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The one that got away
Posted: 16 Nov 2015, 21:44
by Abelle Broussard
Another day spent during actual daytime hours. She liked this feeling of partial normalcy. OF course she had no problem with being who and what she was, but it was a lot easier to get things accomplished when you blended in with the rest. Thursday was a short day, always had been for her, even before the new business opened. It just seemed like everyone was gearing up to be lazy for, thank god it's friday. She sent a few home here at the newspaper. Why pay them to stand around if there was no work, or work she could do on her own. She didn't need to pay herself, that happened everyday.
Belle shut down the desktop, the soft humming of the motor, suddenly leaving the room so quiet it almost had a ring in her ears. It had been a productive day, it didn't need to be busy. She signed off on the interior designer for Studio Broussard, happy to get that underway. The poor building sat for so long, before she made up her mind what exactly it was going to be. It was a toss up between a yoga studio and a modeling studio, both of which the city didn't seem to have yet. There were always people out there looking to blend in with the masses and yoga studios were on the rise in many other cities. But on the other hand a modeling studio would do equally as well. She would definitely receive a bigger clientele as people from all over would come to use it. Nearest one was 50 miles away.
Sitting back in her chair, she looked out the heavily shaded window. Sure it was nice to have daywalker, but it still made her sizzle, maybe not burn to crisp like others, but still it was uncomfortable and embarrassing . But at least she had this and could barely see where it was sinking rather quickly to the west. Coming into this life, one had to come to terms with many things. The hardest for her and still was at times, was the lack of sun. There was only two types of weather where she had been raised. Extreme heat and sun or severe rain storms. She wasn't fond of extreme anything, but the sun did feel good on a summer's eve after the rain. There was a specific scent to it as well, that she was quickly beginning to forget. How sad how eventually it all just faded away.
Lately there had been many of things on her mind, things she didn't divulge to anyone or anything. Concerns about the city, business of course, but mostly about her change of personality since she had been back. Back for months now and everyday she seemed to get just a little more intense. Was she lacking something in her life? Had someone done her that wrong that drove her to behave this way? No. Anything that was done, she had done it to herself. She knew this now. She knew when she slept for all those months, it was a subconscious decision to escape it all. Couldn't cry over spilled milk however, and so life went on. A little more lonely, skeptical and at times bloody.
The auction. Belle laughed out loud as she thought about that. She was so not the type of girl, that got off on parading herself around. So why had she done it? Peer pressure to a certain degree from her human advisors, and maybe even a little sense of rebellion, just to let herself know she could do whatever it was she wanted. She could bite off a rat's head and suck on it or dress up like a proud peacock...just like a chameleon. Mostly the auction had been about the money. Her brother ended up buying her after a little battle off with him and Doc. Deep down she knew her brother did it out of love...she supposed.
What was even weirder for her behavior, wasn't that she entered, it was that she bid. On a stranger. A stranger whose name was Grant Stonehouse. She remembered it clearly from the auction card she viewed right before bidding on him. He was from England and had a degree in psychology. Smart she would imagine, looked smart too as he had stood up there looking more proud than a Lion who was leading his pack. It caught her eye, and not many things did that. Unfortunately she had lost to another woman, who just had a little more money than what she was willing to part with. She hoped she didn't have to spend, to get just perhaps a little bit of his time.
Belle reached for her phone, pulled up the business directory in Harper Rock. She had never paid attention or bothered to ask anyone if the man owned any property. She imagined he did...he just seemed the type. She ran through the list and smiled when she seen his name next to one that was called Mastermind. What an odd name, very very odd. Sounded like some sort of mind tricks or magical makings. She wondered if he was like Zodiac, being magically inclined as she was. This was something definitely worth looking into. It wasn't what she expected when seeing his name. While the phone number was clearly there, so was the address. Belle bit her lip in thought, and then decided a walk, bite to eat and a trip to see Grant would end her night nicely.
