Verna Gardner
It's strange, what dying has done to her. There's not only the physical oddities of super-nature (which would be enough, surely) but also the social changes. She used to enjoy trips out of the house to somewhere nice, somewhere cultured and classy. They were presents to herself for hard work or a good job. Now, she has no work. Now, she goes to events like this gallery opening (this Camarilla-patrolled gallery opening) every night, and can't actually absorb the entertainment.
It's still early in the night, so Verna is still wallflowering, still hanging back and trying to drum up the courage to actually do what needs doing. The hunger is a real kick in the teeth, it forces her hand, makes her break out of her shell and do the pursuing of strangers, but it's still difficult. It still feels far scarier than yelling at people twice her size and more than willing to kill her. Strange how that works.
She's got a glass of white wine in her hands, and isn't drinking it (of course). She's seated on the low black rectangle of a modern-style leather and steel bench, taking in no paintings, but watching the people milling about. Her outfit tonight is a nice, new green blouse with a black skirt that looks crisply off the rack, or at least the dry cleaners. Her makeup is a perfection of eyeliner and lipliner and carefully blended blush to drive away the appearance of being 'sick'. In fact, the only thing not quite right about her appearance is her mood, which seems to radiate despondency into the world.
It's the long, dark 'Why me?' of the soul. And it's just beginning for poor Verna Gardner.
Moriarty
What does Alan do at these sorts of things? Why, he flirts of course. He might not be eating whatever is on the menu but he had always been the sort to grow attached to sheep and chickens. Some soft hearted thug at first that grew old and then took some morbid delight in eating Betsy or Bessie or whatever livestock he'd been so attached to at one point.
Alan Moriarty would literally kill for a steak some days.
But there he was in a nice suit with the top button undone and he had been chatting with someone but for now someone caught his attention. Someone who had a particularly dour look on her recently dead face.
"I believe we've met before," he said, bridges the gap.
Verna Gardner
There might yet be a time tonight when Verna gets up the nerve to flirt, but that wouldn't be before a careful study of the crowd and each individual's weaknesses and social ties. The trick, she figures, is to find the loners -- the ones easily plucked from the crowd. She looks for low-hanging fruit to bite. She doesn't just do that sort of thing for fun. It would be crude.
She looks up at the approach of Alan, at first a little tense and hopeful about the prospect of food coming to her for a change, and then realizes that she's seen him around before, somewhere. Somewhere like this. Oh, Hell.
"I, uh... Yes," she says, puts a smile on for the newcomer. "I remember. You were the one who liked the Kinkade paintings?"
Yes, Alan. Now that that cat's out of the bag, it's what you'll be known for. Congratulations.
Now, there comes the rummaging around in Verna's living memories for that night. Candy paintings. Cipriano was there. Alan seemed to know him. Whatever the case, she can't bite him. He might be a friend of Cipriano's, and he gets... upset when his friends are hurt. Oh why won't the food ever come to her?
Moriarty
"That's me," he smiles, a little tight at the edges because on top of being clanless he was also forever going to be known as the person with a taste for pastoral light portraits. The roses mourn in some far reaching corner, their breath perpetually free from their lungs but had they need it would have been stolen from them in a gasp because who could possibly like Kinkade in a fashion that wasn't ironic?
"Candy paintings from actual candy ever come into fruition?" he smiles and it's genuine. Teeth nice and straight and bright. Not at all the kind of sharp that one would expect from a predator. No, not at all. When one looks at Alan, one does not see a predator. One sees something at the edges, perhaps the sort of pallor that came from not being terribly well.
But no, not the big bad wolf here.
"Afraid that neither of us are getting our fill of artwork in that case. It's all oil paintings and acrylics... there's a landscape in pomegranate, though."
Verna Gardner
He asks if the candy paintings ever happened, and the smile falters. "No. I have been... unexpectedly busy. It was such a disappointment to Cipriano though," she says, and that's understating things quite a bit. Thing is, she can't be certain how much to tell this man.
Unexpectedly busy getting killed. Cipriano was so disappointed he wanted to (at the very least) deliver a beating to the one who did it. Yes, let's not go there...
"Pomegranate? Real pomegranate juice? Interesting. I haven't seen it."
Moriarty
"Yeah," he said, as if he was thoroughly impressed by the concept, "it's all Greek and I thought it was nice."
A second passed, and he catches that falter of the smile, and he gives her a reassuring smile. Bridges the gap and drops his voice ever so slightly, "dear lady, you look absolutely famished, and miserable. It's very nineties."
Verna Gardner
She stands, takes her still-full wine glass with her, because that sounds like an invitation to go see the pomegranate painting, but then he follows it up with a comment on her appearance, and her eyes widen a touch.
Really? Does she honestly look that terrible? There's a moment of self-consciousness there. She's never really thought of herself as too thin. Okay, maybe in the chest...
"Do I? I'm not really miserable," she says, covering up the obvious lie with a titter of a laugh. It's one of those polite social lies. How are you doing? Fine, thank you. Nobody's ever just fine, are they?
Moriarty
"I suppose miserable isn't quite the right word... Maybe-" he does laugh at that, " Lovely, yes. Classic, certainly. But if we are going to go for the word miserable I would say that the source of your woe comes from being in a room full of people and there isn't a one of them worthy of your presence."
A smile, a grin, at the corners of his lips and the light in his eyes, "it's the bane of people who are remarkable who realize perhaps how unremarkable the world can be. Whatever the case, I'm just glad you're humoring me, because I am being an ass."
"Painting?"
Verna Gardner
A smile creeps its way onto her face by the time he's finished, a half-quirked thing, but it's real. And that's rare enough these days. No, nights. Never any days anymore. She hasn't gotten around to mourning that yet, but give her time. There's only so much that can fit on her plate of utter despair.
"Well, you're a charming man, Alan? Alex? I'm embarrassed to say I forgot," she says, and rubs at her hand as if to scratch an itch. Such a human gesture... But then, she was human so recently.
"Mm, yes. Painting," she says, and waits for his lead.
"The world... the world isn't unremarkable. It's terribly beautiful, I think. Just under the surface, there's all of these little processes going on, just so you can experience the most dull things," she says as they leave. "But it's those processes, those bits and pieces of the world that I find the most interesting."
Moriarty
"Alan," he tells her, "and you're... Verna, yes?" he does not wait for confirmation, not too long because he knows he's correct. There's a sort of cockiness in that, in knowing that he is ever-so-occasionally good with names. He hunted like a Mary Kay lady, heard rumors and knew which clients he could cross off his list. When one has less than ideal capacities, one has to play games long term.
He continues on, walks slow and purposeful but knows precisely where he's headed and makes the lazy way of getting to the painting he actually wanted to look at. Can't be too eager, or else people notice. Circle slow, circle slow.
"So it's like peeling back the shell to see the heart of the machine?"
