Path of the Vampire forum

His glass of honey whiskey was half drained when the song changed, the first few notes immediately recognisable and making his lips curl up on the right. There was something about the song that he found deeply satisfying, resonating within him in a way that had his foot tapping against the bar stool that was slightly too short for his long legs. The casual clothes he wore were loose enough that when his body started shifting in his seat, a lazy boogie, he felt no restriction across his shoulder blades. It felt good to be out of a suit and out on the town, lifting his mood as he waited to see if anyone might show up.

The idea for drinks had come out of nowhere, some strange and striking urge to socialise that Lincoln rarely felt, or more to the point rarely indulged. It wasn't that he disliked people, and he certainly wasn't opposed to the odd drink and dance, but for months he'd been finding more lame excuses not to socialise. Lately he'd been wanting to welcome people into his life who were more than just casual acquaintances; Lincoln King was wanting to make friends. Real friends. It had been so long since he'd tried that he wasn't sure how one went about it, being an adult with less avenues to meet people and more hang-ups about the whole thing made him more than a little twitchy about the whole prospect. It was why he found himself sitting in the club, bobbing his head to Bowie and drinking his way through a glass of glorious golden liquor, just hoping for someone to join him.

“Dude.. I am your wingman. Now worries.”

“What?” Cyril looked confused.

“What, what?” Doc frowned.

“We aren’t aviators Dr. Nilson.” Cyril gave him a look that suggested that Doc was ******* insane.

Doc drew a breath. “No Cyril.. ‘Dating’ wingman. Meaning I will be on your six, to make sure no one tries to **** up your moves.”

“I am lost.. What ARE you talking about??!” Cyril asked in exasperation.

Doc looked at Cyril with a serious, pointed look. “Cyril. You need to get laid. You are short tempered. Angry. And ridiculous with your demands from staff.”

Cyril frowned but also looked a bit sheepish. The only thing he objected to, was his.. ‘Requirements’ of staff. “I will have you know.. There are reasons for each and every -demand- I make from staff.” He hurumphed. “If they do not wish to follow procedural protocols, they can seek other employment.”

Doc sighed. “Fine. And when you are running three businesses by your ******* self.. I want to hear.. NO .. NONE.. excuses. Why? Because you ran off all the employees!”

Cyril hung his head. “I am not good at dating..”

“I am not asking you to date.. Cyril.. I am telling you to get laid!”

Doc pointed toward the dance floor. “I see three 7’s, an 8, and two 9’s. Go bust a move .. get a name.. And I will help you get laid.”

Cyril frowned again, “How will you help me get laid.. Cause.. That sounds WRONG.”

“For **** sake Cyril.. I will nudge her your direction.”

Narrow eyed look at Doc, “How?”

“I jsut will.. “

“Oh!..OH!.. No! No .. definitely Not! I will not have you hoodooing anyone to sleeping with me!” Cyril was righteously indignant.

“Three businesses.. With no employees.. Cyril.” Doc looked at him.

Amalea was having second thoughts about meeting a bunch of humans for drinks at a club with which she wasn’t familiar. She hadn’t said she was going so she still could head home but this was something she knew she had to do. Over the years, she had spent less and less time among humans and now felt she was out of touch with the group. If she was going to help the vampire community, she needed to get back into the human groove to get the feel of the opinions and pulse of the group.

Entering the club, she instinctively smoothed her dress as she looked around. The song currently playing reminded her of the scene from A Knight’s Tale where all the nobles were dancing after dinner. Smiling, she headed deeper into the club looking for the group of gathered humans though she had no idea what to look for. She certainly wasn’t about to go up to a random group of strangers and introduce herself only to find out they weren’t the right people. How on earth was she going to find them?

He wasn't intending to listen in to the conversations around him, mostly he'd been focusing on the music and his own drink, but this he couldn't help overhearing. Every now and then Lincoln would lift his pale green gaze, glancing around the room for any familiar faces, or perhaps unfamiliar but with that same questioning look, the one that said, "I'm not sure who or what I'm here for". The two men nearby were talking about the high pressure of business and the need to get laid, how one of them had been moody so the other was playing wingman. Fair enough, he figured, we all needed to let some steam off sometimes. What didn't sit quite right was the way the "wingman" talked about women as numbers, rating them on appearance, he gathered. It wasn't cute, but it happened all the time, people rating each other on looks and wanting only a surface interaction, a base, and fleeting fling. He'd been on the receiving end of that, dragged home for a night of fun, no promise of a call the next day so that he could leave with no obligation. Occasionally they'd put their numbers in his phone, tell him to text if he was bored, or try to detain him for a weekend romp. A lot of times he simply said, "No" and took himself out of the picture, or walked them home like a gentleman but left them at their doorstep.

