Buffet? [Ursula]

[Jesse Fforde]

[OOC: Following on from here.]

I hadn’t thought about that. Maybe, rather than the bartender making a drink for Ursula that she wouldn’t drink anyway, he could become the drink. I can see, I suppose, how he might be appealing to people. But, just as humans have their specific tastes in food, so too do I. And the bartender doesn’t particularly appeal.

The piece of ice bounces off the bartender, and he remains completely oblivious. Well, that’s disappointing. I do have a dagger tucked into my boot—I wonder whether he’d be completely oblivious were I to punt that at his temple. I don’t, however. Murder in the middle of a crowd is hardly a way to keep a low profile.

Ursula’s suggestion is tempting, but it’s not one that I feel inclined to take up. The girl in red has already garnered far too much attention. There is a rebellious side of me, a demon within kicking up dust as I mentally refuse to cause a fuss. We are capable of so much, and yet we must keep it all under wraps, as if we don’t exist at all. There is a small part of me that’s wants to say **** it all, and not give a **** about what kind of consequences might come from killing someone who has such a high profile.

Doesn’t matter. The bartender is pissing me off. He continues to focus mainly on the girl and her company at the bar, ignoring everyone else. And when finally he does move on, he moves in the opposite direction. **** him. His lack of good service is going to get him killed. I turn to Ursula and, failing the ability to actually answer any of her questions, I ignore them. I arch an inquisitive brow in the direction of the bartender—an expression that asks do you want him?

I figure it won’t be that hard. He’s the bartender, and though he does get quite a bit of attention, that will only work in our favour. When asked who he was seen with, witnesses will answer ‘He was seen with everyone. He’s the bartender.’

All we have to do, in order to make him our meal, is to get him alone. The guy has to take a break at some point. Has to take a piss. Has to go home. All we have to do is watch and wait, and sooner or later we will get the service that we demanded. Easy as pie.

But only if Ursula wants him. Only if she has the patience for such a game. Otherwise I’m sure there are some other delectable meals that we can select for ourselves in the this veritable buffet.

[Ursula Wolfe]

Ursula's eyes darted between Jesse and the bartender that obviously needed to learn how to do his job. She wasn't even able to drink alcohol anymore without getting sick to her stomach. So when pretending like she did drink in public, it was no easy task, not only that but then bringing it back up. Talk about a task she did not like to repeat over and over again. She sighed for a moment as the bartender continued to ignore them, even Jesse seemed a bit more annoyed then usual because of it. She sighed and ran her hand through her hair for a moment before she looked back at the bartender and again to Jesse.

The look in his eyes made her smirk ever so slightly because even though she didn't know what he was really thinking, she could pretty much guess. One of these days he was going to have to teach her sign language or another way of talking to one another because sometimes, she really wished she could hear what he was thinking - at least when it came to what he was thinking towards her. Thankfully though, this time she felt as though she got the jist of his question and she smirked ever so slightly and leaned in so that they kept up the charade of needing to be close in order to talk to one another.

"I'm all for teaching him a lesson or two in service. How about you?" She purred playfully and then continued to lean in against him, her crystal eyes looking back to the bartender that needed a lesson. A lesson that he would remember. A lesson that hopefully would keep him on his toes from now on and more likely to serve like a good bartender should. "What's the plan oh handsome one?" She teased quietly.

[Jesse Fforde]

Teaching a lesson implies that a person will learn something that they will use in future. Lessons are noble things; the gaining of knowledge a furtherance of one’s own intelligence and social standing. We do not live in some archaic, traditional society, though. What’s the point in teaching a bartender a lesson about how to do his job, when there’s always another one—maybe better, maybe worse, it doesn’t matter—to step into his place.

Besides which—though we could act like ordinary humans and teach this guy a lesson in the regular ways, how would that be any fun? We cannot teach him a lesson, hoping for him to remember it, using our vampiric capabilities. It would be a breach of masquerade. I don’t tell any of this to Ursula, however. One—I cannot ‘tell’ her even if I wanted to. Two—there is a lesson that can be taught. And I’d rather teach Ursula via practical application.

As if everything is falling into place, just as it should, I notice, out of the corner of my eye, that our ignorant bartender is talking quietly to a colleague, his hand resting upon her shoulder. He then wipes his hands, drops the towel that had been draped over his shoulder onto the bench, and weaves his way out from behind the bar. I have no plan but to follow him, to see if we can’t get him alone.

I offer a wink to Ursula before pushing away from the bar. Although I’m certain she can probably keep up, if she tried, I still curl my fingers through hers as I lead her through the crowd. The crowd parts easily for me, like sluicing my way through the red sea, as if I’m giving off some sadistic aura and they want to keep away from me, even though they have no idea why. I follow our bartender into and through a ‘Staff Only’ door near the back, hidden in a dark corner. I pause just inside the door; there doesn’t seem to be anyone else around. Still, sauntering in as if I belong there—and letting go of Ursula’s hand in the process—I notice as the bartender enters another room. A toilet, just for staff.

