My World of 1x1s discussion

Name: Emilaya "Laya" Prasae



Gender: Female

Age: 19; 22

Race: Vampire

Talents:
-Advanced Weapons Proficiency
-Coercion
-Talent Theft (Through the consumption of a supernatural being blood, a vampire may absorb - depending upon the amount consumed - some or all of that being's special abilities)
-Natural Predator (Ever so slightly advanced speed and physical fitness; Notably sharp canines made for feeding on unwitting victims)

Weakness:
-Forbidden Fruit, Apple (wood, fruit, etc.)
-Constant Boodlust

Personality:
-Unpredictable
Emilaya was made to be a predator, and as a rule, her instincts are her deadliest weapon. She believes that in battle, every second you spend planning out a tactical maneuver is every second your opponent has the chance to do the same. When fighting, she allows her reflexive reactions to take almost a complete control out of her body. Quite a bit of this philosophy carries over into her relationships. More often than not, she jumps into situations that would cause her trouble and rarely commits to a relationship for long. If society were to tell her to act in a certain way, one could earn a large sum of money betting she'd perform the opposite.

-Witty
Like both of her parents before her, Emilaya is more than a bit of a silvertongue. She can get herself into more than a few places around town and about twice as many men will buy her a drink from her ridiculous reputation alone. She always has to have the last laugh and her pride and persistence can keep her quipping back and forth for hours on end with the proper partner. The speed of her retorts match her impulsive manner rather well. However, the minimal effort that is required for her to produce such tactical remarks is a stark contrast to her lack of strategy throughout the rest of her unstable life. Her quick tongue and easy social demeanor are quite likely a large and integral part of her integration into average supernatural society, as well as her modem for dealing with clients.

-Impulsive
Her instincts not only guide her in combat, but in decision making as well. Emilaya's opinions of people are often made on a first impersonation basis, and once she has judged someone else, it takes quite a bit to sway her stubborn mind otherwise. She would never admit it, but she is easily swayed by temptation - especially the prospect of fresh blood - and frequents blood bars often to keep her often too indulged nature under more control. In the same manner, she would easily be considered more than a bit of a flirt, often leaning on men to provide for her and feigning commitment. However, those she likes the most she tends to keep her distance with, out of fear that her flamboyant habits would ruin a long standing relationship or that she would hurt them by choosing someone else.

History:
-Birth:
Emilaya's birth was hardly purposeful, her parents both full vampires who often traveled from place to place in order to avoid discovery. Not to mention her father's nasty habit of leaving trails of dead bodies in his wake. However, when Liddya learned of her pregnancy, it wasn't long at all before she grew attached to the life she carried within her. Little argument was needed to get Mitchell to consent to the arrangement as well and soon enough, the two had a jovial rosy-haired baby in their lives.

-Childhood:
Much of Emilaya's childhood was spent on the move, dragged hopelessly into the whirling turmoil that was her parents' nomadic lifestyle. By the time she was six she had finally begun to understand the reasons behind their hurried transitions and minimal interactions. Arguments between her parents weaseled their way through the cracks under doors. Her mother was angry. Daddy had gone out and killed another innocent woman. Now they were going to have to move again. Mommy didn't understand. She didn't know the whole story. No. It was Daddy who was wrong. She didn't care about the death. It happened sometimes. But the way he had done it... seducing women counted as cheating, even if it was just to get a meal to go.

And then Mommy left.

Daddy came in and picked her up and stroked her hair and told her that it was just the two of them now. Him and his little rosy girl.

-Teens:
Of all the things Mitchell taught her, Emilaya learned bloodlust with the most intensity, the greatest relish. When she turned thirteen, he took her on her first real hunt. As a child her blood had come from leftovers, or more often donations from her parents before they left on their near weekly tirades. Due to the minimal interaction her family had hosted with humans, the only perspective she held on them was predatory. Mitchell made a game of it, sending her to scream and run as he trailed behind - the succulent blood of his own previous kills dripping from his chin - until she collided with a human bystander. She would cower and whimper behind them as the sheer monstrosity of her own father came into view. And then, once their attention was caught, she would suck them dry as an average child would empty a Caprisun pouch. He taught her how to taunt boys into joining her behind restaurants and lead adults on wild goose chases after lost puppies that didn't exist. He taught her how to feed her hunger, and once they were finished, the two would be gone in a flash.

That is until about seven years back her Mitchell received a cordial summons from the Dominae. They had decided that his sloppy killings left far too much of a trail for humans to follow, already there were theorists popping up with all manner of supernatural explanations for the 'murders'. It was an order for his execution, one that he could do nothing but comply with, lest he lose his rosy girl to them. After his death, Emilaya could do nothing for days but rack her body with dry sobs. And once she was finished, she killed and did nothing but. It came as little surprise that this drew attention once more. Considering her upbringing, the Dominae extended the girl a piece of mercy. They sent her to Benjamun, the leader of a mercenary guild up in New York, with whom she studied for a year nothing but human society, how best to remove a target cleanly, and when it was appropriate to do so.

-Recently:
With Benjamun's help, Emilaya learned enough restraint to hold her killing back to jobs, supplementing her diet - one fairly meager in comparison to her past habits - with frequent visits to blood bars and only the occasional feeding directly from humans. This she always did with discretion, keeping herself hidden from her prey and leaving them with little more than a mark. Humans slowly grew to be more of a curiosity than a supper, and through further contact with mages and even demons, she found diversity to be a welcome change. In this way, it wasn't particularly odd that one Azrael Nixren, a half-breed, stirred such an odd curiosity in her. Within the span of a few days, she found she had grown completely accustomed to living with all other races. Everywhere from Fae to Mancy resided in her apartment. That is until shortly afterwards the group broke up in a way, leaving each other to proceed with their lives as if none of it had ever happened.

