poison on the inside

Vyvyan failed to understand what the fanfare was about herself. Perhaps her sense of self-value was skewed. What was so special about a transient, orphaned girl, now a grown woman, that these things seemed to follow her? These dastardly creatures. First, her adoptive parent had revealed themselves to be the serpent, and she the willing sucker who walked right into the front lines into the hands of people who wanted to smite those creatures from the earth altogether. And now one was following her, breathing down her neck, because... of a case of a mistaken identity? The singer wanted to curl her fists and scream, melt down until security came. But that was not like her, and despite the fear that pulsed through every nerve ending, she was still, save for the breaths laboring in her chest.

A hand finding the table that Dahlia sat at, she slid into the velvety seat, thighs forced together in her dress and tucked underneath the table, not crossing them. Looking for an escape. A moment to run. Could they hear the palpating beat of her heart from here, too? The blood that rushed through her so quickly that it was the sole confirmation she was alive, and hardly one of them. The starlet's hand stole away underneath the table, a mirthless sound leaving her lips, akin to strangulation before it was laughter. "Tell me why you're really here, or I won't answer anything. Fair is fair. If you want a chat, this must be a two way street. Or I go away."

She could smell the woman's fear--quite literally. And it was delicious. Seeing this kind of fear excited her and there were times, late at night in which, just for a fleeting moment, she'd sometimes wonder if she'd truly lost all of her humanity. She supposed she had--that was sort of the point, was it not? She wasn't a human. She was a monster. And she'd chosen to act as such. Could she feed off of animals instead? Ugh, maybe, though that was disgusting. Would it be better if she targeted the scum of the earth instead of random men at bars that got too drunk? Perhaps. But that wasn't fun. And quite honestly, no one from her past was left. She was alone. The people that she'd cared for the most in her life--her three younger sisters and her mother--were long dead. Dead and gone and forgotten. And so even if the worst possible thing happened, like a some crazed vampire hunter coming along on slaying her (good luck with that one, by the way), she really wouldn't mind. She was old and she was tired and being immortal was fucking exhausting. She'd already lived every life she'd ever wanted to (except, of course, growing old with her sisters) and it didn't really matter what happened afterwards. So she'd become reckless. And as far as she was concerned, unless the Face Eater themselves personally ordered her to cut her shit out, she could do whatever she wanted, consequences be damned.

But that was precisely why this young woman was so intriguing to her. By now, she was aware that she was in fact not Sabel. But she was the fucking spitting image of her. Surely, there had to be some sort of explanation. Fuck all that doppelgänger 'everyone has a twin somewhere' bullshit. This was uncanny. And she had to know why. She had to give her credit where it was due: as frightened as the singer was, as fast Dahlia could hear her heart beating, she stood firm in her demands. It was brave. Tell me why you're really here, or I won't answer anything. Fair is fair. If you want a chat, this must be a two way street. Or I go away. It was bold. And quite frankly, silly. If Dahila wanted to, she could do away with her in moments. But... She did not want to. At least, not anymore.

She'd originally tracked down the stranger out of revenge, one of the worst cases of mistaken identity she'd witnessed. Usually, she hated making mistakes. But she was far too fascinated to care. "Fine," she said, her voice steady. "You look like someone I knew a very long time ago. Someone important." Someone she was certain was still out there. She had to be. "I must admit, perhaps I was a bit too...heavy-handed when our paths first crossed. But... I realize now that I was mistaken. You're not who I thought you were. But still, the resemblance is...astonishing. And I can't help but wonder if you might be able to help me." She knew it was far-fetched. Why would this woman help her? Dahlia had nearly killed her. But could they not let bygones be bygones?

I am not the Mina to your Dracula. She couldn't help but chuckle at this. She remembered reading Dracula when it was first published. A tantalizing read for sure. And even though it was a little cliche, it wasn't a bad comparison. After all, despite what Hollywood insisted on portraying, Mina and Dracula were not ill-fated lovers. It was a story of predator and prey, plain and simple. One would be foolish to think otherwise. And Dahila was most certainly a predator. "I know that," she said, her voice steady. "I don't want to kill you, Vyvyan," she said. At least not yet. She'd wanted to tack that on but if she were honest, she didn't really have any intention of hurting the woman. Scaring her? Sure. It was fun. But she didn't actually hold any true bloodlust for her. Truth be told, she no longer sought revenge over her, now that she knew Vyvyan wasn't Sabel. Plus, Dahlia rarely killed women. She tried her best to do what she could to clean the streets of horny, ill-intentioned men. She was a misandrist through and through.

