Verna's sire (kidnapper, murderer, ne'er-do-well Ventrue with a heart of rust, shit-head and thorn in the blueblood's side) comes to Verna one night in early April, after her taste has been somewhat tested, and tells her that he wants to see how well she can hunt for herself. He is nervous telling her this. He is nervous for all the reasons you can possibly imagine: he doesn't know what she's going to do or how she's going to react. He has cheated and bound her will to his, he has treated her as well as (in his opinion [mileage varies]) he can, but he knows his childe is opinionated and their start was, ah, shall we say, rocky to the extreme. He doesn't care about freedom: that's something hippies and Anarchs whine about. He does care about his survival, and hers too, since he's taken that burden on.
They don't go near the university, but to one of the uppercrust suburbs attached to the Denver metropolitan area. David drives and he looks out at the highway with an air of vigilance, checking his rearview mirror frequently.
"The last thing we need is for the Sabbat to appear. Uh, let's see... there's a ... I've got a note, uh, in the glove compartment there... Any of those places sound good to you?"
If she opens the glove compartment and checks the note, it's a list of locations. A small orchestral concert. A bar. A wine bar. A learning annex class. And a gym.
Verna Gardner
Verna, despite her newly dead self can't seem to stay still tonight. She fidgets with the trappings of nervousness, and every so often tries to check herself in a mirror. It's just that this is a test, and the price of failure is death, and not just for her, huh? David's been forthcoming about how important it is to learn and not do anything wrong because this little reprieve from dying could be very short indeed otherwise.
Ever since getting them to give her some makeup, she's tried to make her pallor look presentable every night, but tonight it was even more important. So her lips are stained (so it won't rub off) and her eyes are dark (to hide the red crust in case she should cry) and there is a faked healthy glow to her. She wonders at times how the men even manage...
And, of course, she won't go outside without looking nice. Nice, to her, can be a bit dowdy, but tonight we're going with 'sexy librarian' instead. It might work, right? Black pencil skirts go with everything. And she can still run in her leather boots. She's tried hard to rid them of blood spatters, too.
David says to check the note in the glove compartment, so she does, reads...
"I'm not dressed for the gym. Won't they expect me to drink at the bars? I can't..."
There, a breath, to steady.
"What about the concert?"
David
"Concert it is."
David's dressed in -- well. The Metallica teeshirt doesn't count against him with that nice gray sweater over it. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel as they drive, but he doesn't turn on the radio unless Verna requests it. He doesn't look at her too often either, and if she has asked for perfume or if his ghoul has gone ahead and decided to make a nice little thing like Verna feel more put together by buying perfume his nose twitches now and then. Vampires sneeze. It's just habit instead of instinct.
"Now, uh... You'll find that most places you go, they'll expect you to at least have a drink. Every function, somebody goes for the beer or the soda... I didn't notice it as much before I was turned, but after I noticed it constantly. It's the social thing to do. Sometimes you'll be obliged to hold one as if you're taking part. Just get rid of the drink as soon as possible, or be polite and keep the conversation going. Most people aren't very perceptive. They see what they want to see, and they'll fill in their own excuses."
Woe begone, hangdog expression. Verna was a perfect mortal and he had to ruin her. She could've been filling in her own excuses for years.
He drums his fingers again.
"You'll do fine," he says, and he sounds more as if he's trying to convince himself than her. "It'll be fine. Don't drink too deep. And do you remember how I showed you to close up the wound? You lick it closed."
Fuss, fuss, fuss. The world is a mad world and hunger gnaws at Verna as it always does, a constant. Has she been full for even one night since she was changed?
Verna Gardner
She nods at him, flits her eyes to his face and back to the road. She doesn't say how she seriously doubts she'll be able to get to the point where drinking deeply or not will be a concern.
God, if she could though. If she could, the hunger would abate and some of the nerves would go away. That is such a big if.
She'll make a terrible vampire. She knows it.
They are a pair, these two. Torturing themselves in the car to the point where they could be personifications of woe and anxiety. And then, once we're at the destination, those emotions have to get packed away, because nobody likes the dour.
"What about after? Won't they realize something's wrong?"
David
"Usually not. You take just enough to keep you going for a night, and they're in no danger. Take a little more, and they might feel faint ... but when you actually drink, it feels good to them. It feels good to us, too, but you shouldn't ever let somebody stick their fangs in you, especially in Denver. Do you believe in the soul?"
There's a lot that David does not know about Verna. Whether or not she is in any way religious, or finds herself feeling religious now, is one of them.
He guides the car off the highway, and they pass a car with the music turned up so loudly that they can feel it rattling through the car. He grits his teeth and blinks a few times, shaking his head as if to clear it.
Verna Gardner
David talks about how it feels when you're bitten, and she looks away, closes her eyes. She remembers. He says she shouldn't ever let somebody stick their fangs in her, and she can't help but huff out a sardonic laugh. Yes, that would not be good, would it?
She remembers how he'd pressed in on her broken body and killed her. She remembers how she didn't care. It felt too good.
"Show me a particle of a soul, and I'll believe in one."
Just then, they pass that car with its bass, and Verna puts a finger up to her ear, as elegantly as she can manage. She doesn't like it either.
brat pack
Show me a particle of a soul. David drives in silence following that statement following the loud car. It takes him a moment or three to regather his wits. He drives more slowly, too, until they're gone from the same roadspace as the car. He doesn't notice how what he said might bring her mind back toward the night she died. He should, but he doesn't. He was a young man in a time when it didn't always matter, how a woman felt. It doesn't occur to him. It doesn't occur to him that it should've occured to him.
"I could teach you the Discipline of Auspex," David says, glancing from the road toward Verna. "It's not one of our -- our clan's -- natural Disciplines, but I made a point of learning it. I wanted to see what the big fuss was about. I wanted to see -- erm, there was this Brujah, Dolly, who -- you'd have liked her. She was an astronomer. She learned it so that she could better see things in the Heavens. Auspex gives your senses a sharpening, but you can also see the colors of the spirit. You can see when somebody else has, ah, consumed somebody else's soul," and he sounds uncomfortable. Deeply, utterly uncomfortable, describing this to Verna.
"It's not... of course it's not always accurate..."
Verna Gardner
She looks at David, tries to memorize his face when it's not directed at her -- when it's not twisted and fanged. Her own personal experience with The Kiss wasn't something she'd ever wish to repeat (oh, but it was him doing it). And now? She's about to do that to someone else.
That woman, that doll that they brought for her? The way she wanted it turned Verna's stomach long before the taste of her nastiness. But maybe that's the way of it? People will just let her. Might just want her to. And Verna, she tries to remind herself how much she doesn't want David to do that again. She'd be like that... doll.
He talks. She listens, pushing her disturbing thoughts to the side, because everything he says is important. But what he says? More unbelievable things that make no sense.
"That's what you saw in me, isn't it? You thought I'd... eaten someone's soul?"
She's incredulous. Like, that? That is the reason why she's dead? He thought she'd done something impossible...
brat pack
He doesn't answer her directly. He drums his fingers against the wheel nervous tic and rubs his jaw and speeds up to pass a jeep which is driving at five fucking miles an hour. "I lost control," David says. This doesn't address the stake through her heart but the ghost of judgment in her voice has him pricked into an answer. His tone is as deliberate as he can make it. "That's what you need to guard against when you're out among them. The kine. Your former friends and enemies. It's easy to lose control, get it? When you're hungry, or injured, and you do what the Hunger wants even if you don't want to do it. Wouldn't want to do it if you were in your right mind. Regret doing it."
"But I ... I did look at you and see somebody who was already dead and whose, whose soul was black. Black means bad fucking -- pardon me. Black isn't good. Black's what those others probably had through their auras."
Verna Gardner
This isn't the first time he's looked like this. He says how sorry he is in so many different ways. Most of it comes, like this, with a healthy dose of yet more horrible things that Verna has to get used to.