Name: Fletcher Bray


Gender: Male

Age: 21

Race: Mage

Talents:
-Saxophone Proficiency
-Simple Spell Proficiency (light)
-Preparation Spell Proficiency
-Fire Casting Abilities
-Has Very Tasty Blood
-Keen-Eyed

Weaknesses:
-Has Very Tasty Blood
-Quick to Jump to Conclusions
-Hopeless Flirt
-Easily Romantically Engaged
-Hard Headed
-Dense
-Non-adaptive
-Typically unprepared for situational encounters
-Heavy Smoker
-Copper

Personality:
Fletcher is a hopeless romantic. He walks around pretending he's all grown up and he knows every little thing everyone knows, and tries to use that cocky little attitude to his advantage as he flirts with people. He sometimes has the tendency to be serious about certain topics, given the situation demands it, and all other times he goes about everything in the most playful manner possible. He tries to go about everything in a cool and calm manner, and for the most part, he's successful, however sometimes he can overreact and be a bit stupid.

History:
-Birth:
Fletcher was born the second child to a small mage family with quite high standards. Unlike his older brother, Kyron, Fletcher was born with the idea of letting him attempt to have a normal life in mind. He also wasn't born by mistake. His birth siginifed many things for the Bray family, one of which was the new resposibility that would befall Kyron, and the another of which was the expectations that would befall the both of them. The prestigious Hunter and Amber Bray would not allow either of their sons to fall into something... less prestigious than themselves

-Childhood:
Ironically, or maybe rather accordingly to an ironic plan, Fletcher grew up almost as your average kid in New Orleans. Unlike his less fortunate brother, Fletcher was allowed the privillage of going to school, socialising, and learning the ropes of what it would be like to attempt to blend into human society first hand. Of course, while he was at home, he and Kyron would do whatever they could to learn the ropes of being a mage. To no surprise of his parents, Fletcher excelled under the teachings of both themselves and Kyron, but his presense stiffled Kyrons growth as a mage. Kyron soon grew to resent his Fletcher, for it was never Fletcher's fault that Kyron was learning too slowly. It was always Kyron's issue. Fletcher was pampered as he grew, and even though he was exposed to the real world earlier on and had experienced multiple mishaps and misfortunes, the Brays always found a way to shield him from the dangers outside.

-Teens:
Again, like his childhood, Fletcher's teens would mostly normal. He spent time in school with friends, and upon occasion, found the time to drop all of his studies and enjoy himself, given that -if he couldn't have his brother's compassion- he had his meat shield of a brother to drop all of the blame on. On his seventeenth birthday, however, everything changed. Sometime early in the morning, his father was hacked to pieces.

-Recently:

*****

Name: Heather Severon

(view spoiler)[

(hide spoiler)]

Gender: Female

Age: 17

Race: Mage

Talents:
-Fire Casting Abilities
-Simple Spell Proficiency (light)
-Preparation Spell Proficiency
-Brilliant
-Strategic
-Fire Arm Proficiency
-Alluring

Weaknesses:
-Emotional
-Quick to Jump to Conclusions
-Cynical
-Terrible Sense of Humour
-Hard to Trust
-Has a Hard Time Trusting
-Copper

Personality:
Heather is a complicated young woman, one moment being a sweet, loving and caring person, the next being a terribly angry and barbaric person. She has little sense of humour, typically being the first to take a joke the wrong way, and the first to explain the joke, therefore making the joke... not funny. She has a hard time trusting people, and therefore makes it very hard for people to trust her. Heather can being quite alluring at times, and is usually always open to conversation when another party needs it.

History:

The jingle of Emilaya's laugh echoed down the ally in a fashion that set her on edge as she led her mark out of the crowded bar. It was rather unwise of her to be working so soon after the unfolding of recent events, but she was accustomed a certain standard of living. Preferably one with food and a table to put it on. After the "scoobies" split, she was forced to vacate her old apartment in favor of a series of cheap hotels and she had just burned through the last of her savings for a few nights at the Red Heron when a call came in from a prospective client. It was a case of the dirtier sort, which was all for the better since that meant it would be off the books, and it had been a while since her last visit to New Orleans. She doubted that anyone would remember her face.

A shame that Rick Chaney is on the handsome side, she thought to herself, giggling aloud. "Mr. Chaney, I think you may have had just a drop too much to drink." Her gushing was sweetened by the addition of a saccharine Southern accent, and the second rate smuggler had been eating out of her hand for the extent of the evening. A month's worth of establishing her cover was about to pay off, and she was awash in the moment. She'd been "broadening Chaney's market" by posing as a middle man, while supplying his smuggled merchandise to her employer, who paid the asking price with the assurance that she would later regain his investment. "Really, dear... It's Srick," he slurred. "You really... really have ben an amazing partnar..." Supporting his arm, she led the man behind the cover of a dumpster and checked once more that the street was deserted before pulling him back against the red brick wall.

"We do work rather well together, don't we?" she murmured. Then, her lips were on his neck and he was leaning into her touch. His pulse quickened against her and she felt her heart rush to match the eager pumping of the blood in his veins as she plunged the full length of her canines into his neck. He wasn't in much pain as he died, his life draining down her throat. The young man simply uttered a soft whimper and fell limp against her eager arms.

Em was proud of her work. It was hard to get a man like Chaney to let go of his secrets, and she'd done the job well. All that was left was the body. If she'd had her car, she might've just buried the carcass, but it was in the shop being held ransom for a bill she could hardly dream of paying up. That left an animal cover up, the sort of clean up that wasn't quite clean. Reluctantly, she knelt over the corpse and lifted him up by the collar of his suit. Carefully, she matched her teeth to the line of her initial bite and dug into his flesh, tearing the muscle of his neck viciously. Once it had been sufficiently mauled, she let the body drop and licked her lips, averting her gaze in order to avoid triggering her gag reflex. Then, Em went to work tearing at his clothes with both hands and knife. The final product was a gruesome scene. And clearly not the work of a human.

She drew a cloth from her dress, which she then used to mop her face, cleavage, and hands of most of the blood. However, she still needed to make an exit unseen, lest she risk being compromised by the scene. Adrenaline pumping, she pocketed his money and moved to exit the ally in a hurry.

