Domina (dulcepericulum) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2009-08-27 16:08:00 |
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Entry tags: | #solo, 2009-06-14, domina |
just got wicked
Who: Domina and a redshirt
When: Early afternoon
Where: Coldwater, MI
Domina wasn't a happy girl.
She hadn't been of a particularly sunny disposition ever since the mood, but she was trying to make the best of it. Trying had eventually brought her to going through a few recommended contacts of her fathers, and she was absolutely certain she had picked the wrong one. The bastard was high on secrecy - like she of all people was going to turn him in. Sure, if he got caught, the vampires might kill him, but her family's reputation was at stake if she got caught. She'd made a few calls, spoke to his assistant, and eventually set up an appointment for a purchase. She had been livid when she was told the transaction would take place in Coldwater - a hick ass town ninety miles west. This was really testing what little patience she had. Unfortunately, and though Domina would never admit it to anyone, she was shit out of options. This was the only dealer she'd been able to find on such short notice with a respectable reputation.
The drive over had been filled with a lot of singing to the radio, and the decision that she was just going to have to look into hiring a personal hunter, someone to cater to her needs only, and of course, no few looks of shock as she drove through the small community. Domina's Ferrari F430 Scuderia Spider 16M was probably worth more than most of these people's lives (though not 'probably', in Domina's humble opinion). Pathetic. By the time she'd finally reached her destination, which appeared to be an abandoned goddamn barn, she was seeing red. She slammed her car door before wandering into the barn, knowing that if this bastard was so much as a second late she'd make him pay. She was Domina fucking Moriarty, and she was not accustomed to jumping through hoops for people.
When another person finally entered the barn, Domina turned to take him in - and promptly laughed. He was her age. Younger, maybe. And he looked dumber than a box of rocks. "You have got to be kidding me," she said, folding her arms over her chest.
"Mr. Largo sent me," was his reply. To his credit, he looked intimidated. Domina liked that look on boys, even if he was far too young for her.
"I was under the impression that I would be meeting your boss personally," Domina replied, tone crisp, nose high. "I don't appreciate being dicked around, especially not by grown men that send little boys to do their dirty work. I hope he intends on making this worth my while."
The man, who had dark hair and a generally weak look about him, nodding and hurried inside. He knelt down at her feet - which, okay, maybe won him a few points - as he set his briefcase on the ground and quickly unlocked it. Inside were a a dozen glass vials, each large enough to hold four liquid ounces. Each was filled to the brim, and Domina could smell the varieties of blood. She couldn't scent the difference between a bloodtype, the way a vampire could, or maybe even some wolves, but she knew a fox when she smelled one. And something earthy.
Domina made it clear in her posture that she wasn't about to bend over to examine the merchandise, and Largo's lackey seemed to pick that hint up real fast - another credit to him, particularly considering the fact that he looked to have the IQ of a wet carrot. The lackey picked the open case up, oh so carefully, and held it up to Domina's level. Someone's trained him well, she thought with a smirk, as she examined each vial carefully. Tucked behind the last vial was a small note with her name on it, which she removed to read.
Ms. Moriarty,
I hope you'll forgive my use of an employee. I feel it is in the best of both of our interests to make use of a go-between. Enclosed is the merchandise we agreed upon, including B- Demonic (Were), O+ (Earth), and psychic types both O- and AB+. I hope you will also forgive my request that you come so far out of your way, but I've included a special gift for my favorite new customer.
I'm always happy to help out a young witch working to hone her craft. The man before you is named Wesley, and he will only scream if given permission. My people will be by to pick him up later.
Best Regards,
Mr. Largo