John Abbott (john_abbott) wrote in low_tide, @ 2009-11-14 01:04:00 |
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Entry tags: | john abbott, lady elfleda |
Wicked Games
"Sasha." The vampire reached for a lock of silky hair, rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. The twenty-four-year old's hair was like a red sunset. It was dyed. He knew that bit without a doubt, didn't he?
He met her in New York, or rather, saw her there and began to follow her. A few days, nothing overt, enough to overhear of an impending vacation to Key West and a stay at the Westin. A signature on a restaurant check told him her name. They took separate flights. He found her in a bar on Duval Street. After a flirtatious introduction and drinks, they walked back to her hotel room, where he sat her on the bathroom sink (thankfully she didn't turn around and check her make-up in the mirror). A slap-happy mess of intoxication and dehydration from the sun, she bunched her skirt around her waist and wiggled out of her panties. They dangled from her toes, which a nail technician had decorated with palm trees.
She smelled like coconut.
His bite was post-coital. He would've waited longer, but frankly, with the hiccups and giggles of drunken satisfaction, and the girl's tell-tale draping of herself against his torso, John knew she was on the verge of passing out, and he wasn't in love with drinking from motionless bodies. Afterwards, he carried her to the queen-sized bed and laid her on it. A faint pulse. A flutter of eyelids. He wished her good luck identifying a suspect, if she bothered to report at all.
Why had he wanted her so badly? He swept the hair off her neck. All of it came down to a cluster of moles. Three of them in a triangular shape.
Leaving her alone, John balanced on his haunches and sifted through her suitcase. A wad of cash had been tucked into a shoe. He counted a few twenties and left the rest. He stood up. A few windows faced the ocean, but all he saw was a reflection of the hotel room. No vampire.
A shadow... A shadow in crimson...
Shadows could wait. Shadows could creep. In amongst the darkness, they could even take on a life of their own and move, slither-like, across surfaces of any angle. This particular one swept in from its place of observation on the nearby wall, stretching and sliding, until reaching the victim's resting place. It went unseen, unnoticed, in the visible realm, at least.
But there was a presence. A feeling akin to the setting sun and an eclipsing of... Something. Warmth, perhaps. Of the emotional kind.
Over skin now, that same shadow traveled. Not caused by anything above or to the sides, but just... Drifting. An intelligent sort of focus behind the movements, as it sought to coalesce, shifting like some horridly morbid version of a Rorschach test, shifting over smoothness and pores, alike.
"Did she satisfy...?"
A strange sort of voice. Not even a voice, strictly speaking, at all. Half-speaking directly to one's mind, half-speaking into the air. Tantalisingly obscure, yet crystal clear in accent.
The shadow was not tangible, but it could be seen on the reflecting window pane, revealing itself as a shroud that slipped over the unconscious girl's body, the way clouds made darkened shapes on land and water... Places where little light could penetrate. John watched it, not turning around as he should have. At first, he thought he had taken too much blood and Sasha had died, that he was witnessing a sort of spiritual transition. He was not pious. Even in his living years, a London professor of literature, a Christian living a debauched life, he did not give faith his full conviction. He simply acquired it as a child, the way people inherited property from their parents.
But souls did not speak. At least his hadn't done so when it left him. He felt certain his maker would've mentioned it.
He cleared his throat. "If you're asking whether she was worth the air fare, I suppose." He turned around, his shoulderblades touching the glass. John was not the type to flee, but he had no problem putting himself as close to 'away' as comfortably possible. "I didn't check a bag, so that scraped a bit of money off the top." His diction was excellent, his accent a fading British after twenty years in America, but there was a laziness to his manner of speaking, as lazy as one of his eyelids.
"Hmm..."
The strangely animated absence of light was pooling together from its virtual cocoon around his unconscious prey. Little glimpses of white seen amongst the blackness; all of it gathering, shifting together like wet, ebony sand, until it gained mass. A shape. The slender figure of feminine waist starting to become visible, as it rose and took on the form of a more solidified shape. A zebra-like pattern of pale skin set against a canvas of black hair and dress. A weird sort of almost... Reverse magnetic flux, were one to venture too close.
An enigma, in every sense.
From the girl, she had moved without truly moving, at all. An oddity of movement, more suggestive of gas than a human body.
"Have you felt it, vampire..." A slow, even whispy tilt of head; the visitor registering something unheard, before correcting herself with a, "John... Upon your arrival? This place plays a new song for the dead now. And a choice few among the living, too..."
Watching the entity take shape into an elegant woman in a costume, he found himself grateful he put right his clothes. Had he remained without trousers, he would've been sorely underdressed for the occasion. "I haven't felt anything, other than Sasha," he said. The face that materialized before him was pristine, the white of marble with chips of onyx for eyes. Who she was, and why she had chosen this moment to approach him, mattered less than taking in the experience of her.