Verna Gardner
She shouldn't be doing this -- shouldn't be going off and chatting with a guy she doesn't intend on biting. It's using up precious time that could be spent sitting there looking morose and peoplewatching. Okay, so maybe she's got some issues with time management lately...
But he's nice. He threatens to have an actual conversation with her. And he means to get her to actually enjoy a painting. That's heavily tempting to the girl who hasn't had much of those things lately.
He calls her by her name, a name she really shouldn't be using anymore. "Rachael, actually. It's Rachael. Middle name," she tries to explain, and doesn't get around to saying which one's the middle.
"And yes, yes it's very much like that," she says, but there -- she's so sad in that sentence. She misses it more than sunshine.
Moriarty
"Rachael," he repeats, he remembers. He Thinks to himself but doesn't judge because no one calls him Joseph anymore but his sister in quiet moments where her ire has raised and she wants him to see reason and she wants to have more pull than status dictates and it works. Joseph Berryman was murdered, you see. Joseph Berryman could have sympathy for those who had lost... Alan wasn't Joseph often, but it was clear that perhaps the man wasn't entirely dead.
(No, no he was. Courts said so, he'd come and met some woman when he came back, aging and dark and married twice over and she'd smiled at him. Told him their picture was in some gallery in New York when some pretty woman with bright eyes- later, he'd found out, that woman had become a Toreador- took his picture dancing. Shadows of segregation. Perhaps he had felt a little more than just a desire there... but his heart didn't beat and such frailties were lost on those who could live forever... if living was a word for it.)
He drops his voice, and perhaps there's sympathy there. Perhaps it's even real, "how long have you been in mourning, dearest?"
Verna Gardner
Mourning? She gives him a look that's sans-smile, but it's a momentary glance. Then, she looks to his hands, at the quick of his fingernails. Pink? Or... Pale.
That's still not a guarantee, is it?
"Mourning? Who would I be mourning for?"
And if he responds appropriately, certain suspicions will be landed in more of a definite category. Don't be too upset, Alan. She did the same thing with Cipriano, guessing and playing games with words that could mean so many different things under a different context.
Moriarty
Just... pale. Not pink, not bright and vital because, tonight, he has no desire to expend the energy to get to a blushing vital state. He could will his heart to beat if he put enough blood behind it, but it was a waste and food was scarce at these sorts of things. The laws of the hunt applied differently to him.
"One doesn't always mourn a who, sometimes the what is more important... you gave up your passion, it sounds like, for the little moving parts under the hood of creation. It just seemed sad to me." he then continued, "so how long have you been mourning your potential?"
Verna Gardner
"I didn't give it up," she says, terse. "I don't know where you got that idea. I have a great deal of potential."
There's reason behind that sudden chilliness that has nothing to do with any rudeness on Alan's part. Truth is, she doesn't even know her own cover story. Whatever her former acquaintances are supposed to know about her, she doesn't know. She was simply never supposed to talk to any of them again.
And that wasn't the right response to the game of 'are you... dead?' She can't be sure of him. Best to be rid of him.
"Listen. I should just..." flee in mortal terror of not knowing what the Hell to do lest she break the Masquerade and die? "I've no reason to be wandering around here moping. Really."
And now, look for a way out? Or drastically change the subject?
"I'm terribly sorry," she says, and there's a bit of truth there, though everything else she says is fake as gold paint. It seemed like an actual friendly exchange was just starting, and it's looking like she just can't have that anymore. "Maybe it would be best if we just not go there." Flounder much? Maybe.
"So, tell me, how do you know Cipriano?" More direct, that. And there's a pointed look to go with it. "You seemed almost to be, ah... Kindred spirits?"
Okay, now she's just going to start waving the sign in front of his face, it seems. And if he ignores it still? Kine, has to be. Right?
Moriarty
"Don't apologize unless you've done something wrong, if you're in a position where you don't have to scrape, don't bow unless forced," he tells her. Perhaps a little bit of kindred society there, perhaps a little bit of survival skills, perhaps imparting something of a luxury that he doesn't have, "I assure you that we? Are on even ground."
There is a subject change, and one that he can get behind. Give her some context, maybe be helpful. Maybe. One can't always tell if Alan wants to be helpful or not
"Cipriano and I happen to operate within the same social club. Movers, shakers, the absurdly gorgeous and the notoriously ugly- varied group of great and glorious pretenders that hold my still and cold heart," he says, tones quiet but conversational. Someone would have to invade their space to get to where they needed to be, "sort of a dead poets society but with less poetry and more dead."
Verna Gardner
"I suspected that might be the case," Verna says, and though the tenseness to her shoulders doesn't exactly leave, there is at least a firmer foundation here. They both know a little better where they stand now, don't they?
"To your earlier question, it was April."
She'd say she's joined the club too, except that's not entirely accurate. She's not acknowledged by the Camarilla yet, because they haven't decided what they're going to do with her. 'Nonentity' is a description of the status of Verna Gardner.
So perhaps 'even ground' isn't entirely accurate.
But still, she is Ventrue. She is assured that that is important. She is assured (admittedly by her Ventrue sire) that theirs is the best, most powerful, exclusive clan of kings. And Alan is right, that if she isn't in a position where she has to, she shouldn't bow and scrape. Just, it's difficult to tell when nowadays. For all she knows, Alan might be another powerful arbiter of her fate. Or David's.
Moriarty
To answer your earlier question, it was April.
"The first few months are the hardest. You're redefining who you are... once you have some strings to pull, you could literally be anyone you wanted, no need to forego passion just... change how you express it. You've an eternity to perfect your crafts, and years to see your work actually come to fruition. It's satisfying, but it is an entire paradigm shift... I'm still getting used to it, it's all a fine line of realizing you can live forever and then realizing that just because you can doesn't mean you will," he said.
he'd mused over it before, that such eternal creatures were ultimately cowards, afraid of their own demise because they see their eternity as so important. After a point, you age to being alien, you can no longer live in the world you were once a vital part of. No, he would like to live long enough. A thousand years may do, but he had no desire to spend centuries scraping.
"It doesn't matter how it happens, it always feels like something is stolen, even if you're expecting it."
Verna Gardner
Alan and Cipriano both made the same mistake. They assume she can imagine where she's going to be in five years (or fifty) when practically the only thing she can deal with at the moment is making it through her and her sire's... what? Trial? One night at a time she forces herself to keep on going, because each night could be the one where nameless people drag her off.
"I've already realized that it's highly unlikely I'm going to live forever. No problems there," she says, in a bit of gallows humor.
"I can't finish my degree. I'll never have that doctorate. Not legitimately, you know," she says, and shrugs. "It's a silly thing to be concerned about, I know."
She doesn't want to talk about the other things that have been stolen, like all of her property, and potentially her very immortal life. It's easier this way. Let everyone see the tip of the iceberg, because that part's obvious, right? Of course everything in her life is changed. Of course she mourns. But let's shove the embarrassing bits underneath, nobody needs to know about them.
