Femme Fatale [RUELLE]

[Blaize]

As focused as Blaize was on his art, there were times when he had to pull himself out of it. His time was spent mostly at rehearsals or practicing, his routine in place. Rehearsals, to the studio, and then home. But the dance studio was not JUST a dance studio. Out the back door he sold drugs on the blackmarket; mostly the kind that students like, ones to help them through the exam periods. Such an operation required meetings with dealers and suppliers -- which was how he ended up at the bar. The bar was useless to the vampire, who could not eat or drink (though now that he was here, he wondered if they sold blood -- and then he dismissed the thought, not knowing where it could have come from). Regardless, he went to the bar anyway, slipping his phone from his pocket to see where his contact was, and how far away he was from arriving. He slid onto a stool, slim fingers pushing blonde locks from his face, distractedly ordering a whiskey that he would not drink.


[R U E L L E] While knowing that it would probably be full of poor students that weren't worth her time, Rue couldn't dismiss the fact that there might be some professors around as well. Besides... Pretty faces counted as a sort of indulgences too, didn't they? The woman wore an off the shoulders, knitted, red dress, comfortably as she sauntered up to the bar to take a seat, right next to the blonde with the whiskey and the oh so serious face. She ignored the bartender, for now, glancing about, eyeing the blonde beside her, "Do the professors come here often or just students?" Rather to the point curiousity.


The dancer arched a brow as he glanced up from his phone, checking over his shoulder before turning back to the woman who'd addressed him. Dressed all in red and sporting some pretty impressive tattoos, she didn't really fit with the crowd. Most of the people here were preppy students; even the hipsters were rather laid back. "I couldn't tell you. I'm not a student -- and I think this is the first time I've ever stepped foot in this place," he said with a slow shrug. His phone buzzed in his hand and he swiped the screen to read the message, frowning down at it. The ****** was going to be late.


[R U E L L E] A brief expression of surprise crossed Rue's face. This man didn't look much older than the students; but, her mark had been off. It would have been better to ask the bartender, she supposed. She didn't let it set her back though. She plumped her lips up into a pleasantly sweet and apologetic smile, "My bad. You just have a ruggedly young face." That was probably her way of remarking that he looked young; but, the way she made it sound was as if she was trying to play to any masculinity his face might hold.


Blaize laughed. Ruggedly young? That was a new one. The phone was dropped onto the bartop, face up, screen in sight so Blaize knew when his contact was set to arrive -- he'd asked to be messaged as soon as he did. Vampirism, too, did wonders for one's appearance, always looking cool and calm and collected. "I could be a student. You're right. But all young people are not automatically students," he said, casually crossing his arms on the bar while half turning to his company. "Though... I could have graduated by now, depending on the course."


[R U E L L E] The redhead seemed to take things in stride as far as the other laughing went. With all the little brothers she had, all she could see it as was a bemusement. When he dropped his phone and, oh, was he informing her or berating her? How interesting. She Turned her stool to better face him, folding one leg over the other; before, sitting her hands in her lap. "Oh? Yes, you're right.. If you're extremely smart... Extremely dedicated and hardworking.... Or... extremely don't really care about your future." She smiled, a pretty little smile, curious as to which type he classified as. If it were the last, he'd certainly get mad and run off.


"Or, none of the above. Or all of the above. I'm older than you think I am, and if I had been studying, the course would have run its natural course by now. I could have graduated -- good student or bad -- by now," he said. Blaize was incredibly confidence about the path his life had taken -- and about his own dedication and care to his chosen profession. That profession just so happened to not be academic in nature. "Also, I'd point out -- one doesn't have to be academic to care about one's future," he said, canting his head to the side. "What have you graduated with?"


[R U E L L E] The redhead blinked at how serious he truly was, just like his face first made her think. She brought her hand up to chuckle into the back of it. She eyed him, with bemused blue-green eyes. He certainly had her beat. The same hand she had just previously laughed into, she held held up to him as if a stop sign or an 'I admit defeat'. "Hmm, I wonder." Truth be told, she hadn't. She had her hands full making sure her younger siblings all got to go on to higher education. "What is it that you so passionately pursued then?"