Picking herself up off the comfy office chair, that always looked as though it would swallow her whole, she stretched and grabbed her grey and blue plaid vest, slipping it over the long sleeved white blouse. It was even the one she had refused to buy, but was talked into it by at least four or five of the sales associates. The thought of frills and lace, turned the young female off. Made her feel silly and well...uncomfortable. However much more pleasing to the eye when in the middle of business meetings or even going to see another business owner, for the first time at that. Arranging the lacey frills, so that they hung around the V of the vest gracefully, she mock sighed. She was giving this too much thought. Why? Did her outfit even matter?
Shaking her head, she put her mind back in order, tightened the belt around her matching plain grey slacks and headed out the office. She waved goodbye to the girls at the front desk and took off in the direction of ‘Mastermind’ What would she say to him when she got there? ‘Oh hey remember me? I was trying to buy you, but decided you weren't worth it.’ Because that hadn't been the case at all and she hated that it lingered in the back of her mind for this long. Plenty of people didn't win people and got outbid. Why did she care? What was the reason again, why she was going there? Just Belle being Belle.
Re: The one that got away
Posted: 16 Nov 2015, 22:11
by Stonehouse
Generally speaking, people love a nice surprise. Whether it’s the gleeful acceptance of a carefully wrapped present at a birthday party, or a chance encounter with an old friend at the station or shopping centre, a surprise brings happiness into a person’s life like a warming ray of summer sun. Often a surprise is preceded by a period of mystery and intrigue, building up to the climax once the surprise is revealed. A romantic trip away, kept a secret from a suspicious partner, or the gift seated under the Christmas tree, teasing its recipient, can be like a jack-in-a-box of joy, bursting with excitement when the surprise is finally unveiled.
Even as a young child, Grant Stonehouse was fascinated in the psychology of surprises, particular the case of the gift under the Christmas tree. Once it had been clearly established that Father Christmas didn’t really exist, and was simply an imaginative character created to control children, like the tooth fairy or the bogeyman, Stonehouse paid particular attention to the way the recipients of gifts interacted with their mystery items. Some people tried to completely ignore any lavishly wrapped presents, with their holly and snow laced paper, or elaborate bows and tags. They didn’t want to spoil the surprise of opening the gift on Christmas morning. Other people were obviously trying to guess what was hidden inside the festive packaging, looking at the gift from a distance as if they somehow had x-ray vision and could peer through the cardboard fortress that was the box. Another group of people, the excitable, impatient ones, simply couldn’t contain their excitement, and would manipulate each gift in an effort to determine the contents. They’d shake and shuffle the box, sniff and squeeze the wrapping, weigh everything up to try and work out what was locked inside, like some kind of advent Sherlock Holmes. Their joy at eventually opening the gift was as much about guessing the contents correctly as the actual surprise itself.
There had been several surprises at the recent auction held in Lancaster’s Irish Bar, not least of which was the fact that Stonehouse had partaken in the event in the first place. It was a bold move on his part, to finally decide not to hide his light under the bushel, and emerge from the shadows. In many ways he was like the gift under the Christmas tree, a mystery, virtually unknown, as he had made very few acquaintances in Harper Rock. At first Stonehouse was surprised, if not a little flattered, that anyone would bother to bid on him at all. Then again, the ever-confident businessman knew that he’d be worth ever penny that was offered for his services.