A ROUGH BREATH LEFT HER NOSTRILS, echoing that of a laugh as the comment in agreement with her was amusing even if the dancing right in front of her was anything but. "You'd think otherwise," she commented dryly, before her gaze drifted over to the other, taking her in with a streak of criticism only one unbarred confidence in her standing could hold. She seemed to match it, urging on an initial respect without question, though the queenpin had been one to always question everything. Still, the corners of her lips turned upwards slowly, only slightly, as she didn't hide her consideration of the other woman. "Makes me wanna become this place's own bull just so I can shove some people 'round equally." Her days of starting fights over the smallest thing were long over, ended by a pregnancy and still, even now, when recovering from a birth, something she shouldn't have been considering. She was sure her husband would have been scolding her for even considering such just a month and barely a half out. "So, how're you entertaining yourself here instead? Just mockin' every dancer from afar who deserves it? 'Cause I can get behind that." Sidling up next to the brunette, she purposely nudged her elbow out in an annoying manner at the person at the barstool next to her until they decided to abandon it and she could steal it for herself. Someone who pushed out two babies not long ago deserved a seat anyway, was her logic. "What's stoppin' you from shoving one just on this floor? Why wait for the bull?" Her questions were mostly hypothetical, though she couldn't resist. "Why'd you come here if dancin' ain't your thing?" The smallest of shrugs left her shoulders. "I'm not the biggest dancer but my husband is. You must have a reason."

She couldn't help but chuckle at the blonde's words. Though that might not be the way Dahlia would put it, she could appreciate the sentiment. After all, was she not planning to do the same thing later when she took to the stage in her disguise? Would this woman in front of her be collateral? She wasn't really sure, though it's not like that really mattered to her. Perhaps if Dahlia had known who the stranger was and who she was married to, she might take a little more care. At least for now, though, she was nevertheless intrigued by the stranger in front of her. "A woman after my own heart," she chuckled, allowing herself to be a little friendlier than she normally was--which, to be fair, wasn't really saying much. Still, Dahlia could turn on the charm when necessary.

Letting out a chuckle, she nodded and said "Essentially, yes. I'd be perfectly content to sit here all night and mock them--and god, some of these outfits." Actually, not that anyone was asking, but Dahlia did know how to line dance and well. After all, she'd been living out west for the past one-hundred years. If she wanted to, she could go out there and show them all up--but quite frankly, that was the last thing she desired to do. Being judgmental from the sidelines was a lot more fun. Besides, she had to save her energy for later. She watched as the blonde removed someone from their seat with a slight nudge and a glare. It was impressive, that Dahlia couldn't deny.

the trance he was in was pretty strong. he did turn a bit to look at the person who had grabbed him. but his desire to look back at the cowboy took over and soon enough he was stuck once again. he had heard the woman tell him that they had to leave - that they had to go to safety. he just couldn't bail. the words trust me rang through his ears. he wanted to trust her, but the cowboy was so hot. he needed to be close to him. it was almost like if he left the cowboy he would feel pain.

still deep down something told him things were off. the woman's urge told him danger lurked about. half of him wanted to believe her, but the other half didn't. that was until he finally started to break out of his trance and saw the cowboy for who - no what - they really were. he saw with his own eyes their face turning from the cowboy to someone more sinister, scarier than a hot guy. but how can he think the woman who suddenly grew fangs was scary when he spent most of his time getting fed from. it was then that it finally hit him, he finally realized who she truly was -- a vampire. panic and fear started to build through him. this encounter was different.

other vampires wanted to fed from him. it was a mutual agreement. they tried their best to make it comfortable. but spencer could tell with this woman that she wasn't caring, that she wasn't going to ask for permission. and that worried him. especially when she finally bites into the throat of another person right in front of him. his heartbeat goes faster, his mouth agapes in surprise. within seconds spencer makes his choice. "no! fuck no...no." he shakes his head in disbelief before turning around on his heel and starts to make a break towards the exit. he's panicking enough to forget that he enjoys the bite. but this was life or death. he had to get out. even though he left the others behind - and hopefully the vampire - spencer realizes that he needs to get out as fast as possible. this wasn't how he wanted his evening to go or even for someone to potentially learn of his secret. "move out of the way!" he screams at random people, pushing them aside as he tries to escape. he feels his arm bump into someone, but he can't stop. he needs to leave now.

Even given the fact that he was a Vitelli, she was still pretty surprised at how quickly Spencer had tried to get out of there. Letting out a small chuckle as she briefly removed her teeth from the woman's neck, she smirked as she whispered "Damn, he just really left your ass for dead, huh? And after you tried to be sweet and help him. How sad..." Yet, her gloating was rudely interrupted when the other young gentleman ran into her and knocked her down, her grip on the girl suddenly loosening as she was thrown off balance. In a matter of seconds, something that had been oh, so fun and devious was now going in the opposite direction that she wanted it to and even though she logically knew that she had to get the hell out of there, she felt an overwhelming anger consume her.