The question was not answered, and Blaize took it to mean that his point had been proven. His fingers curled around the glass of whiskey that he had not yet touched, lifting it to his lips if only to indulge in the scent of it. The last time he'd got drunk was a distant memory, and he'd taken it too much for granted. It was only when he was drunk that he'd ever gone home with women. These days he may as well be asexual. "I'd tell you that you'd soon see, but somehow I don't think it's your scene..." he said, again eyeing the woman, her attire, her tattoos. He couldn't imagine her swanning around in a cocktail dress at a world class ballet.


[R U E L L E] Rue smiled, a coy -and somewhat mischievously playful expression, at his words. Now he was the one making presumptions. Without any thought for personal space, she brought a single index finger up to tap at his jaw, where she could reach past the glass, "You so ruthlessly berated me seconds ago for assumptions; and, now you make your own? What do they say about assumptions?" If he had bothered to ask, well, not that she would actually say as much, but she had escourted plenty to a variety of different types of high end functions if only because it meant getting their hearts.


Blaize wouldn't have thought that he was berating anyone, though he could see how it might have come across that way. His own assumption was only an addendum to the previous point -- a way not only to say a point, but to prove it too. People didn't like assumptions being made about them based on their looks. When she touched his skin, she would feel the cold hardness of it, the near-porcelain nature of it. And yet, he made no move to regain his space. He was amused. "Would you willingly spend one hundred dollars on a ticket to go and see Giselle performed by a premier dance company?"


[R U E L L E] The coldness didn't phase her one bit; though, she was careful about how she moved her nail. She didn't want to break her nail against such sturdy skin if she moved her finger wrong. Her lips curved back up into a pleasant smile at his question, "If it's worth seeing. Will the performance of Giselle be beautiful? After all, it is somewhat hard to be smitten over a play that has a woman die of broken heart. Only if the dancing is wonderful will it be worth it."


"There's a variation in act two which is particularly beautiful," he said with a wink. The glass of whiskey was now back on the bar, fingers closing over the phone which had not vibrated nor lit up. He didn't pick it up or do anything with it, just held it -- like many in this generation, he was rarely parted with the thing. "As I said, it's a premier dance company. If it's not wonderful, then they don't deserve the title."


[R U E L L E] Rue watched him, calmly, analyzing as he winked. She chuckled, "Oh? Perhaps I will then. You'll have to give me the information on your next performance of it." Her next bout of bemusement, was over her drink. While she was originally going to see if the bartender would make her a drink she liked... She chose instead to reach over and pick up the man's whiskey, taking a drink and sitting it back in front of him with an imprint of red lips on it. A sweet smile on her face, "Were you ever going to drink it; or, just continue to smell it?"

[Ruelle (DELETED 9365)]

Blaize wondered what this woman's game was. Was she here to meet someone in particular? She was interested in professors, older men, but here she was fraternizing with Blaize who... well, now he was thinking about that variation, and how it had to be perfect. And though he had practiced a thousand times -- more -- if he stopped, he could lose the perfection. This time when he looked at his phone it was to check the screen, the lack of new messages only heightening his frustration. He had things to do. A breath of air was released through his nose. "It's yours. Do with it as you will," he said with a smile, though it wasn't a soft smile. It was a smile formed by hardness, the muscles in his jaw twitching. "As for the performance, it's a tour. It'll be back in Harper Rock by July."


[R U E L L E] She'd probably have a laugh if she knew the poor man's thought process. Talking to him was merely killing time. She was just checking things out around the city. Asking about professors had just been a curiosity to see if there were any worth keeping an eye on. She wasn't at all concerned about the lack of warmth in his smile; instead, she was ticking away the 'July'. If only because it might be something to do then if she felt like it. "Traffic?" She was inquiring as to the lateness of the reason he seemed to keep checking his phone.