Fletcher had been playing at the same damn bar for almost three weeks now. Usually, this wouldn't bother him, but the bartender was a bit of a dick and the customers were always far too drunk to give a damn that there was music actually playing live in the bar. Usually, this meant that he would just not show up the next day and call in sick or something rather, just to see what would happen, but it turns out that a couple of free cigarettes and a beer or two everyday was sufficient enough of a reason for him to hang around a bit longer. As such, he played music there for about another week before he phoned the next nearest bar for a job or two.

"No sir, you don't understand. I love playing music... particularly to the customers that actually give a damn and will remember the fact that I was playing music up there." He tried to calmly claim. The man on the other side of the phone wasn't happy. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he had called him about seven times before this eighth one... "Mr. Bray. I've made it quite clear that I don't want you playing your god awful music here. This is no strip club. We don't openly welcome the music that makes our customers want to commit rape because of the lovely individual next to them." Fletcher shook his head. "That sounds like a bullshit excuse not to pay me the money that I asked for. I swear to you, my music will dramatically increase business." Fletcher had to pull the cell a little away from his ear. He had every intention to keep his hearing. "The answer is no Mr. Bray. Good day." And with that the asshole hung up the phone.

Ah, but Mr. Bray doesn't put up with bullshit good sir. A few hours later, after the bar he should have been working at had closed, Fletcher walked to the backside of the bar owned by Mr. Asshat, and with the snap of his fingers, happily lit his little shack on fire. And this could have been a typical day for Fletcher. He loves doing the stupid little things that make life fun... that is, if the burning down businesses that don't hire him is a stupid little series of things. Usually, when he walks down this one alleyway, everything is quiet, and everything tends to be thoroughly boring. Around this time, he would lite a cigarette with the snap of a finger.

A quiet alley, however, is a quiet alley. When the quiet alley has little noises coming from it, that means something interesting is happening somewhere in it. Whether it's drug deals or murder, whatever. Maybe he'd get to burn something or save the day. Fun, fun, fun. As he slowly turned the corner of the alleyway, he saw a very entrancing young woman by a dumpster. Since when do lovely ladies hang around dumpsters? he thought to himself. Of course, as he leaned over just a bit more -and into plain sight-, he could see why this woman was by a dumpster. Some trashy job something did to that pile of shite lying there.

A shifting in Emilaya's peripheral vision alerted her of a second presence in the ally a moment too late. A man by scent and stature, the newcomer would have likely seen enough to trigger suspicion. Which left her with very few options. The simplest would be to drain the guy dry, but she couldn't fathom the concept of another kill so quickly and the chances of her hit going unnoticed would decreased exponentially. She could threaten him, or pretend to be unstable... but the figure was unmistakably male. Before he could make any further move, she flinched away from him, her limbs shaking as she held them up defensively.

"Wh-who's there?" she asked, with a weak sort of quiver in her voice that could drop a weapon in a second. It was a risky plan. Em was a risky woman. She had every confidence in the fact that she had just been assailed by the most horrific beast known to man, and it showed in her motions. Her entire body hinged on his response, ready to gauge the reaction of the stranger, when her shallow breaths drew in the distinct aroma of sandalwood. Mage. Already set for a scheme, Emilaya maintained her startled facade, but the stranger's species certainly stirred things up.

For a moment or two, Fletcher found it smart to be silent. A few moments to gage the situation, and gage the best way to approach it. As such, he finally lit his cigarette, which was a lite minutes overdue, and as cautiously as he felt he need to approach her, he walked in her direction. Slowly. "No worries. I'm just your common everyday passerby. You… alright?" As he got closer, he was able to examine every detail on the body and every detail on the shaken girl. The red hair was a bit off putting. Mm… Red hair… Mangled body… He stopped in his tracks. "What happened here?" He tried not to ask to many questions he could likely come up with an answer for himself for. He slyly scanned her up and down. She was vaguely vampireish. There were a few traces of blood left on areas that would have had blood had she bit into the once living mangled body there… best not push luck though.

Em pressed herself back against the edge of the dumpster, crossing her arms defensively over her stomach. "Please... don't call the police," she implored, gazing up at him through her disheveled crimson locks. "I-I heard screaming so I came runnin' in. That man was there... lying on the ground..." As she spoke, she glanced back to the mangled corpse and then away continually, as though fearful of it. "There was this thing on top of him... like nothing I've ever seen..." Swallowing hard, she pressed her weight against the dumpster and slid down until she was slumped limply against it on the ground. Before continuing, the vampire hung her head to bury her face in her hands and rubbed at her eyes. "Please, don't call the police, I'm begging you. Please... The man was dying... I hid here, behind the dumpster, but it must've heard me. The thing ran..."

Having irritated her eyes enough to water them, she lifted her gaze once more to the young mage as he approached, unafraid to show her whole hand for the sake of the gamble. "I just thought... No. I wasn't thinkin'. I came back around around and found some money on the guy... Figured he wouldn't be needing it." As she delivered the last line, she drew out a small portion of Chaney's cash and held it out, her voice failing her. It was certainly a dramatic stunt, but anything less would have lost her the job, if not worse.

"And why would I call the police? No one in this damn city cares enough to do it, so why should I? Don't worry. I got you covered." He took a discrete deep breath as he walked closer to the body, then turned and walked closer to her. He realised that his approach was probably not the smartest thing in the world to do, but it didn't really matter. He needed to do something stupid. Something rash. He leaned against the dumpster near her as her eyes first began to water, and he tossed out his cigarette to lite another one. Fletcher looked her in the eye. She's either a really good actor, or not lying at all... But which one? Vampire or not a vampire?

As she held out the man's money in front of her, Fletcher made his decision. He took the few steps left between them, and closed her hand around the money. He looked her again in the eyes, then, after flicking his only half burnt cigarette aside, he replied, "You're right. He wouldn't be needing it. Keep it then. But do me a favour, will you darling?" He fixed the cuff on his left arm just a bit, and held out the fleshy bit of his hand, palm up, and calmly demanded, "Bite me, will you?"