I'm sorry you can't see the sun again. I'm sorry you have to drink this. You have to keep control; I'm sorry I didn't.
"Do I still look like that? To you?" And there -- worry. She wants him to think well of her. Wants him to love her back, even though that's... No. In a strange way, he cares, but he doesn't really like her. Does he?
brat pack
"No," he says, as if he's looked. He hasn't looked. He hasn't looked again because he's terrified he'll look and see something else wrong. Because he's terrified constantly now. He clears his throat and his adam's apple bobs. "Would you... would you like to learn the Discipline of Auspex? We haven't- we haven't talked very much about the Disciplines, have we? My sire used to tell me they are called Disciplines instead of Arts because they take a lot of sweat and blood, uh- a lot of work and smarts."
Verna Gardner
He asks her if she would like to learn the Discipline that led to her murder. He asks, because he wants to offer her something, and doesn't think to try seeing it from her side, to wonder how she feels about that.
"If you like. If you think it would help. I would learn it."
She would, too. As much as those words come out dead and null, she would learn this thing that she doesn't even believe in, if he thought it would help.
She, they, need everything they can get, right?
brat pack
"M-maybe," he sighs, frustrated, upset at himself, hearing the stutter, the skip in his voice. "Maybe we should focus on the other Disciplines first. It might be useful for you to learn Auspex and see outside your- it's good for hunches, too, you know, epiphany's and hearing and- if you get good enough at it you can project your consciousness elsewhere- you can see through fucking Obfuscate. That's what I started to learn it- I- you never know what's lurking around watching. But maybe we should focus on other Disciplines. Dominate. Presence. Fortitude. Not Fortitude," another stutter. An impressive sire, Verna, verily and truly: impressive. "It might help when you do science. Help you see things you wouldn't have noticed otherwise. I mean. But we can wait."
"I think we're almost there. You're going to do great." Yes. He sounds positive. He flicks a glance at her, then back at the dark road ahead. "Let me see your fangs?" Another flick of a glance.
They're pulling toward a small park now, lights arrayed between trees like twinkle stars, fairy lights, luminous and lovely and the dark shadows between, and in the center of the park there's a large building she can see it through the trees some Masons Lodge something fancy opened up just for the night. Lots of people in varying states of sleek dress drifting toward it.
Music, too.
Verna Gardner
He flicks a glance to her and finds her staring, which she corrects in shame. You're going to do great, he says. She takes a breath, though she doesn't need it. Habit, right?
Let me see your fangs.
Her brows come together in confusion. "Oh," she nods, opens her mouth and looks back to him. She thinks of that businessman with his wrist stuck in her teeth, and... fangs. She's a predator, and now it shows -- but so does the nervousness.
brat pack
"Good! Nice and sharp." He sounds encouraging, right? This is what one is supposed to do with one's Childe, right? He squares his shoulders, rolls down his window and when the valet comes by glances to assure himself Verna is there or is behaving or ... And then he pays the man and another valet opens Verna's door and David comes around and is ready to offer her his elbow like a gentleman. He may be a black sheep but even black sheep know the score. Etiquette drilled in by his own sire, see.
Verna Gardner
"Do... do they get dull?" she asks, and then the window's down and he can't answer, and she realizes that she needs to hide her mouth now. Okay, let's not flash those to the world. Back down.
So, when he glances at her, her hand is covering her mouth and she's looking out her window the other way. Not screaming for help or trying to escape, just... trying to do everything right.
She smiles a thank you to the valet, and takes David's arm when he arrives -- lets him lead her out of the car. She's been cooped up in his basement for too long for this not to be -- dare we say it? Nice?
brat pack
It helps to have the wit to spy opportunity when one is hunting, and Verna as she cases the joint has wit enough. Does hunger sharpen her? A dull ache, and it would be easiest simply to drink from David. No need to be sneaky. No need to be social. No need to talk to strangers. No need to be judged by strangers. Discounted by strangers. Ignored by strangers. But David's not on the menu tonight.
Desperate enough and alone enough. . . .
Promising. An older man, silver in his hair but not handsome enough to be a fox, dressed well enough to be a lawyer or a banker, wearing frameless glasses and sitting a chair away from two people, one of whom looks related to him by blood although not young enough to be his daughter or son.
Promising. A young Indian woman, younger than Verna is (when does it become 'was'?), fresh-faced and pretty, standing with her shoulders stiff and her hair up toying with a kleenex in one hand, glancing frequently toward the door whenever she thinks somebody's looking at her as if - well. More study might give Verna a more accurate understanding of her possible prey's mental state.
Promising. A freckled woman somewhat heavyset, dressed nicely in pink and white, leaning on crutches one leg broken and peering around with the air of someone looking for someone or something.
Promising. A gawky man around Verna's age, perhaps a little bit older, smiling faintly at the orchestra. He's dressed sharply, moneyed, and when somebody bumps into him he doesn't seem to notice for a second, off in his own daydreaming world.
Verna Gardner
She can tell, can't she? That most of these people would be... good. Delicious, yes, that sort of good.
Of course, there is a hipster dude who looks like he moonlights as a lumberjack, if lumberjacks were famous for having huge gauges in their ears and neck tattoos. No amount of nice clothes can cover that up. He gets checked off the mental list as her eyes go skimming around.
She sees a woman with crutches, and that is a strangely attractive sight for someone on a hunt, right? But no. She's looking for someone. And besides, it sticks out, the crutches. Verna doesn't want anything to seem... out of the ordinary.
It has to be perfect.
But then, nothing ever is.
There's the older man sitting with his family, but he's with people. They might look for him.
There... the Indian woman. Is she crying?
[Perception + Empathy!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )
brat pack
The woman has been crying, and recently, and recently she re-applied her make-up or she has really good quality make-up because there's no sign of tears around her eyes except perhaps a certain shadowy quality to the skin, something about the line of her mouth misery-set something about the way she anxiously plays with her kleenex. Shoulders up because she knows she's alone, because she feels like she's alone, but she doesn't want anybody else to know that she's bothered by loneliness, and so here she is, stiff and pretty and to keep people from asking questions she glances at the door like maybe somebody will come. Maybe. Maybe somebody will come.
David lets her set the pace and doesn't seem inclined to conversation. He smiles genially if he catches anybody's eye and here at least in his nice clothes manages to look not so much nervous as a touch excited and wolf in sheep's clothing put together.
There's no tray going around but he does touch the base of Verna's spine to get her attention and nods toward some empty chairs. He has his phone in hand, rude but a good way to blend in. There's always some Millenial texting away.
It conceals the intensity with which he is guaging the crowd, making certain (with a push, scanning) that there are no how shall we say competing predators and if there are whether or not they're to be avoided.
Wouldn't want a coyote to come along and snap up Verna the kitten.
Verna Gardner
[Perception + Awareness!]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 6, 7) ( success x 2 )
brat pack
And while she's looking, she can feel the hairs on the back of her neck lift feel a hunch in her blood in her bones an intuition a suspicion a chill, because Someone Did Something, Somewhere.
Verna Gardner
Verna sniffs and arches her back when she feels that. Starts looking around to see... what? A ghost in the air? Verna, for all her recent mind-opening experiences does not yet believe in them. Souls are suspect.
So, she focuses her attention elsewhere. That woman. She's been stood up. Verna can put the narrative together, oh yes. It's also an excuse for some nice person to say hello and make friends and...
Make her night immeasurably worse perhaps.
Verna looks away, bites her lip. The woman is alone. She's got runaway emotions. She's a good target. It's the best of choices.
Then, she looks to David, this look on her face like she's certain she can't do this. He's a reminder of why she has to try, though.
