Michael (walkedmanypaths) wrote in worldsapart_ic, @ 2019-09-08 20:27:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | marie roque, michael crawford |
Who: Michael Crawford & Marie Roque
What: Marie takes Michael on a tour
When: After these
Where: Random places in LA
Rating: Low
Warnings: n/a
Unsure of what the dress code may or may not be in the establishments that Marie would be showing him around this evening Michael had opted for something that was part smart and part casual because it would work either way.
He’d swung by Boudin and took part in some idle chit chat as he waited for her to finish up and lock up before they departed. The first stop was right up Michael’s alley given that it served both wine and cigars on tap and admittedly he had something of a weakness for both those things.
“If I didn’t know any better,” he remarked as he stepped down the stairs which led into a rather large well furnished super plush room filled with a selection of leather couches as well as had a number of attractive men and women on hand to help tend to the customers, “I would think you a mind reader, Marie.”
He turned to watch the Succubus as she trailed down the stairs behind him and smiled. “I happen to have a weakness for wine and cigars.”
Their dark cocktail den of choice was très chic, a well-kept secret. But naturally Marie would share the secret with her new friend. Cocktails served tableside or in high-end crystalware, stogies paired with single-malt scotch - it all made for a bit of a man cave to be sure, but this succubus liked to indulge in the creamy headiness of a good cigar just as much as any testosterone-laden fellow.
“Maybe I’m just trying to get into your pants,” she winked, selecting one of the cushy couches with cushions that were sinking and deep, the decor mostly blood red, and elegant mirrored tables. Her dress that she’d changed into after getting flour and other food stains all over her Boudin work ensemble was going to be good for any establishment and the late-summer heat, with a black cami bodice (thin straps that barely held the thing up) and a delicate lace skirt portion.
Now, what to drink. First she started with the tall, cold glass of water one of the attendants dropped off - water for both - and studied the menu. “But actually, mon cher, you just give off a very wine and cigar vibe, I think. Besides, the next place I will take you to is....much different.”
Michael chuckled and smirked. “Maybe.” He trailed after Marie before he joined her on the couch she’d selected, reaching out to grab the menu to take a closer look.
“I look forward to it,” he assured her as he selected a french wine along with a Cuban cigar from the menu. Both of which were rich and flavourful, definitely not boring. He was definitely old enough to know his wine and cigars especially as they were in fact one of the few things he allowed himself to indulge in.
He slipped a hand down to the buttons holding his blazer closed and freed them, making himself more comfortable by leaning back into the couch with one arm extended across the top of it.
“I would ask but I think it’s more fun not knowing.”
“That’s the thrill of it, the surprise,” Marie agreed. For her, it was a cucumber martini - fresh and clean, distinctly lacking the taste of rubbing alcohol - and a Dominican stogie; this place was popular with the working crowd, those business folk who never seemed to take a break and even had their laptops down here with them, along with a cigar-in-paw to complete the look.
Well, she was done for the evening and work was the last thing on her mind. “Besides, I would not steer you wrong.”
Once she had her drink, and her cigar (and it was lit, and she could anticipate feeling a little delightfully light-headed the longer she kept it lit), she leaned back in her seat to enjoy the first puff. “How have you been, bébé?” she asked. “Not regretting your decision to move this way?”
Michael grinned over at Marie. “I couldn’t possibly see you disappointing anyone.” He thanked the waiter as he brought over drinks and cigars, tapered tips of long fingers slid it between those pearly whites of his before he leaned into the light and the flicker of the flame caught the blue of his eyes.
“Not regretting it in the slightest,” he assured her as he leaned back and took the first slow pull that was then accompanied by smoke rings. “I’ve even found a place to live which means no more relying on old friends and their kindness.” And things were definitely looking up with Billy which was honestly the only reason he’d come, only his Childe could get him to set foot and remain in Los Angeles.
“I’ve got a new agent so I should be back in the swing of writing soon.”
He tipped his head. “And you, Marie?”
Marie too had a smoke trick up her sleeve - she exhaled, pushing out a ring with a click of her tongue, and then snapped her fingers over the haze. The shockwave from it bent it in the middle, making a heart shape. Oooh la la.
