NO FAIR

— THE HYPOCRITE, THE FOOL

⟨ kaitlyn dever, she/her, 27 80 ⟩ the night is crawling, and she is right within. the ⟨ vampire ⟩ moved below radar level, kept herself well hidden in her casket of thorns, and has only recently morphed back into a creature of the night, the ⟨ new owner of the bare essentials strip ⟩. what year was she born in? really? ⟨ 1945 ⟩? she's been stuck here for ⟨ over forty years ⟩, and yet every time i listen to ⟨ the bolter by taylor swift ⟩, i think about her.

Last Bite Bistro. What an interesting choice of name in a place like Ashwick. where a last bite is more often the cause of death than a stab. The club only opens in two more hours, and she's got some time to spare. After eighty years of loneliness, well, not exactly, but almost, Fiona finds herself searching for company more often than not, and today she has stumbled upon this exact place, spotting a beautiful, enchanting, no, terrifyingly gorgeous creature not only existing, but singing. To be fair, Fiona has always believed in sirens, but her sight convinces her of their existence even more so. She watches the woman finishing up her gig, applauds like the rest of the guests do, and then takes the first chance she gets to slide up at the bar right next to her, pushing a freshly ordered drink in her direction.

"Evening, dollface." Fiona greets her, "Care for a drink with me?" She's in her usual attire. Well-fitted black dress pants paired with a white shirt, enchanted necklace dangling around on top of her chest, and when she sits down on the chair right next to her, she pushes the sleeves of her shirt up, revealing a few minor scars from falls she took as a clumsy child. She isn't any less clumsy now, and her smooth movements are disturbed by the chair getting caught on the floor, which sends her into a gentle stumble. "Aw, man.", Fiona grumbles, "Anyway, name's Fiona, what's yours?"

It's slow tonight, slower than Fiona has anticipated. Mondays are always slow, but this one is worse than the one last week -- but the one before was even worse, so who is she to complain. A few dancers are mingling and chatting to lonely visitors, a bachelorette is all over two of her best dancers, but one of them is currently alone, near the bar, and Fiona disregards the bar in her favor and moves through the small crowd in front of one of the stages to slowly sit down next to her. Her white button-up's arms are scrunched up, muscles stretching out the fabric.

"You're flirting with my brother." Fiona's hair is put up in a tight bun, and while her freckles and soft facial features may make her look kind and approachable, the gaze in her piercing eyes does not. "Is that for the job, or is that because you like him?" The woman averts her gaze. Her brother flirts with many dancers. Many, many of them. Of course he does, they're all pretty, they wouldn't be working in her club if they weren't, but then again, he works there some nights, and she's usually all for the no mingling with coworkers rule. "If he breaks your heart, you're not getting any unscheduled days off." Fiona shrugs, but here's the thing, if Riley were to come up to her and ask her for it, she would agree, anyway -- one nice smile and a few words can go a very long way, if talking to a touch-starved vampire like her.

Her tongue digs against her sharp teeth, and she releases a big sigh, "Just don't do anything frisky right in front of my eyes, got it?"