They round a corner, and there is a new wall of paintings to discover. And one of them is a watercolor Greek landscape in varying shades of blue, purple, and green. The pomegranate painting. The artist must have used the pomegranates at different levels of ripeness or different acidities to get such control over the color, and it is an intriguing work. There is a blue-green sky. It dawns on her that the last time she was at a gallery opening, she talked with Cipriano over a painting with intense blues. Now she knows why that sky color was so important to him.
"It's pretty," she says, after a bit of thought. "I don't imagine it will last, though. The acids in the juice will likely eat the paper away. A pity."
Moriarty
"It's not silly, very rarely do others consider the impact of their actions on others. Perpetual twenty somethings with phenomenal power. I want this, so why can't I have it right now? Nevermind that you're sentient. Nevermind that you may not want this... it's cruel, and everyone seems to think it's a gift," he confides.
He doesn't go on, doesn't insist that living forever or dining on mortals or being anything other than a cursed monster is just that- being a cursed monster. People may say they have power and wealth but they forget, they do not think- this came of a curse. Caine was not given his condition because he was virtuous. But Alan knew he was no innocent Abel, did not get to presume to understand the father of all that they were.
"Things are different now."
And his eyes go to the painting, and he does smile, "no... no it won't, the most beautiful things rarely do last, and if they did not fade and disappear we would fixate long enough that they would cease to be beautiful."
Verna Gardner
Alan goes on about their curse, about how her sire didn't take her desires into account when he Embraced her, not caring that she was her own person with her own wants. That's not what happened to her. She was never wanted by David. He didn't take her desires into account when he did it, because she was already dead. He didn't know her, and it was the last thing either of them expected would happen that night. But it happened.
Perhaps Alan thinks she is Cipriano's childe, and that would make some sense considering their closeness. If she had been his, the event might very well have been something planned or expected. But no. He makes the argument that beauty is fleeting, that a thing is most beautiful if it might be destroyed. People never really bother to examine things from the sand mandala's point of view, though, when it is faced with a lunatic box fan.
"I wonder how the painting would feel about being made of such fragile stuff, if it could feel."
Moriarty
"If it thought far enough to realize it was fragile, and that its existence is fleeting... I think it would feel sad. All fleeting things do, they see the inevitable end and it ruins, sometimes, a completely beautiful present."
He looked sideward at her, voice dropped again and his tone soft, "I'm not going to ask you to smile, it's patronizing. If you push yourself you can feign the frailties of being alive, you know. If you wanted, we could both do it, pretend we're both living, breathing strangers."
Perhaps there is sadness in that, his smile stays though, tinged quiet with sorrow but the smallest bit of happiness, "we lie so readily... sometimes, it's nice to pretend, though."
Verna Gardner
"It's a waste that I can't really afford," she says, not turning away from the painting. "I'm still... learning. You know. To hunt?"
And all of this is getting in the way of that, not that she particularly wants to be hunting. The blood, yes. That, she wants. Everything else that leads up to it, not so much. But see, Alan, the woman is just as famished as you said. She's a not-so-beautiful thing with a great need for propriety. She wasn't flirting or even mingling with anyone she might have fed on when you approached. It doesn't take a lot of doing to figure out that she might be pretty terrible at this.
Moriarty
"Well," he starts in a patient voice. In a voice that has done this before, in a voice that was a little invested in the topic. he turned to look at the people gathered
"Who is your type? I'm sure we could work something out here."
Verna Gardner
"What do you mean, work something out?" Verna asks, a little suspicious. It sounds like he's suggesting that he help her hunt in exchange for something. But what something?
Her eyebrows raise, and there's a squint to her eye. But then, she does look around at the people. It's strange, regarding them as food. Strange and enticing. She can just imagine herself sinking her fangs into this one or that one...
Moriarty
"Your prey isn't stupid, and it is easier to hunt in a pack," he tells her, he's comfortable, he's assured. He's looking into the fray, not looking for the sickly stragglers but the prized meats. The good cuts of things because he couldn't ignore the idea that this? Could be fun, "you take what you want, I skim a little off the back end. I'm... very likable when I need to be."
He looks back at her for a moment, "it gets easier when you learn certain skills, but I don't mind using what I have to ends that are mutually beneficial."
Verna Gardner
That little squint to her eye doesn't go away as she looks over to him. "Why is that mutually beneficial to you? I'm not saying no. Just... You barely know me. What's in it for you?"
Then, it's back to perusing the crowd. There's a nice-looking old man, but she crosses him off the list because hey -- he's old enough for the experience to give him a heart attack. There's a revolting woman who is probably a prostitute out with her john -- they get crossed off the list too, because Verna doesn't want to vomit. Among the loners in the room, a young Asian woman leans up against the wall in an expensive outfit -- she looks good. A man with black hair and a black suit with green tie -- nice as well. He's by a window, but peering at a painting on the wall like it holds the meaning of life within.
There are options. And there are castoffs.
Moriarty
"I don't have to leave obvious bitemarks if you're the one doing the initial push. Some of us are more readily capable of passing as human and, in that regard, I am very... very lucky. Having blunt fangs isn't necessarily pleasant, though."
He casts his attention to the man in the green eye. His brows raise for a second, his mouth upturned slightly. That one, yes, that one seemed fine. He also looks for couples, for people who look bored with their current guests. People he could meet with later. Seeds to plant and tend.
Verna Gardner
"... Blunt?" Verna says, and oh... now she looks a bit concerned. Well, concerned for poor Alan, because that sounds absolutely terrible. It's bad enough as it is with sharp ones. "I see. That must be awful."
She runs the scenario over in her mind, how it's going to work. The two of them feeding from the same vessel. If she could still blush, she would be. It's a reminder of the first time she... ate in the presence of another. She's thinking about it, Alan, and as she does her face goes through the motions of thought. Caution and wanting flicker in her eyes.
She nods once, her mouth a straight line. "Okay."
With a glance at the man in the suit, she says: "That one looks nice."
Another glance, this time at the woman leaning against the wall "And her."
Moriarty
He waves a dismissive hand, "more of an inconvenience than a hinderance. You just have to bite harder, or use alternate means to make your entrance. It attracts interesting people." Interesting. yes. Interesting like thrill seekers. Interesting like people who were... Well, now, Alan didn't talk about his sources too readily.
"Sometimes, an additional complication can be fun. You take your entertainment where you can."
He grinned, looked out and takes in the man with the suit, the woman at the wall, "who do you want to talk to first? Want me to take the lead?"
Verna Gardner
Eww. Attracts interesting people? Eww. Verna smiles though, because it's the polite thing to do, and because he really is doing her a favor, if he's being truthful about things. Still, she's deeply uncomfortable, and it shows through her smile.
"Yes, I don't do well with... strangers. Mmm... The guy first? I don't really... I mean, it's not important."