The topic of the drink had been dropped. She'd noticed he wasn't drinking it, but that didn't mean she knew anything. Blaize wasn't interested in shouting his species from the rooftops, but nor was he super efficient at keeping it secret. The company he now worked for was well aware of his nocturnal nature, and had shifted the rehearsal times around to suit him. They were using his vampirism to their advantage. An advertising gag. But that was okay. If this woman had guessed, then so be it. He cared very little. "Who the **** knows," he muttered. Probably not traffic, no. "More like... he thinks highly of himself, and no one else's time matters."


[R U E L L E] Knowing or not knowing, what would it have mattered. She wouldn't have any reason to shout it out. After all, she wasn't exactly normal herself since she came to this city; thought, she certainly still held a pulse. She lifted the glass back up and took another drink of it, her lips were formed around it in thought; before, she sat it down. "Are you upset that he's wasting your time or ..?" She eyed him curiously.


Blaize arched a brow, a little surprised by the question. "Wouldn't you be upset if someone were wasting your time? I have work to do..." he said. Technically, this was work. Kind of -- but not really. Work would have consisted of taking the product from the man who was late selling it to him, and then getting the **** out of dodge. A glance was spared for the crowd around them -- students, frivolously wasting away their night. "To be honest, this isn't really my scene."


[R U E L L E] The woman chuckled a bit at his straightforward answer. She nodded her head to him in agreement; it could be vexing to be held it, "I can see where your right." Her gaze drifted to the crowd of people, following his view. Had she not started talking to him, she'd already be gone. Little children didn't benefit her any. Of course, conversing with him didn't particularly either as far as she could tell. But, it was a way to kill some time, "What would you prefer to be doing then?"


"I have a ballet to rehearse. Opening night is in two weeks," he said, deadpan. He'd said he had work to do. Was it not obvious that's where he'd prefer to be? In two weeks, he'd be in New York. He was both excited and apprehensive. It would be the first time he'd left the city since he'd been turned, but others traveled. Others returned home unscathed. If they could do it, he could, too. He was their star. There was no way he wasn't going to follow his dream. He'd sacrificed too much for it.


[R U E L L E] Ahem, a workaholic? How charming. She stared him, straight in the eyes, not even trying to conceal any of the mirth in her eyes at the discovery of this trait. Her hands folded into her lap, neatly, "Just that? Nothing else, is there? How do you unwind?" She canted her head to the side, playfully curious.


There was a twitch of a smile. "I don't," he said. "Those who slack off get minor roles. I am not a chorus member, I am a lead," he said, as if that explained it all. The only way he got to where he was today was with hard work, and the only way he would keep his position was with more hard work. He was wound as tight as a spring, and there was no reprieve. It didn't bother him. It did not matter to him if he had no friends or romantic attachments. He had the ballet. "And you? Why are you here?" he asked, turning the conversation around.


[R U E L L E] She listened at tentatively. While it was something she could admire... She couldn't help but to find a bit of curiosity in it. While the majority of his job was 'dance'... Where was he suppose to learn the 'emotion' that went with it if he didn't go out and experience things to see try and see what he represents on the stage? "Curious... You certainly are hard working, I'll give you that." When the conversation was turned on her, she just offered a smile that was neither warm nor cold, "Surviving."


Blaize was not sure how one 'survived' in a dingy bar meant mainly for students. "Well, that's vague," he said. His hand moved, as if he were going to reach for a drink. It was habit. It dropped back to his phone. Finally, there was a message. His contact was five minutes away. "I know a person. Older guy -- not much older than me, but still older. Suave. I can tell him to come take my place if it's company you're after..." he said. Not that he was sure Lyonel would go for that kind of thing, but it would be amusing to toss him into that situation.


[R U E L L E] The woman chuckled at the vague comment, "Maybe if we meet again, I'll clarify for you." In other words, she had little interest in being more clear to someone she would never see again. When he offered to bring by someone more sauve, older. She put on a feigned expression of shock and surprise. It was easy. It was what she had been doing all night. For the majority of her life. Moving her personality to fit who she was with, "Oh? Do I look like I need help getting company?" She was teasing him, even going so far as to look down her own body, questioningly.