Several onlookers placed bids that night. The winning bidder, a beautiful woman who seemed to know more than she was letting on, was a mystery that would undoubtedly be solved over the course of their “date”, but the other participants would continue to be unsolved puzzles, gifts to be opened on another day, surprises as yet undetermined. Stonehouse had tried to second-guess their motives, but remained open-minded about their intentions. There was a man who had kept himself to himself at the back of the bar, splashing his cash around and placing several offers on multiple participants. Stonehouse assumed that he was either a high roller, flashing his cash and out for a good time, or that he was trying to assemble some kind of team for a forthcoming operation. A woman, vaguely familiar from brief encounters in the sewers, had also placed bids. Stonehouse’s initial thoughts about her motive were that she was simply curious and wanted to put a name and a personality to his face. Effectively the woman had seen the gift under the Christmas tree, but wanted a closer inspection. Stonehouse was certain that their paths would cross again soon enough. Finally, there was another woman, the woman who had, just minutes earlier, been on the stage parading her wares. Was she the real surprise package of the evening, the last gift to be unwrapped? Stonehouse had no idea as to why she wanted a slice of his pie; there was no clear reason for her interest. The lack of any viable connection to this woman tickled his curiosity.
It could be argued that “Mastermind”, a small business run by Stonehouse, was like a sneaky Christmas present. From the outside, it appeared to be one thing, yet on the inside it was something else, like a CD or a bottle of wine wrapped up and disguised in a square box to throw the recipient off the scent and give them a greater surprise when they opened the gift. Stonehouse ran a legal business, offering, as the salesman in Stonehouse put it, an opportunity to be “the master of your own mind and release your inner power”. In a nutshell it was motivational mumbo-jumbo, with a bit of basic psychology and body language thrown in for good measure. People were searching for inner peace, and a way of opening their minds. Stonehouse was happy to offer them a piece of something. The fact that, behind the scenes, Stonehouse was shifting stolen goods was neither here nor there. As long as the front of house looked respectable, and the books were balanced, then the authorities wouldn’t come sniffing around. Simple.
Not only did the impending winter mean that Christmas was right around the corner, and that surprise gifts were going to be exchanged and unwrapped faster than partners at a swingers’ convention, but the hours of daylight were much shorter. Less necessity to hide from the harmful sunlight meant more time to prosper under the cover of the night. Grabbing a large overcoat to ward off the cool night air, the entrepreneur wrapped himself up like a newly bought gift prior to delivery to Santa’s grotto. Taking his usual route through the sewers to avoid any unnecessary encounters with suspicious humans, Stonehouse made his way rather briskly to his business premises. The staff would have all gone home for the evening by now, but this gave Stonehouse the ideal opportunity to rummage through the paperwork and computer spreadsheets to ensure that all was running smoothly. He was unlikely to be disturbed, to have any surprise visitors.
Re: The one that got away
Posted: 25 Nov 2015, 01:47
by Abelle Broussard
Tonight was a good night for walking. There weren't an abundance of people out and about, but those were the best times. Whatever she did would be less noticeable, especially feeding. She refused to keep spending money at the shops,breaking her pockets just to avoid a little manhunt. It was something that used to bring her joy, the occasional night time snack. These days, it made little sense to waste so much energy and time in chasing around humans, that were hopefully isolated from the rest. Always risking getting spotted. Belle snorted as she mocked her own self about risk taking. Who was she kidding? That was what got her out of bed most days or nights.
Belle pulled her phone from her pocket, glancing down at the time, she noticed her wrist a bit irritated and red. The lace from the shirt had been rubbing against her frill laced, virgin wrist. most of her shirts were basic, they were comfortable. It wasn't to say she was a slob but if the mood struck her so be it. Belle looked over at the other as well, both now red and itchy. Stopping in her tracks, she had to fix this. What would she say or feel compelled to say even, showing up with swollen red wrists, looking much like she was bit or something. Shaking her head, she tried to tuck the frills inside and up the blouse, without success; tried to tie them up in a certain way just to keep the fabric from rubbing. Rolling her eyes, she stopped and tapped her lip in thought. A brilliant smile lit up her face, just like a lightbulb above an idea. Reaching into her back pocket she pulled out that pretty knife she had seen in one of the shops earlier that week. Cost her a few dollars but look where it was coming in handy?
