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The rain is thick and sticky, falling down in big fat globules and adhering to everything it touches. It is the height of the summer, so, this must be what they call summer rain. It always has a different quality to it than rain in any other season, or so Pierre believes. There is a smell in the air when rain is imminent; a scent that makes the air heavy with rust. But maybe that’s a city thing because he’s never had the chance to compare. The closest he’s been to the country side is Wabakimi Provincial Park when he was about ten years old. He’d made an attempt at being outgoing; he tried to join the Scouts. It didn’t end well. He stayed a day before returning to the city where he feels safe. He knows how cities work and he knows how to handle people for the most part, even when they’re drenched with rain and not making things easy. Pierre sighs as another pair of customers walk into the restaurant from off the streets, drenched from head to toe, cold and irritable. They shake off their coats and their umbrellas in the foyer, making the parquet floor glisten sleekly like rich teak. The maître d' welcomes them in with a smile and all Pierre can do is roll his eyes and make comments to himself.

“There’s a law suit waiting to happen.”

“Pierre! Table nine need you,” comes the sharp voice of Vicci, another waiter in Chez Leroux – no relation.

“Yes! Coming!” he calls back and hurries over to the table with a humble smile.

He shouldn’t be standing around so much, but it’s easy to get distracted when you’re doing a mindless task like this. He takes orders, gives those orders to the chef, then delivers the dishes to the customers – it doesn’t take a genius. Pierre knows the restaurant’s menu well despite the fact that he’s only been working here for six months. He can sell the right dishes to the right customers and he has a good manner with them. He’s handsome, so it helps, even when he’s a million miles away. The girls look at him and smile, forgiving his faults with a wave of the hand. He offers them an inviting smile for bigger tips. The men are a little more difficult to deal with – ones of his age especially. The older gentlemen look at him like he’s their son or nephew, so that works to his favour; his spectacles are a little dorky and so being cute comes easily enough. The best he can do with the rest is make friendly conversation and give them no real reasons to make a complaint.

Pierre may sometimes have his head in the clouds, but that doesn’t mean he’s a bad waiter. He’s perceptive and attentive. He even knows the wine list, which is a feat in itself with 52 bottles available. He knows what each character of wine will best accompany; he knows the difference between a Soave and a Chardonnay. Well, he knows, but he doesn’t know. He can recite it. Pierre knows that Chardonnay goes well with fish and chicken because somebody taught him, but he’s never tasted a drop in his life. Pierre is an affront to his culture; a French man that doesn’t drink. Worst still is that he hails from a long line of winemakers in the Bordeaux region of France. If his great grandparents only knew, they would be spinning in their graves! As it happens, his immediate family are pretty lax about his dry approach to life even if they don’t completely understand it. The Roux family are fairly liberal, but not wholly bright. Pierre might be working as a waiter in a restaurant now, but it’s only temporary. Pierre has big, aspirational plans for his future.

The French man has a passion for the arts in all its forms, but particularly the digital variety. Computer generated imagery is not a skill that just anyone can pick up, or at least pick up and be good at. Pierre had that artist’s eye and the determination to practice, practice, practice! He would take pictures often, converting them into fantastical works of art on his computer. He even makes a small living doing concept art and character designs for private buyers, but that kind of cash doesn’t pay the bills and Pierre still needs a lot more practice before he’s ever going to consider himself a professional; not to mention obtain the real tools of the trade. Pierre is saving as much money as he can from his full-time job at Chez Leroux, but even with his tips – as healthy as they can be some nights – Pierre feels as though he’s far away from his dream living situation. He’s not sure how long it will take, how many days or weeks or months or years, but he knows well enough to get on with tonight. So he gets back to work, waiting tables and smiling and being very approachable to anyone who happens to walk into the restaurant.