Blaize shook his head, brow arched. He did not disguise the look that he gave her, sweeping from head to foot and back again. "On the contrary," he said. "You just don't seem the type to go for..." he started, trailing off as his gaze swept their surrounds. "...preening hipsters or jocks barely out of their diapers," he said. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe that was her type. "I don't think there are any professors here tonight..."


[R U E L L E] Her lips twisted into a settled position, "Ah? So you think I'm out on a hunt, huh?" She chuckled. "And you still talked to me, how sweet." She glanced back and gave a slightly deadpanned looked at the occupants of children, "But, let's say I were... I certainly wouldn't call this prime hunting ground. Such an interesting conversational partner was an intriguing chance though." She picked up the glass and finally finished off his whiskey. The red lip marking was always exactly in the same spot. She gave him a wink, standing. "How boring, it would have been amusing to see how the teachers fraternized among their students. Well, it was nice meeting you, ...?"


Blaize stood, also. "Blaize Munroe," he said. "I'll be heading back to the studio in about half an hour," he said, pointing in the direction of the university. "Straight across the quad. I own the place. It'll be empty," he said. He was no spring chicken, ol' Blaize. He knew what he was about. "If you want to stop by and with your name," he said, then waved to a semi-familiar face who'd just entered through the back door. "Maybe I'll see you later," he said, still deadpan, before slipping past her to head for the reason he was here to begin with.


[R U E L L E] The woman watched the man's retreating form. How funny, she didn't even have to think of an excuse to not give her name for now. Maybe she would later though. She turned on her heels toward the door and took off. Not what she had expected to see in such a place; but, it was interesting nonetheless, "I might tell you my name at that time and place." She was already at the door when she spoke the words; so they were a mere formality. Not really, truly for him. She left without a pause.

[Blaize]

[R U E L L E] Rue found herself back in the Newborough area. There were, honestly, a million other things she needed to do. Men were good for a quick buck and a cheap room to stay in; but, she needed to start focusing on putting her nose to the grind on getting a legitimate job if she wanted to find a place to hold down at her own here. Still, that was a worry in her head; and, this was an entertainment right in front of her. She eyed the university; and, gave a silent shrug. The redhead, confidently, sauntered onto the premises like she had reason to be there. Following what she remembered of the blonde--of Blaize's-- directions to lead herself. She let herself in. It was what she supposed any dance studio would be, as she glanced about. Her hands slid into her jean pockets, "Knock knock." Because, saying knock knock after already coming in was just as polite as knocking before you actually come in, yes.


The dancer found himself back in the studio, just as he said he would be. Classes generally finished not too long after sunset and the studio had long been cleared of all its occupants, Laura -- the teacher -- having been sent home. Blaize didn't do any teaching. It was too lowly an occupation for him. Perhaps, the night before in the bar, he could have said that he was a professor of sorts. But why tell a fib? Regardless, the redhead had not come to the studio last night as Blaize had suggested, and the entire encounter, at this point, was forgotten. When he heard the knock knock echoing out in the vast hall he assumed it belonged to a student who'd left something behind, or one of those girls wanting a one on one instruction with the man himself. To which he always said no. He was too busy. He stepped to the door of the office and was surprised to see the nameless woman. "You're about twenty-four hours late," he said, teasing.


[R U E L L E] The woman slid one of her hands free from her jeans to glance at her wrist watch ---as if that would tell her 'you are late!!!' Her blue-green eyes stared at it for a moment, with a calm, cool, and curious expression, "I didn't think you'd miss me that much, if I was a little late. How sweet." She batted her eyelashes at him, coquetteishly. As if she honestly couldn't see how last night or this night was any matter as long as she came by to visit given it was never a verified promise.


Blaize had not expected company. The routine had been regained, the dirty work had been done. Now he had the studio all to himself he was prepared to use it -- he'd shed himself of his 'day' clothes and was dressed only in a pair of tights, the cream material molded to his form, clinging like glue. It didn't leave much to the imagination -- there was no spare flesh to be seen. It was all muscle. The ballerino was shirtless, the sleeve of tattoos now open to the air. He shrugged. "You weren't missed," he said, stepping out into the studio. If there was any question about his species before, now it was completely obvious -- to anyone paying attention. He had no reflection, and yet they were surrounded by mirrors. "And I gained another couple of hours to rehearse."