Em nodded a shaky agreement as the young stranger agreed to keep the scene between them, but his next action gave her cause for a momentary pause. Her ready eyes slid down his arm to his hand and her lips parted in mock confusion. Perhaps, maintaining her facade would have been the smarter choice, but there was something in the way the mage had broken it that made her want to show him what her species could do. She ran her tongue over the chapped skin of her lips, catching the remnants of her victim's aphrodisiatic blood as she did so. "Now, why would a sensible young man like you ask for such a crazy sorta favor?" she crooned, her mouth curving into a sharpened smile.

Tentatively, she outstretched a hand to meet the mage's and brushed a feather light finger up to the pulse in his wrist. "If you want to die, there are far easier ways to go about doing it. I hear there's this lovely place in the French Quarter people throw themselves off of every few weeks." Having discarded any cover she may have had, Emilaya now studied the man before her, knowing all too well the risk she was taking. She needed to know him, just in case. He wasn't unattractive, perhaps a bit rough around the edges and a habitual smoker, but he had that combination of intense dark hair and pale skin that had a tendency to trigger her more reckless memories. Leaning forward, she drew the stranger's wrist ever so slightly closer.

Fletcher smiled. "Even if I wanted to off myself, I think that blood loss would be the way I'd want to go. Besides, a favour is a favour, and I'm looking for something a little different. Have been almost all day. And it looks like you could use a little excitement too." The finger that slid across his skin was amusingly smooth, causing a slight tingle of a tickle as she stroked it ever so slightly. As he noticed her drawing closer to his wrist, he smirked. "I should warn you. I really do hope you like spicy food. My blood is like hot sauce." He noticed her hair. Then her skin. She was a fairly attractive woman. If he knew any better, she was obviously not from around here. Too pretty for that. Then he noticed her touch. Of course, it wasn't what he expected. The stereotypical vampire was the only type of vampire he was exposed to, the red hair being the only thing that seemed to be the truth about those stereotypes. Her touch was warm, ironically gentle, comforting even. He couldn't remember the last time someone could comfort him via touch. With a deep breath, and a subtle one at that, he waited for her to sink her teeth into his skin.

Arching a brow, Emilaya regarded the young man in a renewed light. "You're serous," she said, as though making the observation for the first time that evening. She had met very few supernaturals hungry for the bite before. Most beings eager to be involved with the vampiric thrill were humans who knew no better than teenage flicks. Perhaps, on occasion, one would stumble across a rare individual hooked on the rush of playing prey, but this man seemed altogether different. She wondered what he was thinking before coming to the conclusion that he mustn't be. The effects of Azrael's blood had nearly worn away, but she could still sense the nature of simple thought. If she took new blood into her system, even that would fade away. Yet, before her stood a mage eager to offer his own untold gifts. Were he anyone else, she might have just made her exit, but her curiosity had been piqued.

Emilaya brushed a wayward strand of fiery hair from her face before bending forward over the mage's wrist. Pressing her lips to his skin, she took a moment to breathe in the familiar scent of O-negative before parting her lips and carefully sliding her teeth into his flesh. The slowness of the action was unbearable, but she restrained herself, less than eager to incriminate herself when she was almost in the clear. Then, the rich weight of the blood flowed over her lips and filled her with a warm buzz. Her system was flooded with an eager hum.

As her teeth sunk into his skin, Fletcher couldn't help himself but wince a little. As his blood started to flow from his body to her lips, he felt his body start to loosen, and eventually, just relax altogether. It also gave he a moment to think about the mundane, particularly the moment to look at the reason why she would have just blown her cover so quickly as for a sip of his blood. In his eyes, she was either stupid, curious, or she planned on killing him right then and there. Either of the three would have been fine. The feeling at the moment was... rather exhilarating for him. For a moment, he stared at her lips. Drenched in blood, but soft and warm to the touch. Comforting, as her touch had been before she drank of him. Can't believe that I'm actually... just sitting here... thinking about everything that doesn't matter. She entrancing. Lovely. Even as I sit here being eaten alive by her... He thoughts were redundant and failing him, so he stopped thinking, and start feeling. He took a deep breath, and talked to her for the sake of just hearing a hmm or a mhmm out of her. It would make for alright one sided conversation. "So. How's it taste? Spicy enough for you?"

As she drank the vampire slid forward into a crouch, her entire body focused around the source of the blood. With every pulse, her being ached to tear into him. One kill was more than enough to sustain a vampire, but with the death of a victim came the primal heat of the hunt. It stirred something deep in her gut that was hardly satisfied with a quick lick of a wrist, and the mage... He was a lamb lain before the lion. The rush that accompanied his taste was not an unfamiliar one. His magic poured through her veins like hot fire, surging past the sweetness to explore the body of it's newfound host as she used both hands to hold his in place. This wasn't a casual encounter, and he needed to know that. Allowing her actions to speak for her, she bit ever so slightly deeper. More. Then, nearing the fabric of his tendons, she fought the urge to lurch away at the realization of her own mentality. With forced breaths, she gingerly drew her mouth from his arm and ran her tongue along the length of the wound. As though waking from a daze, she stood in a rush and pressed his own hand over the wound on his wrist. "You could have died, Hot Sauce," she said and it was as though she were stating a statistic. Statistically speaking, he should have.

As she withdrew form the wound, he slowly reeled his arm back in and slowly rotated his hand around, flexed his fingers, and held his hand as the circulation came back to it. He made no note of the fact that her licking of the wound didn't burn at all. "Yeah. I could have. I could have ended up like that guy Ms. Cry Wolf," he replied, "But I'm not dead. As far as I'm concerned, there was only a one in three chance that your intent was to kill me. You don't seem the type to kill needlessly." He took a breather. He didn't actually realise how much blood she had drawn from him until now. "Well… Now that we're better acquainted, I don't suppose that you would be inclined to introduce yourself?" He held out the same hand he let her bite for a shake. "Mr. Hot Sauce's name is Fletcher. What's yours Ms. Cry Wolf?" He pulled another cigarette out of his vest pocket, his eyes never leaving her or a second. He lit it again with the snap of his fingers.