"Trust that if a song plays, I will hear it." Whether or not he would rise to the occasion depended upon many things, most of all his passion. Impulse guided his existence, not the careful planning of a strategist, not the dictates of a professed master or mistress. The girl on the bed forgotten, he gestured at the window, playing at casual. "Shall I stay then, for a while? Make myself at home? I confess it would require a great intrigue to tie me down."
"It may get louder, still," advised the lady in black, gliding in her calmly stepping approach, calm and collected. Smooth, like a lake of glass. That a compulsion for wickedness seemed to billow from her, went without saying. Visually, she held the pose of one untroubled by even life, itself. A figure more outside of this world and projecting herself within, than truly being a part of it.
"That could be provided," she assured, touching hand to his upper arm with a smile of devilish formality, now that she had approached sufficiently close by. Her voice now set to change, becoming wholly resident on what was now a shared plane of existence. Perhaps to mirror some sort of cordial greeting with vocal chords. Levelling with him, as it were. "But it'll be far from a chore... One believes you perhaps deserve a respite from city life, hm? A place where an admirable catch is landed for your kind, with great regularity: They're quite varied, those who come to see these sights."
John looked at the fingers around his bicep. He wasn't certain why, but he imagined the delicate digits turning into black snakes that hissed and squeezed. A scent accompanied her. It had taken a moment, but his nostrils were full of it now, like confections and rot at the same time, and though it should've been off-putting, it wasn't. Like sin, he thought, as sweet as candy with a hell of a bite. He had put himself in dangerous situations that warranted a fragrance just like that.
"More varied than New York? Ohhhh, I doubt that." Still, he smiled and played along. He found her enchanting. "But perhaps I've stayed there too long. What would you have me do here, for I've no doubt there's something you want." Otherwise, she wouldn't have materialized in the hotel room, which took power and intuition, because it was the girl's room and not his. The lady has eyes in other places. His eyes, hazel and hooded, roamed wherever they wanted to. It was crass not to look her in the eye, but a woman didn't wear such a dress only to have it ignored.
Would he do as she asked? Only if it was interesting, thought John. He had no knowledge of her place in the grand scheme. If he had, the vampire would've been taken aback by such celebrity. He had done nothing to warrant her attentions; the waves John made reverberated in small pools.
"My purpose is facilitation," she clarified, expression... Approachable? Not a smile, precisely, but a pleasant enough look. For now. "And our interests..." Eyes glanced down, then back up, again. The stranger locked in something of a momentarily inward contemplation. "Could be said to coincide."
While there was no hint of it, she was one being which had a particular fondness for vampires. For what they represented: Metaphysical perversions of the human condition, itself. Spiritual inversions of what once had been, residing in a shell preserved in its appearance at the time of death, as if existing almost purely for the sake of self-mockery.
Yes, she held quite the interest in corruption...
"So many pray for angelic intervention... Is it not fair that the damned have a little of their own?"
"I won't argue." A sill ran beneath the window panes and he sat on it, turning a bit to the side. His hands rested loosely on his leg. "I learned long ago not to bite a hand that feeds." John wondered when he had become immune to surprise. He couldn't recall the last nasty shock he had. If anything would knock him off kilter, he suspected a creature like this would do it, revealing herself in a private moment: The post-bite curiosity he showed towards a pursued victim before he took his leave.
He would like a surprise, he mused, a spike in the flatlining monotony of immortality. He cherished the people and things that piqued his interest. For a while in the nineties, he considered becoming one of those calculating villains who mapped out territory and won over legions of underlings. It was how some vampires coped with boredom, he thought, with the acquisition of neighborhoods. Unfortunately, fighting had never made John's heart go pitter-patter.
"What's your name?" He cocked his head, making a more intellectual study of her.
"Elfleda..."
She could have used a number of titles. Each seemed to have a specific purpose behind it and, quite often, were varied for reasons of obfuscation, allowing her to cover proverbial tracks and confuse those who might, for whatever reason, find themselves tempted to relate the tale of being visited by a mysterious woman in black. Here, although not her original name, Elfleda chose to give the one most closely associated with her in contemporary times.
There was no particular reason to remain exclusively in the shadows, if her suspicions proved correct. If he did happen to make sufficient enquiries to make certain others think she was in the area? Then that, too, might well have benefits.
A calculated decision.
The hand on his arm patted there a couple of times, then slid away. The entity coming close enough to the window to lay fingertips against the glass, as she looked outward. "And this place," she spoke, contemplating the evening's view of tropical environment, "shall soon find itself with an influx of those not unlike yourself." Head turned his way. "And much worthier challenges than a simple girl, with very much more to distinguish them."
