Kiss The Girl (open, why not?)

[shinigami]

"I need a drink."

Darren leans against the barcounter but he hasn't bothered to look at the tender after beckoning her over with a flick of his fingers. The tender is lovely, with hair like bloodstained gold or strawberry juice, and she nods once and pours him something old and expensive and delicious. She sets it down at his elbow.

He blinks -- a slow blink -- and looks at it. Then? Then Darren fixes (the way some people fix butterflies in place with a pin?) the made vampire 'tender behind the counter with a look. She is not used to feeling like a weak little butterfly who can't even flutter its wings, but Darren's look makes her feel it.

"I said," he repeats, enunciating carefully, "I need a drink." He raises an eyebrow, suggestively, and the made vampire is very glad she can't flush. She gives him a knowing look and nods toward a table full of ... well, they're humans.

Stupid humans who wandered in by mistake. Stupid humans who feel pretty uncomfortable right now. Three of them, two girls and a guy.

"Hmm," Darren says, straightening. As he straightens, he slides a folded bill across the bar, payment for the tip.

Then he goes off to make friends.

---

The human woman -- in her twenties, maybe -- just can't believe her luck. Because Darren, with his eyes like semi-precious gems in sludge, with his dark, dark hair and his cruel smile, is gorgeous.

And he's paying her attention. She doesn't know why she does it. She just does it. Agrees to go off with him. Agrees, even though his fingers tighten on her throat, and they're hard and cold and unforgiving. Agrees, even though he pushes her back into the booth by the throat, and nobody seems to find this strange at all...

It's the most exciting thing in her life. You should go out with a bang, eh?

---

Darren's fingers continue to tighten once they're alone in the dark. The Black Iris is famous for the fact that people once inside just don't leave, if they're people. Usually, it's a human free environment -- except for those already slated for messing with. He watches the precise moment the woman realizes that she can't really breathe, and as soon as panick flares in her eyes, he swoops in and kisses her: harsh, hard. His grip relaxes, and she begins to, as well.

He hasn't said a word, understand. Not to her. One doesn't talk to one's food, does one? He leans back, holds her hand, which she is stretching out languidly, looking -- confused? Dreamy? Uncertain?

He watches her from 'neath a hooded gaze. He uses his Power to spear her in place. Holds her mind so that, oh yes, she knows what's happening, oh yes, but she can't speak. Then he kisses her wrist. He smiles at her like a lover.

Makes certain she sees the fangs before he bites, makes certain some blood drifts down her arm, makes certain she sees it as he feeds, and watches her face, watches her try to speak, feels her mind flutter anxiously.

They're in the dark. Nobody else sees.

---

Some time later, Darren slides out of the booth and straightens his jacket. He could be any man, slightly rumpled, after a binge at the casinos.

[lily tomlinson]

((Okay, for those that read, or join, I'mma make a quick note stating that yes, this is Eve, but since her past self is in control right now, she's referring to herself as Hunter. So, Eve=present; Hunter=past controlling her. Hope there not confusion!))

Sometimes when Eve went to sleep at night, she'd wake an hour later as someone else. She woke a Hunter, a fighter, she woke as who she was in a past life. Eve didn't know this, nor did she know she was an Old Soul. Each night she went out hunting, she went out to play, to kill. And each morning she woke in a different place, no memory of the previous night or how she got there.

Often times she woke covered in blood. But still she remembered nothing. Each morning, she thought more and more that she was going insane.

Really, she wasn't. Tricky things a past life can be. Tricky, that was Hunter.

Easing out of her chair, Hunter took no notice of the people around her.. She was surrounded by the things she once killed on a daily basis, playing amongst them, where she would usually be searching out another killer to take care of. She didn't think of consequences, didn't think of what Eve would think when she finally took control of her body again. For now, she was just Hunter, she was the past, and had no qualms about controlling this new life that was being lived.

But tonight, she felt no desire to kill. No one had been a threat so far. Tonight was just to play, to dance, to thrive in the night like she had once upon a time. And she quite liked the music of the present, even if it could never beat the old drums, the dances amongst bonfires and trees. Those were the good old days.

Hunter smiled, to no one and nothing in particular. It wasn't a nice smile, nor cruel. More a ghostly smile, faded and mysterious. Secretive. As if she knew something that no one else did. It was technically true. No one here knew that she shared control over one body. The other hunters she worked with did, and like her, they had no qualms about using her talents and keeping it from her other self. The weaker part of her. The part that never remembered.

A nice song was playing, the beginning strains of what promised to be a song full of rage. A killing song.

Let the bodies hit the floor...

Yes, yes, definitely her type of music. The type that she couldn't resist moving to, matching each beat, reflecting it's rage in her movement, a fluid grace of a killer, she supposed. She didn't really care what it looked like. She was merely here to enjoy herself, perhaps find another self-imposed assignment, but so far there had been nothing interesting other than the music.