[R U E L L E] The woman was relaxed. She wasn't daunted by any of the things that were before her ---or lack thereof. The lack of shirt, the lack of reflection. Not even the cutting words. Her red lips pulled up into a smile, "Isn't it fine, then?" She moved to lean against a wall, somewhere out of his way, where she could watch. "Then or now, I came, didn't I? And whether I came or not, you didn't care ---or rather, you probably would have been more pleased had I not."


Blaize laughed, the sound low and echoing in the vastness of the space they occupied. "It's all about pleasure, isn't it?" he said, crossing his arms over his chest and staying where he'd stopped, there in the middle of the studio. "If I'd preferred you didn't come I wouldn't have suggested you come in the first place. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I assumed -- yes, there's that word again -- that you had something a little more fun in mind than chatting in a bar," he said, slowly. "It occurred to me that a little fun might not hurt. But the lack of it doesn't hurt, either."


[R U E L L E] The woman held up both her hands, fingers outstretched, "I can think of more fun things than I have fingers than being in a bar occupied by children. Unfortunately the number dwindles when faced with someone who probably only knows how to dance until he has set on fire." She brought a hand to her face, giving an feigned sigh. She winked at him, teasing. "Unless.. Do tell? Whatever you desire that you deem fun." She gave a low and regal bow, dipping at her hips.


Blaize grinned. The vision she inspired was not one he would dismiss. Now, wouldn't that be something? Setting fire to a stage. And he still would not stop. He'd let those flames lick the soles of his feet and he'd still dance over them. "Now you're just being coy," he said. "Clearly you've never had a dancer between the sheets," he said. Blaize was young and oh-so-serious -- and he had an edge to him that was sharper than it was blunt. Either way, he got to the point. The leading question remained unanswered. Truth was, Blaize didn't do anything else but dance. Fun? That was a question he couldn't answer.


[R U E L L E] Rue was a smidge amused by how direct he was. A ballet dancer? She could honestly say... Never. Dancers were not a stable career choice. Which meant, not a stable target. However. As far as bedding one would go. She lulled her head back, slightly so, "Hm, I can't say I have. Why? Are they any good in the sheets?" She stared at him with her eyes half-lidded, "Flexible on stage, does not necessarily mean skillful in bed, you know."

[Ruelle (DELETED 9365)]

A small smile touched Blaize's lips. He was all cool calm, knowing what he wanted but never too fussed if he did not get it -- not if it didn't have something to do with his career. He'd sacrificed his humanity for his career. "It's not just flexibility. It's stamina, and strength," he said. "A good dance starts slow and builds to an agonizing crescendo. As should all things, to be deemed worthy," he said. That should well answer her question. Yes, he thought. Dancers were ******* amazing between the sheets -- if he didn't say so himself. And he wasn't just being cocky, either. He didn't often find himself sleeping with women but when he did, most of the time they were dancers. And none of them had been bad.


[R U E L L E] Rue blinked and chuckled. She glanced down at the wood floor and back up at him, "It's also art. You have yours; I have mine." What hers was, she wouldn't be so direct. Why should she. She did finally, push herself off the wall, to slip her way over to him. Placing her hand, palm flat, against his chest. Where his heart would be. Though, it obviously would not have any heartbeat, "Ruelle." She offered up a sweetly smile, tilting her head up toward him.


Curiosity swelled and then ebbed; Blaize was ever patient, his emotions kept well hidden and controlled. There'd been a comment the night before about it. How could he throw himself into a dance that supposed to be full of emotion if he didn't live that emotion himself? Well, there were secrets the dancer would keep, secret woes that even he could not understand. They were locked beneath the surface, only released when the music played and his feet thundered across the wood of the stage or the studio floor. Now, with this woman so close and her skin so hot against the cold of his own, there sparked something else. It wasn't emotion, per se. It was animalistic. "Ruelle," he repeated, testing the name as it rolled from his tongue. His arms dropped from where they were crossed over his chest, one now on her waist and the other cupping her jaw. "I'm not looking for a relationship..." he said. It had to be clarified.


