned. She'd fled her life and probably would have gotten herself into more trouble than she could have managed if she hadn't had some kind of direction. Her own sire had taken pleasure in her misery, had considered her a pretty trinket to add to his collection of "children" – but she'd never been the same as those other girls. They were fierce, little more than animals in the beginning, and she tried to fight against that. Margeaux and Remy had taken her in during a clichéd pass through the bayous of Louisiana. They taught her how to hunt without leaving a trail, how to feed without killing. She wouldn't have said they possessed any remnants of humanity, the way she often felt she did, but they understood balance and self-preservation.
She was well off enough, she supposed. Youth and beauty had its privileges. She could have been anywhere but here in this city teeming with the supernatural, but the pull of what had drawn her back was a hard force to break.
"Hey! Elle!" Her vision filled with the sight of black fishnet stretched across warm, white skin. Oh, these Goth types never ceased to amuse her. Chancing a glance up at him – he went by Skull, but his real name was Frank – Louise arched a brow, gaze steady, waiting for an explanation as to why the black-clad bartender had interrupted her private thoughts. "That one of the guys you're keeping an eye out for?"
Her gaze followed the direction of his finger and she swallowed thickly. With a brief nod, she dismissed him. Did she dare? It had been easy enough to stand around and talk to Jack when she knew damn well she couldn't get to him. What was it about him that had stuck with her all of this time? Sliding off of her perch on the arm of a shabby velvet couch (it had been aged purposefully, she was almost positive), she made her way around the corner of the bar and then took the stool right next to his. Resting her back against the edge of the counter, she kept her gaze on the people around them – mostly so she wouldn't be drawn to stare at Jack's neck.