Moriarty
"Rachael is actually pretty fantastic with strangers," he tells her, turns towards the man and offers Verna an arm. A smile, something conversational and gentlemanly because oh heavens he knew how to present himself. Knew how to behave because you had to know what rules you were bucking when you decided to buck them, "where precisely has he been lingering? Let's watch for a moment and pick up a path."
Verna Gardner
"He's actually going from painting to painting, really interested. And alone. It's why I picked him," she says, low voiced. She takes his arm because she too knows how to behave, and hey -- she's following his lead here. He's the one with the experience.
She looks down the hall at her target and victim, and sure enough he makes a little 'hmm' noise and shuffles down to the next piece of art on offer.
"Rachael has to learn to be pretty fantastic with strangers, I guess."
Moriarty
"That's promising," he muses, listens to why she picked the way she did. They know ow to behave and he starts on with the slow approach. A circuit at paintings that he could trace the arc of, trace the progression until they- lazy and purposeful- would end up at the same place as their projected prey.
"There's ways you can mask your discomfort as something like strength. This gets easier, build close enough relationships and you don't have to be fantastic with strangers."
Verna Gardner
She walks with him, matching his slow speed. It's a kind of crawling stalk they're up to, she thinks. Make it look like an accident.
"I have some phone numbers. I don't want them to put anything together though. I'm afraid they might. And then what?"
And then, she'd have to take care of it, somehow. It wouldn't be just her head on the block for a breach of the Masquerade, it would be David's too.
"I'm sure it'll get easier. With time," she says, voice tinged with sadness, because she has to fight to believe that time is a thing she will have.
Moriarty
"It's a matter of making new acquaintances... you might need to leave Denver for a couple decades and then come back. I used to be from here," he told her, conversational. He takes a second, just a second, exhales slow because he likes the motion. Because sometimes you need to fake the little things that keep you cool. "Everyone I knew is either dead, gone, or senile."
My, he doesn't sound sad at all, does he? (At the corners, maybe, just the barest hints below the pallid surface.)
Verna Gardner
They are approaching the prey, and thus Verna declines to explain why she has to stay. Maybe eventually she and David will leave (or flee) but right now it would look... bad. They'd be trying to escape justice. And thus...
Alan says that everyone he knows is dead, gone or senile, and it gives her a hint as to how long he's been... like this. He would otherwise be an old man, and she tries to imagine that. She's walking next to somebody who could be her grandfather. Great-grandfather, maybe? And she's about to share a 'meal' with him. What are you doing, Verna? This is craziness...
She keeps going though. Despite warnings children get about strangers with candy, Verna doesn't suspect Alan of a thing.
"I've been lucky. The only acquaintances I've run into lately have been... already in the know."
Moriarty
"You know, you do have the awkward and relatively unkind option of, when the time is appropriate, taking the people who matter most along with you. Share eternity with your friends like it's a king sized Kit Kat."
Verna Gardner
Verna just gives him a glance and says: "No. Maybe to an enemy..."
She's been through a lot lately. No part of this 'eternity' seems like a tasty thing to share with others. She wouldn't have wished what happened to her on anyone but Jon Marc.
There's a breath she takes in, without needing to. It feels good to stretch the ribs. It feels like a human thing to do, and she is as yet so close to being human.
Moriarty
[Awe: Charisma 3+Performance0 = 3 dice. Look, being a performer is hard, okay!]
Dice: 3 d10 TN7 (8, 9, 10) ( success x 4 ) [WP]
Moriarty
And, perhaps, he felt the way Verna did. And, perhaps, he took a moment to center himself and straighten his spine. There was a second that the pale man, with his dark hair and his crystalline blue eyes- he could have been considered a right and acceptable figure. He might not have been the most confident of figures, but at that moment Alan Moriarty could have faked his way into anything. His lips upturn, and that curse of theirs rears its head and masquerades as a blessing.
He smiles, and it seems genuine. Eyes alight, heart still dead within his chest but this is the look of passion, the gleam in the back of his gaze that had that predatory aire. He knew what he was doing, and like stupid gazelles grazing people look at them, some subtle, some not so subtle, and it's all a quiet affair. It's all a subtle shift that these people in the room were interesting. And suddenly patterns were changing, things had rearranged, people around them were literally walking towards the hungry lion.
Joseph took it as an opportunity to lead Verna over to their mark, to stand beside him for the briefest of moments. Now or never.
"Excuse me," Alan says, charming smile, dangerous manner. Their mark turns, smiles back.
Fish in a fucking barrel, darling.
Verna Gardner
She walks with him, and she notices his Discipline's effect on other people first. The shift in attention, the gazes, the interest. He's powerful, Alan is. She turns to look at him, to admire that.
He never told her that she would be affected too.
Likeable, hmm? Yes. He is that. Look at how the man smiles at him. Her own mouth curls up on its own accord, glancing at their intended snack and leaning into Alan's arm. Yeah, she's here with the most interesting man in the room. Take that, everybody else. Whatever misgivings she might have had about his relative age seem to be gone.
Moriarty
This is about hunting. And… you know… maybe a little about ego-stroking. Because even if he wasn't anyone in vampiric society, Alan Moriarty could walk into a room full of kine and be their king; he was better than food, and there was something to be said about that. Something that he could enjoy ever-so-briefly without the bitterness of station taking away the joy of knowing. Let children have their fun, dearest.
Verna curls up against his arm and it sells it. He didn't tell her how many people would be impacted, didn't tell her that people who were no longer just people felt the impact as well. He just… went with it. The man in the nice the turned to look at them, eyes going to Alan before flicking over to Verna and his lips upturn with a pleased smile.
"Yes?" the man responds. He's a bass, it rumbles for a moment before settling in to something smooth like the strings on a fine instrument.
"Oh damn," he said with a laugh, "I'd worked up all my witty things to say before coming over here and now they all sound like cheesy pick up lines."
The man laughed, "I could stand to hear a cheesy pick up line every now and again. I'm overdue."
"Would you settle for an introduction?" Alan asked.
"Evan," the man said as he offered his hand to Alan. Then, to Verna.
"I'm Alan, and this is my friend Rachael."
Verna Gardner
Alan is good at this. Good in ways Verna has yet to force herself to be. She lets him do the work while hanging at his side like the third wheel he isn't going to let her be.
It's obvious which of the two is more outgoing. Verna just gives the man a quick handshake, not lingering long enough to let the cold of her flesh sink into his bones.
"Hi," she says, shy and demure. And yet -- hungry.
Moriarty
"So, Alan and Rachael, are you from Denver?" Evan asks, "I haven't seen you around these kinds of events before."
"Rachael's a workaholic, and I have notoriously bad taste. She was pretty insistent that I come out and take in the culture of the city," Alan could make self-effacing jokes, was just charming enough and just appealing enough and just tuned in enough to make them into non-answers for when it came to why people hadn't seen him around before.