“A place to live is important,” she agreed, with a wry little grin. “The real estate in this city can be frustrating but I’m glad you found something, cher. What sort of books do you write? I must find something new to read.” Surely they’d be titillating stories, better than the latest Stephen King disappointments or whatever. She was always in the market for something new to feast her eyes upon anyway.
She sipped her drink, as smoke curled into the air, gentle grey tendrils unfurling. “I work too much, but what else is new,” she laughed lightly. “I have a seafood festival to prepare for.” And it would be a grand event, as all Nawlins festivals had a reputation to be.
“Mmm,” Michael hummed softly as he admired the smoke trick, even going so far as to lean across a drop a kiss on her knuckles. “Very nice, Marie.”
He sat back and sipped at his wine, wondering how best to explain what he wrote as he did a lot of different things. There were the books he wrote that he was proud of and then there were other books that were for a pay cheque or because he had a desire to put thoughts in his head to paper.
“I write a variety of things,” He brushed off a stray piece of lint off the top of his knee. “Mainly I specialise in horror, fantasy and on occasion the more salacious of content.” He grinned a second later and one eyebrow twitched. “Those help pay the bills.”
Not that he really needed to worry, but still.
The more salacious of content! How lovely! Marie grinned widely, a happy flash of teeth. “I enjoy all of the above,” she shared. “Horror, fantasy, and....everything else. Well, now I must get into your works. It’s a good time of year for a juicy horror story.”
Since it was almost Halloween and all - it was her favorite time of year, really, even if she was more into Day of the Dead celebrations than the trick-or-treating nonsense. New Orleans was a gumbo pot in and of itself - you had the more ‘traditional’ ways to celebrate Halloween, but then you also had more Voodoo-oriented things, leaving offerings to Gede (he was most fond of rum infused with peppers).
“Which one do you recommend for a new fan?” she asked, leaning forward a bit.
“You’ll need to look out for the horror,” Michael affirmed with a nod of his head. “I think those are my best work but admittedly it is a lot of fun writing the salacious ones.” He finished up his wine and leaned forward to rest the now empty glass on the table in front of them before he took another drag from his cigar.
He exhaled smoke. “I actually have some books at my place so if you wanted to swing by you can have those, no need for you to go out of your way then.”
“That would be wonderful. Merci,” Marie thanked him, since it was quite nice of Michael to offer some readings from his personal stash at home. “I imagine the dirty ones are fun,” her eyes twinkled at that, gleaming gold. “I have always thought about writing something like that. As a succubus, it seems....really perfect.”
Sex demons knew a thing or two about a thing or two, when it came to bedroom antics. At least this way, she could actually pen something that was correct - honestly, some of the sex written in dime store novellas were ridiculous and practically impossible. No doubt she’d produce something gripping and page-turning, yet realistic. Realism when writing filth was important, after all.
“Oh, agreed,” Michael said with an enthusiastic nod of his head. “I mean, there would be nobody better placed than yourself to outline the pleasures of the flesh on printed page.”
Age, experience, and a multitude of other things certainly helped but were no comparison to an Incubus or Succubus.
“And you are right, the dirty ones are fun.”
Well, yes. Marie preened a bit, long lashes fluttering at the praise. Fingers combed through the expanse of pink hair, and she was obviously pleased. Sometimes she had trouble with what she was - it felt like she was cursed in terms of relationships, like it was written in the stars, etched in her bones, a component of her blood and there was no getting around it. Could she defy her very nature and be with someone in the long-term? Sometimes, she really wanted to try.
Then there was also the point that no one wanted a succubus for more than a night of pleasure. Maybe two nights. This sort of thing, she tried not to let it disappoint her however her feelings, she couldn’t control them.
But indeed, she knew her sex stuff. Clearly.
“You are very sweet,” she grinned cheekily. “And if you are ready for the next stop on our tour, I will take you, mon cher?”
“Ready as I will ever be.” Michael smiled over at Marie as he paid for their drinks and cigars with a generous amount of cash because he figured if she was being kind enough to give him a tour then he was more than happy to foot the bill. Seemed only fair.