"I think. There's a woman. Over there. S-should I just go say hello?"
brat pack
He looks for the woman Verna is referring to, gaze brushing across her if Verna makes any gesture at all, if not he misses her completely or thinks he's found her and it doesn't really matter, because after the glance of 'over there,' he turns his back to the orchestra and the Indian woman and looks at Verna. He pitches his voice low, of course, because that's what members of secret societies do. "It's a start. What is your goal?"
Verna Gardner
"She looks sad, like someone stood her up. I could just... I don't know? Talk? Keep talking? Until I can get her..."
It's terrible, laying it out. Putting words to the whole ordeal makes it real.
"Y-you know. Out of view."
Verna fidgets. It's what she does when she's nervous. It's not the mortal terror David's used to from her, but a cousin of it perhaps.
brat pack
"And how will you ..." He clicks his teeth gently.
Verna Gardner
"What... how... uh... do you suggest?" Verna responds, because she really has no idea.
brat pack
"If she's upset and will let you hug her, maybe then. Otherwise..." David doesn't shrug, but the shrug is in his voice and his gaze is intent on Verna's now, focused, for in this he is confident.
"Improvise. The important thing is not to let her see the," he clicks his teeth again, which just now look as human as anybody's who never died and rose again to drink blood, "and to lick the wound closed once you're done sucking. Do you remember how long is too long?"
He'd told her before to count to three and not to go beyond three to start no matter how good it felt.
Verna Gardner
Verna nods. "Three."
Three. There's a limit. She has to remember that. And the licking thing. And don't let anyone see.
She looks over his shoulder, just a glance, and wishes she could still down some alcohol for her courage's sake.
"Okay," she says, takes a deep breath, seems to straighten out her face into something a lot less overwrought. "Okay."
And then, smiling a little, like she's trying to remember what enjoying herself felt like, minces her way over to the lady by the door.
brat pack
When Verna gets close enough, the woman's eyes (large, dark, brown) touch hers and then she glances at the door, unsmiling and nervous but clearly without any expectation that Verna was approaching her or means to continue approaching or means to interact with her at all. When she turns her head back, it is to put her gaze on the orchestra, which is beginning to warm up, drag people's attention from their conversations and their meals, readying itself to play, play, play. Nobody says a few words about tonight's program or about the charity the concert is benefiting (the penniless musician's fund, bitches! Er, ladies and gentlemen), because they're trying to appeal to more people and they want to surprise the audience and anyway people are allowed to socialize and anyway they'll have somebody speak about the goals of their orchestra between pieces. First up, the overture for the Magic Flute; it will begin.
Verna Gardner
As she walks, she cocks her head a little at the woman, gives her a shy smile. There there, it's not so bad is it?
"H-hi. I know you don't know me or anything, but..." But what, Verna? She clears her throat. "It looks like I've been abandoned tonight."
Right. Go for the solidarity thing?
"I don't have anyone to sit with. Anymore. Could I? With you?"
[Manip + Subt = 5, Diff 8 'cause shy!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN8 (5, 5, 8, 8, 9) ( success x 3 )
Verna Gardner
[Hungry?]
Dice: 1 d10 TN8 (9) ( success x 1 )
brat pack
[NPC Manip + Subt!]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 8, 9, 9) ( success x 3 )
Verna Gardner
[Perc + Subt = What? Is that a falsehood?]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 9, 9, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 5 )
brat pack
The stiff-shouldered woman looks up at Verna when the little fledgling shyly begins speaking, and she still doesn't smile, corners of her mouth shifting downward for a moment. Her gaze darts back to the orchestra and, without looking at Verna, she says, "I'm sorry to hear that. You're welcome to take a chair."
The only lie is her face and her attitude; that air of injured dignity drawn together, smoothed out, polished, put on a good face for this stranger right now who'd normally annoy her might annoy her except well she isn't thinking about how to be annoyed tonight. She's pretending well, although not so well that Verna, on high alert, doesn't see the places where the mask wears thin and the woman's true misery is visible.
An inaudible swallow, just so.
Verna Gardner
"Hey, what's wrong?" Verna asks, sliding down into a chair with all the grace she can muster. "You look worse off than I do, and let me tell you, my night's going horribly."
No lie there.
Not one bit.
brat pack
"Why would you assume something is wrong?" the woman says, a quaver on 'assume' for all she is trying to sound sharp. "Do I look like I was also abandoned?"
Verna Gardner
"No... no... I can't imagine why anyone would abandon you. Just, you looked a little sad. I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."
Verna gives up and looks toward the orchestra, fidgets as everything seems to be falling apart so soon.
brat pack
Silence. In the orchestra, everybody is alert, everybody is at attention even when it isn't yet their turn, and when it's time to join the music they do so with precision, with choreographed grace; many of the people here are here because they like to watch something so practiced, people so in concert with one another that they can draw heaven out of the air and send it back again. Nobody can play in a symphony without practice even if they know how to read the music.
The woman doesn't speak immediately, but finally gives a stiff-sounding little, "I know you didn't mean anything by it; it's fine."
Verna Gardner
It's like breaking the ice with a glacier. Verna tries to pay more attention to the music than her failure, which is wearing on her face even though the music is so upbeat.
Mozart. He was genius, wasn't he? Always been one of her favorites. Some classical composers tried, but few could match his layered complexity. When the other woman speaks up again, Verna just hits her with another shy smile, and goes back to feeling whatever she can.
Is David watching this? Can he see how she isn't getting anywhere? Oh, he probably is. He probably isn't letting her out of his sight, lest she bolt for freedom or some other stupid thing.
brat pack
She's new. It's not difficult to feel. Ennui hasn't come to rewrite her memories betrayal hasn't come to tell her that there is no hope for friendship she has not yet done unspeakable things when not in her right mind she is young. She is a young woman and she is a young vampire and her heart doesn't race to tell her she is nervous, but surely the mind is enough? Thoughts. Ideas. Hunger for something.
Maybe one night she'll hear Mozart and think, Ah, the first time I hunted on my own, I was so young, and she'll feel something different.
Maybe one night she'll hear Mozart and think, Ah, one gets bored.
Maybe.
Does Verna look around for David? He's hiding in the crowd. It's not difficult to break ice with a glacier; one just has to make an impact. To get the old stuff, the ice that'll tell one something about the past about the earth about this metaphor is getting out of control, sometimes one has to really dig. The best defense against ice is warmth.
The woman sneakily puts her kleenex, ragged, torn, into her purse, and casts Verna a quick sidelong glance to make sure she hasn't seen.
The woman wouldn't want to look weak, would she?
Nobody wants that.
Verna Gardner
The overture is short, and afterward there is the appreciative clapping, to which Verna supplies her own bit.
It's so tempting to just ignore her... prey? To just listen to music and not do anything, but she has to try, doesn't she? After the clapping dies down, she tries again.
"I love Mozart, you know? It's nice.. um. Thanks for letting me sit with you. I..."
I've been so lonely. Stuck in a guy's concrete basement. Dead inside, with only a few, incredibly strange people to talk with. Pretty sure I'm going to die soon.
And she can't say any of that, out loud, so the sentence hangs there while Verna lets her own mask slip. She misses being normal, and able to smile truthfully.
"Just, thanks."
Verna Gardner
[Charisma + Empathy! Spending WP because this is where she botches, I know it.]
Dice: 6 d10 TN8 (2, 3, 4, 6, 6, 9) ( success x 2 ) [Doubling Tens] [WP]
brat pack
Another spell of silence, but this one is shorter. The pretty woman turns her chin toward Verna and opens her mouth as if she's going to say something once, and then twice, and then finally, after a prim little pursing of her mouth, she smiles a thin but genuine smile.
"You're welcome. It's fine. I don't have any one tonight to listen to the music with either, not that I need someone..."
Swallow, and as she swallows she reaches up to touch her earring. Verna is well-fed, well-suited for a leisurely hunt a hunt with no undo surprises from a loss of control, but if she has any preconceived notions on where to bite it must be the neck, mustn't it? David told her that any place will do.
Just make the blood flow and suck. They won't fight.