The vampire cocked her head and lifted her gaze to meet the flame his fingers had produced in a fashion that wasn't entirely human. She knew that if she wanted his magic, then she would need him. Maybe only for a month or even a week... but a hungry flame had sparked inside her and the chance to feed it was within her reach. "Miss Cry Wolf," she murmured. "I like that." Feigning hesitance, she reached out and her slender fingers slid past his palm to grasp his wrist. "Emilaya Hunter. But you can call me Laya," she said. As she spoke, she pulled herself up to stand face to face with the strange mage. The smoke from his cigarette curled up between them and assailed her senses. With a mild smirk, she reached up to run a finger down his bottom lip and draw the cigarette from his mouth. Then, as though nothing had transpired, she turned and started down the alley, crushing the smoke beneath her boots as she walked. "Those things kill, you know," she called back to him.

"I'm glad you like it. It likely would have stuck even if you didn't Laya." He found the movements she made... quite intriguing. As her finger lightly ran down his lip, he arched an eyebrow. As the cigarette fell from his lip, he stared at it, almost a sad look developed about his visage as it hit the ground, her foot viciously destroying the one thing that was keeping his mind off of the coming anemia. "Yeah, well..." he began as he looked towards the body, slowly walking off in her direction as well, "You kill things too you know." As he followed her down the alleyway, trying to think of the next thing to say, because for godsake, why not talk to the god damn vampire, he snapped his fingers once again to light another cigarette. Perhaps this will start a conversation...

((Fletcher's Song ^^ (view spoiler)[www.youtube.com/watch?v=WcYvKyxSz1A (hide spoiler)]))

Emilaya sauntered around the corner slowly, giving her newfound companion the time to catch up to her pace. "I do it with finesse." She waved her hand through the air in front of her, as if she could diffuse an invisible cloud of smoke with the action. "All you'll get from that shit is a guarantee of ending your life as a crusty old bachelor with crusty black lungs. With people like me, you get the guarantee of a good time first," the vampire said, glancing back at Fletcher with a quirk of a smile. This kid is certainly out of his mind if following a predator down the backstreets of the Big Easy past midnight is his idea of a good time, she added to herself. Just my type.

Fletcher arched an eyebrow. "Have you taken a good look at me? The amount of smoke that comes of this body is enough to give me crusty black lungs as it is, so I might as well find a way to utilise them to the fullest." Fletcher took a quick puff, not for the sake of taking a puff, but for the sake of gathering his thoughts and attempted to get back at her. "Oh yeah, that guy looked like he had one hell of time. He must've partied till his heart stopped. I'm sure he enjoyed the... cleavage..." He said, looking back at the body briefly. He quickly jogged up to her, preemptively putting out his cigarette -despite it being a waste- and walked next to her. "Ms. Cry Wolf, since I've already seen what you've had to show tonight, and I'm still alive and in your company, would you tell me a little bit about your lovely self?"

"I'm a hooker from Queens," Emilaya started, loosening her lips to allow room for a light dusting of New York around the edges of her accent. "Hit a bad break a few months back and found myself on the road headed anywhere but home. When I finally got to this trash heap of a place, I thought maybe I could use some old skills to get a new score. Set myself up with the unfortunate fella we left back there." She waved a hand flippantly over her shoulder. "He wanted a bit too much and I... wanted just a little bit more. I drank the poor thing dry. Then I heard you comin' and thought I'd put on a bit of show. Far be it from me that your stupid smokes kept me off the mage scent until a second too late. But I coulda fooled ya, huh?" the vampire asked, offering Fletcher a toothy sort of grin. It didn't matter whether or not he believed her story. The tale had enough truth in it to be real.

A hooker? She couldn't be any older than me... Hell, no. She looks either my age... or younger, Fletcher thought to himself. "Yeah, I suppose you could've fooled me," he told her, though the nature of the comment was to humour her, and wasn't entirely true. "Had I been drunk you probably would have had two full course meals. It would have been like a buffet." Fletcher chuckled for a moment. "I doubt that you'd want to hear a mage's story. I'm sure that you've heard plenty over the years. Mine is basically the same as any rouge teenager's with a little magical twist. Nothing special." Fletcher then returned her little grin with a little grin of his own, only the side of his mouth grinning for her. He must've been seriously addicted to cigarettes. Rather, he knew that he was. Maybe that was why he wanted to light another one right now. "Do you want to go get a drink?" He asked the vampire, curious if she would be willing to spend more time with him, for god knows why, "I know a good place. It should be mostly empty at this time of night... The bar tender will be happy to serve, I'm sure."

Emilaya lifted a questioning brow at the mage as they made their way into the part of the street that was lined with lamps. "What? A guy like you doesn't keep good enough liquor at home for guests?" she inquired, a hint of playfulness caught in her tone. It would be nice enough to go for a late night drink, but she had just emerged from a bar in the first place. Not to mention what liquor could do to her control while she was already under the influence of blood. It would be far favorable for her to catch him alone, where she could weasel information out of him regarding the use of his particular abilities. In order to push the subject further, she added, "Besides. I don't think it'd be a wise idea to show my face around town again tonight."

Fletcher ran his hand through his hair. "No, I've got great liquor, but I wouldn't think you would want to go straight to the house of a stranger." He looked at her as they came to a stop at the lit street. "I mean, unless your into that sort of thing..." Fletcher took a moment to think to himself. Take her to my house... or leave her here... Never see her again, or interest her enough to keep her around? Is she out for herself or... Fletcher looked at her quickly, and tugged a bit on her shoulder as he turned around. "Yeah, I've got great liquor at my place. Lets go this way. It's quicker, quieter, and we'll be more hidden from passersby." Fletcher walked a few steps back into the alleyway, and looked back at Laya, as if she wasn't following. "Well? Whatdaya say Ms. Cry Wolf?"