Consent was important, he knew how easy it was to take advantage and be taken advantage of in this world, especially when people possessed abilities that could sway or persuade. That was probably why the words struck a chord, something about it making him uncomfortable. Maybe it was the slightly offputting aura of the guy, being a man who was heavily attuned with his chi, with types of energy, he knew he should pay more attention to those feelings. Whatever it was, he felt bad for the girl they preyed on that night, and suddenly he found himself waiting, watching, just in case he needed to step in. "You're doing your friend a disservice there, sir." He addressed the older looking of the two "gentlemen", the supposed wingman, "I mean... He's not terrible looking. Maybe if he showed a bit of personality a charming woman might consent to... " He lowered his gaze, giving a wry smirk, a low scoff. "Why don't you have a drink to take the edge off first? On me."The bartender glanced up at that flashing him a half smile and gesturing to his glass. He'd emptied it, and was holding the glass more firmly than he intended, releasing it to be filled up with a grateful nod. And whatever these two are drinking." Though he had an inkling, a creeping sensation drifting up and down his spine, that told him one of them had a drink of preference that wasn't exactly on the menu at most bars.

He knew he shouldn't get involved, but he couldn't always help himself, the scar on his cheek a permanent reminder of a time he'd stepped in and paid for it; even if he hadn't come out of that fight the worse off.

Her boss had said something about a club Demi hadn't heard of. At least, she didn't think she ever had. It was hard to tell what she knew and didn't know these nights. Tonight, however, she remembered the place and where the place was, and who had invited her out. Along with Lyonel; who was her sire and the fact that she was a vampire. Demi was golden tonight.

Lincoln paid her really well. Like, really, really well, for what little skill set Demi actually had in the working world. Truth was, Demi had no talent outside of dancing, but for whatever reason, Lincoln King felt pity for the girl and gave her a job, even knowing she knew...nothing. At the time they met, Demi literally knew nothing outside of her name, and where she came from. So, of course when he invited her out with some people, she was more than happy to oblige.

Her wardrobe was seriously lacking, considering what she had back home in Georgia. She was working on rebuilding it, thanks to her boss, but what she had compared to what she had now, paled in comparison. She would have to work a lot to get any of the designer things Demi had in her closet back home. Which was a struggle, because Demi never had to save money. Ever. It was a harder task than anyone actually credited anyone for, in her mind. But, finally, she decided on a pair of black ankle boots and an almost bohemian type of white and red dress. Her hair was pulled back at first, until Demi decided to just leave her blonde hair down on her way out the door where she would cross a few blocks to get to the train station to catch the train over to Wickbridge.

"LINCOLN!" Demi shouted and lifted a hand in the air after her I.D. was checked over twice. Everyone told her how baby faced she looked, which didn't do her any favors at clubs, bars, or buying booze. Even though she was 21 and had been for a few months, people often associated her with being younger than eighteen. Fifteen or sixteen at best. She stuffed her I.D. in her bag and then made her way over to the only face she knew (that she knew of) in the club and took a seat next to him.

Doc lifted an eyebrow as a young man commented after overhearing their conversation. He slapped Cyril on the back. “Hear that? Now you have two wing men.. And he’s buying. Bourbon, please.” Doc held up two fingers to the bartender, and then pointed to the table next to them.
Turning to the younger man, Doc smiled a polite closed lipped smile, “Thank you, for the drinks. This is Cyril the Timid, and I am Charles the Arrogant.”

Cyril sighed inwardly. As much as he liked Doc, he disliked socializing with him. Doc could be overbearing, obnoxious, loud, and yes.. Quite arrogant. It was almost like Doc wanted to piss people off, just to see their reactions. Cyril knew Doc found it amusing. But Cyril found it quite awkward and embarrassing. Cyril gave the man an apologetic grimace, and debated giving Doc an admonition to behave, when he caught sight of Amalea across the floor.

All thoughts about giving Doc a scathing rebuke, suddenly melted away. Cyril gave Doc a look, did he know She was going to here? Was he planning on rubbing it in Cyril’s face? Was he hoping to have Cyril hit on some random female, so that Amalea would see it? Unconsciously Cyril straightened, as he gave Doc a pointed look.

Catching Cyril’s look, Doc smirked, “What? I am only trying to help you out here. You want to stay cranky and celibate, fine. You’re only hurting yourself.” He picked up one of the drinks that a waitress just brought over.

Cyril glanced toward Amalea then back to Doc.

Doc followed his gaze and landed on Amalea. He looked back at Cyril, noting his rigid stance. “Her?” Looking from Cyril to Amalea and back to Cyril. “No.”

Cyril pointedly ignored Doc’s comment, and crossed the room to Amalea. “Good evening.”

The red-head muttered a few choice words under her breath as she continued to search the club for the mysterious group of humans. Not for the first time tonight she wondered how she managed to get herself in these situations. It wasn’t that she minded clubs, but she was much more at home somewhere like The Necropolis than this club. The real issue currently is that she had no idea who to look for; next time someone suggested a meeting; she was going to request that a meeting place be designated.