"What's your name?"
Verna Gardner
Her companion (are we to that point now?) touches her earring, and Verna follows the motion, eyes holding there a second while she thinks. Yes. Just there. Three.
"My name? I'm Verna," she says. But isn't Verna dead? Or something? The old Verna, that is. Who should she be?
"I don't need anyone either. Sometimes, it's just so much... crap." She sighs. "Nobody needs terrible people."
Except, Verna, you need David, don't you? And there, another sigh.
brat pack
The woman gives an emphatic little nod, and she puts her hands in her lap and looks down at them, studying the nails, the ring on the ringfinger of her left hand which has a little pearl all milky luminescence.
Verna Gardner
"What's your name?" Verna asks, and immediately regrets that. She's not here to actually get close to this woman, but... damn it's hard, isn't it? They're both sad, lonely women, and Verna's beginning to regret her choice.
Well, that's not entirely true. She's regretted it from the beginning. She keeps having to tell herself how necessary this all is.
brat pack
"It's Neela," she tells Verna. A pause. And then a slightly less stiff, "It's nice to meet you, Verna."
Verna Gardner
Neela. Her first target is Neela. Will she even remember that, later? Will she live long enough to forget?
Things seem to be going a little better, so Verna stops messing with her nails (pink polished, to cover up the greyish nailbeds) and starts paying more attention to the music.
"That's such a pretty name," she says, and can't really think of anything else. "A-and... you're pretty too. I'm sure you'll find someone who isn't terrible."
Just, not tonight.
Verna Gardner
[Charisma + Empathy! 2WPs spent!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN8 (1, 2, 2, 3, 5, 7) ( success x 1 ) [Doubling Tens] [WP]
brat pack
[NPC self-control]
Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (7, 8) ( success x 2 )
brat pack
A-and... you're pretty too, Verna says, and Neela gives Verna a startled side-eye, and then closes her eyes for a moment. Her face grows very still as she tries to reach for her composure and manages to, but when she opens her eyes the lashes stick together a little and her gaze is bright with unshed tears. Which she ignores, naturally. Nobody cries during conductorless orchestra shows. It's a rule.
"Thank you, but I don't think so. I found somebody and they lied. Don't they always lie?"
Verna Gardner
"Not always. There are those who don't lie," Verna says. They have a bad habit of disappearing when you need them, but they exist, she thinks she knows. "They're the ones who are worth grieving over."
As opposed to, say, the lying scumbags of the world.
"Liars, though? Worthless."
brat pack
Neela offers Verna another thin but genuine smile, and then turns her attention to the orchestra. Some of the stiffness has left her shoulders, but she's still a portrait of contained upset. She swallows once, and though her eyes get less bright, less luminous, her chin wrinkles up. Once. See?
Verna Gardner
Verna's also struggling to contain herself tonight. The pressure is enormous. Deal with it, or die -- and that's supposed to help? Still. It's not going... badly. She hasn't run Neela off, or been yelled at. It's all going to be okay, she keeps telling herself. It'll be okay. Okay?
And she, too turns her attention to the music, closes her eyes for a bit -- just listening.
brat pack
Next. Now. Symphony No. 40 in G Minor, Allegro Molto, mischievous rills sweeping through a Romantic melody, music for night-stalking, music for clouds boiling, roiling, music for triumphal if pastoral dances --
It'll be okay. It has to be okay.
Nobody around her seems to know how much the night means to Verna, or what she is. Nobody has given her strange looks, and even the woman beside Verna, though reserved and initially unfriendly (and why should she be? A stranger!), treats Verna like a person.
There aren't many people trickling in any longer, although one or two eddy toward the doors, heading for a bath room or to take a cell number.
At least nobody's cell phone has gone off; even in a conversational, almost casual concert such as this it would be the height of rudeness to have a loud ring tone.
Verna Gardner
Verna doesn't have her phone. Phones are a privilege for good little vampires who have proven that they're not going to use them to dial 911. Maybe she'll never get her phone back.
Did David even bother to carry her things with him when he took her? It begs the question. There was a gun and a phone and her identification and a lot of blood. Surely somebody cleaned up after him, right?
"It's going to be okay," Verna says, low-voiced, partly to her 'friend' but mostly to herself. There's no guarantee of that, ever. She should know this by now. But hey. It's only a little lie.
brat pack
[Ye olde manip + subt]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (6, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 4 )
Verna Gardner
[Perception + Subt!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 6, 7, 7, 8) ( success x 4 )
brat pack
[TIE BREAK]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )
Verna Gardner
[Again! Tie!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 3, 8, 8, 8) ( success x 3 )
brat pack
Hard on the heels of Verna's low-voiced remark, Neela smooths her skirt down and stands. "Pardon me," she says. "I'm just going to freshen up. I'll be right back." The last sentence is added in a rare moment of thoughtfulness; Neela isn't cruel but she is selfish and, since she feels so awful, she'd like to feel less awful, and she wouldn't want to think that she was being abandoned after confessing to abandonment, etc., etc. The point is: she says what she says so Verna doesn't feel downcast.
And she will be right back -- probably. But what she really needs is to go outside and cry.
Verna Gardner
Her 'friend' leaves, and lies as she goes. She's not gone to go freshen up, and Verna knows it. She knows that veneer of politeness over a breakdown, because it is her life. And as the symphony swells and ebbs in this beautiful place, she suddenly gets a blank look on her face. It's a better visage than the alternative. She knows what she has to do now.
She looks to the floor and rises from her chair, follows after Neela, giving her space, letting her get outside. But following.
This is her chance.
brat pack
Neela goes through one of the side doors, avoiding the main foyer. She was a Rainbow Girl, came to this lodge for ceremonies once upon a time, when she was even younger than she is now, so she knows where to go to avoid being seen. There's a hall with inlaid marble: white and black and gold-flecked, suddenly opulence, pictures of old men who were influential once and enjoyed boxing and political shenanigans. There's a door open to the main foyer, but Neela doesn't go in that direction; she walks down the hall toward an out of the way set of stairs, meaning to sit on them where nobody can see her for a moment or two. The plants throw spiky shadows, see them? And the light through the main foyer's chandelier dances on the ground like pixies, containing the noise of people talk talk talking, one businessman's voice rising to obnoxious levels of joviality as he yells at an assistant and the acoustics cause his directions to echo.
Verna Gardner
Verna follows. Her boots make soft sounds on the lodge's marble floors, not the telltale clack of heels. But she's not even trying to disguise the fact that she's there. She just puts on her sympathetic face, and keeps walking.
"Neela?"
"I meant that, you know. It's going to be okay."
This isn't the end. Not for you, Neela.
brat pack
Neela startles when Verna speaks, so wrapped up was she in her desire to just get out go somewhere that she hadn't noticed or had the opportunity to notice Verna walking up behind her. She catches herself on the stair alcove's wall instead of sitting down and looks at Verna in disbelief. Disbelief which flickers to anger, not necessarily directed at Verna, though not necessarily safe either. "How do you know? You don't know what you're talking about."
Verna Gardner
"Maybe not specifically, no. But I know you're pretty. You don't believe that, but you are. And you're young and there's hope yet, right? As long as there's hope, you just keep going."
Verna knows all about that last part. There's a shred of hope in her that she clings to like it's her very existence. Determination has kept her -- well, not necessarily alive -- but continuing for a long time now. Neela is her hope right now. If she can just do this. If she can just get closer...
She takes a step. Another.
brat pack
Neela opens her mouth to say something, then closes it firmly. Verna is coming closer and the young woman has no idea that she is in danger of anything but an awkward moment, or losing her temper, or losing her composure; of feeling worse than she already feels. Her lower chin wrinkles again and her eyes find the ceiling, the wall, and she holds her hands out then brings them back one hits her thigh with a slap and she leans against the wall.