[shinigami]

Darren returns to the bar. At least at first. This time he accepts the "drink" at his elbow, compliments of somebody who knows him down at the other end. He quirks one eyebrow in acknowledgment, then rests his elbows on the counter top and watches the movement of the club.

Why, yes, he looks both aloof and holier-than-thou, but there's somethin' about him. The eloquence of movement that comes from being a predator by birthright and bloodline, perhaps. He tips his head up, and his eyes hood again.

Which is when, of course, she catches his eye. His pupils dilate. He leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees, steeples his fingers, and watches with attention.

Is he hungry? Hmm. She's pretty. There've been so many, many pretty girls. But this one: she's especially pretty. And, at least for a second, he can't tell what she is, just by looking at her -- and that's very unusual indeed.

After a minute, Darren gets up and eases into the crowd. He? is in hunter mode, and he shadows her. Her: Eve. Hunter. Whatever she's calling herself tonight: he doesn't care. Not yet.

[lily tomlinson]

She'd seen movement out of the corner of her eye, but it was the hunter in her that kept her from reacting, letting on that she knew she was being shadowed. She kept her eyes heavy-lidded, kept on dancing, giving her an almost lazy, ignorant look. Look could be deceiving, but she wasn't one to set the record straight until it was too late for the other person.

But she did wonder, why she was being shadowed. By a haughty vampire, nonetheless. Not that she should really care about the reasoning. Just so long as he didn't threaten her, she wouldn't take the time to attack. Meh.

[shinigami]

He has one flaw. Not that he'd ever, ever admit to it. But the flaw: Despite being known as the Great Detective, only half in jest, because he's usually open to considering all potential outcomes -- he's very narrow minded.

It doesn't occur to Darren that Eve might've noticed him. It wasn't his intention that she should notice him, so of course she didn't.

He should feel good right now. His veins are running with hot blood. Blood that he took. He's surrounded by -- well, not equals, but they're higher up the food chain than the average human off the street. He doesn't, which is why he makes a game of shadowing Eve, of getting really, really close, of seeming natural, just another guy in the crowd, just another dancer, who is never, ever, ever in her line of sight.

But he's always there. Riiiiight behind her. Sure, he's not threatening her. Yet. But these games always play out a certain way.

[lily tomlinson]

Now she had to refrain from reacting. Had to control her breathing, make sure it stayed even, her pulse calm and steady. No need to react, and show that she knew what he was doing, or the fact that the game was amping up her adrenaline. She liked games. She rarely lost games. There had been a few in the past that she'd just barely gotten away, a few that were on equal footing, and only one that had managed to get past her defenses and kill her. But it was still a game, and the risk only made it that much more fun to play.

Hunter's lowered a fraction more, making her look sleepy, oblivious, and she danced gracefully around the dancer. Away from the center, where all the lights lay, and glided into the shadow. Purposeful movements, meant to ensnare, done in a way that she looked as if she were merely dancing, changing positions and lost in the music. No one knew she was drawing away on purpose.

After all, she knew the game, she played it well.

[shinigami]

They're well-matched -- and the dance has become a duet. He's amused, or, anyway, he seems amused; his cruel lips curl, slightly. They say pride goes before the fall, but some people only feel alive when they're falling. Darren? Darren is proud. Look, she doesn't even need to be cut out of the crowd -- she's doing it all on her own. Stupid sheep.

Or is she? Darren's eyes narrow, slightly, and the curl to his lips becomes slightly more pronounced. He stays a part of her shadow, he stays just where she isn't looking -- once, he takes a breath, so that she can hear it much-too-close, but that's all.

This is Vegas, after all -- the city of games.

[lily tomlinson]

She heard the breath, closer than one should be comfortable with, but she took it in stride, pretending as if she heard nothing as she straddled the line between the shadows just of the dance floor, and the pure black shadows of the hallways beyond. Swaying to the music, her eyes slid shut, her head tilting back ever-so-slightly, she was aware of each movement behind her.

She'd gone far enough into the shadows that it was just the two of them. Just the game. She, who seemed just another foolish human, just another dancer, was waiting for a move. If there would be one, rather than just a game of cat stalking mouse. If there was a move, she'd see who would win the game, and the shadows were a perfect cover to keep others from prying and getting in the middle.

[shinigami]

He doesn't get impatient. Darren has mastered patience -- more or less. He has a lot of time. He once followed someone for five days, always letting his footfall be heard just behind the poor fellow when he was alone. The man went insane.

The art of dining can be an art. And it was, once. Now? Now. . .

Now, Darren watches the human's hips sway, and he makes a move. His voice is rough and burnished chocolate, notable for its complete lack of accent.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Aren't you going to swoon?"

[lily tomlinson]

SHe made a show of stilling, freezing, and then tensing up. But she did not turn around because she just couldn't stop the sudden, swift grin that took over her features. Played just the way she'd wanted. Good boy.

Of course, she didn't realize just who he was, or what he could do. That was what got her killed the first time around. She could be too arrogant over her own abilities.... No, not arrogance, really. More recklessness. She didn't fear pain, or death. She lived for the game, for the kill.