The Necromancer could almost hear the sigh coming from her wraith as she turned onyx hues on the floating form. It looked at her, and she looked at it. She broke the stare first. The woman was walking around her hut in the Eyrie. She wore nothing but donut boxers and a my little pony tee, that was her usual attire for when she was alone (or with Marjani). She had left the Andras hotel, and Marjani’s side for a little while. Telling her soon to be wife, that she would be back soon. She had errands to run, and by errands - that meant food to find.

Being a Necromancer she had the ability boost her own blood, it was a safe option always a safe option, but tonight she wanted more. She didn’t want the bland tasting boost that never sated her thirst, or the blood bags that never tasted like fresh blood. No, tonight she wanted warm blood - straight from the tap.

Plucking a pair of leather trousers and a black and white checkered blouse she looked almost like a mosher. Silver bangles hung from her wrist and her long, raven hair was loose upon her shoulders. Her onyx hues looked through her sock drawer for socks. (obviously) and plucked a pair of cotton bugs bunny socks and slipped them on, before pushing her knee high boots on her feet.

After another five minutes or so of flapping, she looked decent to leave and be seen by the residents of Harper Rock. Leaving her hut she headed straight for the fadeportal that would lead her to the Bullwood station, and from there she would browse and window shop the variety of humans that walked the streets tonight - see if anything took her fancy.

After fifteen minutes or so of walking around and checking out all the ladies and gentlemen that passed her by - her onyx orbs specifically went to the nape of their necks. Looking to see if their veins were pulsating enough to draw her in, and have her wicked way with them - but no one took her fancy. That was until she came across a small french restaurant.

Oh yes, Nishaa had heard the rumours. French cuisine was delicious.

Tonight, she felt like some french dining. She did wonder if anyone here was -actually- french but she was willing to find out.

Slipping inside the restaurant she looked to the man on the desk.

Pierre is waiting on a group of young women who flap and titter like chickens over the drinks menu. They can’t decide what they want to drink because everything looks good to them. In the eyes of the law they have ripened into responsible adults, yet they squeal and giggle as though they are children with a life-long free-pass to a chocolate factory. Pierre is having a difficult time keeping that smile of his, this charming thing that makes his dimples plump and his features cherubic. He feels his jaw is starting to ache and since he has a lot more tables in his section, he decides it’s about time to give these ladies some time to debate on their own. Pierre dips his head forward, his spectacles sliding expectantly down his nose so when he straightens, he has to push it back with a deft finger. The girls find this adorable, especially the brunette who has kept her scheming emerald eyes on him the whole time. She’s twirling a lock of that chocolate hair around her fingers as she smiles up at him; plum-stained lips dark and glistening in this devilish look she’s giving him. Pierre tries not to give her too much of his attention, even if she is eye-catching, but he doesn’t neglect her at all.

“Can you do me a favour?” he asks, leaning slightly toward her as he does so. “Can you give me a call when you’ve decided on your drinks?”

Pierre doesn’t get his excuse out before she puts on a pout. “Aww, are you leaving us, honey?”

“Not for long, I swear,” he says, straightening. “I’ll be right back once I’m done serving the gentlemen over there.”

Pierre makes the point of making a discreet gesture to a pair of men sat in the back corner of the restaurant – an elderly father and his son by all accounts – but the green-eyed devil does not shift her gaze. She does so much as look him up and down before wetting her lips with a sweep of her cherry-pink tongue. Pierre smiles nervously because he is. He feels like she has hold of his charcoal tie and he adjusts it without really even noticing. This small exposure of his anxiety makes the devil growl hungrily at him.

“Well hurry on back, dear,” she purrs before looking back at her girlfriends. They all seem to have noticed the tension too and are doing their best not to cackle like hyenas around their queen. “We’re sure to have a few ideas by the time you’re done.”

Leaving with the distinct impression that these girls weren’t laughing over the drinks anymore, Pierre returns to his duties across the other end of the restaurant. With his head down in his little black book, Pierre doesn’t see the new arrival to the Chez Leroux, but her appearance certainly makes an impression on the other staff. The maître d' does a double-take, hiding his surprise under a smile and bright sparkling eyes.