Verna Gardner
Okay, so. This is it. This is the test, right? Verna holds her arms out, like she's going to be someone to lean on instead of the cold wall. Verna's cold herself, but Neela likely won't feel that through the clothes.
It's okay. You can cry. Let it all out on Verna's shoulder.
It'll feel so good.
She can do this. It'll be okay. She can do this.
Verna Gardner
[Charisma + Subt! Diff 8 because shy, 3 WP spent, because so close!]
Dice: 7 d10 TN8 (1, 1, 1, 2, 4, 4, 6) ( success x 1 ) [Doubling Tens] [WP]
brat pack
Neela doesn't come into Verna's arms as if Verna were sanctuary, a welcome solace. Her shoulders stiffen, but she doesn't pull back or move away; instead she blinks furiousy, because she is not going to cry, damn it.
Verna can do this. Only mice have bad times with hugs when boa constrictors are in town, and Verna isn't really a mouse. Even if she feels like one or acts like one, shy, shy, shy sometimes. She's the thing with fangs.
Verna Gardner
Oh, she has a warm, living person in her arms, and Neela's neck is right there, and the thrill of it... She keeps her arms from wandering, at least.
But Neela's not the one whose breath comes choppy, like she's close to tears. That's all Verna. She's manipulated herself into this position, and now it's time to make good on it, and save her life. Save David's life.
She makes sure to just happen to cant her lips toward Neela's neck as they get closer. Makes sure not to breathe on her skin. She can feel the need inside push on her fangs, and then...
It's quick. Verna doesn't want to give her victim time to react to the scrape of a tooth across her skin. She just wants to get this done -- to get Neela's blood, which flows, oh! Lips around the wound, suck on it, don't let it get messy now. God, the pulse, it just pumps so hard, so fast...
She almost forgets to count.
One.
Two.
Three.
brat pack
Neela doesn't hug Verna back, but remains stiff in the moment before Verna bites her. Neela doesn't pull back and look at Verna, accuse her of being a monster, crazy, a psycho, something Other, some inhuman thing; she doesn't accuse her of anything, and the stiffness is all because a stranger however well intentioned is hugging her and she just wants to cry and then Verna's teeth scrape her skin and Neela makes a sound and then it is far too late because Verna is sucking and her blood is flowing. Her heartbeat picks up, scared rabbit racing, but she doesn't sound scared when she moans: quietly, in some confusion, whisked away by the exquisite --
David's right. Even when it isn't a blood doll, even when it isn't someone who has been prepped for her, they don't fight. If anything, it's quite the opposite, and Verna's victim would like to die this way.
Sure.
One.
Two.
Three, and Verna is full. She hasn't been full since her last day, though she's come close, and for once hunger abates completely.
(Lies. It waits. It lurks. It's always present. It's air now.)
Verna Gardner
She draws her fangs out, and then there's her tongue to seal the holes left behind. Verna keeps holding Neela, though. This is the part she's dreaded. How is she going to react to that? It can't be good.
Verna shakes. It's pretty obvious now how her own emotions won't be held back for long, how she wants to cry too. It's too intense, isn't it? Everything is.
"You'll be okay. I know it," she says, into her victim's ear.
Verna Gardner
"Just like... I will. Right?"
brat pack
Verna's breath on her ear now, Verna still holding her tight, and Neela who went loose and relaxed and just a moment ago couldn't keep herself from making a pleasure-sound if she wanted to, well, Neela feels light-headed and sick and trapped. Her heart is still hammering, trying to make up for her loss, and her vision swims. Just like... I will, Verna says, and Neela shudders. Right?
"I- I don't know. I- I need to go." Her voice is as tight as a steel trap. "I've- I didn't know I- I'm sorry I just," longing, too. "I feel weird."
"I- I don't usually like girls. I mean I- I haven't. My fiancée- he just died. He k-killed himself in the hosp- hospit- but he said he'd hold on until- and his br- his brother- just please let me go. I mean I should go. Or... I shouldn't? I- "
Verna Gardner
Verna lets go. The stammering, the sudden explosion of emotion, it hits her like a moving wall. She runs her tongue over her teeth, because the last thing she wants to do is try to talk this out while looking... freakish. She can still taste Neela in her mouth, the soft tang of copper, the freshness of her.
I don't usually like girls.
Well, you know, Neela... Neither do I.
My fiancée- he just died.
"I'm so sorry, Neela. That's... terrible. I don't know what to say. Just..." She knows how that feels, and it's awful, dying is.
I should go. Or... I shouldn't?
"Go," she says, and if it's a command, it's one she's trying to be gentle about. "Just, know that you can get through this. People can get through a lot of things."
Verna would know. There's a depth of sadness in her that mirrors Neela's. And she doesn't hide it now, who could? She looks like if she could go paler, she would be, and steps back once, twice, before turning around.
brat pack
As soon as Verna steps back, moves at all, gives Neela any space, Neela bolts. She doesn't actually run, because she feels too light-headed for that, but she goes as quickly as she can and definitely passes Verna on her way back to (if only she knew it) the ring of light a glow of safety, glancing back not a timid little mouse glance back but a worried concerned doesn't know what she's looking at glance back, and then with her head down and her arms wrapped around herself she disappears back into the lodge's ball room.
Music: Danse Macabre.
Verna Gardner
Verna, fists balled and body tense walks back to the room herself, but doesn't try to follow Neela. It's just, she needs to find David. She needs for him to know it went... okay. She didn't kill anyone. She didn't make anyone think she was a vampire.
She needs that. Or she is going to lose it right there by the staircase.
Part of her is so relieved. Part of her is so sated. And of course, most of her is entirely horrified over what she just did.
Surely he will be happy with her now? Surely. She did everything right. Everything. Right?
"I'm sorry, Neela," she whispers under her breath, low beneath the music.
It helps to have the wit to spy opportunity when one is hunting, and Verna as she cases the joint has wit enough. Does hunger sharpen her? A dull ache, and it would be easiest simply to drink from David. No need to be sneaky. No need to be social. No need to talk to strangers. No need to be judged by strangers. Discounted by strangers. Ignored by strangers. But David's not on the menu tonight.
Desperate enough and alone enough. . . .
Promising. An older man, silver in his hair but not handsome enough to be a fox, dressed well enough to be a lawyer or a banker, wearing frameless glasses and sitting a chair away from two people, one of whom looks related to him by blood although not young enough to be his daughter or son.
Promising. A young Indian woman, younger than Verna is (when does it become 'was'?), fresh-faced and pretty, standing with her shoulders stiff and her hair up toying with a kleenex in one hand, glancing frequently toward the door whenever she thinks somebody's looking at her as if - well. More study might give Verna a more accurate understanding of her possible prey's mental state.
Promising. A freckled woman somewhat heavyset, dressed nicely in pink and white, leaning on crutches one leg broken and peering around with the air of someone looking for someone or something.
Promising. A gawky man around Verna's age, perhaps a little bit older, smiling faintly at the orchestra. He's dressed sharply, moneyed, and when somebody bumps into him he doesn't seem to notice for a second, off in his own daydreaming world.
Verna Gardner
She can tell, can't she? That most of these people would be... good. Delicious, yes, that sort of good.
Of course, there is a hipster dude who looks like he moonlights as a lumberjack, if lumberjacks were famous for having huge gauges in their ears and neck tattoos. No amount of nice clothes can cover that up. He gets checked off the mental list as her eyes go skimming around.
She sees a woman with crutches, and that is a strangely attractive sight for someone on a hunt, right? But no. She's looking for someone. And besides, it sticks out, the crutches. Verna doesn't want anything to seem... out of the ordinary.
It has to be perfect.
But then, nothing ever is.
There's the older man sitting with his family, but he's with people. They might look for him.
There... the Indian woman. Is she crying?