[R U E L L E] The woman didn't wince back when she was grabbed; or, rather... She seemed a bit too calm for someone being grabbed by someone that obviously wasn't human. When his words hit, her smile tilted to one of amusement. Her eyes finally gave a spark of something other than the detached humour they had held up until then --something almost fiery like her red hair, "Oh? How nice, we're on the same page. I won't be owned by any man; and, you won't be tied down by relationships. So let's not make this messy, shall we?"


"No mess, no fuss," he agreed. Whether he never saw Ruelle again after this night, or whether this 'fun' became a regular thing, he did not think about it. He thought about nothing but the here and now, and the reprieve he was allowing himself from his work. "You are not Giselle, and I am not Albrecht -- there'll be no broken hearts to die of," he said. Where his hand had merely rested upon her waist, now it did properly grab her, fingers digging into the flesh of her thigh as he hooked her knee up to his waist, bending his knees only to help him sweep Ruelle off the floor, encouraging her legs to straddle his hips and her arms to wrap around his neck. He exerted as much effort as a man lifting a feather. "Do you prefer mirrors or a desk?" he asked, lips a hair's breadth from hers.


[R U E L L E] The woman's eyes went skyward in thought as he brought of the Giselle comparison. Her lips twitched a bit in amusement. While she thought, she also let herself be moved. Like contact was second nature. Her legs curling around his hips, and her arms slipping around his neck. One sliding up the back of his head to curl fingers into his blonde locks. "I'd say mirrors would sound /insanely/ fun; but, you pose a problem to that little play. Now don't you~ Still. Steaming the glass could be fun." Mischief twitched her painted lips upward into a wicked smile.


Mirrors it is, then, he thoughts, lithe movements carrying them both to the nearest wall, the nearest railing upon which Ruelle is propped. "You'll be denied the view of my ***, which is a damned shame. It's a nice ***. But you'll have front row seats to everything I plan to do to you," he said, almost purring.Blaize was a man with masks, masks that he would flick and change given the time or place, or the company. He could be tender when he wanted to be, but he wasn't so sure there was a place for tenderness here. They were not lovers. There'd be passion, yes. There'd be honour, and a respect of boundaries. He released her thigh and reached for the buttons holding her jeans to her hips. "Is this what you had in mind...?" he asked. He would not continue until he had permission.


[R U E L L E] Rue blinked, canting her head back in thought at his words. She almost opened her mouth to remark something.... But, her lips did not move a bit. She would keep the thought to herself regarding seeing his ***. She sat, opulently, atop the railing. When the man paused to ask her. She lulled her head back against the glass with a taunting sigh, "Ahh. No, of course not. I like to lead men on; and then, cry bad man when I'm a consenting adult woman." She stared up at the ceiling with a deadened expression. People could look down on her all they liked; but, at least she had her morality in sticking to what she chose to do.


Blaize did not expect defence. Or sarcasm, for that matter. Consent, she said. It was there, clear as day, no mistaking it. The thrashed words barely glanced off Blaize's skin -- he had done the right thing in asking, regardless of how obvious Ruelle's intentions had been. Rather than respond, the blonde cut her off with a kiss -- his lips were conflicting, both hard and soft. The kiss was urgent, a little surprising to begin with. How long had it been since he'd kissed a woman? Not since he'd been turned, anyway. But it was like riding a bike and soon his tongue came out to play, his fingers working against the buttons of Ruelle's jeans. Jeans, they were always so tedious.


[R U E L L E] Rue was, admittedly, surprised to have her mouth covered by a kiss after her little taunt. Either he didn't like it, he didn't feel like responding, or he was just like any other man. His thoughts were no longer being thought with the head upstairs. Who knew. The woman shut her eyes, leaning into the kiss to give it a return without any bashfulness, transfering just a tiny bit of the dark red that painted her lips onto his. She slid her hands to rest on his shoulders for a comfortable, but lazed grip, for the time....