Gone Fishing [Open]

[Cedric Costello]

The urges could not be denied. Cedric had never been addicted to anything in his life, but now he knew he was doomed. There were promises that he’d made to his sire, but it was easy to do so at the time. At the time, the urges weren’t so strong. Now, having denied himself for… how long had it been? At least a month. More? There was only so many times a man could please himself.

As he sat nursing an untouched drink at one of the seedier bars in town (one that nowhere near the Vertical Mall and his own place of business) Cedric wondered about other men who’d been in his position for far longer. Was it easier for them, growing into this addiction to sex? Was it easier for it to grow gradually? Or was he the lucky one, having it thrust upon him along with the gift of immortal life? He had to weigh up the odds, in the end. There were pros and cons. And maybe this was something he could get control of. Maybe it was something he could cure. But he sure as hell had given up on going cold turkey.

Eventually he would approach Ambrose; maybe the elder vampire would have some suggestions. Maybe there was some kind of ritual. But the threat of a ‘blood hunt’ for being impure still loomed, and Cedric wasn’t exactly in the mood to die for something he wasn’t sure was his fault. He maintained that it was Castalia’s fault, leading him on the night that he was sired. But, c’est le vie. She had done more for him than he could thank her for. Whether it was her fault or not, she could consider herself forgiven.

Of course, he’d told himself he was just looking around. He was just considering his options; indulging in a little imagination. And yet, he knew as he sat there surveying the options that he wouldn’t be going home alone. He wouldn’t be going home – he’d be going to some hotel room. Hell, he’d even settle for a dirty back-alley somewhere. Because whoever it was who helped him to indulge in his particular needs wouldn’t be alive to giggle to her friends about it. He wouldn’t allow her to toddle off, pregnant, to birth a monster within a month. And nor was he inclined to turn every woman he slept with in order to save their lives. Syn was enough. He couldn’t imagine that they’d all end up as carefree as Syn. Literally. She didn’t seem to care about anything. Not emotionally, anyway.

The ice clinked in the tumbler as he lifted it to his lips; he didn’t drink anything. He just liked the smell of the whiskey; the smell of the ice, even, as it had slowly begun to melt. The cool condensation stuck to his fingers, his eyes bright. It was getting busier; punters were wandering in off the street to get away from the cold. Cedric was looking for a particular kind of girl. One that might agree to his charms. Though, these days, they weren’t so easy to pick out of a crowd. Most of the time, he found that if he sat still and alone and open, they would come to him.

So that was what he did. He sat there, pretending to drink. Waiting, like live bait on a dangerous hook.

[Wearing]

[Matilda]

( Outfit )

New York City, the next great adventure for many of the remaining West's and Matilda had been invited to join them. She'd spent the weeks since primarily throwing herself into regaining her strength, to working on developing her abilities and getting reacquainted with the city at large. There was no way she was prepared to make a decision like that, because on one hand going would mean being able to remain close to those who were the closest thing to family she could have and on the other... Wolf. She didn't want to be far from him, not really, but it wasn't always smooth sailing and he now had a human family he'd decided to take care of, to love. Was she prepared for watching Wolf play happy family? To have children, which was something she could never have? No, not really.

She'd gone up to the penthouse of West towers to change, tonight had been set aside for losing herself amongst humans, for drinking and flirting. She didn't drink, and rarely did she flirt, but she enjoyed watching them interact, so fragile and mortal. Mortality was a precious thing to her, it was nice to pretend sometimes that she still had it. Going through the closet she began to regret letting Lyon have so much of a say. Low cut, tight fitting, sharp lines. It was elegant, mature, beautiful and largely impractical. The blonde pulled out a pair of black slacks and a sheer blouse that matched, slipping on the ensemble over a well fitting black bra to try and keep the look modest. Her blonde hair sat in the usual waves, she'd blow dried it out but nothing seemed to hold. No matter how hard she tried her hair always returned to normal, makeup eventually disappeared into her skin if not reapplied regularly.

Matilda would never change, and it was her curse to carry.

Stepping into a pair of tall pumps that were utterly unnecessary considering her height of 5'10" and grabbed her favourite tan coloured coat. The streets were cold when she stepped onto them, but it didn't bother her much, it was fast approaching the warmer months and that would mean she would once more have to avoid humankind. Her skin too cold, too fair for spring and summer. She got away with it based on her slender frame, people assuming she was one of those model types who just didn't hold any heat, would tease about her eating a good meal even as their eyes ran over her appreciatively. It was around then she proved to them how fragile their precious little lives were, a sharp snap of the neck or a swift shot to the face.