[Perception + Empathy!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )
brat pack
The woman has been crying, and recently, and recently she re-applied her make-up or she has really good quality make-up because there's no sign of tears around her eyes except perhaps a certain shadowy quality to the skin, something about the line of her mouth misery-set something about the way she anxiously plays with her kleenex. Shoulders up because she knows she's alone, because she feels like she's alone, but she doesn't want anybody else to know that she's bothered by loneliness, and so here she is, stiff and pretty and to keep people from asking questions she glances at the door like maybe somebody will come. Maybe. Maybe somebody will come.
David lets her set the pace and doesn't seem inclined to conversation. He smiles genially if he catches anybody's eye and here at least in his nice clothes manages to look not so much nervous as a touch excited and wolf in sheep's clothing put together.
There's no tray going around but he does touch the base of Verna's spine to get her attention and nods toward some empty chairs. He has his phone in hand, rude but a good way to blend in. There's always some Millenial texting away.
It conceals the intensity with which he is guaging the crowd, making certain (with a push, scanning) that there are no how shall we say competing predators and if there are whether or not they're to be avoided.
Wouldn't want a coyote to come along and snap up Verna the kitten.
Verna Gardner
[Perception + Awareness!]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 6, 7) ( success x 2 )
brat pack
And while she's looking, she can feel the hairs on the back of her neck lift feel a hunch in her blood in her bones an intuition a suspicion a chill, because Someone Did Something, Somewhere.
Verna Gardner
Verna sniffs and arches her back when she feels that. Starts looking around to see... what? A ghost in the air? Verna, for all her recent mind-opening experiences does not yet believe in them. Souls are suspect.
So, she focuses her attention elsewhere. That woman. She's been stood up. Verna can put the narrative together, oh yes. It's also an excuse for some nice person to say hello and make friends and...
Make her night immeasurably worse perhaps.
Verna looks away, bites her lip. The woman is alone. She's got runaway emotions. She's a good target. It's the best of choices.
Then, she looks to David, this look on her face like she's certain she can't do this. He's a reminder of why she has to try, though.
"I think. There's a woman. Over there. S-should I just go say hello?"
brat pack
He looks for the woman Verna is referring to, gaze brushing across her if Verna makes any gesture at all, if not he misses her completely or thinks he's found her and it doesn't really matter, because after the glance of 'over there,' he turns his back to the orchestra and the Indian woman and looks at Verna. He pitches his voice low, of course, because that's what members of secret societies do. "It's a start. What is your goal?"
Verna Gardner
"She looks sad, like someone stood her up. I could just... I don't know? Talk? Keep talking? Until I can get her..."
It's terrible, laying it out. Putting words to the whole ordeal makes it real.
"Y-you know. Out of view."
Verna fidgets. It's what she does when she's nervous. It's not the mortal terror David's used to from her, but a cousin of it perhaps.
brat pack
"And how will you ..." He clicks his teeth gently.
Verna Gardner
"What... how... uh... do you suggest?" Verna responds, because she really has no idea.
brat pack
"If she's upset and will let you hug her, maybe then. Otherwise..." David doesn't shrug, but the shrug is in his voice and his gaze is intent on Verna's now, focused, for in this he is confident.
"Improvise. The important thing is not to let her see the," he clicks his teeth again, which just now look as human as anybody's who never died and rose again to drink blood, "and to lick the wound closed once you're done sucking. Do you remember how long is too long?"
He'd told her before to count to three and not to go beyond three to start no matter how good it felt.
Verna Gardner
Verna nods. "Three."
Three. There's a limit. She has to remember that. And the licking thing. And don't let anyone see.
She looks over his shoulder, just a glance, and wishes she could still down some alcohol for her courage's sake.
"Okay," she says, takes a deep breath, seems to straighten out her face into something a lot less overwrought. "Okay."
And then, smiling a little, like she's trying to remember what enjoying herself felt like, minces her way over to the lady by the door.
brat pack
When Verna gets close enough, the woman's eyes (large, dark, brown) touch hers and then she glances at the door, unsmiling and nervous but clearly without any expectation that Verna was approaching her or means to continue approaching or means to interact with her at all. When she turns her head back, it is to put her gaze on the orchestra, which is beginning to warm up, drag people's attention from their conversations and their meals, readying itself to play, play, play. Nobody says a few words about tonight's program or about the charity the concert is benefiting (the penniless musician's fund, bitches! Er, ladies and gentlemen), because they're trying to appeal to more people and they want to surprise the audience and anyway people are allowed to socialize and anyway they'll have somebody speak about the goals of their orchestra between pieces. First up, the overture for the Magic Flute; it will begin.
Verna Gardner
As she walks, she cocks her head a little at the woman, gives her a shy smile. There there, it's not so bad is it?
"H-hi. I know you don't know me or anything, but..." But what, Verna? She clears her throat. "It looks like I've been abandoned tonight."
Right. Go for the solidarity thing?
"I don't have anyone to sit with. Anymore. Could I? With you?"
[Manip + Subt = 5, Diff 8 'cause shy!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN8 (5, 5, 8, 8, 9) ( success x 3 )
Verna Gardner
[Hungry?]
Dice: 1 d10 TN8 (9) ( success x 1 )
brat pack
[NPC Manip + Subt!]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 8, 9, 9) ( success x 3 )
Verna Gardner
[Perc + Subt = What? Is that a falsehood?]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (3, 9, 9, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 5 )
brat pack
The stiff-shouldered woman looks up at Verna when the little fledgling shyly begins speaking, and she still doesn't smile, corners of her mouth shifting downward for a moment. Her gaze darts back to the orchestra and, without looking at Verna, she says, "I'm sorry to hear that. You're welcome to take a chair."
The only lie is her face and her attitude; that air of injured dignity drawn together, smoothed out, polished, put on a good face for this stranger right now who'd normally annoy her might annoy her except well she isn't thinking about how to be annoyed tonight. She's pretending well, although not so well that Verna, on high alert, doesn't see the places where the mask wears thin and the woman's true misery is visible.
An inaudible swallow, just so.
Verna Gardner
"Hey, what's wrong?" Verna asks, sliding down into a chair with all the grace she can muster. "You look worse off than I do, and let me tell you, my night's going horribly."
No lie there.
Not one bit.
brat pack
"Why would you assume something is wrong?" the woman says, a quaver on 'assume' for all she is trying to sound sharp. "Do I look like I was also abandoned?"
Verna Gardner
"No... no... I can't imagine why anyone would abandon you. Just, you looked a little sad. I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."
Verna gives up and looks toward the orchestra, fidgets as everything seems to be falling apart so soon.
brat pack
Silence. In the orchestra, everybody is alert, everybody is at attention even when it isn't yet their turn, and when it's time to join the music they do so with precision, with choreographed grace; many of the people here are here because they like to watch something so practiced, people so in concert with one another that they can draw heaven out of the air and send it back again. Nobody can play in a symphony without practice even if they know how to read the music.
The woman doesn't speak immediately, but finally gives a stiff-sounding little, "I know you didn't mean anything by it; it's fine."
Verna Gardner
It's like breaking the ice with a glacier. Verna tries to pay more attention to the music than her failure, which is wearing on her face even though the music is so upbeat.
Mozart. He was genius, wasn't he? Always been one of her favorites. Some classical composers tried, but few could match his layered complexity. When the other woman speaks up again, Verna just hits her with another shy smile, and goes back to feeling whatever she can.
Is David watching this? Can he see how she isn't getting anywhere? Oh, he probably is. He probably isn't letting her out of his sight, lest she bolt for freedom or some other stupid thing.
brat pack
She's new. It's not difficult to feel. Ennui hasn't come to rewrite her memories betrayal hasn't come to tell her that there is no hope for friendship she has not yet done unspeakable things when not in her right mind she is young. She is a young woman and she is a young vampire and her heart doesn't race to tell her she is nervous, but surely the mind is enough? Thoughts. Ideas. Hunger for something.
Maybe one night she'll hear Mozart and think, Ah, the first time I hunted on my own, I was so young, and she'll feel something different.