"Oh?" Evan's eyebrows perked up, the smile on his face turning to the shy and demure creature on the other man's arm, "what is it that you do?"
Verna Gardner
A twitch of surprise that she'll have to speak. What was the last thing she told somebody? Some lie?
"Oh, it's just a job. I'm a manager at GDH Consulting? Honestly, I like to do things like this to get away from work," she says, trying to draw the conversation away from what she does. It's something suitably boring. GDH Consulting doesn't even exist.
Vampires lie. It's a necessity. He's probably think her insane if she told him the truth.
"What is it that you do?"
[Manip + Subt because that was a total lie. +2 diff because shy. Spending WP]
Dice: 5 d10 TN8 (2, 2, 6, 8, 9) ( success x 3 ) [WP]
Moriarty
"I feel your pain," he said with a laugh, "I'm the hiring manager at Berryman and Oates. It's exhausting, to say the least. If I could avoid having to think about human resources until Monday I could be a very happy man."
Alan has started moving, and the problem with things is that people had their eyes on him, and while it made people impressionable it also made it a little more difficult to make a move to actually isolate someone. Sometimes, you're just a little too good at your job. But, there is meandering, off towards a corner somewhere, off towards an exit.
"Trust me," Alan said with a laugh, "if I had to work at a place called Berryman and Oates, I wouldn't want to think about human resources either. It just sounds like a superhero duo mixed with a breakfast cereal."
Verna Gardner
Alan walks, dragging his enthralled prey off, as she helps to herd him. Evan, the hiring manager at Berryman and Oates. That's a nice, respectable profession, isn't it? Bet he doesn't have any unfortunate tattoos. Clean, this one. He'll taste good.
Two people by a wall of paintings they're passing are whispering to each other while staring at the trio. It feels... exposed. But they're moving somewhere where they won't be seen, aren't they?
She laughs at Alan's joke, and then follows it up with an appreciative hum.
Moriarty
[lying about things! Manip+sub]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (2, 5, 6, 6, 10, 10, 10) ( success x 5 )
Moriarty
They're headed for the exit and he stops, he takes a moment and turns to look at Evan- who had a voice like an upright bass, who had a pop of color in his expensive suit, who considered himself to be an interesting, enjoyable professional enjoying his time with a relatively nice couple, and they were leaving. Something made his stomach sink, the notion that they were leaving and it made him rethink what he could do- if anything- to make them stay.
"You're not going already, are you?" he asks.
"Afraid so. I need to go pick up a piece that I purchased, do you mind walking Rachael to the car?" like this would be the best thing that he could conceivably do at that juncture, give them some time to themselves. The man nods, a little disappointed to part but.. at least he got to spend time with Rachael, right?
"That's not a problem," all charm, this one. Evan even offers his arm to Verna, "lead the way, fair lady."
Verna Gardner
She slips her hand out of Alan's and lays her hand over Evan's arm, making sure not to touch his bare skin. She smiles at him. "You're too kind, sir," she says, mimicking his formality.
"I hate walking alone at night."
There's a deep truth. A girl walking alone at night is prone to being attacked and killed. Verna has some rather first-hand knowledge of this. But now? Evan's the one in danger. He just doesn't know that yet. Hopefully, he never will.
She leads him out into the warm night, moon-and-sodium-lamp lit. It's warmer outside than inside, the sky dark and starless. She starts off toward the parking lot, slow as she can. Nobody needs to move quickly.
Moriarty
He walks all calm and comfortable with her. Walks slowly, too, because he is taking her pace, because he seems to be enjoying his company. She hated walking alone at night, why couldn't he just walk her to the car? He could even wait with her should the need arise, Alan wouldn't be too long- right? Evan was comfortable there, yes, but he shouldn't be.
Silly kine, they never even know when they're in danger.
"So, manager, art lover… what else is there to know about you? How long have you and Alan been together?"
Of course he presumes they're a couple. Of course
Verna Gardner
Verna knew. The night she died, she was packing a gun. She checked all shadows, and looked for enemies, and told her killer off at least three times. She didn't know everything, but she knew danger when she saw it.
Not that it helped any.
"Ohh, a few months," she says, walking along. "He's so funny and charming. It almost makes up for his love of Thomas Kinkade paintings. I'm trying to... broaden his horizons a bit."
And eat. Mmm, yes.
Moriarty
"Oh, god, he wasn't kidding about terrible taste," Evan says with a laugh, looked up when he said it and was content to go along with her. Was actually enjoying the moment, too. Once he wasn't thinking so heavily about the person they had just been with he could actually focus on the person that he was with.
"If you two weren't in such a hurry to leave, I'd offer you drinks at my place," he said, "I've been collecting some post-modernist works. A little from the Dada movement, it's been awhile since I've had company over and I hate to break ways so soon."
Verna Gardner
"Yeah, I know," she says, to the terrible taste comment.
Her eyes light up when he offers to take them home for drinks. Oh, to be alive again, and get such an invitation... He's not really asking her back to his place. It's Alan he's interested in. She knows that. And yet.
"Oh, ah... We don't really need to be anywhere soon. I'll bet he'd be thrilled."
Verna, at least, seems thrilled with the concept. They could go someplace nice, have... drinks. Yes. It's perfect.
Moriarty
"Fantastic," he says, and carefully pats himself down to reach for something in his pocket. He does, eventually, retrieve a pen and a business card, Evan Yarborough - Barryman & Oates. He turns the card overhand carefully scrawls his phone number and address onto the back of the card. He even has nice, impeccable handwriting.
"Promise you're not some charming cat burglar?"
Verna Gardner
She giggles, a little shy thing covered up by her hand. Verna Gardner? A cat burglar? No. She's far too innocent. Look at her, Evan -- the very image of nice and sweet.
"I promise. No stealing. I'm a good girl," she says, and takes his card.
"Mmm, where is he?" she asks, looking toward the entrance to the gallery.
Moriarty
Sure enough, in good time there came Alan. Cheeks flushed, expression bright- and one could assume that he was just a little more lively and vibrant now that they were in the night air. He headed over to the car- never mind that they had come in separate cars- and offered Evan an award-winning smile.
"Not getting into too much trouble?" he asked.
"Where's the painting?" Evan asked curiously.
"Seems it would be rude to take it off the wall mid-showing," Alan offers an overly dramatic sigh.
"Unfortunate but understandable. Rachael and I thought it might be fun to have drinks at my place."
"Did you, now?" Alan grinned, something a little edged, a little playful, "I suppose I could acquiesce, provided I'm invited."
"Why wouldn't you be invited?" Evan asked with a laugh, "see you all soon. I need to tidy up a bit first." And, with that, he left.
Verna Gardner
'Rachael' smiles at Alan -- oh, he has a good answer for everything, doesn't he? So good at this.
She lets him work on Evan, engaging in the kind of banter that's difficult for her. As soon as Evan's out of the picture, her expression loses its mask of playfulness. She holds the business card up for Alan between two fingers.