The bar she chose was of the sleazier variety, not the nicest but certainly not the worst in Harper Rock. She pushed through the door, closing it quickly to keep out the cool breeze. Clear blue eyes did a sweep of the room, getting a feel for the mood of the place and it's occupants. Her coat was shrugged, draped dismissively over a coat rack by the door. There were already people leaning a little too heavily on the bar thanks to bellies full of drink and minds beginning to wander, no doubt inhibitions were loosening and perhaps some would soon begin dancing to the music playing quietly. She ordered a whiskey, neat. Of course Matilda wasn't in the habit of drinking, she was on a strict blood diet, she enjoyed the warm fragrance and a way to keep her hands busy.

One of the more inebriated in the room decided it was his time to shine, flashing her his too white teeth in a sleazy grin as he leaned over to push money at the bartender before she got the chance. Overbearing, too close. His hand brushed over her back, a little too insistent, urging her to join him at a quiet table. "Thank you, but i've just arrived, i'm going to keep my own company for a while." She gave a brief smile, turning back towards the bar, clutching the glass close. "Come on, blondie, you won't regret it." Her jaw clenched, keeping her eyes focused ahead of her hoping he'd lose interest, fast. She didn't want to have to kill one before she'd gotten to relax.

[Cedric Costello]

Cedric never understood the pushy ones.

They were the ones with no confidence, he assumed. They were the ones who had to resort to bullying, to misogyny, to get what they wanted. Except, it never got them what they wanted, did it? Cedric never did understand how a man could think persistence would get him anywhere after a woman said no.

His wife had explained it to him, once. Marion – the classics expert. Jane Austen had put it so perfectly; she’d framed it so subtly in Pride and Prejudice. Men didn’t believe women when they said no. Men thought that they had all the power. They thought a woman only said no as a tactic to play hard-to-get; a way to make them more frustrated, so that when they finally got what they wanted, their satisfaction was greater. As if everything a woman ever did was for a man’s pleasure.

Poor Marion. Cedric was a man, through and through. He had listened to her lecture with in quiet contemplation. Was that how he had treated her, in the beginning? Had he always pushed, when she said no? Maybe. Not to drastic limits, but he had never liked it when she said no.

Poor Marion. In the end, it was always her lectures that he remembered. She had given him the fodder; she had inadvertently shown him how to pick up other women. Maybe she’d thought he would use those tactics on her, or maybe she’d been completely oblivious. In her care, she had created a man who could charm the pants off a woman, because he knew how to treat them. He knew how they liked to be treated. They were people, too. Not that Cedric had thought any less of them before.

Other men, he thought, were simply inferior because they chose not to listen. Some – some were okay. Some were in the same league as he was. They took a step back when a woman said no. He tried to figure out why she said no so that next time? Next time, he knew what to avoid in order to lure a yes.

The woman in question was blonde, and petit. She almost looked like a doll with her porcelain skin and her large blue eyes.

By the time Cedric was close enough to realise she lacked a pulse, it was too late. The man so desperately trying to gain her attention had already spotted the interloper. Cedric read the threat in the man’s eyes – as if he were challenging Cedric to make a move on his property. Cedric laughed. It was a low, a rumbling bass.

”I think that he must be overcompensating for something, don’t you think?” he asked. He was going to defend the woman’s honour; but now that he knew she was probably very capable of taking care of herself – yes, he was still a man, and thought he was the stronger sex – he was curious to see what she might do. He slid onto the stool on the other side of the overcompensator.

”I think you should go home, man. Save yourself the embarrassment of being a disappointment,” he added. His untouched drink was still in his hand while he leaned lazily against the bar.

[Matilda]

Her eyes had grown narrow, she could almost feel his hot breath as he leaned over her, caging her in one side with his hand resting against the bar, arm straight. Of course she could take care of herself, but was not keen on drawing attention just yet. As she turned to more firmly address the man in question she spotted the man who had decided to come to her defense. Handsome, definitely, in a rustic sort of manly way, facial hair neatly trimmed yet artfully scruffy. The kind of guy who would be friendly, respectful, smart. Something else about him caught her attention, enough that she didn't cast upon him the same glare she was delivering to the drunken man looming over her.