"I am into that sort of thing, actually," Emilaya replied, her smile revealing a small wounded edge. She slipped a hand through her companion's arm as they walked, unconcerned about the forwardness of the gesture. If he hadn't been disturbed by the sight of the corpse she had left behind, there was likely very little she could do to bother the man. "If its all the same to you, I'd rather not be harassed on the walk over." With a small wave of her hand, she gestured to the less than upstanding scene before them. The street lay like an open wound under the flickering streetlamps, the underbelly of the marvelous beast that was New Orleans. Discarded cigarettes and broken glass littered the way. Yet, with Laya on his arm nearly any man could look like a king among the clutter. It was less than likely the two would be approached with any trouble if they carried on as they were.

It took Fletcher a moment to catch onto what she was getting at, but as she slid her arm under and around his, he realised it almost instantly. "Right. I had forgotten momentarily that you were a..." he coughed, semi-intentionally, partially out of the fact that he either hadn't smoked enough or smoked to much today. "...hooker," he finally got out, touching on her other comment as the words hit his ears. "All the same to me? Please. Do what you like. Whatever makes you feel comfortable." He chuckled. "In all honesty, the most likely to harass you at this time of night is me, and I'm not much for that type of thing. Beautiful women like you don't deserve that kind of crap from us jackass men... or women, for that matter." Fletcher chuckled again. "Sorry, Ms.Cry Wolf. I talk a bit to much."

The walk to the complex was a good five to ten minutes, and the walk up the endless stairwell felt the all the same to Fletcher. Maybe it was the whole feeling of being winded that caused that. Yeah, probably. As they walked into the hallway that lead down to his room, he looked at Laya with a bit of a worried expression. A bit pointless worried express, but whatever. "The complex may seem a bit... Extravagant, but it really isn't... it's a busy street with a tone of amenities... They take care of the place, but after that, it's just a normal complex. You know... Cresent Club. They must've just screwed up with this hall... People around here call it the Yellow Canary. It's like a really crappy motel name. For good reason." Fletcher shut up for a good second as they came up to his room, 433. He jiggled the keys in the handle for a few seconds, then as he got the door open, he notioned for Laya to enter first. "Welcome to my two bedroom abode. Make yourself at-" Fletcher was interrupted, mostly by himself, as a lovely blonde figure walked across the room, and smiled in there direction. "Hey Fletch!... Who's the guest?"

Oh shit. It's Heather.

Emilaya responded to Fletcher's good natured conversation with all of the appropriate gestures as they made the trek through winding roads and up the stairs of his complex. Even the smallest of interactions served as a platform for her talents and as the evening crept slowly on with the passing of their steps, she found herself accommodating for his every unconscious whim. A smile here, the stroke of fingertips there, and a lightness in her stride alerted him of his importance at every turn. Had Emilaya desired, she could have asked for his life on a copper platter. Luckily for him, the young man was surrounded by more than just the scent of smoke. He had power and she knew it, even if he had yet to come to the realization himself.

By the time the pair had reached the threshold of his home, her head was abuzz with the need to be near the enigma of him. Perhaps... just one more little taste... she thought, her hand tightening ever so slightly around the muscles of her escort's arm. Her every fiber was so focused on him that she was alerted of the other mage's presence by the sound of her voice alone. When Emilaya's smile turned on the young woman, the warmth had seeped entirely from it. "A friend," she replied and with her words came an unmistakable, silken claim to the room. The girl that had joined them was certainly pretty and not unwelcoming, but the manner with which she had chosen to address them raised the vampire's hackles. It was as though Emilaya were nothing more than a strange new bauble found in the gutter. However, the girl's entrance had drawn her from her counts of Fletcher's heartbeat, and that itself was a small blessing. Perhaps, she could be a friend. At least for the time being.

As Heather arched an eyebrow, more so in Fletcher's direction than his 'friend's,' he chuckled. "Yeah. Heather, this is Ms. Cry Wolf." Again, Heather arched an eyebrow, particularly higher than the last one. Fletcher shrugged his shoulders a bit and sat on a couch nearby, taking Laya along with him and gently patting the cushion next to him for Heather to sit on. Of course, Fletcher looked in Heather's direction first and foremost, scanning her face for any sign of displeasure. Not that he felt the need, of course. Heather is good hearted. Right? Whatever. Even if there was something wrong, no point in fixing it now... Right? Fletcher shook his head a bit, trying to figure out what he was actually thinking about. Oh wait. Right. Kind of being stuck to Laya was a bit of a thing at the moment. A good thing, of course.

Fletcher pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, and before he lit it, he looked at Laya. Slowly, he put the cigarette back into his pocket, and sighed. "Heather, is it to late to have a snack? I'm a little hungry. I need a bite to eat." He ran a hand through his hair. "Did you want something to eat Laya?" Fletcher looked to Heather once more, as if he were expecting her to make something. When Heather cocked her head to the side and gave Fletcher a funny little look, Fletcher shrugged his shoulders quickly. "What? I always get you breakfast in the morning. You could at least throw me the cereal box or something."

Heather looked to Laya, then turned to a small cupboard and tossed the cereal at Fletcher, who, even though caught by surprise, managed to catch the box successfully. She turned back to Laya, eyed her, and with a smile, she leaned up against the back of a counter and. "Pleasure to meet you then, Ms. Cry Wolf. I'm Heather, this bozos roomie." She looked Laya up and down quickly, and with a somewhat smaller side grin, seeing how she was attached to Fletcher like some leach, she began to make a habit of arching an eyebrow. "So... Fletcher bringing you home for a little something?" I swear to god, if she's a fucking prostitute... And what the fuck the with cigarette shit!? Why? Why put that shit away now? What the hell could she have possibly said to make your punk ass pussy out?...

Chill. You're being to hard on him. There is obviously a logical reason for this. Right? Like, a logical reason for he whole situation.