"Got his address. And number."
Moriarty
"You are a bastion of self control," he says, taking the card between his fingers and looking it over. He took a glance at the car they were standing beside, "is this one yours or are we taking mine?"
He looks over the number again, then flips it to the front. Berryman and Oates. Flipped back over and handed back to his current companion.
"I was honestly expecting you to have your fill in the parking lot and call it good."
Verna Gardner
"That would be rude," Verna says, and takes the card back. "I'm not rude."
Also, she doesn't want yet another Kindred in the city ticked off with her presence. It's the little things, right? If she can get enough of them on her side, well...
She reaches into her purse, and the lights on the car next to them blink to signal its unlocking. "This one's mine, if you don't mind?"
It's not anything super expensive. Mid-range, Japanese, a few years old. It's also not her car. Everything she has belongs to her sire, including herself...
Moriarty
"I hate driving," he tells her, but smiles anyway. She says that it would be rude, that she isn't rude, and he started to climb on in tot he passenger seat. This was an exercise in trust. He couldn't do this with just anyone. Most people would have taken the prize from underneath him and called it good, but this one doesn't seem to be a vulture.
He could use their relative lack of standing together as a mutual arrangement. Leverage for the future, you see.
"Did you know that this has a fantastic forward crash test rating?"
Verna Gardner
She walks around to the driver's side, slips in, and the first thing he has to say about it has to do with the forward crash rating of their vehicle. She just gives him a sideways glance and starts the car.
"I... did not."
Nor did she particularly care, but okay. In some ways, Alan Moriarty really does come across as a genial grandfather in a young man's body. He's into those stupid paintings, and knows about the safety ratings of cars. In others, well...
"Listen, I... I'll follow your lead okay? How is this going to go?"
She inputs his address into her phone, tells it to navigate. A computer voice echoes in the car: "Turn left on Marion Street. You are on the fastest route, and there is little traffic. You should arrive at your destination in seventeen minutes."
It's the kind of thing that comes naturally to Verna -- her death so recent, the advances of technology still seem normal to her.
Moriarty
"Basically," he says slowly. Is careful with buckling his seatbelt and adjusting the seat and trying his level best not to check his reflection in the passenger mirror to be sure he still looks presentable. You had to be polished and poised and he'd lost a little vitae for the evening trying to feign humanity. Still had the flush and the voluntary involuntary breathing. Blood was an amazing thing, but he was going to pay for it later.
"We are going to go, and converse, and let him drink. And make sure he's having a decent enough time. Let him put his defenses down, flirt, and then make a move. He can consider it a wild night with socially acceptable people. He's got a managerial job, he's not going to brag about it, that would make him look bad at the office."
Verna Gardner
Verna nods, flickers a nervous smile at Alan. It sounds reasonable. It sounds like Manager Evan will make it through the night. She licks her lips and pulls down the sunshade to check her makeup (because she does not have the same amount of control he does about checking and rechecking her appearance).
Then, she pulls the car out, turns left on Marion street, stops at the stoplight while her phone tells her to turn left at the intersection twice.
"Okay. It's still a little... much to get used to for me. Just going home with people I just met. Things I have to get used to, hmm?"
And this, Alan. As much as she likes you, as much as she's in awe of you, she's uncomfortable. This isn't the sort of thing respectable, good girls do.
Moriarty
"If you play your cards right, you only have to do it a couple times. Build existing relationships- we could even 'break up' and then? You get to play the heartbroken darling," he heaves an overly dramatic sigh, even raises his voice a fourth of an octave, "oh Evan, it's just awful- I thought it was going to work but it didn't! I'm so glad you've been here for me. It's so lonely sometimes. Bang, there you go. Then, when you're good to be out on your own you can cast out a line for people who are looking for wounded birds to help fly again."
A beat.
"It's a card I don't get to play," he stops for a moment. Looks over at her checking her makeup to be sure every bit of her appearance was on point before he turned and looked out the window again, "your issue is that you don't know your angle, so you don't know how to play it. This isn't luck, it takes some skill and a lot of self-awareness. You've got a lot going for you, Verna, you just need to figure out your arsenal."
Verna Gardner
She hums, drums the wheel with her fingertips, and the light turns green.
"Like, be the owner of a large laboratory that holds regular blood drives? I think that would be lovely," she says, pulling out into the intersection. Her phone interrupts by telling her how they'll be on this street for a mile.
"I don't want to be a wounded bird forever."
Moriarty
"Nobody can be a wounded bird forever. If you are, good will dries up pretty damn fast. Instead of being the person people want to help, you become a lost cause who won't stand up for herself," though, he does pause, grin something bright and pleased at Verna because... well, why not? She had an idea, "and if you suddenly play your cards right and become an owner of a labratory, or someone who is a philanthropist who holds blood drives and allocates money to public projects that saves you thousands in tax breaks? Well, then you're a success. People get to feel good about having helped you... of course, some people will think you owe them.
"And if they problematic, show them gratitude and dump them in a concrete foundation somewhere. Or make sure they're thoroughly attached to you, and then make sure that their toys become your toys.
"It's a game of resources. And in thirty or fourty years when it stops making sense that you're still young and lovely, you get to fade to the background. Make sure someone you chose is running your company, and you still get to skim off whatever you like."
Verna Gardner
And if they're problematic, dump them in a concrete foundation somewhere. Hmm. There are some problematic elements Verna would love to shove in a vat of concrete to bake. She'd even be generous and give Jon Marc some air holes to breathe out of.
And now she's speeding -- better stop that.
"Yeah. I just have to do this for a little while..."
Whatever happens, really. If she dies for good here soon, that just means all this slogging through the mess that's been made of her life will cease. She won't have to pretend anymore.
Her phone tells her to turn right at the next street, so she gets over, puts the blinker on, keeps following its robotic voice instructions.
Moriarty
"Just a little while," he assures her.
They continue and soon enough they were at the location, which was a nice enough house in the suburbs. It had a lovely yard, manicured and meticulous and very clearly not cared for by the man who lived in the house. He even had a pond out from with a waterfall and water lilies and a few coy in the shallow depths.
When they park, Alan gets out. Even comes around to open her door if she'd let him. Tosses her that award winning smile, partially real, mostly magical.
"Now, to convince a business man to do illicit things with strangers," he laughs about that. Just a little, under his forced breath.
Verna Gardner
She does allow him to open her door for her, to treat her like a lady. She finds herself smiling again in response that ridiculous mug of his. Somehow, she doesn't think it'll take much to convince Evan to do illicit things with Alan.
Has Evan ever been with a man? Maybe not. Still, Alan is all confidence and trustworthiness and so perfect. Verna takes his hand and walks up the path to Evan's house with him, putting on her brave face.
"Somehow I doubt that will be a problem for you," she says, takes a breath in order to remind herself to breathe. In, out. In, out.