“Good evening,” the young man says in a thick French accent, recovering quickly. “Welcome to Chez Leroux. How are you tonight? May I take your name and direct you to the coat check while we prepare your table?"

Cathy had been checking out the different business in the area that are restaurants. She was looking for people to come to her diner but the place she just walked into seemed to be one of the snooty places. Why would people come here when they could get comfort food in her diner as well as the best apple pie in the world. She looked around the place and felt a bit out of place in her outfit that looks like she went back in time. Yep that was her the girl that wanted to be stuck in the 50's not the present. She looked at the people in the business and started to turn to leave the place.

Onyx hues looked to the man who was talking to her, coat check? She felt her jacket around her and rolled her eyes in response. She enjoyed to have her coat around her - it was a piece of her, she had killed, even helped kill many vampires in this jacket. It was awesome, could she trust another person with her coat? She was unsure. With a rub of her chin she slowly shrugged it off. She could feel eyes on her, plenty of eyes actually to be exact. She wasn't exactly the type of customer you'd see here, but Nishaa never did normal, where she went she liked to make an entrance. It was her thing.
Yes, that was her full name. Her human name being Blackthorn, and her vampire name was Andras. She assumed this male knew nothing about their vampire lineage - or had even heard of the name Andras. She was secure in that fact. She lifted her bony fingertips to her raven hair, and ran them through the smooth strands.


Her eyes peered around the man in front of her to the bustling restaurant there were a fair few patrons inside, eating away. Funnily enough. She had no idea what the time was but the sun was down, did they cater to vampires too? She wondered this. She wouldn't order food, no she was looking for something else entirely. She was after blood. Not just any kind either, no she wanted someone French.

Rumours had said their blood was perfect. Nishaa was eager to try. Her mouth watered at the thought as she brought her hues back to the male in front of her as she made her way over to the coat check, which he led her too her jacket still clearly in her arms as she hesitantly handed it over.
There was a stern look to her eye that simply said 'lose it, and I'll rip you open'. Nishaa was such a lovely lady.

The maître d' waits patiently for the woman to follow his instructions, the smile on his face as professional and appeasing as his uniform. Every member of staff at the front of house is dressed smartly in neatly ironed white shirts, a charcoal tie, plain-fronted black trousers and polished black shoes. The bar staff don black satin vests to differentiate themselves from the waiters, who wear the basics, and the maître d' who wears everything including a suit jacket. Since the maître d' is the first person to make an impression on the customer – the ambassadors of the restaurant really – they must be the most groomed, the most charming and the most accommodating of all the staff at Chez Leroux.

The maître d’ accepts the woman’s coat graciously and turns to access the small cupboard behind the maître d’s station, where the outer garments are hung. He never turns his back on the woman, who introduces herself as Nishaa Blackthorn Andras, because it is just not good manners. All the while he smiles at her, layering on the French charm and indulging in the small-talk she offers.

“Oh, the kitchen at Chez Leroux is open until midnight, but the bar remains open until 2am.”

With her coat safely locked away inside the cupboard, the maître d’ is ready to take the young lady to her seat when her sudden warning catches him off guard. With a hand on his chest, the man bows his head and offers up the most sincere of gestures.

“But of course,” he croons. “The Madame’s coat is quite safe. Please, follow me to your table.”

The young man begins to move off again, collecting a leather booklet en route, confident that the customer is following him. As he passes the first few rows of seated customers, he eyes Pierre from across the dining hall. The waiter is making his way over to the table of clucking females with their drinks order – a bottle of Crémant de Loire from the Loire Valleys in Northern France. While Pierre doesn’t suppose the ladies are capable of enjoying the bottle without becoming red-faced and offensive, he has to at least give them the benefit of the doubt. Pierre realises that the maître d’ is sitting yet another customer in his station quite quickly, one he has to see to right away if he can ever break free from these handsy young women.