Matilda was no stranger to other vampires and she'd spent a lot of time working on identifying them, it was often in the sureness of their walk, the way their eyes moved over a crowd, the pattern of the rise and fall of their chests that seemed to be often steady regardless of activity. Some breathed like humans, their skin had a warmer, healthier tone and they were harder to pick but you could always make an excuse to feel their pulse. As he drew closer she did, reaching out across the bar, in front of the pest and wrapping those cold, pale fingers around the handsome newcomer's wrist. No pulse. It was then that her plan was decided on, he'd made a point of trying to interfere in the uncomfortable situation and by god she was going to let him, whether he came to regret it or not.

"Oh, GOOD, you're here! I don't want a man who overcompensates with bravado, it's why I choose you lover." She cooed seductively, dropping a wink to the man. Her shoulder pressed forward, forcing the other man to step back with a little shove. "I think I WOULD regret it, in fact." Matilda muttered to the sleazy drunk in response to his earlier comment, though her eyes never left the vampire whose wrist she had hold of. He gave an unbecoming snort of derision, taking a stumbling step backwards, hands up as if to say I give in. "Whatever, man, plenty of other cold bitches around wanting a man to warm them up. I was just trying to be nice." The blonde woman flinched, her fingers tightening briefly where they lay, a warning signal. After taking a steadying breath she lifted the glass she cradled in her other hand, pressing it to her lips as she might sip but merely let the amber liquid touch her lips before lowering it once more. She began counting to ten in her head, letting the urge to smack the man fade.

"Apologies..." She finally said, letting her fingertips loosen, drifting over his skin before breaking contact, returning her hand to her own lap. "I'm Matilda, thank you for the intervention."

[Cedric Costello]

The plan, Cedric reminded himself, was to find a nice frail human girl whom he could feed upon after sleeping with her. Someone he could kill, a body he could be rid of. No fadebabies, no angry hissing women on his doorstep or berating him over the phone, asking him what the **** he had done to them. No one to hunt down to try to save, no demons to rip from swollen wombs. Just a neat, clean dead body to dump in the river or toss out into the wilderness for the bears and the wolves to tear to pieces.

It was hard to remind himself of his former plan, however, as this petite blonde proceeded to call him lover, to claim that she had chosen him after expressing her gratitude at his arrival. As if he was always meant to be there, as if they were meant to meet all along. Though Cedric would not subscribe to such mumbo jumbo, and he doubted that this woman did either. It was merely an excuse to be rid of the sleazing, alcohol-ridden interloper.

As Cedric watched his retreating back, he hoped that the mannerless man would find a cold-blooded woman. More specifically, a vampire who would pretend that she had been wooed. One who’d then proceed to rip his neck out as soon as they were behind closed doors, or ensconced in some seedy corner of some niche between two buildings. An alcove where his lusts would die, along with his meaningless life.

At first, Cedric entertained the notion that he might be able to take a vampire home. It crossed his mind that the fadebaby might not take root in a vampiric womb. He hadn’t yet impregnated a vampire. But was it worth the risk? He wouldn’t be able to kill her and dump the body. Or, he could try, but what if she’d been around longer? What if she was stronger? What if she belonged to a vicious family who’d seek vengeance? There were far too many ‘what ifs’.

Still, he was enthralled. She had chosen him. How could he not play along?

He turned toward the woman, curious. He cocked his head in the direction of the intruder, brow arched inquisitively.

”I think that you might have been able to take him, you know,” he said. Maybe it was a delicate subject. In some ways Cedric still clung to his humanity, but Castalia had offered him a new life. Something different. Something to help him to let go, and most regards, it had worked. His heart had become a stone, and the notion of killing such a fuckwit didn’t cause the slightest flutter of guilt.

”I do not think that you will tell me I am wrong… but why didn’t you?” he said. He always went for the more hard-hitting questions. They were far more interesting than idle small talk.

[Matilda]

Why hadn't she? Of course she could've taken the man, killing humans was ridiculously easy and she'd ended the lives of many scumbags, drug dealers, gangsters, those who would abuse without remorse, murderers just like she was. Hours upon hours of killing had hardened her to it, though she rarely took great pleasure in snuffing out a human life she'd prefer it to the alternative.