Moriarty
"Excuse me, Mister Yarborough, I have a bridge I'd like to sell you," he half whispers to Verna.
Soon enough, his hand is at the door and he knocks. Once, twice rapidly, then once again. Dat- tatat- dat. He waits patiently and there is a shadow at the door, at the peep hole, which soon enough yields an opening door and the man with the dark hair and the nice suit- sans tie, of course- is there. White Russian in hand.
"You made it," he said, stepped aside and opened the door the full way for them, "come in, welcome to Chez Yarborough."
"I'll have you know, Evan, parking here is terrible," Alan said, gesturing to the driveway with the only car in the drive being theirs, "and I have no idea how we're going to manage."
Evan laughed and gestured them inside, "what are you having? I can get you drinks and give you the grand tour."
"Would it be too much trouble if I had a beer?" he asked, "what do you kids drink these days, Coors?"
"You weren't kidding about taste," Evan laughed, an aside to Verna .
Verna Gardner
Verna laughs behind her hand. "Coors?" she says, giving Alan a jab with her elbow. "What can I say? He is a work in progress." Only, it's obvious that she's pretty delighted with her companion isn't it? She's just trying to sell their image.
She steps inside, eyes landing on the various things inside the entryway, appraising. And it's nice, isn't it? The kind of house a collector of Dada works would have. It's acceptable.
David told her once -- people expect you to drink. Just accept that, and pretend. Ditch it when you can. She gives Evan a smile and says: "I'll have what you're having."
Moriarty
The walls in the front entryway are grey. There is a nice, understated glass entry table with a basked for car keys and his wallet. Everything has a place. There's a mirror over the table that is nice but unremarkable, and on the wall there is a painting with swirling colors and geometric lines and the earth being peeled apart like an orange from outer space.
Alan takes the jab, leans with it and laughs, "what? Fine. Something local? Rachael tells be there are fantastic microbreweries here."
"Fine, one white Russian and a Runoff IPA," Evan replied. He led them into the living room. All modern, all comfortable to people who liked sleek edges and strange curves. The fireplace wasn't lit, but it had glass sparkling inside of it, wrapped around a corner and the face was some shining white. The floor s were a dark hardwood.
Evan was perched at his bar, carefully mixing away.
"I told my secretary a few years back that if the recession hits us hard enough, I'd go be a bartender. As such, I just get to be a hit at parties," Evan told the two of them.
Verna Gardner
"You have a lovely home, Evan. That painting, it's... gorgeous," Verna remarks, stepping into the room, and finding a place to lounge on the couch, legs crossed, hands in her lap.
After a few seconds of stillness she forces a breath, yes, remember that...
"I'm sure you are a hit at parties. I mean..." she coughs, unsure of what to say next. You're a hit with us? Oh... small talk. How does it work?
Moriarty
"The entirety of Dada was a commentary and rebellion against sociopolitical and cultural values of the time. It's the tiniest bit of anarchy, incredibly avant garde for the time- very anti-war and, funnily enough, anti-art but they created an entire climate where art could be alive and wasn't restricted by the establishment's values. It's ideas instead of a style," Evan said, a smile bright on his face and soon enough he returned, took a seat on the couch and gave her the drink.
Alan came and took his seat beside Evan, looking from the coffee table to the art and then, finally, to the man with his beer. Still in the dark glass bottle. Alan 'took a pull', long enough to taste it on his tongue, and quick enough to spit it back out into the bottle.
"I've got a couple expressionist pieces coming soon enough, so maybe my collection can begin a transition to art through the ages."
Verna Gardner
Verna knows what Evan is doing. Takes one to know one, right? He's showing off what he knows, and there's nothing wrong with that in her book. She takes her white Russian and thanks him. She doesn't even attempt to sip at it, just looks down into the glass, remembering what it used to taste like. Maybe she'll taste in Evan later.
Her eyes graze up his body, landing squarely on his neck. He talks about his coming expressionist pieces and she grins.
"Oh, you must tell us when they arrive. I'd love to see them."
Moriarty
She looks up his body and his lips upturn, the corner of one side tilting up a little more than the other. He settles into the couch, gives Verna a once over but settles on her face instead of anywhere else. My, she really can pick 'em sometimes.
"I wouldn't mind showing you- both of you," he says, as if he rememberd that Alan was there and then remembered that Alan was there and looked back at him. Takes another drink. Cheeks flush.
"You two really are going to stuff some culture into me yet," Alan told them, held the beer in his hand and casually slipped his onto the man's knee. Doesnt' get shooed away.
Verna Gardner
"Really? Both of us?" she says, trying to sound as sexy as she can. It's adorable. She's such a shy little thing, and she's trying so hard.
She gives Evan a grin, and if she could blush, she'd be joining him.
"I think I'd enjoy that." A glance at Alan, conspiratorial. Can we eat him yet?
Moriarty
Alan throws Verna a grin, a flash of eyebrows upward. He even has the decency to take Evan's drink and put it on the coffee table. Yes, Verna, we can eat him now.
Verna Gardner
Verna slides her own white Russian on the table, and uses her freed hands to start unbuttoning Evan's shirt. They're going to pass him back and forth between them, and that could get... messy. Best not to leave the obvious stains behind, yes?
She's got such a look to her, Evan. So hungry for him. Eyes on the skin she's unveiling, even though it's nothing much yet. He could still say no. He could protest...
"I'd enjoy that a lot."
Moriarty
She could probably feel the pulse in his chest, something beating hard like he could hardly believe this was happening. Alan let his hand trail down the man's leg and he has a grin on his face. And he has this moment, this moment when he thinks... he could be nice, he could just let Verna have the guy and go back to the gallery, talk to some girl who was looking at the abstract expressionists in the corner, but he then concludes-
Nah. Fuck being nice. He's hungry. He could think of any number of things he could be doing if he wasn't feeling up some HR manager at Berryman and Oates- who the fuck was Oates, anyway? He'd have to ask his sister.
Oh, right. His sister was getting old. He was going to have to kill her off at some point. She was looking a little too spry for a woman in her seventies. Ugh. That's going to be a headache. He watches Verna with a little pride, like she's finally starting to learn to ride a bike. Sure, the training wheels were on, but she was doing fine.
Evan, on the other hand, was quick to help Verna unbutton his shirt. Eyes wide, pulse pounding- was this actually happening? actually happening? It wasn't like he could tell anyone about this but damn this was-
"Fantastic."
Verna Gardner
She tries to keep her cold flesh off of Evan's, even though that pounding pulse entices, makes her want to just put her ear against his chest and listen. It throbs in his neck, and she's entranced by that movement.
The man, he tries to touch her, puts his arms around her to draw her closer, and that almost stops the chase after his pulse. She doesn't like it when they touch her. But he's not after her bare skin yet. He can't feel how cold she is. And in a few seconds, it won't matter anyway.
