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Week Eight: Friday
Who: Drystan (Narrative)
When: Friday Night
Where: Théâtre du Macabre
Such a busy little boy he'd been. Though the word boy did rankle him even when used in his own thoughts. Well not rankle... that was such a rough term. He was no child, no matter how often his little business partner liked to tell him he looked like a pre-pubescent boy. He could quite handly assure her that he was far from such an individual.
She liked to claim that she didn't want that little taste of evidence. Lies of course. The succubus doth protest too much.
Drstyan however wasn't one to linger over cold bitches who were one step away from old maid status, well other than to make certain she was repaid in full for the dastardly deeds done to his office. That he was waiting for the perfect opportunity for, not now when she was so obviously expecting something. Impatient as he could be, he hadn't reached his ripe old age without learning some semblance of patience.
Having things to distract him always helped and Drystan certainly didn't lack other things to focus on. Far more important things in all reality. Things like his little kitty. He had been kind enough to send her some flowers in appreciation. Not to set any tongues waggling... of course not. But really that was nothing and he only hoped that the little girl understood what fire she was playing with. Toy with flames and the only result she could look toward was a burn and that Drystan would enjoy giving her. Not to mention a few other things. He was such a giver after all.
Her little home had been found, a note would be slid under the door the next day. One that Drsystan was penning from the elaborate desk that took up a good portion of his office at the theater. The closing sounds of the late act could just be heard through the walls. And over the sound of the woman that was waiting oh so patiently in his lap for him to finish the note he was writing. She had graciously offered her blood for the penning as well. Now she was a truly giving soul.
There were few things with greater effect than a little blood written note. Said a message was coming straight from the heart... quite literally. Though in this case there was a lovely gash just above the swell of her breast that Drystan inked his quill from. There was an advantage to such old fashioned things. It would be a touch harder to complete this task with a ballpoint or god forbid an e-mail. She giggled as Drystan put the final flourishes on the letter and had her heat the wax for the seal. Stamped with his crest he let the wax fall on the pale expanse of her skin that was ripe for the plucking in front of him.
She was enjoying it too much. More than he was and if there was ever a party foul...
The show was finishing up and he had a few details to attend to, not one of which involved the buxom brunette who had joined him for the evening. Shame for her. Teeth tore into the gash that had been made earlier, her gasp was completely lost to the rush of her blood as Drystan pulled it swiftly from her form. Not a bad choice, good year... not too much cholesterol. That slight earthy tang of Eastern Europe. Not bad for the evening.
Her slumped form was left for others to take care of as it always was, a rosy youthful glow lit Drystan's cheeks as he headed out. Guests to greet and patrons to entertain. Business was good afterall.
When: Friday Night
Where: Théâtre du Macabre
Such a busy little boy he'd been. Though the word boy did rankle him even when used in his own thoughts. Well not rankle... that was such a rough term. He was no child, no matter how often his little business partner liked to tell him he looked like a pre-pubescent boy. He could quite handly assure her that he was far from such an individual.
She liked to claim that she didn't want that little taste of evidence. Lies of course. The succubus doth protest too much.
Drstyan however wasn't one to linger over cold bitches who were one step away from old maid status, well other than to make certain she was repaid in full for the dastardly deeds done to his office. That he was waiting for the perfect opportunity for, not now when she was so obviously expecting something. Impatient as he could be, he hadn't reached his ripe old age without learning some semblance of patience.
Having things to distract him always helped and Drystan certainly didn't lack other things to focus on. Far more important things in all reality. Things like his little kitty. He had been kind enough to send her some flowers in appreciation. Not to set any tongues waggling... of course not. But really that was nothing and he only hoped that the little girl understood what fire she was playing with. Toy with flames and the only result she could look toward was a burn and that Drystan would enjoy giving her. Not to mention a few other things. He was such a giver after all.
Her little home had been found, a note would be slid under the door the next day. One that Drsystan was penning from the elaborate desk that took up a good portion of his office at the theater. The closing sounds of the late act could just be heard through the walls. And over the sound of the woman that was waiting oh so patiently in his lap for him to finish the note he was writing. She had graciously offered her blood for the penning as well. Now she was a truly giving soul.
There were few things with greater effect than a little blood written note. Said a message was coming straight from the heart... quite literally. Though in this case there was a lovely gash just above the swell of her breast that Drystan inked his quill from. There was an advantage to such old fashioned things. It would be a touch harder to complete this task with a ballpoint or god forbid an e-mail. She giggled as Drystan put the final flourishes on the letter and had her heat the wax for the seal. Stamped with his crest he let the wax fall on the pale expanse of her skin that was ripe for the plucking in front of him.
She was enjoying it too much. More than he was and if there was ever a party foul...
The show was finishing up and he had a few details to attend to, not one of which involved the buxom brunette who had joined him for the evening. Shame for her. Teeth tore into the gash that had been made earlier, her gasp was completely lost to the rush of her blood as Drystan pulled it swiftly from her form. Not a bad choice, good year... not too much cholesterol. That slight earthy tang of Eastern Europe. Not bad for the evening.
Her slumped form was left for others to take care of as it always was, a rosy youthful glow lit Drystan's cheeks as he headed out. Guests to greet and patrons to entertain. Business was good afterall.