“Your waiter this evening is Pierre,” the maître d’ informs Nishaa after he has pulled out the chair for her to sit and then promptly offers her the folded leather booklet. “He will be along shortly. In the meantime, please acquaint yourself with our menu. If you need anything, simply raise your hand and you will be seen to. I hope you have a pleasant evening, Miss Andras.”

The maître d’ holds for a short moment to be dismissed and then returns to his station to meet the next customer with the same strict pleasantness as before. Seeing that the shrinking violet is about to leave, the maître d’ makes a point to carry his voice across the foyer.

“Apologies, Madame,” he offers in an attempt to lure her away from the exit. “Welcome to Chez Leroux. How are you tonight? Are you looking to be seated?"

It’s only a minute or two before Pierre approaches his latest customer, a young lady with striking looks and piercing onyx eyes. By now he is sure that she has had a chance to study the menu and decide what she would like. Pierre enters with ceremony, dropping his head in greeting, clasping his hands behind his back and smiling this warm, sweet grin that’s as bright as a honeydew melon.

“Good evening, Madame. My name is Pierre and I will be your waiter this evening. Have you had a chance to look over the menu?”

She watches the maître d’ with a careful look. She watched him hang her coat up with gentle care, that's all she wanted though. That coat was her baby. She loved her baby. He informs her that the bar is open until 2am, and the restaurant is open until midnight, well they are open quite late compared to some other joints around this place. She found herself canting her head in thought, perhaps this establishment was open to vampires - and catered to them as much as humans. She found some vampires did that, she didn’t see the point in mingling with the two species. Humans were food, that was all to her - besides Bunny. Bunny was more than food, she was Micah’s thrall. The only human she could tolerate, and hold a conversation with. Anyone else though? Food.
The words oozed from her peach lips as onyx, dark orbs looked at the male again. Rather than her coat. He assured her that her coat was quite safe then, and gave a formal bow. The woman wasn’t used to being bowed too, so this was an experience for her - but she still let him do it, french were strange folk that was for sure. Perhaps that was what made the blood oh so sweeter. If that was the case, bring on the strange french folk. A coy smile danced along her features, eagerly waiting. She was like a spider, casually waiting for the fly to fall into her web.

He began to lead her to her own table then, grabbing a leather menu along his way and she followed him, keeping her pace slow. She didn’t want to rush and seem eager, no she would go slow and soak up her surroundings. She cast her eyes around the place, looking at the customers already seated her eyes went to a group of females - already quite flirty and she quirked her lips into a smile. They would be easy targets, but the way they spoke to the waiter. They weren't french. Shame, so easy to pick off.

She sat her *** down then, as the maître d’ had pulled a chair out for her. She eyed the male, and gave a nod of her head. The man had been nice, he had excellent customer service skills, she’d give him that. She turned her hues back to the waiter - the waiter he was looking at. Pierre. What a lovely, french name.
She lifts the menu up to her eyes then and begins to scan it over. Not that there is any point. She can’t eat or drink anything here, without throwing it up. So, she might just order wine to give the facade that she could at least appear human. With a scratch of her chin, she looks at the wine list and couldn't make head or tails of the damn thing, but her browsing was interrupted by Pierre, her french waiter.
Onyx hues looked at her waiter, a coy smile etched across her lips. She wondered what he would suggest, she was eager to know. Whatever he suggested. She would have, she wasn’t picky.

Vega had sat around the lair for a bit too long this eve. She missed the nightlife of Lil Havana...she missed Carlos and the small circle of friends she had there. It was time for her to venture out into the streets and do a bit of exploring.

What to wear? Most of her attire was black on black..but she thought maybe it was time to think out of the box. She recalled a blue dress that Jose’ had brought for her. It was the sheerest of fabrics and felt good upon the skin...but blue? Why not, she said to herself. She grabbed a pair of heels, that lifted her small frame just a bit. It was not her usual look, but why always do the usual?

