Slade London (fiery_dame) wrote in haunted_roads, @ 2008-02-18 02:53:00 |
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Entry tags: | slade, vallis |
Week Dos: Friday
Who: Slade and Vallis
Where: An alley outside the Metropolitan Grill
When: Friday night
Being damn good at your job afforded one certain luxuries - one of which was being able to actually choose whose money you were playing with, for once. Slade was especially picky seeing as her nest egg was large enough to tide her over for quite awhile and so it was only the most elite in any given social setting that she would even consider. Thankfully Seattle seemed to have an abundance of wealthy individuals with absolutely no idea in how to invest their bulging bank accounts. Her reputation from Manhattan had proceeded her to this new coast it seemed, thanks to a few of her bi-coastal clients. She'd already had some sort of dinner or brunch with a potential investor every day this week. Tonight was yet another one - a kid in his thirties who still had a nice chunk of change he'd made in the dot com boom whose prior advisors hadn't done shit with. Slade, on the other hand, was more than confident she could do quite the turnaround number on it.
When inquiring where she'd like to meet, she'd gone with the Metropolitan Grill over any of her other usual haunts that might be drawing an unsavory Friday night crowd. The place was on her top ten of best places for a very, very dry martini and that was really all she needed out of this little business dinner. Sure the food was good, the atmosphere rather impressive for a first time meeting setting, but it was the shaken martini that really drew her in. To keep up appearances though, she'd only had one at dinner - no sense in appearing to be some unprofessional lush. She'd walked the potential investor to his car afterwards, a brief exchange of business cards marking his exit before the dark sedan pulled away from the curb. Slade fully intended to go back inside and have another drink or two, unwind before she headed home to the Towers, but first there was the small issue of a nicotine craving.
Dressed in one of her usual dark designer suits and a pair of rather pricey vintage Chanel pumps she'd had for years, she started towards an alley running alongside the Grill for a quick smoke. She fished a cigarette from her handbag, deposited it between her lips and ignited the end until the embers caught. She inhaled sharply, a cloud of smoke filling the air as she tucked the remaining pack back into her clutch. She'd barely made it a foot into the alley when something splashed across her calf, soaking the top of her shoe. "Fucking christ," she growled, the scent of blood assaulting her senses. Goddamn vampires, did they have to be so messy about the whole feeding bit? Didn't the years teach them anything?