A monstrous growl left her lips and she was certain that everyone around her was now terrified. And if so, then good. That's the way she wanted it. Ironically, all she could see was red at this moment and she thrashed around, her teeth and sharp claws lashing out for anything they could reach. She was so hungry. And she wasn't happy with how her plan had gone awry.

if you had asked her, lauryn would say she wasn't a fan of the rodeo. that's ignoring the fact that she’d never been to one before. she was normally game for parties — they were typical for the business she was in, both music and vampire hunting — but the rodeo was debauchery at its finest. it was too loud, too messy, too everything. but for the first time, she wasn’t the designated driver. which meant, she could let loose. lauryn had done her best to get into the rodeo spirit. she donned her best denim ensemble, a cute denim vest with sparkles, jeans, and a sparkly cowboy hat. she was ready for anything the night brought her. she was only one drink in, and swaying side by side to someone she could only recognize as a vitelli, spencer, was it? he was having a good ol’ time, and lauryn thought she would too. 

the singer was a typical country boy, the type who lauryn thought would bring back chivalry, even if she wasn’t interested in guys. he wasn’t all that special, with a kind of voice that lauryn had heard on star search as a kid, but it was in the way he worked the crowd and the stage. as a fellow performer, she could appreciate that. but there was something incredibly off. she noticed his eyes first — blood red, much like the blood that ran through her body, which, the vampire probably wanted. but the worst part? his eyes were unfortunately staring straight at spencer, and her. she had to intervene, what kind of slayer would she be if she didn’t? wasn't that the whole point of a slayer? to stop vampires? instantly, she starts looking around for the closest exit to get everyone, but mostly spencer, out of the venue.

her eyes drift back and forth between spencer and the country singer. he was approaching fast, and lauryn could swear she saw fanged teeth beginning to emerge from his mouth. she had to act, and fast. otherwise spencer vitelli would be vampire chow, and the city could not handle losing another vitelli so soon. what would the headlines say this time? that the vitelli's were marked for death? her blood runs cold in her body, and she aggressively tugs on spencer’s arm, trying to get him to look at her. could she get him out the door in time? she wasn’t so sure, so she hits him on the shoulder in an attempt to get his attention “spencer, we gotta go, now. i know you barely know me, but just trust me, we need to get the absolute fuck outta here.”

unfortunately, mikey had remained completely unfound.

fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—someone had introduced him to appletinis. he'd learned three things tonight.

first: they tasted nothing like alcohol. second: that was apparently dangerous. third: two had somehow become three.

his empty glass sits abandoned near his elbow while he debates whether asking one more time if anyone's seen his brother counts as persistence or harassment.

the answer is probably both.

around him, the room feels even louder than before. his heartbeat thrums in his ears, conversations overlap, music vibrates through the floorboards. there's laughter somewhere behind him or perhaps it's all around him, he can't tell. this is the sort of sensory soup that normally would've sent him home hours ago.

he's already halfway through standing when someone collides with his shoulder and liquid splashes across the front of his shirt.

he freezes.

not because he's hurt. because now his shirt is wet. for a second, he simply stares down at the spreading stain. "..."

then someone else shoulders past him hard enough to jostle him sideways. for a second he catches a glimpse of the country singer—the one everyone had been watching earlier—moving through the crowd far quicker than seemed necessary.

"oh kay...." the words leave him quietly. another glance at the ruined shirt. another at the crowd. the decision arrives immediately. “well… i tried.” it's muttered mostly to himself. a small, resigned observation rather than a complaint.

so, leon turns toward the nearest exit with the determination of a man whose social battery, sensory tolerance, and clean shirt have all reached their limit simultaneously.

if mikey is still here, he'll survive.

if not, leon can try again tomorrow.

right now he wants a shower, clean clothes, and approximately six hours of silence.

This, of course, had been the vampire's plan all along. She couldn't give a shit about performing for this hickass honky tonk. And could she get caught? Sure. It was possible. But even if she was in danger, she was certain she could take whoever came her way. Plus, Dahlia was old as fuck. So what if she took a risk? On the off chance that she didn't make it out of this unscathed, she didn't have much to lose. As she inched closer to the dazed man, still dawning her illusion of a country boy, her fangs began to appear and she was going to go in for the kill--that was, until the object of her true desires put herself in the line of fire. Bad choice, she thought to herself.

By now, her pretty boy smile had turned into a menacing grin and she reared back, still making eye contact with the young man, just to turn her head and sink her fangs into the woman beside him. If the woman screamed, she'd hardly heard it, far too busy feeling the euphoria that always came along with an attack. Truly, becoming a vampire had helped the woman become who she was always destined to be. And she'd perfected her cruelty over the past century.