The music is muffled in here, a dull thud and rumble interspersed with laughter and revelry. I gesture to the small bathroom into which the bartender had disappeared with a flourish, a slight bow to Ursula. Ladies first.

[Ursula Wolfe]

Ursa continued to relax against Jesse with an ease and calm of someone that had a personal knowledge of him, even though what she really knew of him was limited to a few things here and there. And they hadn't really spent that much time together other than when Jesse had thrown a gathering of sorts for them. Even then though, the time they actually spent together wasn't what her current position against him suggested. No she looked like someone who was dating the guy she was leaning against. At least, that's how it seemed since she was just as relaxed and able to be herself as she was with Jordan.

She too spotted the bartender as he started to make is way towards somewhere she didn't quite know. Jesse got up - winking and taking her hand in the process - and lead her through the crowd, it was easy to get where they were going because the people parted for them as if there was something wrong with them. They'd see just how much they were right if she took her gloves off or if the ground under them was dirt instead of wood. Still, she gave off an amused little laugh as she followed along, a slight bounce in her step as she nearly skipped along behind him.

One staff door later, Jesse released her hand and did a little bow towards her has he motioned to the staff bathroom that they had followed the bartender too. She smiled like the Cheshire cat and did a curtsy, holding a pretend skirt as she did so. Then gracefully, quietly, she pushed the door open and threw a wink to Jesse over her shoulder before she stepped in and held the door open for Jesse to join her in the small room with the man that was currently standing with his back to them. Ursa smirked and glanced at Jesse. Who would get first pickings and what would said pickings be?

[Jesse Fforde]

The way Ursula is acting—well, it’s kind of infectious. I know I initiated the bow, but that small curtsy only fuels the notion that she is some damsel, and I am the man who must provide for her. The grin on my lips is steadfast as I follow her into the staff bathroom; as seems to be the case with all the women I’ve been with recently—and in the past—I am left to take the lead. I always, always took the lead as far as Felicity was concerned, thus the reason I grew bored, the reason why I have not sought her out. I took the lead with Abigail. And, as strong and independent as Yekaterina might seem, she seems always to be asking me what we’re going to do, rather than taking the initiative herself.

Here again, I find us stepping through the door, Ursula pausing; we cannot linger, we cannot be uncertain. Now that we are within sight, we must act quickly. The first thing that I do is check for security cameras. Although it seems unlikely that they’ll be set up in the bathroom, I check anyway. On the way out, I’ll check the staff room, too. We’ll make sure that all evidence of our little visit to the staff area is erased.

The next thing I check—are we alone with this bartender? The room is not large. It’s easy to ascertain that we are alone with him. In the time it takes me to check for these small things, the bartender realises that he’s no longer alone. He turns a curious glance over his shoulder; when he sees us, his brows furrow. His brain is taking its time to comprehend that we are not staff. He has never seen us before. I take advantage of the slowness of his brain and stride forward. I grab hold of his hand, and with preternatural speed wrench it behind his back. I hold his arm in such a position that, should the bartender struggle, he’ll risk breaking it. At the same time, I clamp a hand over his mouth so that he cannot scream.

As thirsty as I am—as I always am—I do not sink my teeth into the inviting vein throbbing beneath the man’s skin, made all the more prominent when I pull his head to the side, forcing the neck to arch and elongate. I force him forward—an invitation for Ursula. She can have this one. I’ll find myself someone else. Men aren’t really my taste.

[Ursula Wolfe]

Ursa watched as he did a few checks around the room and then as the bartender turned towards them, she smiled wickedly at the male, her eyes shimmering with the thrill of what was about to go down. It seemed though that as slow as it took the human to react to them standing there, the fact that they were not staff and that he was out numbered. She was just as slow to react. She just hoped that this was because she was still a bit new to this life. While she had gotten the hang of taking human life - it wasn't that much different than taking animal whenever she had to do that for rituals - it was the unknown. Now with the way the system was reading when she looked at the net. It seemed every little thing was being watch.

However, as she thought about this, she watched as Jesse took the lead, pinning the guy's arm behind his back and covering his mouth with his hand so that he couldn't scream. She smiled and took a step towards the two of them. She looked into Jesse's eyes as she slid her arms around the bartender's shoulders, resting her arms against Jesse's as well so that the man was pinned between the two of them. He had offered this guy to her, but at the same time, she was not a greedy feeder. There was more than enough blood for the both of them. "Not big for sharing darling?" She purred as she leaned in and smelled the sweet smell of fear and panic thrumming through the bartender's veins.

She used her body to pin him a little more as one hand slipped into his hair and she pulled it roughly to the point that she almost broke it before she let out a small growl and attacked, striking like a viper, hitting her mark with a finesse. Her fangs sunk deep into the male's throat and she let out a little moan as her eyes fluttered closed and she allowed the taste of the male's blood to linger on her tongue. But then she opened her eyes, and as she fed, she looked right at Jesse, her crystal eyes gleaming with lust and hunger and the power of feeding. She tugged the bartender's hair again in such a way that if Jesse wanted, he could easily feed from the other side of his neck while she fed from her side.