Maybe one night she'll hear Mozart and think, Ah, one gets bored.
Maybe.
Does Verna look around for David? He's hiding in the crowd. It's not difficult to break ice with a glacier; one just has to make an impact. To get the old stuff, the ice that'll tell one something about the past about the earth about this metaphor is getting out of control, sometimes one has to really dig. The best defense against ice is warmth.
The woman sneakily puts her kleenex, ragged, torn, into her purse, and casts Verna a quick sidelong glance to make sure she hasn't seen.
The woman wouldn't want to look weak, would she?
Nobody wants that.
Verna Gardner
The overture is short, and afterward there is the appreciative clapping, to which Verna supplies her own bit.
It's so tempting to just ignore her... prey? To just listen to music and not do anything, but she has to try, doesn't she? After the clapping dies down, she tries again.
"I love Mozart, you know? It's nice.. um. Thanks for letting me sit with you. I..."
I've been so lonely. Stuck in a guy's concrete basement. Dead inside, with only a few, incredibly strange people to talk with. Pretty sure I'm going to die soon.
And she can't say any of that, out loud, so the sentence hangs there while Verna lets her own mask slip. She misses being normal, and able to smile truthfully.
"Just, thanks."
Verna Gardner
[Charisma + Empathy! Spending WP because this is where she botches, I know it.]
Dice: 6 d10 TN8 (2, 3, 4, 6, 6, 9) ( success x 2 ) [Doubling Tens] [WP]
brat pack
Another spell of silence, but this one is shorter. The pretty woman turns her chin toward Verna and opens her mouth as if she's going to say something once, and then twice, and then finally, after a prim little pursing of her mouth, she smiles a thin but genuine smile.
"You're welcome. It's fine. I don't have any one tonight to listen to the music with either, not that I need someone..."
Swallow, and as she swallows she reaches up to touch her earring. Verna is well-fed, well-suited for a leisurely hunt a hunt with no undo surprises from a loss of control, but if she has any preconceived notions on where to bite it must be the neck, mustn't it? David told her that any place will do.
Just make the blood flow and suck. They won't fight.
"What's your name?"
Verna Gardner
Her companion (are we to that point now?) touches her earring, and Verna follows the motion, eyes holding there a second while she thinks. Yes. Just there. Three.
"My name? I'm Verna," she says. But isn't Verna dead? Or something? The old Verna, that is. Who should she be?
"I don't need anyone either. Sometimes, it's just so much... crap." She sighs. "Nobody needs terrible people."
Except, Verna, you need David, don't you? And there, another sigh.
brat pack
The woman gives an emphatic little nod, and she puts her hands in her lap and looks down at them, studying the nails, the ring on the ringfinger of her left hand which has a little pearl all milky luminescence.
Verna Gardner
"What's your name?" Verna asks, and immediately regrets that. She's not here to actually get close to this woman, but... damn it's hard, isn't it? They're both sad, lonely women, and Verna's beginning to regret her choice.
Well, that's not entirely true. She's regretted it from the beginning. She keeps having to tell herself how necessary this all is.
brat pack
"It's Neela," she tells Verna. A pause. And then a slightly less stiff, "It's nice to meet you, Verna."
Verna Gardner
Neela. Her first target is Neela. Will she even remember that, later? Will she live long enough to forget?
Things seem to be going a little better, so Verna stops messing with her nails (pink polished, to cover up the greyish nailbeds) and starts paying more attention to the music.
"That's such a pretty name," she says, and can't really think of anything else. "A-and... you're pretty too. I'm sure you'll find someone who isn't terrible."
Just, not tonight.
Verna Gardner
[Charisma + Empathy! 2WPs spent!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN8 (1, 2, 2, 3, 5, 7) ( success x 1 ) [Doubling Tens] [WP]
brat pack
[NPC self-control]
Dice: 2 d10 TN6 (7, 8) ( success x 2 )
brat pack
A-and... you're pretty too, Verna says, and Neela gives Verna a startled side-eye, and then closes her eyes for a moment. Her face grows very still as she tries to reach for her composure and manages to, but when she opens her eyes the lashes stick together a little and her gaze is bright with unshed tears. Which she ignores, naturally. Nobody cries during conductorless orchestra shows. It's a rule.
"Thank you, but I don't think so. I found somebody and they lied. Don't they always lie?"
Verna Gardner
"Not always. There are those who don't lie," Verna says. They have a bad habit of disappearing when you need them, but they exist, she thinks she knows. "They're the ones who are worth grieving over."
As opposed to, say, the lying scumbags of the world.
"Liars, though? Worthless."
brat pack
Neela offers Verna another thin but genuine smile, and then turns her attention to the orchestra. Some of the stiffness has left her shoulders, but she's still a portrait of contained upset. She swallows once, and though her eyes get less bright, less luminous, her chin wrinkles up. Once. See?
Verna Gardner
Verna's also struggling to contain herself tonight. The pressure is enormous. Deal with it, or die -- and that's supposed to help? Still. It's not going... badly. She hasn't run Neela off, or been yelled at. It's all going to be okay, she keeps telling herself. It'll be okay. Okay?
And she, too turns her attention to the music, closes her eyes for a bit -- just listening.
brat pack
Next. Now. Symphony No. 40 in G Minor, Allegro Molto, mischievous rills sweeping through a Romantic melody, music for night-stalking, music for clouds boiling, roiling, music for triumphal if pastoral dances --
It'll be okay. It has to be okay.
Nobody around her seems to know how much the night means to Verna, or what she is. Nobody has given her strange looks, and even the woman beside Verna, though reserved and initially unfriendly (and why should she be? A stranger!), treats Verna like a person.
There aren't many people trickling in any longer, although one or two eddy toward the doors, heading for a bath room or to take a cell number.
At least nobody's cell phone has gone off; even in a conversational, almost casual concert such as this it would be the height of rudeness to have a loud ring tone.
Verna Gardner
Verna doesn't have her phone. Phones are a privilege for good little vampires who have proven that they're not going to use them to dial 911. Maybe she'll never get her phone back.
Did David even bother to carry her things with him when he took her? It begs the question. There was a gun and a phone and her identification and a lot of blood. Surely somebody cleaned up after him, right?
"It's going to be okay," Verna says, low-voiced, partly to her 'friend' but mostly to herself. There's no guarantee of that, ever. She should know this by now. But hey. It's only a little lie.
brat pack
[Ye olde manip + subt]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (6, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 4 )
Verna Gardner
[Perception + Subt!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 6, 7, 7, 8) ( success x 4 )
brat pack
[TIE BREAK]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 4, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )
Verna Gardner
[Again! Tie!]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 3, 8, 8, 8) ( success x 3 )
brat pack
Hard on the heels of Verna's low-voiced remark, Neela smooths her skirt down and stands. "Pardon me," she says. "I'm just going to freshen up. I'll be right back." The last sentence is added in a rare moment of thoughtfulness; Neela isn't cruel but she is selfish and, since she feels so awful, she'd like to feel less awful, and she wouldn't want to think that she was being abandoned after confessing to abandonment, etc., etc. The point is: she says what she says so Verna doesn't feel downcast.
And she will be right back -- probably. But what she really needs is to go outside and cry.
Verna Gardner
Her 'friend' leaves, and lies as she goes. She's not gone to go freshen up, and Verna knows it. She knows that veneer of politeness over a breakdown, because it is her life. And as the symphony swells and ebbs in this beautiful place, she suddenly gets a blank look on her face. It's a better visage than the alternative. She knows what she has to do now.
She looks to the floor and rises from her chair, follows after Neela, giving her space, letting her get outside. But following.