John looked at Sasha. "It wasn't a challenge I was after." The girl slept on. A shallow pulse beat in her throat and her skin was an unhealthy color. A curl of bottle-burgundy hair rested on her eyelid. He got up and removed it. "That doesn't mean I wouldn't like one." He wasn't sure what sorts of challenges Elfleda had in mind, but if he set down roots, they might spring up along the path. Vampires had a habit of courting trouble, whether intentionally or not. For instance, his own arrival in Key West hadn't felt totally spurred by the girl he followed. It was as if something else nudged him in that direction. Perhaps it was Elfleda.
"What brought you to me?" he asked, "Or is it a simple matter of my arriving before the rest?"
"You possess a more... Distinguished personality than many of your kind," Elfleda replied, as if congratulating the vampire on nobility. "Its employment is something I have an interest in witnessing. And you've enough common sense to have remained a survivor. I do not believe you of ill judgement. You would rather study than squander, when it comes to certain matters."
Elfleda had to be aware of how unearthly her appearance seemed. It played its part in her dealings often enough to be valued. What sparked her curiosity, however, was not necessarily the same as that of people. She sought out potential and the situations and places best-placed to guide it towards. While this vampire's fixations might set him back, they also might provide him with instinctive assets.
And, if nothing else, an interesting choice of menu.
"Tell me, darling..." A more obvious smile than before now showed on those curved, black lips. One made out of formality's sake, perhaps, but there, all the same. "What do you want? Truly, what is it you desire?"
"My difficulty has always been not knowing what I wanted," John said, "Even when I lived." He looked at the skirt that rode up Sasha's thighs and pulled it down a notch; what might have been tantalizing earlier was now unseemly. "As soon as I have it, it seems I was wrong." Roving attentions were a frustrating thing, not only for those who would've kept John's affections, but for him, because it led to a persistent feeling of dissatisfaction. At times, he wanted nothing more than a bottle of scotch and a well-sharpened stake. If he missed, at least it would interupt the doldrums.
"Contentment." He straightened and rubbed his upper lip, then put his hands in his pockets. A sigh. "But I'd have as much luck chasing after pots of gold, even without the problem of sunburn. Why? Are you going to offer it to me?" Now he tilted his head, a smile of good humor coming along to wipe away all traces of dissatisfaction.
A moment was taken and she glanced down at his chest. No heart beat there, but matters of biology were not what her gaze was redirected to. Mouth parted, although no words came forth. She was contemplating something. "You need..." Then a pause. Hand opening to spread palm and place it upon where sternum would be found, just under the skin. That done, black eyes flickered back to meet his. "Realignment."
From that same touch of hand, a feeling of... Satisfaction radiated out. To one's unaccustomed gaze, it might seem a mystery. Internally, however, this sorceress of shadows was sifting around the vampire's aura and centres of energy. There was something about them which, either out of conditioned habit, circumstances or something else, gave them a feel of imbalance. Like a bed with rucked up sheets, which one could never quite get to settle smoothly. But she could... And while it would be only fleeting, if for no other reason than not wishing a proverbial customer to leave with no reason to return, it should at least afford him a measure of what was most craved.
Hand lifted and the dark lady's smile renewed. The precise moment when it came to an end.
"Was that good for you...?"
The touch and sensation lasted only seconds. At first, he wasn't certain what it was. Warmth. Calm that put him in mind of drifting off to anesthetized sleep. Like a headache that plagued a person for days, pinpointing the exact moment when it eased was difficult, but once he knew, John's eyes widened. He looked at her, a mixture of bewilderment and gratitude on his face. As soon as the feeling had washed through him, however, it was gone. The gnawing returned, worse because he'd been without it. He pressed a palm to his torso.
"You are a wicked thing, aren't you?" He breathed out harshly.
The girl on the bed mumbled in her sleep. She was a poor consolation, even before it began. Fit for someone other than him. John had no qualms with letting a person see his fascination, but after this newest retraction, he wanted to leave. He stepped around the black-lipped entity and moved for the door. He wanted to say that he'd have none of her. Unfortunately, the vampire had never been good at observing his limitations.
"Oh, without remorse," came a replying addition, bordering on the flirtatious. Mouth seeming to form the words like pronounced whispers, before blessing them with vocal life. "And quite relentless, should the mood strike me..."
The mysterious Elfleda seemed hazier now, somehow akin to trying to observe someone through a plume of heated air. Not so much disappearing into the darkness, as becoming at one with it. A walking enigma, somehow slippery and gaseous, yet able to impose her presence with as much conviction as a solid lump of ice.
Or shard.
"Walk in death, John Abbott... For thou art among its kin."
Thus speaking, her visible self finally merged into the same absence of light from whence it came. The first, no doubt, of many visits to come.