Emilaya paused a moment to secure her stance among the three before following Fletcher to the couch. It set her on edge to follow his lead so easily, but she reasoned that remaining near him was of higher priority than presenting herself as independent. Had the pair of them been alone in the apartment, her response to his inquiry would likely have been a swift sort of feasting, but she could no longer afford such indulgences. "I'd love to take you up on your previous offer," she replied simply, alluding to his prospective stash of alcohol. Even in this small phrase did she remind their company of the mystery surrounding her appearance. Yet, oddly enough, it appeared that the roommate was more concerned about Emilaya's proximity to Fletcher than her species. She wondered idly if he was aware of Heather's affections as the girl addressed her at last. Although she had elected to ask such a presumptuous question, Heather seemed altogether preoccupied with the contents of Fletcher's pocket.

"Well," she responded, "Don't you think we're all looking for a little something extra?" The vampire leaned forward ever so slightly, playing up the conversation in such a way that disguised the quiet, hungry threat of her presence. Once she had Heather's attention, she placed her hand ever so softly on Fletcher's thigh and slipped the cigarette from his pocket with a flick of her fingertips. "Do you mind?" she asked, and it wasn't quite a question.

Before he could reply, she pressed the paper between her crimson colored lips and offered him the edge of a smile. She snapped once, twice, and on the third the tip came alive with an angry orange glow. Less than a second later, her senses were assailed with the unmistakable aroma of tobacco, which she forced herself to inhale in one steady drag. Certainly, the experience was less than pleasurable, but she had been through far worse for the sake of theatrics and the cigarette was little more than a prop. She exhaled through thin lips before offering the red stained piece to Fletcher between a pair of nonchalant fingers.

Heather's eye twitched ever so slightly at the idea of "looking for a little something extra?" What else could he possibly need? Again, at the thought, Heather forced herself to relax. As Laya took a puff of Fletcher's cigarette, that's where she drew the line. Hell, fuck the cigarette. Mage? A Mage!? Why would… No! Fuck that... She drew a deep breath, and in an attempt to seem composed, she replied to Laya as quickly as she could. "Maybe sometimes I could ask for a little extra." She looked to Fletcher. "Don't know if I can say the same for him, of course. He seems to always have it made for him."

Fletcher's head perked up at Laya, first as she lit the cigarette, and more so secondly as she took a drag of it and then handed it off to him. Like Heather, he started to make a habit of arching eyebrows. "I could've sworn you hated cigarettes." As Heather seemed to almost back talk Laya, Fletcher's head perked in her direction instead. It was obvious to him that Heather's issue at the time was the fact that Laya was apparently a mage, and a fire one at that. As if to humour her, Fletcher smiled stupidly, glad to be able to entertain two individuals at once for the first time in a while. "Hey. What can I say? I'm into hot chicks. Emphasis on the hots." With a cocky little smile, Fletcher leaned back against the couch and shut his eyes. "Do you think that you could possibly pull out the Eliijah Craig? I think we could all use a drink right now, would you say?" Fletcher first flashed a subtle smile at Laya in response to her previous statement, then had his gaze fall back on Heather.

Heather's cute little smile faded away. "No. I'm not in the mood for liquor right now Fletch. Besides, you like to light more of those fucking cigarettes when you drink. You know how I feel about the smell." Heather pushed herself off the counter, and walking passed him and Laya without looking, she waved a quick hand and said, "Eliijah is in the cupboard to the far left, behind the glasses. Just don't drink it all in one go, yeah? Oh, and nice to have you over Ms. Cry Wolf. Good to know that Fletcher's good at picking up a certain brand of chicks."

Emilaya was seamlessly on her feet the moment Heather indicated the cupboard in question. She strolled her way across the room as though it were her own and had already set a pair of glasses down on the counter when Heather breezed past her. For a moment, she allowed her fingers to hover over a third, as though she were about to offer the girl a second chance at their company, but dropped it the moment the final words fell from Heather's mouth. "I see," she murmured softly, lowering her wounded gaze into the glasses before her just long enough for Fletcher to notice. Then, she filled each with a modest taste of the drink, downed hers, and filled it again.

Almost as an afterthought, Emilaya took her last opportunity to use an old friend's gift before replacing it with the new. Don't you worry your blonde little head, she thought gently, I'll have what I want and be out of your hair by morning. Then, having deposited the last of Azrael's power in the rear of Heather's mind, she padded back across the living room to hand Fletcher his share of the liquor. There was no guarantee that the young woman would catch even an echo of the idea, but if she had, the evening was all the better for it.

She allowed her face to remain fallen for just a moment longer before raising her glass to her lips. "Well. I suppose now we get to decide. Am I the memory of a woman on the street? Or the fille de joie your girl there wants me to be?" she offered. Moving deliberately, she then placed her drink on the coffee table and leaned in to meet Fletcher's gaze. In her peripheral vision his arteries sloped down the length of his neck, beating with an urgency only the mortal body knows. Her original intention in coming here had been to learn from him, but now... all she needed was one more taste and she could learn the magic on her own.

As Heather turned into the short hallway that would lead to her room, she her back up against the wall silently so that she could hear every little detail as to what was going on. This is stupid… so stupid. I'm wasting my time. He's just going to do what he's going to do. Which should be go to bed. But… Don't you worry… Heather's eyebrows furrowed a bit. Don't worry about what? What is there to… Heather tilted her head out of the hallway a bit so that she could actually see what the two of them were doing, because obviously, they were to be doing something.

Fletcher made no effort to comment on Heather's abrupt exiting of the scene. It wasn't the first time that she had done it, and it definitely seemed like her reasoning for doing so was the same as ever. As Fletcher drew a breath, and a puff of the lovely smog he should call death, his gaze was averted back to Laya, who at the time was taking an ungodly amount of liquor into her system. He simultaneously cringed and grew surprised at her ability to down about a quarter inch of an eighteen year old bourbon, the thought of how much that would burn causing him to feel a little less enthusiastic about having a drink at the moment. Regardless, as she came up with a small glass of Eliijah in it, he couldn't turn her down.