[Jesse Fforde]

Darling. A suitable misnomer, if ever I heard one. I hate it, when someone calls me darling, especially if they are my age or younger. It makes them sound like an old woman speaking down to a grandkid. I am no grandkid, and I do not like being spoken to like one—though I let it slide. From the look in Ursula’s eyes I understand her teasing nature; she’s just having a bit of fun, and that’s fine by me.

I do not answer the question. I remain stoic, holding the prey as if he is a fish that we have just caught and which has not died yet. Ursula is distracted by the prospect of a meal, and I have no need to answer her question; I am almost certain that it was a rhetorical question, anyway.

There is always something intimate in watching another person feed. It’s right up there, in my opinion, with watching another person have sex—and if not that, it’s like watching a striptease. There’s a certain pleasure one gets when watching someone else pleasure themselves—I have a thirst that never abates, and though watching Ursula indulge only arouses my thirst further, it also adds a special spice to the whole delayed gratification philosophy. I am a patient man, and always have been.

Ursula’s eyes open, and she stares at me while she feeds. I stare right back, holding the bartender steady as he shudders, as he tries to shout. He tries to struggle, forcing the tension in his arm to near breaking point—he whimpers, and finally stays still. When Ursula tugs at his head in clear invitation, I only smirk and slowly shake my head from side to side. No, the bartender is all for her. I will not take from her. I do lean forward, however, my cheek touching Ursula’s. Warmth radiates from the human pinned between us, and the heady scent of his blood wafts into the air from the open wound created by Ursula’s canines.

These are the small pleasures one can indulge in in this life. The new sensations that haven’t yet lost their lustre.

[Ursula Wolfe]

Ursula winked as Jesse stared right back at her as she fed from the bartender. She could tell that the bartender was partaking in the things that he was serving to others, she could taste the alcohol in his blood, the way it caused the blood to sour slightly. Her gaze shifted from Jesse to her hand that was holding onto the guy's hair to make sure that she wasn't touching him with her bare skin. She had learned that by doing so caused their blood to sour in a most disgusting way if she did. They were in place though.

She didn't even notice the way the male struggled in their hold as she fed from him, she just listened as his heart began to falter, to stutter and to skip beats. She wanted to pull every drop of his blood from his body, not that she needed it, she was actually full only a moment into feeding, but this time she wanted to let the guy see that this was coming, wanted to see the way the world would fade into an ever lasting night. Her feeding continued and she smirked a bit as she felt Jesse press his cheek to hers. She let out a little purr and reached out with her free hand to trace a glove covered finger to stroke along Jesse's jaw.

When the man's heart gave out, Ursa pulled away rather abruptly, letting go of the body and taking a step back. She glanced at herself in the mirror and sighed when she remembered that she couldn't see herself, which meant she couldn't see the blood that still glazed her lips and the drips that slid down her chin to her chest. She turned to Jesse and sighed, "You know, not having a reflection, it really sucks." She deadpanned, "Let me guess, I have blood on me." She said as she pulled some towels from the dispenser and tried to wipe the blood from her face and body, but missed some of it.

She then looked at the drained body and glanced back up to Jesse, "So what shall we do with this one and who shall we grab for you?" She asked him as she slid her hands into her pockets.

[Jesse Fforde]

In the end, I don’t have to kill the bartender. All along I’d assumed that Ursula intended to leave him alive; given what she had already said, I supposed it was an easy enough assumption to make. She doesn’t leave him alive, however. In a moment (or few) of gluttony she drains him, until his heart cannot stand it anymore. It no longer has any blood to pump around his system, so the heart gives up. The steady rhythm of it, as Ursula fed, rivalled the thump of the bass of the music as it played out in the club. Now it is gone, the muffled sounds of the club eek back into the room.

Perhaps due to the fact that she took more than she needed, Ursula spilled the blood that she had taken. When I feed I like it to be clean. I feed slowly, tightly, so that no blood escapes the wound. No blood gets past my lips. It is too good to waste. Everyone has their habits, however, and it does not surprise me that Ursula’s habits are different to mine. She curses the inability to see herself in the mirror; she wipes at the spilled blood on her skin, but she does not get it all. I take the towel and wipe the smear of crimson still left across her jaw line. I wipe until it is gone.

I cant my head at the body on the floor. The back exit to the club is outside; to get to it, we’d have to go through the crowd. The wound on his neck is gone; no evidence of anyone having bit him. Again, this is where our habits differ. I do not drain my victims. I only take what I need (even though I am always hungry) and then I snap their necks. They are only missing, then, the blood that they’d be missing if they’d gone to give blood at some donation centre. With no bite mark, no obvious disappearance of blood, less likelihood of the authorities making any kind of conclusions about vampires.

I could of course offer a solution. I could do all the work. I found this meal for Ursula, however, and I am curious now. How would Ursula get rid of the body? And, for the matter, if I asked her to – how would she go about luring me a meal? So I lift my focused gaze from the dead body. I give a languid shrug. I nod at Ursula, pointedly, and turn my hand in a circular gesture, before pointing at her. Silently asking her to do it, to show me how it’s done.