So when he spoke, she played the part of scared little girl, but her words were anything but scared. "About time," she muttered with a taunting note, "I was beginning to think you were one of those cowardly ones."

And as she spoke, she'd spun swiftly away. One hand slid behind her, grabbing a nasty-looking dagger from it's holster on her back. How she'd fit it there with her clothes, was a good question, but not a secret she was willing to divulge.

"Care to dance, darling?" she continued with a raised eyebrow, holding the dagger aloft. She didn't do the fancy twirls. She was more the lunge and stab type of girl.

((Hehe. I've decided Eve's past self gets to be corny as hell. ))

[shinigami]

"We live in a progressive age, don't we?" Darren says, and the disdainful curl to his lip has become slightly more pronounced. Clearly, he doesn't think very much of this "progressive" crap.

He noticed that she tensed, oh yes, and played the part. Sure. But she didn't smell frightened, although really, it was rather hard to tell in the Black Iris. There were so many competing smells of interest. This is when she spins and withdraws the dagger, which he eyes with that damned faint smile still in place.

Doesn't reach his eyes.

Somehow, he manages to become even more disdainful. Maybe it's the fact that he's lighting a cigarette even though she's brandishing her dagger. Girls with sticks. Pft. He raises an eyebrow, boyish mockery, and half inclines his head. "Why don't you lead? Show me what this 'woman's lib' crap did for you."

[lily tomlinson]

"I knew there was a reason I was playing this game," she muttered, a smile slowly curving. Her old smile, the one that said she would have fun killing someone so despicable. "Such sexism really belongs back in the dark ages. Women are by far superior creatures. More graceful, flexible. More agile, and quick to think. Men, on the other hand, can only think with one part of their anatomy. Or in your case, it would be with your fangs. Pathetic, really."

Now that she'd made her point, she was tired of talking. She wasn't a chatter; she preferred to focus on play rather than bickering. And so that was what she did. Silently, she contemplated a move, keeping alert on any signs of movement, and then suddenly she was moving, just as she stated a woman could. She spun, swayed, and dove around him, her dagger swinging in a quick flash of silver. For a moment she stilled in front of him, watching as the burning part of his cigarette drifted to the ground. It was where she'd aimed at first. Such a disgusting habit.

And then before the ashes even hit the ground, she used her height to her advantage, sliding down between his legs so that she was now behind him, and then flipped the dagger backwards to strike at his head with the hilt. The wooden hilt.

[shinigami]

He raises both eyebrows as she speaks. His gaze remains fixed, as does the faint and cruel smile on his cruel and sweet mouth, on Eve. Who isn't Eve. Hunter. There's a certain boyish jackassness to the cant of his eyebrows, though. That cannot be denied.

He is surprised by how quickly she moves, and how adeptly. Even watching her move on the dance floor, even looking at the way her body was put together, hadn't quite prepared him, and so even though he wouldn't admit it -- would never, ever admit it -- the fact that he catches her wrist, the wrist of the hand with the dagger that she's just flipped in order to slam the hilt into the back of his head, is as much luck as automatic skill.

He's fast. And he's flush with the life of some idiot human girl. That's Power. He tightens his fingers hard enough to bruise her wrist, to make the bones groan for breaking, although he doesn't break them. He just wants her to drop the dagger, and if she doesn't, immediately, he's going to use his (unnatural, beyond predatory) speed to get back behind her, but he's not letting go of her wrist, so she better be careful she doesn't accidentally cut her pretty little throat...

... He wants to play with that later. "Grace," he says, almost snarls; velvet. "To look nice. Flexibility, to fuck nice. Agility, three guesses. Quick to think?"

Now he laughs. There isn't any humor. It's rote.

"How well did you think this through, little girl? Just tell me one thing -- do you know what I am?"

[lily tomlinson]

She merely raised an eyebrow. The pain was tolerable, from someone who experienced worse on a weekly basis. She'd been raised to tolerate pain, to fight through it. She wouldn't let such an arrogant leech get to her so easily.

But she did drop the dagger. A feigned complacency. It wasn't her only weapon, and even so, she'd fight without if she had to.

"Not hard to figure out," she spat, tilting her head up to glare at him. "But you're obviously slow-minded. I did say you think with your fangs. What would you deduce from that, Mr. Big-headed Leech?"

[shinigami]

"Bear with me, darlin'. So I'd be right if I said you came here, to this club, in full knowledge and understanding of my," here, the ghost of a smirk, although there doesn't seem to be as much life to this one, "nature, knowing completely that this place might occasionally be the haunt of some--" another pause "--thing like me?"

You see, his hand is on her skin, and he isn't wearing gloves, and it's skin against skin, and -- okay. There's something there. Something different.

He's getting a sinking feeling in his stomach. Matches the way his heart is lifting. Darren's heart -- or "heart", as the people call it while making the quotation mark fingers -- is not usually moved.

By anything.