Shaking her head, she peered out onto the terrace area. The club was massive and she was about to say ‘screw it’ when she heard a woman yell a name. Turning towards the direction it came from, she frowned as she realized she had no idea if anyone had given a name. Given the nature of the forum, she didn’t think so, but at the moment any bit of information would be useful.

Yelping as the semi-familiar voice bidding her good evening caught her by surprise, she smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. You caught me off guard. A good evening to you as well.” Well, she may not have found the group she had wanted, but the familiar face was a welcome sight. “What brings you to such a place?”

While it certainly wasn't entirely what he'd planned, being referred to as another wingman, it at least seemed to briefly distract the men from eyeballing women like a selection of deli meats. That was a start. He politely obliged, figuring no others had shown up yet as far as he was aware, sliding off the bar stool and following the men to a table that had just freed up. He'd realised after the fact that he should have perhaps planned a way for others to find him, a certain outfit choice or the classic rose in the lapel, but it felt too late to put up a message. Just as he went to take his seat, drinks deposited, he heard his name called out over the club. With his height it was easy enough to see over the heads of dancers and drinkers alike, spotting the slight blonde waving her ID like it were a flag. Again he kept one ear on the conversation, gaze following that of his two new companions to a pretty redhead who he'd seen looking slightly uncertain earlier. She looked familiar, but not like she was someone he knew, maybe just someone he'd seen around town. Lincoln stayed standing until Demi deposited herself into the seat beside him, giving her a surprisingly sincere grin.

The man draped himself across his chair, winking at his often forgetful employee. "Well, look at you, remembering me." He'd leaned towards her, head tilting to deliver the line in a way that was meant just for her, figuring it better than hollering it out to the rest of the club. "I'm glad you decided to come out." Linc lifted his drink to his lips, taking a small sip. "Can I get you something, Demi?"

Cyril tried not to look disappointed that Amalea looked startled at his appearance at her side. Cyril knew he wasn’t the most interesting man, and he could be boring, dull and sometimes tedious. But that was only because so many people around him, failed to do things in the proper manner. He hated to leave things undone and sloppy. He liked things neat and orderly. He could relax.. Granted it was difficult, especially in large groups. And loud noisy groups such as this? It kept him on edge.

“What brings me here? The Boss.” Cyril glanced back that the table where Doc and his ‘other’ wingman were; only to see a woman had joined them at the table. Cyril was in awe. He wasn’t gone a full two minutes and there was already a woman at Doc’s table. He sighed and turned back to Amalea, “He thinks I need to get laid.” He looked at her, his eyes going wider, “Oh good god.. I just said that outloud. I am sorry.” He stopped talking for a moment. “It’s been a stressful week.”

Meanwhile across the dance floor, Doc watched Cyril and Amalea. They were too far away and the crowd was too noisy for him to be able to make out what they were saying. Then there was the arrival of a petite little blonde that happily plopped into the seat next to the guy that remained unnamed. He watched the interplay between the male and the blonde, who seemed to know each other quite well. Normally he would interject himself into the conversation, but he was distracted. Amalea was here, and Cyril had made a beeline for her.

Doc was far from pleased about this turn of events. However, Amalea was an adult, and could make her own decisions. He could no right to dictate who she could or could socialize with. And did even he have a reason to feel that way? No. Cyril was a straight arrow. Even the hint of impropriety made Cyril break out in a cold sweat. So what was Doc really worried about? He turned his gaze once more to look across the room at Cyril and Amalea. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you,” she commented quietly, catching the disappointment. “I just wasn’t expecting to see anyone I knew here. I was going to meet a group of…people… but I have no idea which group I’m looking for,” she offered in way of explanation. Hell, if she felt out of place, she could only imagine how he felt given he didn’t strike her at the clubbing type at all.

Doc being the reason for Cyril being here made more sense than the man coming of his own free will. Amalea followed his glance, laughing softly as she spotted Doc with a couple of people she had never seen before though she recognized the woman as the one who had yelled earlier. Logic then dictated that the male was ‘Lincoln’, but she wasn’t one to assume. She gave Doc a small wave and smile before turning her attention back to Cyril. She’d stop by in a bit to say hi properly, if he didn’t seek her out first.

His next statement caused her to blink as she bit her lip to keep from blurting out the wrong thing, or worse laughing. Sadly, she could understand his frustration with that given Mortll’s antics as of late. “It’s alright, I’ve heard worse,” she replied lightly with a smile. “Or month,” she quietly added under her breath to his statement about a stressful week. “Well, to give him a shred of credit, it is a form of stress relief.”

What on Earth was Doc playing at? Did he have some way of knowing there was going to be a gathering tonight and dragged Cyril in hopes she’d be here? She knew he knew about the human male’s crush on her. She glanced over to where Doc was still seated; wondering what was going through his mind. Subtly, she scanned the crowd looking for Mortll. If there was a plot afoot, the woman was likely involved, though she’d suspect the majority of the subterfuge would fall in Doc’s lap for any plan hatched.