Examining the material for only a moment, it was clear the frills were attached to the bottom of the blouse, but it was a separate piece entirely, she could cut it away from the actual blouse. Belle’s talents lay in physical activity mostly with a bit of creativity. Seamstressing wasn't anything that peaked her interest. Still it seemed easy enough, she decided and took the knife slowly across and around the sleeve, the pieces falling away just as she wanted. What she had not accounted for was all the extra threading that kept the piece attached. Belle sucked in a bit of air, as she realized her mistake. Slowly she began to walk again. She had to weigh her options now. She could stop off and hopefully find a store open at this hour and buy a new one, or she could just eat this one and call it a mistake and deal with it. Who really did she need to impress? She barely knew this man. If he passed judgement, then screw him. Belle raised a brow and fixed her sleeves as best as possible. She would still feel silly.
No one really appealed to her from this side of town. The blood was too rich for her, people in these better neighborhoods tasted more sour for some reason. Look at her...just like a wine connoisseur, getting to know all her different types and flavors. Fancy, she thought to herself,
despite the clothing malfunction. Realizing she was only a few blocks away from the place, she picked a quick victim and sated her instant hunger. Perhaps later something more savory. Belle strolled and stopped when she seen the place. Grant Stonehouse. She repeated in her head, then tried to remind herself of some cordial manners. Please and thank you she was used to, but it was those other formalities, that in all honestly looked as though Mr. Stonehouse, probably used on a second by second basis. Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, she realized she was just putting way too much thought into this.
Belle ran her finger across her lips, to make sure they were chapped and dry, then breathed into her own hand to make sure her breath didn't smell too much like dried up blood. That nasty iron smell was enough to take someone out after a good night hunting. Straightening, she made her way across the street and headed inside. Never had she expected it to be the way it was. This was nice, the interior calm and inviting. It didn't seem like this was something he would be into, but then she didn't look as though she owned a newspaper company either. Touche, she supposed and shrugged. Investing and running were two different things. That's why she had well trained employees for all her places. They knew what she didn't, and for what she didn't know, that was why she took some night classes on business management. Just getting up and taking care of the day's issues, wasn't enough to keep things flowing as well as they did. Grant seemed like he might know a thing or two about business. That's why she was really there. Right?
Belle hummed low under her breath as her eyes searched around. No one was around, she didn't even hear the faint sounds of human heartbeats, coming from the back room or anything. Approaching the front desk, she leaned over a bit nosily, tapped her fingernails over the desk and cleared her throat. “Hello,” she called out in French, then out again in English, it wasn't unusual for this area.
Re: The one that got away
Posted: 05 Dec 2015, 16:27
by Stonehouse
It wasn’t too far back in the recent past when a successful day at work entailed securing a multi-million pound deal with the good folk in New York. “The Boy Stonehouse” was the toast of the shareholders and directors in the Elixir head office down in London. The fantastic result over in the Big Apple was the catalyst for the high-flying executive’s trip to Canada and his planned meeting with a group of VIP clients in Toronto. For reasons still unknown, Stonehouse had somehow wound up in Harper Rock – a mystery that had proven to be quite literally life changing. Business class travel, fine dining, and a thoroughly extravagant lifestyle had been replaced with trudging through the sewers and drinking the blood of strangers, usually alone in a darkened alleyway. Nowadays, success was measured in how many DVD players could be stolen from a warehouse without attracting the attention of the cops. From wannabe Wolf of Wall Street to Rat of Harper Rock in one swift move. It was a master-class in abject failure.
At least things were generally starting to brighten up, and there was the faintest glimmer of a silver lining around an otherwise enormous black cloud. Stonehouse had begun to put his business acumen into practice, opening a handful of small ventures with cash gained through somewhat dubious methods. Tonight he had decided to give the books a thorough going over at Mastermind, his latest escapade. If the paperwork remained in order, then the chances of anyone snooping around and asking difficult questions would be greatly reduced… hopefully!