She could have killed him.

Murder of innocents had happened, those caught in the crossfire, those beyond saving who got given death as a mercy. Her interest in turning others was little to none after she'd lost the one she was close to, and while she was open to the idea she wanted them to be someone she thought deserved it not an accident. She didn't want to do what Wolf had done, a few times over. Did she resent it? Not any longer, but it did weigh on her mind when someone lay there dying at her feet. A kindness, a mercy. Death. Her hand itched to reach out once more, to test that cool skin, compare it to the brittle coldness of her own. He looked more human than some, harder to detect but it would be rude to ask, especially when he was asking questions of his own.

"If I tell you that, i'll have to kill YOU... Or perhaps if you tell me your name i'd be more inclined to discuss my moral compass, hm? I'm glad you think I can handle myself, though sometimes it's nice to have help from a fellow... Nighttime enthusiast." Her Australian twang become more apparent as she spoke, though her voice still held a refined quality, the result of being raised by a French mother who scolded her Australian father for his poor pronunciation. Matilda leaned back slightly so she could get a better look at the man who was apparently her companion now, for at least his portion of the evening, and began to wonder whether he was the kind of vampire who was able to drink. Damn him if he was, it was one of the things she missed most apart from sunshine on her skin. Warmth in her bones would be a welcome surprise, at times the woman spent hours curled up in front of log fires in the cabin, or curled around a heater in the apartment just to pretend the warmth was her own.

The only warmth Matilda truly had within her was passion, the passion she felt in heated moments or the midst of battle. Life and death, pleasure and pain, warring within her delicate frame.

[Cedric Costello]

”Cedric Costello, at your service,” he said with a slight bow; an indication that he could be the gentleman, and had been raised to act in such a way. Or, if he had not been raised in such a way, it was a behaviour that he had become most accustomed to in the circles that he had walked. A grand pianist was revered among the elite. He himself had become one of the elite. It wasn’t something that he was overly attached to. He would’t find himself in such a place as this were he attached to superior settings.

As he gave his name, he offered his hand – a proper greeting, or introduction. His body was turned toward his company. She had an accent that he had not heard too often. Every now and again he would encounter Australians, but most of them were tourists. He had avoided the rabble. Here in Harper Rock he had not encountered any. This woman was the first. Did that make her exotic? Aren’t they all exotic, with their night time inclinations?

”I am probably not that hard to kill, but I think I would prefer to keep my life so that I can become…well, more hard to kill,” he said with a small laugh. ”If moral compasses aren’t your thing, I’m sure we can find something else to talk about,” he said. Though he was not sure why he was offering topics of conversation at all. The drunkard was gone and this young woman was not what Cedric was looking for, though the desire remained strong. He had to resist. He couldn’t help but to flip between the two states of mind. To try, or to not try? To risk it?

Without knowing that he was doing it, Cedric’s eyes bore into the other’s skin. His gaze swept over the planes of her face, the lines of her body beneath her clothing, the touch of her fingers, the shape of them, and what they might feel like in other places. He could not help it. It was a curse, that he could not look at women without picking out their peculiar beauties, the uniqueness of them, and wondering what it might be like…

He caught himself, but probably too late; he offered that genuine smile and a twitch of his head as his gaze returned to the woman’s face, a hard stare, a conscious effort not to roam.

[Matilda]

Cedric Costello, the name suited him and Matilda found herself smiling, raising her glass to him at the greeting. Instead of tipping it to her lips she lowered the glass back to the bar. "As I said earlier, i'm Matilda. Matilda Fleur Jacobson if we're being formal, but a nickname will do just fine. At my service, huh?" Her laughter was soft feminine and had her looking far more relaxed than she had when he'd first spoken. She shook the offered hand, they'd already had skin to skin contact, a simple hand shake was the least they could share. "Do you drink, Cedric? Can you?" A forward question, perhaps, but she was curious and wasn't known to be shy. Her voice was kept low as she spoke to him, leaning forward so to outsiders it appeared they were flirting or having an intimate conversation.

