T.R. Lansing (darkertides) wrote in horror_story, @ 2013-11-08 17:58:00 |
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Entry tags: | cycle004, eden, elijah, incomplete, ricky, rob, sully |
Who: T. Robert York (and open)
When: November 1st, 7:45pm
Where: The Red Door
What: A regular client appears!
Warning: Rob is probably going to be unpleasant.
The Yorks had been patronizing The Red Door since its inaugural opening. Rumor had it that Christine and Dmitri York had ties to Samuel Belli, since they were among the first vampire clients that the Door entertained, and seemed to know precisely what sort of clientele the brothel was catering to right away. No doubt, Sam had tipped them off. They were naturally-occurring vampires, and had a tendency to be elitist towards common vampires, referring to them as the cursed, but really meaning diseased. Heightened status and immortality aside, common vampires had all at one point been human. The same insult could not be applied to any of the Yorks.
Still, their money was excellent, even if their noses had a tendency to lift a bit in mixed company. Their standards were a bit exacting, but they could afford to have high standards. Christine was the type of woman who would clock the dust on top of the picture frames as a flaw, but she usually gave a solid week's warning before setting foot in any public establishment. The same went for her husband, though he was more affable by nature. Most of their business for the last fifteen years had been on the east coast, so the elder Yorks hadn't actually been seen at The Door in some time. They had three sons, all of whom had patronized The Door at one time or another. The youngest had a preference for male blood donors, and most of the gossip had it that he'd severed ties to his family and moved to Seattle with a human 'friend' less than half his age about twelve years ago.
The oldest son liked to travel and was usually on other continents, but he'd make a rare, surprise appearance every blue moon or so to see if the Door was offering anything new. An outgoing sort like their father, that son was generous with his compliments as well as with his wallet, and his visits usually left people in good spirits all round. Stephen wasn't picky about who or what he ate, though he preferred people who had a good sense of humor, and generally liked to reserve a lady or two for an overnight.
Then there was the middle son. Theodore Robert York was a regular at The Door. He oversaw some of his parents' properties on the West Coast, and whenever that duty took him to Nevada, he required a place to stay that was sympathetic to his very specific needs. And York was nothing if not specific. He showed up like clockwork on the 1st of every month for a five-day stay. Always showing up between 7 and 9pm, depending on the sunset, and always providing his own bedding for his room. If upon inspection his room was not up to his standard, he would sit in the bar glowering while it was being cleaned, for as long as it took to get it there. As far as his food went, that was where Rob was at his most persnickety. While he understood that his options were limited to available selection, he was adamant that all blood be human, and that the human in question be recently tested clean (and he would ask to see test results) and not be wearing silver (Rob was allergic to many things, including silver). Those were the hard limits, but beyond that he also had a list of preferences. He liked female humans, preferably female humans sans tattoos and piercings. Preferably female humans, sans tattoos and piercings, with a clean record and no history of drug use. Preferably female humans, sans tattoos and piercings, with a clean record and no history of drug use, who also didn't drink. Preferably female, human teetotalers, sans tattoos and piercings, who did not own pets. Ideally, a female, virgin, redheaded human teetotaler who did not have tattoos, piercings, or pets.
It went on. The Red Door had never been able to meet all of Rob's demands, of course. There'd been a frigid psychic that had almost captured his heart in the 80's who disappeared (some might suspect he had something to do with that, but no evidence has linked him to the case). More recently, there was a redheaded prostitute named Susanna; far from chaste, but a very good actress, she'd actually succeeded in getting him to somewhat warm up to her. Within a few weeks, she'd had him going from two-hour blocks to all-night reservations. He still requested Susanna every time he walked through the front entrance and spoke to the host or hostess, even though she'd quit years ago. Given that he never seemed to forget anything else, it was likely just wishful thinking. Willing blood donors were often in short supply. Most humans didn't know that vampires existed, let alone were willing to offer themselves up to a menu. So Rob was used to having to make do with less-than-desirable food sources. Understanding, however, didn't tend to lead to grace. He could still be quite the dick about it.
That night was like any other, when he walked through the entrance lobby. He immediately surrendered his luggage to be taken to his room in the basement level, requested that the bedding and towels be replaced with the ones that he'd brought for himself, and told the host, "I'll wait in the bar for Susanna. If she's unavailable, send whichever girls you do have to me, and I'll make my selection there."
It was an insulting way to go about it, since he knew damn well that it was probably going to be Ricky. He didn't care for her, but wouldn't go out of his way to say it outright, since there weren't a lot of options. Instead, he treated her like she was stranger, rather than the girl he'd been feeding off of every month since she'd started working there. Rob didn't even like saying her name, finding it unsuitable for a lady, but not wanting to ask what her given name was for fear of giving the wrong impression. It wouldn't due to try to befriend her. She'd committed far too many sins. He wasn't about to forgive any of the tattoos, the piercings, the drugs... all of the myriad things, real and imagined, that Ricky was guilty of. Not that she cared to court forgiveness from him. Rob wasn't deluded on that point at all. But the worst sin that Ricky committed wasn't even her abrasive attitude or alternative looks. At the end of the day, he'd never be able to refrain from passing judgment on her simply for not being Susanna. In the years since Susanna had quit, that had only gotten worse. Without her there to risk showing a flaw, Rob was able to pedestal his little redheaded hooker quite high, constructing a measuring stick with which to compare all new women, and find them wanting. Ricky just happened to be the unlucky bearer of his disappointment due to circumstance.
A pity knowing that didn't make it any better.