A rattle that sounded like the front door being opened instantly attracted Stonehouse’s attention as he thumbed through a pile of invoices, matching order numbers on the paper copies to those on a computer spreadsheet that glowed on the screen in front of his eyes. An inquisitive call of “hello”, both in French and again in English, fully alerted the diligent worker to the fact that he was no longer alone. It was far too late for any regular customers to be dropping by, as the office had been closed for at least a couple of hours. The odd vagrant would occasionally bang on the door, looking for spare change, and infrequently a delivery would be made after hours, but usually at this time of day trading was well and truly over. Stonehouse was expecting nobody, but wondered if he’d forgotten about a last minute appointment. No, that wouldn’t be the case. Forgetfulness was not a character trait of the well-organized businessman. Quickly saving the changes that he’d just made to the spreadsheet, Stonehouse closed down the computer. “Hang on,” he shouted, as he made his way from the back office towards the entrance, keen to discover who was seeking his attention.
Surprises come in all variety of shapes and sizes: huge boxes filled with toys on Christmas morning, bringing joy to a child ready to explode with excitement; an envelope slipped silently through the door by the cheerful postman, delivering news of a job offer from the company that the unemployed university graduate loved; or a small, velvet lined cube, that once opened revealed a diamond engagement ring, causing its recipient to burst into tears of unadulterated happiness. This particular surprise came in the form of a woman, roughly a little over 5’ in height, dressed in a blue and grey vest that covered a pristine white blouse. Her attractive face seemed familiar, and it only took an intrigued Stonehouse a second to recognize her as one of the bidders at the recent auction that was held in Lancaster’s Irish Bar. She had put herself up for auction, but had also decided to place a bid on the Englishman, losing out to the eventual winner, who dived in with a substantial bid of $50,000. At the time, Stonehouse had wonder why she had shown any interest in him. Their paths had never crossed, and there seemed to be no discernable connection between the pair. Hopefully the puzzle was about to be solved. “Good evening,” said Stonehouse as he smiled at the demure lady, assuming that she may be French, “or should that be bonsoir?”
Stonehouse looked at the woman through both curious and suspicious eyes. He wasn’t really staring at her, just eyeing her up and trying to decide why she had actually made the effort to seek him out. Was it simply a case of her curiosity getting the better of her, or was the French speaker intending to gain more from this encounter? Astute vision picked out a tiny smear of blood across the left cheek of the pretty young woman, leaving Stonehouse to ponder over whether it belonged to her, or some hapless victim who had probably served as a tasty snack earlier in the evening. His dark, roaming eyes also noticed a slight rash around each of her slender wrists, wrists left exposed due to some kind of tampering to the sleeves of her shirt. Maybe the surprise visitor had recently escaped from police custody, having being handcuffed in the back of a squad car, or cooped up inside a grubby prison cell? Was she here looking for a place to hide, some sort of sanctuary? An internal snigger rippled through Stonehouse’s face; maybe she was simply a fan of “Fifty Shades of Grey” and had been re-enacting a scene or two from the badly written soft porn shambles. E. L. James could, for all intents and purposes, barely spell BDSM, never mind understand what it actually meant. Smiling welcomingly towards his unexpected guest, Stonehouse stroked his cheek with the tip of his index finger. “You appear to have something on your face,” announced Stonehouse as he indicated the location of the blemish, “on your left cheek.”
It would surely have been somewhat impolite, not to mention a tad forward, for the confident businessman to have gone up to the virtual stranger and licked her face, although the thought did briefly whizz through Stonehouse’s mind like a speeding sports car. Best not to crash the car by trying to drive it too fast without first knowing exactly how it handles. Moving a little closer to the woman – unlikely to be simply a customer at this time of the evening – Stonehouse spoke softly, continuing to weigh her up. “I’m Grant, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said with a genuine tone to his voice. “Although maybe you already knew that? What is it that I can do for you on this otherwise uneventful evening?”