Her lips ripple with the slip of her fangs beneath them, fangs that Alan can't boast. Verna's are sharp and hungry things that she only displays once she's close enough to her prey's neck that he can't see. She pauses, hanging there while Evan's hands roam lower on her back, remembering what David taught her. Bite quick. Count to three. Lick the wound. Except no, not tonight. Tonight, she'll leave his vein punctured for Alan's turn.
She takes a breath, and strikes, trying to stifle the groan of pleasure that bubbles up, because Alan is there and she doesn't want this to be weird.
Moriarty
One tow three, then four-five-six. They have the same time frames. Alan is quick to come by. Quick because he doesn't want the guy to bleed all over the place because these sorts of things are hard to explain away in the morning. Nobody likes blood on their expensive sofa. He knew this for a fact. He had to buy a new sofa three months into living here again because, well, when one feeds from the kinds of people that aren't afraid of someone biting them hard enough to draw blood with blunted teeth, things tend to get a little messy.
Note to self, call Miranda tomorrow. Ask if she wants to see a movie.
He doesn't have the fangs that Verna does, and he is quiet, the quiet sort that could just radiate satisfaction that eating something that tasted fantastic could bring. Alan was a quiet sort, had always been in that regard. Tries not to make a sound because this is a business exchange. One does not moan in a business exchange.
Of course, Evan does. Of course Evan does, this is ecstasy for him. To Alan and Verna, this was just a typical evening. Come on, everyone eats strangers, right? Of course right. Count to three for her, then six for him, and lick the wound before anything was odd. Hell, maybe even give Verna some reprieve and actually make out with the guy. Being dead made Alan realize his preferences were much more fluid than he had originally anticipated.
Have a pulse. Check.
Not repulsive. Also check.
Don't have any weird diseases, open wounds, or recent dental surgeries. Check, check, and check.
Mostly, making out with the guy gave Verna a chance to reclaim her decorum. He shoots her a look over Evan's shoulder, a kind of this could be awhile, sorry look. Like he was in line at the grocery store.
Verna Gardner
Oh, he does taste a little like white Russian. At least, the alcohol is there. Not even close to drunk, but she can taste it in the periphery. She can taste the rich food he eats too, can practically taste the MBA... God, it's good...
And then Alan is there, to take over. A part of her rises up in revolt against that. Why? Why share, when she's got such a taste in her mouth as this. But she does, slides her fangs out, lets him in, one mouth replaced with another on Evan's neck.
Does he wonder, in that split second, what is going on? Does he care?
Verna pulls a compact out of her purse and checks herself while Alan does... his part. She makes sure her lipstick is still good, wipes a streak of red off of her cheek, and brings it to her mouth.
When she looks over, Alan's making out with the man, giving her that bored apologetic look. She just smiles with relief and checks to be sure they didn't leave any 'evidence'.
Moriarty
And it does go on. Alan makes some of the perfunctory noises, occasionally tries to signal Verna over to trade off so he can take a break, but eventually ends up going the distance by himself. this takes finesse- hunting and sharing someone is hard. You eat too much and you have to figure out where you're going to dump a body.
They did, however, manage to make the place pretty clean.
The white Russian on the table almost gets knocked over at some point and Alan is tipping the guy over on the couch, looks up briefly in hopes to find some clock or something or anything to give him an indication of what time it was. Alan pulls back soon enough, half breathless (because there is no breath to give) "Hey, I have a plane to catch at six AM, if I don't leave now, I'll miss it."
Apologetic, Evan sounds displeased, but he does sit up soon enough. Perhaps a tad tipsy, clears his throat, "anything for business."
"Knew you'd understand," he told Evan, kises him on the cheek like he had the capacity to do so. Presence is a beast of a gift, you see, because that awe lets him get away with things like kissing human resource directors on the cheek like it's middle school. Hell, he doesn't even know if the guy entertained the notion of... well, now. No need to think about that.
"Call you in a week?" he asked Evan.
"I have a conference next week," Evan replied.
"Well, how about we call whenever the Hell we please, then?" Alan quirked a brow, a little challenging, "bring a little of that anarchy you like so well in your artwork into a living, vital context."
"How do you know I'll answer?" Evan asked with a teasing grin.
"Because you're the type of man who doesn't leave things unfinished," Alan replied, got himself off the couch and didn't bother to claim his beer, "talk to you soon."
Verna Gardner
Alan signals for her to take over, and her expression changes to one of sheer 'no' -- eyes widened a bit, a tiny shake of her head. No, you're doing great there, Alan. Keep up the good work.
Truth be told, she knows how that would go. Hey, why does your tongue feel like it just came out of the refrigerator? And she doesn't see the reason to waste all that energy just to fake a bit of warmth. The feeding's done. Why is Alan even continuing with the charade? Does he like that? Or is it just to avoid questions?
When he comes up for air, makes his excuses, Verna finally starts pretending like she's in on the act, shooting playful looks at Evan over Alan's shoulder. She lets him do the talking though, while running her fingers through his hair. It seems like the thing to do. Or, at least, a thing to do.
She follows Alan off the couch, takes his arm, looks back at Evan, at his disheveled, slackened body. "Sorry to have to leave so soon. I'd love to get to know you better, but then -- I'm sure we will."
Moriarty
So, there he is, Respectable and rumpled looking as a fairly attractive pair of people are making their way to the door. It was like high school, what with stopping at first base and all, but Alan was completely content to keep it at first base because... well, because. Period, the end.
They got walked to the door, ushered to the threshold but no further, and they were left with a shut door and their thoughts.
Crickets chirp.
"Well, that was not awkward," Alan said.
Verna Gardner
Verna smooths out her hair, and pulls at her dress, trying to look like she's not having a Walk of Shame moment, when Alan makes his comment. It's hard to tell whether he's being sarcastic or not.
"Well... we succeeded? I mean... Thanks. He was good."
She licks her lips, tries to banish the discomfort involved in what just transpired by concentrating on how much better it feels now with a fuller stomach.
Moriarty
"Hey, when you're full up you can't complain," he told Verna. Alan walked to the car, but actually did linger to open her car door for her. "It gives you something to do other than wonder about where your next meal is coming from."
Alan waited patiently for Verna to get on into the vehicle. This is what happens when you embrace boys that may have been to charm school, or at least made out with someone who has.
"And did you taste lamb chops? I freaking love lamb."
Moriarty
Silence, then?
"... wanna go back to the gallery and try again?"
Verna Gardner
They walk back to the car, and Verna smiles at his courtesy in opening her door. She likes chivalry, this one. The doors slam shut one after the other. She turns on the engine.
"Yes, I think. Was that lamb? Ahh, nice."
Then, he suggests they go again.
"Yes. Let's," she says, and perhaps there's a note of true happiness in her voice that hasn't been there before. It feels good to feed. It almost lets her forget for a while.
She thinks she remembers the way back to the gallery, or at least how to get out of Evan's neighborhood. They'll be free of a robotic voice interrupting their conversation this time.