"Um, yes," Fletcher replied to Laya's comment, looking over his shoulder just to make sure that Heather was certainly gone. "I like the idea instilled by the latter. If it's an offer, I'd be willing to take you up on it." He smiled gayly, taking a quick sip of his drink before his eyes were almost suddenly -and surprisingly- only a few inches from hers. Calmly, he put his drink down and took a puff of his cigarette one last time, breathing the fumes out his nose in an attempt not to smother his lovely Ms. Cry Wolf. "Of course, we'll have to be quiet about it. I don't burn easily, but Heather certainly knows how to cook someone. You can consider the end result to be well-done… Perhaps for the both of us if she hears anything happening."

At first, the vampire was uncertain of her place in the scenario unfolding before her. Fletcher and his girl were hardly typical roommates if she couldn't handle a little company every now and then, but even as the mancy spoke, he seemed entirely unaware of the implications behind his words. How much do you really care? she inquired internally, exploring the depths of his amber gaze. The prospect of competition caught in her throat, snaking down her spine and making its home in the pit of her stomach. Heather was hardly a problem and Emilaya had no intention of staying any longer than she had to... but the way Fletcher saw Heather - or could have seen her - did little for the vampire's restraint.

"I thought you weren't afraid to play with fire," she murmured, all too aware of the mage girl's presence. Like petals her fingers fell against the surface of his neck, winding through the wayward raven hair that rested there. For an instant, she allowed the boy to be something more than prey. When she kissed him, her lips declared him important and she closed her eyes to his in the most unnatural action she had performed that evening. Because there was nothing natural about the lion and the lamb. There was nothing natural about vampires. There was nothing natural about Emilaya Prasae.

Fletcher chortled playfully -mostly in an attempt to humour her- as she almost seemed to slap him with such harsh words. "I'm am fire. Her's just happens to scare me. Much to hot and alluring, and it draws people in like a bug to a flame. Yours, on the other hand... Just the right temperature." His words trailed off a bit as she had moved in to press her lips against his -a gesture which he had accepted willing, without a second thought. At first, truly, he had wondered for the first time tonight if he was just being played. He toyed with the idea, wondering if maybe the only reason that she was here was because of free food and a complementary lighter, but... Fletcher's Fletcher. Nobody would kiss like this just to assume -or seal- their role as predator. After all: A kiss is a secret told to the lips and not the ear; kisses are the messengers of love and tenderness...

Heather, like Fletcher, but for different reasons, was absolutely boiling by this point. As she stood against the wall, peeking at the forbidden sight in front of her, the dry wall singed in her wake, feeling the same sort of pain and agony that she was experiencing. She took a deep breath in an attempt to stop the onslaught of sadness that was about to engulf her. To no avail. A few tears ran down her cheek, but evaporated, as did her curiosity and her need to want to be there, to watch what she didn't need to watch. God Fletch... You can be such a dick sometimes. She scoffed to herself, and promptly walked away.

And of course, Fletcher was boiling as well. Again, different reason, but boiling all the same. He ran a hand through hair, brushing passed the temple to the back of her neck, running up and down as he slowly caressed it. His other hand lay rested against the arm of the couch, the cigarette sitting loosely in his hand... and then roughly on the floor. He slowly withdrew from the kiss, if abrupt, and looked down at the floor, dead eyes staring it down. He looked back at Laya, and then back at the cigarette, and then back at her. He opened his mouth, breathed, paused, then spoke. "If you were willing to kiss me again, I might just go ahead and stomp out that cigarette now."

Emilaya's painted lips pursed into a pout as she listened to her companion describe his housemate's fire. There was an unspoken challenge in his words which she felt inclined to answer. I'll teach you the meaning of heat, she quipped internally. In a smooth and calculated series of movements, she slipped her fingers from Fletcher's neck to the back of the couch and swung around to stand with a hand spread on either side of his head. The cigarette sizzled into silence under the heel of her shoe as she leaned over him, a curtain of her dark red locks cascading into his view. There was a pause as she evaluated her prey with a weighted green gaze, then Laya lifted each foot from its shoe and knelt onto the cushions of the couch, her hips hovering just above his own.

There, suspended eagerly above him, the red headed vampire offered Fletcher her most effective smile. It was a smile that offered everything worth imagining. She laughed, immersed in the sport of the situation, and bent her head to murmur, "I'm as willing as your will would have me." The words met his ear a moment before the tender brush of her lips and, before he had the chance to reply, she traced a slow line of open mouthed kisses along his jaw. Her breaths came warm along the surface of his skin and revealed a hunger that cannot be accomplished by lust alone. Laya was desirable because she desired and her desire was all encompassing. Her affections made the object of her interest feel not only vital, but visceral.

Fletcher felt, shall we say, even more smooth and classy than usual with Laya, the lovely mistress, if you will, only inches from his face, chest, lumbar, hips, and legs. He took a deep breath with every blink, blinking as slow as he could manage, for, as he would put, he seriously underestimated the heat of Laya's flame... and the eagerness for it to burn. I am all but unwilling, came a thought too late to leave his now breathless lips; too late to father a difference. Her tender touch of his ear caused him to inhale sharply, yet quietly, and his breath quivered its way out his nose with every kiss to jaw that she graced him with.

But Fletcher was not much for playing games, was not much for the tease. The closer her lips came to his, the less Fletcher felt the need to control his lust to taste and feel the softness of her lips. "I am all but unwilling," he finally came to say moments passed, "but the real question..." Fletcher quickly wrapped his arms around her waist as he pulled her down and to his right side, smiling at her with one of his more lustful smiles. Staring at her with one of his more lustful stares. "... Are you truly as willing as you make yourself out to be?"

And with that, Fletcher pressed his lips against hers, quickly before she even had a moment to grasp or think about her answer. An answer that he was confident he already knew.