Now on his feet he extended his hand to her and tipped his head.
“Shall we?”
“Yes, we shall,” Marie smiled and took his hand, heading on out - and onto the next. She was quite excited to show Michael this place; it was relatively new, and with a name like Tramp Stamp Granny’s how could you go wrong?
Inside, you drank in an art decor design, harkening back to the 1920s - it was bright, and colorful, and the cocktails were amazing but the best part was the piano player who tickled the 88 keys. Tunes from Sinatra to more modern Mary J. Blige - he encouraged the crowd to sing along with him, always.
As soon as she was at the bar, Marie ordered a Manhattan, which came with both a brandy-soaked cherry and a neon red maraschino. “There is a small area for dancing, you see,” she pointed it out. “Once your limbs are loose I will drag you there, cher.”
“I’ll share a secret with you,” Michael said as he leaned over to whisper in Marie’s ear. “I don’t actually need alcohol to get me to dance.” He smiled as he leaned back and ordered himself a Whiskey Sour. “Or singing for that matter.” Michael was far from shy, he was definitely a confident individual who cared very little for what people thought of him which might explain why he danced and sung like nobody was watching.
He smiled at the barmaid as she placed their drinks down and handed over the cash.
“Talented piano player.”
And that was a good secret to know. Marie laughed, it sounded sweet somehow - a silver bell atop a wedding cake, and she picked up her newly-delivered drink to take a sip. “Isn’t he?” she agreed about the maestro and his music-making. “We could have seen if there was a seat right at the piano but it’s a little more private at the bar and I like having you all to myself.”
She couldn’t help it, she twisted one of the cherry stems in her mouth, forming a little love-knot with that talented tongue of hers. Imagine what it could do elsewhere. “It is also crowded on the dance floor. I hope you do not mind close proximity.”
That was fine, wasn’t it? Her scent - what was it, exactly? Perhaps....whatever appealed to him most, her body chemistry adding and subtracting whatever it needed to, a subtle flex of succubus skill.
Michael lifted a considering eyebrow as Marie showed off her talents. Not that he was surprised. She was a Succubus after all. Counterproductive if she wasn’t skilled in ways that others were not.
“Never had a problem with it in the past.”
Given Michael’s age there were a number of things that appealed to him. He also didn’t limit his options. An immortal life would be boring if you thought in black and white. So as she naturally adjusted her scent he was met with a number of things ranging from vanilla, sandalwood, ocean breeze, peaches, apples and things of that nature that he’d been drawn to in the past and the not so distant present.
He did regard her over the rim of his glass as his lips tugged into a knowing smile. “You smell like a festival of flavour right now.”
“I apologize,” Marie smiled sheepishly, setting her glass down. The second cherry was plucked by her teeth from where she held the alcohol-soaked fruit between her fingers. “I can’t always....control it. It just happens naturally.” Indeed, her instincts - perhaps what we might call a predatory drive of her own, something unique to sex demons who required a unique kind of food to live - were just that. Instincts.
Still, she hoped it was not an unpleasant smell, that mix. But given the nature of what she was meant to do, how she was meant to appeal to someone, she doubted it was.
“But a festival of flavor does sound delicious to you, I’m sure.” Maybe her blood tasted like a whole array of treats.
“It makes sense,” Michael remarked with a nod of his head. “It is all part and parcel of what you are after all. I think vampires might be nigh impossible to stop if we could appeal to people the same way that Incubi and Succubi do.” He sipped at his drink then offered her a slow smile. “Of course, it does help that your species is always phenomenally good looking.”
And she was not wrong, a festival of flavour was appealing, very appealing.
He’d be dusted before he denied such a thing.
“How sweet,” Marie winked, taking her drink to finish it off. The very last drop of Manhattan, that crimson liquid, was finished off and she was feeling delightful, especially after the first stop of the night.
She slid off her stool and held out her hand for Michael to take. “We are phenomenally good-looking and phenomenally good at dancing, so let’s go. I am eager to hit the floor with you, cher.”
And then she’d see where they’d head next - she had a few ideas in mind, but it depended on mood. Either way, she’d show him a good time and that was an iron-clad promise.