Vega left the lair and walked down the streets of Harper Rock. As she walked she took mental pictures of everything she saw. How the light of the streetlights played off everything it touched. The night could be so beautiful, if you know what to look at.

Vega found herself in an unfamiliar part of town...there were more people walking about, more hustle and bustle than she was use to. Vega fit right in, though. With her attire and her hair just done so, she looked like the type that would be walking about in this part of town. She even feigned a smile at the passers by that caught her eye.

As Vega scanned the street, she noticed a restaurant that drew her attention. It was French… and a bit upscale. “ Perfect”, Vega thought. She had wanted an adventure, this eve..and maybe, just maybe...walking into this establishment would bring that to her.

Vega knew that she looked a bit young, but how she chose to dress tonight would surely add a few years onto her 18 year old self. Vega crossed the well lit street and stood in the doorway of the restaurant...she closed her eyes, for a brief moment and pushed the door open.

The air seemed a bit different in here..the smells, though delectable..were lost on Vega..in that moment. She did not even think about what she could possibly order, she did not think about much…

As she stood and waited to be seated, she scanned the crowd..looking for anything that may pose a threat to her. Ambrose had warned her about others...ones that did not hold their lineage..for Vega was a different sort, very different.

The maître d’ holds for a short moment to be dismissed and then returns to his station to meet the next customer with the same strict pleasantness as before. Seeing that the shrinking violet is about to leave, the maître d’ makes a point to carry his voice across the foyer.

“Apologies, Madame,” he offers in an attempt to lure her away from the exit. “Welcome to Chez Leroux. How are you tonight? Are you looking to be seated?"

Cathy looked back at the man. "I am not sure I think I would like to sit down but I am a bit intimidated and I do not think I am wearing the right thing." She had looked at her outfit as she did that and then back at the man. She waited for him to reply and he showed her to a small table where she sat and looked at the menu she was not even sure what she would order since she could not eat anything. This was the wrong idea she should not even be in here she could not eat so could not tell if the food was good.

Stryge shook the rain off of his Burberry overcoat as he stepped over the threshold of the restaurant whose sign read LeRoux. He slipped past the line to the maître d’ and scanned the crowd that had assembled this evening for French cuisine and, he imagined, other things. He knew her as soon as he spotted her, the young girl who looked like she should have been a stand-in on the set of Grease, wearing a poodle skirt and sweater over her button down blouse. She had told him where she would be and what she would be wearing. The rest, as the famed British sleuth would have said, was elementary.

He considered checking his coat, but then couldn't remember if he had removed the tag and and anti-theft device. He had been practicing his skills at b&e ever since the change, but rather than simply gather supplies for Clan d'Artois, he had decided recently to do a little makeover with the help of a high end department store. The slim cut Brooks Brothers suit he wore was not tailored, but it was getting the job done. He completed the ensemble with a rattlesnake bolo tie that he had held onto for sentimental reasons from his old life. Not old as in before he became a vampire, but older still. From before he had killed a man.

Stryge kept his coat with him as he skipped the formalities and passed silently into the crowded restaurant. Crowded was good. Newly turned though he was, he was quickly learning the art of stealth. The biggest risk was always that somebody who looked down might happen to notice that as he walked, no shadow trailed him. This was why, when in public, it was always best to mingle in venues that served alcohol. These people weren't noticing much of anything.

Slipping through the crowd he made his way to the small table at which Cathy Dawn was sitting. He had been gradually been getting to know the members of his new family, and tonight was an opportunity to meet one more. As he pulled out a chair and sat across the table from her, he hoped that she would recognize him from the description he had given her. He didn't want to startle his fellow fledgling. After all, first impressions were everything.

"Well hello Cathy Dawn," Stryge smiled at her in a way that was utterly disarming. He had decided to lay the charm on thick. He extended a hand to her. "Name's Stryge. Stryge d'Artois. It's a pleasure to meet you."