She understood the desire to be harder to kill, she too strived to gain in strength and power. "Mmm, I recently took a very long... Nap. I aim to be strong enough to not be knocked on my *** for a few days when a certain man in my life gets trigger happy and shoots me in the heart instead of talking about his issues." She rolled her eyes, as if this was a perfectly normal conversation to be having, like recovering from gun wounds was nothing more than a mild irritation. "As for my moral compass, well you are right I could have. I would have, too, had I not just arrived. I want to try and fit in, to enjoy some time amongst them a little longer before doing anything rash. It isn't really my style, unless i'm letting loose in the Quarantine zone, or playing tag with those who are like us. Bugger ruining the outfit i've just put on!" That easy laugh again, a playful brush of fingertips over his arm.

The eyes roaming over her were hard to miss, and she met that stare with one of her own. Her brow raised, making sure he saw exactly what she was doing as her wide blue gaze lowering, narrowed over his frame, slowly tracingover every inch of him. She wasn't shy, and if he was allowed to look her up and down, well then damn it she would do it right back. Her slow appraisal done she once more looking him dead in the eye, toying with the glass to keep her hand busy. "You are very cute, sure, but in my experience men that look like you come with a heavy set of baggage. What's yours, Cedric? I bet it's something good."

[Cedric Costello]

Cedric swirled the drink that he still held in his hand. When he ran his tongue over his lips he could taste the alcohol resting there, though he could not consume it. The taste lingered on his tongue. He shook his head and shrugged at the question asked. The drink was for show. The answer was given as he put the drink down and pushed it away from him.

What he discovered was that Matilda Fleur Jacobson was a very open individual. She went from admitting to being shot by the man in her life after a long nap to what she liked to do in her spare time. She had no qualms about returning the rash stare that Cedric had subconsciously given; it allowed him, in retrospect, to realise what he had just done. Any other woman might have slapped him; might have at least got a bit cold and distance, excused herself. Especially after Cedric’s own forward behaviour.

Instead, she complimented him and inquired after his baggage, which only made Cedric laugh. He didn’t even have to think about it. It had nothing to do with his past or the way he had run away from his home, his wife (now ex) and his child. His little girl. All of that was a distant past, almost as if it belonged to someone else, not to Cedric. Something that he had compartmentalised in order to focus on the real baggage. The current baggage. The suitcase that was wide open and strewn across the floor, the contents of which were tripping him up at every turn. He rubbed his thumb across his lips, considering Matilda and her open demeanour. Considering just…

…and why the **** not, right? He released the breath from his lungs, and laughed again as he shook his head. Almost as if he couldn’t believe it himself.

”I’m thinking about sex. Right now. Can’t help it,” he said. He’d been staring at the back wall of the bar, but turned now to consider the woman, and her reaction.

”But I can’t. It doesn’t matter what kind of contraception I use, every woman that I sleep with becomes pregnant…” he said. That last word was weighted. This woman was a vampire. One who’d napped. One who seemed to have been around a while. Did she know what it meant when a woman became pregnant by a vampire? Would she understand his hesitation?

[Matilda]

Matilda watched the thumb swipe across his lips, following it's path with unabashed curiosity, waiting for him to speak again. Had she been too forward? Always. She rarely felt there was much point in holding back, what's the worst that could happen? She wasn't overly fussed if the guy took offence and stomped off, she wasn't here to entertain him or make him stay. Sex. Huh, well that wasn't entirely unsurprising or a strange to be thinking about in a place like this, but she figured he didn't mean it in such a flippant way. Her features remained even, the slightest look of skepticism on her face while she waited for more than just sex.

OH, well, that was something else entirely. Her mouth formed a little "o" of surprise, leaning back to consider him before she burst out laughing. It started with a giggle she tried to control, but quickly burst forth, ringing out. "Oh, ****, Cedric. Mate, I am so sorry. I'm not laughing at you, just, wow that's..." She took a breath, holding it for a count of three before exhaling in a rush, the laughter ceased with the simple action.

"So let me get this straight," Matilda leaned towards him, keeping her voice low, "You're admitting to be being a nymphomaniac murderer, basically. I mean, those kind of uh... Pregnancies... Tend not to work out so well." She mused, suddenly wishing she could actually drink. "****, i'd love a beer. You know?" The blonde woman winked at him, "You are aware there are other ways to get your kicks without going the whole hog, as it were, yeah? Or can you literally just not help yourself?" While she probably should've been disturbed, bothered by it, she was more intrigued. Morbidly so. "How many? And were they people like us or..." She gestured dismissively over her shoulder, "Them?"