This is her chance.
brat pack
Neela goes through one of the side doors, avoiding the main foyer. She was a Rainbow Girl, came to this lodge for ceremonies once upon a time, when she was even younger than she is now, so she knows where to go to avoid being seen. There's a hall with inlaid marble: white and black and gold-flecked, suddenly opulence, pictures of old men who were influential once and enjoyed boxing and political shenanigans. There's a door open to the main foyer, but Neela doesn't go in that direction; she walks down the hall toward an out of the way set of stairs, meaning to sit on them where nobody can see her for a moment or two. The plants throw spiky shadows, see them? And the light through the main foyer's chandelier dances on the ground like pixies, containing the noise of people talk talk talking, one businessman's voice rising to obnoxious levels of joviality as he yells at an assistant and the acoustics cause his directions to echo.
Verna Gardner
Verna follows. Her boots make soft sounds on the lodge's marble floors, not the telltale clack of heels. But she's not even trying to disguise the fact that she's there. She just puts on her sympathetic face, and keeps walking.
"Neela?"
"I meant that, you know. It's going to be okay."
This isn't the end. Not for you, Neela.
brat pack
Neela startles when Verna speaks, so wrapped up was she in her desire to just get out go somewhere that she hadn't noticed or had the opportunity to notice Verna walking up behind her. She catches herself on the stair alcove's wall instead of sitting down and looks at Verna in disbelief. Disbelief which flickers to anger, not necessarily directed at Verna, though not necessarily safe either. "How do you know? You don't know what you're talking about."
Verna Gardner
"Maybe not specifically, no. But I know you're pretty. You don't believe that, but you are. And you're young and there's hope yet, right? As long as there's hope, you just keep going."
Verna knows all about that last part. There's a shred of hope in her that she clings to like it's her very existence. Determination has kept her -- well, not necessarily alive -- but continuing for a long time now. Neela is her hope right now. If she can just do this. If she can just get closer...
She takes a step. Another.
brat pack
Neela opens her mouth to say something, then closes it firmly. Verna is coming closer and the young woman has no idea that she is in danger of anything but an awkward moment, or losing her temper, or losing her composure; of feeling worse than she already feels. Her lower chin wrinkles again and her eyes find the ceiling, the wall, and she holds her hands out then brings them back one hits her thigh with a slap and she leans against the wall.
Verna Gardner
Okay, so. This is it. This is the test, right? Verna holds her arms out, like she's going to be someone to lean on instead of the cold wall. Verna's cold herself, but Neela likely won't feel that through the clothes.
It's okay. You can cry. Let it all out on Verna's shoulder.
It'll feel so good.
She can do this. It'll be okay. She can do this.
Verna Gardner
[Charisma + Subt! Diff 8 because shy, 3 WP spent, because so close!]
Dice: 7 d10 TN8 (1, 1, 1, 2, 4, 4, 6) ( success x 1 ) [Doubling Tens] [WP]
brat pack
Neela doesn't come into Verna's arms as if Verna were sanctuary, a welcome solace. Her shoulders stiffen, but she doesn't pull back or move away; instead she blinks furiousy, because she is not going to cry, damn it.
Verna can do this. Only mice have bad times with hugs when boa constrictors are in town, and Verna isn't really a mouse. Even if she feels like one or acts like one, shy, shy, shy sometimes. She's the thing with fangs.
Verna Gardner
Oh, she has a warm, living person in her arms, and Neela's neck is right there, and the thrill of it... She keeps her arms from wandering, at least.
But Neela's not the one whose breath comes choppy, like she's close to tears. That's all Verna. She's manipulated herself into this position, and now it's time to make good on it, and save her life. Save David's life.
She makes sure to just happen to cant her lips toward Neela's neck as they get closer. Makes sure not to breathe on her skin. She can feel the need inside push on her fangs, and then...
It's quick. Verna doesn't want to give her victim time to react to the scrape of a tooth across her skin. She just wants to get this done -- to get Neela's blood, which flows, oh! Lips around the wound, suck on it, don't let it get messy now. God, the pulse, it just pumps so hard, so fast...
She almost forgets to count.
One.
Two.
Three.
brat pack
Neela doesn't hug Verna back, but remains stiff in the moment before Verna bites her. Neela doesn't pull back and look at Verna, accuse her of being a monster, crazy, a psycho, something Other, some inhuman thing; she doesn't accuse her of anything, and the stiffness is all because a stranger however well intentioned is hugging her and she just wants to cry and then Verna's teeth scrape her skin and Neela makes a sound and then it is far too late because Verna is sucking and her blood is flowing. Her heartbeat picks up, scared rabbit racing, but she doesn't sound scared when she moans: quietly, in some confusion, whisked away by the exquisite --
David's right. Even when it isn't a blood doll, even when it isn't someone who has been prepped for her, they don't fight. If anything, it's quite the opposite, and Verna's victim would like to die this way.
Sure.
One.
Two.
Three, and Verna is full. She hasn't been full since her last day, though she's come close, and for once hunger abates completely.
(Lies. It waits. It lurks. It's always present. It's air now.)
Verna Gardner
She draws her fangs out, and then there's her tongue to seal the holes left behind. Verna keeps holding Neela, though. This is the part she's dreaded. How is she going to react to that? It can't be good.
Verna shakes. It's pretty obvious now how her own emotions won't be held back for long, how she wants to cry too. It's too intense, isn't it? Everything is.
"You'll be okay. I know it," she says, into her victim's ear.
Verna Gardner
"Just like... I will. Right?"
brat pack
Verna's breath on her ear now, Verna still holding her tight, and Neela who went loose and relaxed and just a moment ago couldn't keep herself from making a pleasure-sound if she wanted to, well, Neela feels light-headed and sick and trapped. Her heart is still hammering, trying to make up for her loss, and her vision swims. Just like... I will, Verna says, and Neela shudders. Right?
"I- I don't know. I- I need to go." Her voice is as tight as a steel trap. "I've- I didn't know I- I'm sorry I just," longing, too. "I feel weird."
"I- I don't usually like girls. I mean I- I haven't. My fiancée- he just died. He k-killed himself in the hosp- hospit- but he said he'd hold on until- and his br- his brother- just please let me go. I mean I should go. Or... I shouldn't? I- "
Verna Gardner
Verna lets go. The stammering, the sudden explosion of emotion, it hits her like a moving wall. She runs her tongue over her teeth, because the last thing she wants to do is try to talk this out while looking... freakish. She can still taste Neela in her mouth, the soft tang of copper, the freshness of her.
I don't usually like girls.
Well, you know, Neela... Neither do I.
My fiancée- he just died.
"I'm so sorry, Neela. That's... terrible. I don't know what to say. Just..." She knows how that feels, and it's awful, dying is.
I should go. Or... I shouldn't?
"Go," she says, and if it's a command, it's one she's trying to be gentle about. "Just, know that you can get through this. People can get through a lot of things."
Verna would know. There's a depth of sadness in her that mirrors Neela's. And she doesn't hide it now, who could? She looks like if she could go paler, she would be, and steps back once, twice, before turning around.
brat pack
As soon as Verna steps back, moves at all, gives Neela any space, Neela bolts. She doesn't actually run, because she feels too light-headed for that, but she goes as quickly as she can and definitely passes Verna on her way back to (if only she knew it) the ring of light a glow of safety, glancing back not a timid little mouse glance back but a worried concerned doesn't know what she's looking at glance back, and then with her head down and her arms wrapped around herself she disappears back into the lodge's ball room.
Music: Danse Macabre.
Verna Gardner
Verna, fists balled and body tense walks back to the room herself, but doesn't try to follow Neela. It's just, she needs to find David. She needs for him to know it went... okay. She didn't kill anyone. She didn't make anyone think she was a vampire.
She needs that. Or she is going to lose it right there by the staircase.
Part of her is so relieved. Part of her is so sated. And of course, most of her is entirely horrified over what she just did.
Surely he will be happy with her now? Surely. She did everything right. Everything. Right?
"I'm sorry, Neela," she whispers under her breath, low beneath the music.
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