"I DUNNO WHAT'S WORSE, the possibility of goin' home and having goddamn country stuck in my head for who knows how long or how many cowboy boots have almost stepped on my feet. Think maybe there shoulda been a bit more practicin' for some people before confidently joined a line dance." Quite the line coming from someone who had only recently recovered in the last few years from a bad case of lifelong two feet on a dance floor herself, but if there was one thing that hadn't changed since her last name did, it was her ability to boast hypocrisy when it supported her complaints. As if on cue, ironically considering her complaints implied she hadn't thought anyone on the floor was capable of hitting a cue with accuracy, she took a step back to narrowly avoid a couple left one half of the pair was dipped into her. Eyebrows rose as if in a silent see, an elbow jutting out in front of her holding the possibility of turning the jamboree into a brawl were someone to get too close again. Credit due where it was deserved, not a single yawn had left her mouth since being she was in the midst of the western-themed antics around her, a true success, even if there was no lack of complaints that did, as she wasn't exactly picturing her first evening truly out of the house and with a babysitter like this. "One more time and you better take this lemonade before it ends up on someone. Isn't there supposed to be a mechanical bull 'round here somewhere, or is that at one of the other places? 'Cause watchin' people getting thrown around sounds a lot more fun. Y'think they'd let me get my hands on the controls if I bribed 'em so I can really send 'em flying?"

Dahlia was slated to hit the stage in about an hour--not that anyone here would know that, of course. Still, she had some time to kill so here she was, sipping on whiskey and watching all of these people fumble around the dance floor. You know, for being in the west, the citizens of Vegas didn't seem all that well-versed in what it meant to be a cowboy. And not for nothing but Dahlia remembered how the true wild west really used to be--rough and tumble, everyone only out for themselves, carrying pistols and challenging anyone that dared to get in their way. Sometimes, she missed those days--then again, life was a whole lot more interesting with television.

As she sat at the bar and sipped on her drink, she spotted the blonde and couldn't help but chuckle at her complaints. As someone who was hellbent on always finding something to bitch about, she could appreciate the stranger's judgements. Shaking her head, she said "Well, some of these people don't understand that putting on a pair of cowboy boots doesn't automatically make you a line dancer." She'd done her own fair share of line dancing in her long life--not that she was willing to show that off. But she could certainly judge.

Sweat drips down his face, falling along his neck to pitter patter down his chest. The top buttons of his plaid shirt opened to expose a somewhat hairy chest. Spencer is dressed almost like a cowboy in black jeans, black boots, and a purple plaid shirt that makes him stand out a bit too much. But he loves dressing like a cowboy. The rodeo was always something that he looks forward to. Ready to dress to impress whether then trying to blend in. He should’ve skipped the event considering he just lost his brother. He didn’t though. Finding a night out on town being a grieving process for the music teacher. He honestly thinks he didn’t even shed a tear. He wasn’t close to Franco. So why should he mourn him? Somewhere deep down he did, but Spencer wanted to have fun and forced himself to ignore the slight ache he felt at the idea of losing so many that he cared for. He cared for Franco. Just found it difficult to mourn him.

Like many people who mourn or grieve differently, Spencer has been at the rodeo events for the pass couple of hours. He almost went to all the events like he had planned on and decided to make his last stop for the evening at the Doll House. It has been going great. The music playing was flowing through the building and sending Spencer in a lustful feeling that made his body sway to the beat. Not only was the music good, it certainly helped that the singer was hot.

So hot that he found himself to push a little closer against the barricade that separates Spencer from getting any closer. Trying to break down the invisible privacy the guy has while on stage. He pushes his body further up the barricade. But he’s still too far away. He’s not in hands reach and well Spencer doesn’t have to be since the singer is coming to him.

Oh shit.

He was getting closer and well Spencer holds a wide grin on his face that nearly takes half his features. He can’t help it. All he can focus on is the guy and how equally sweaty hot he looks like. He can’t help the flush blush that comes across face. They mere inches away from the each other at this point. He can’t believe how close the guy is now. He can feel his breath. The country singer has Spencer’s complete attention now. He doesn’t realize the vibe I the room was changing or how chaos seems tomorrow break out.

He only knows something is wrong when he’s forcibly turned around to face someone. All he could say is “what?” In an anger voice because he was turned aszg from his future husband. He’s so mad that he barely realizes his drink is tossed from his hand. How dare this person pull him from his dream guy? “What you need better be good.”

To be honest, this sort of hoax wasn't usually Dahlia's MO. More often than not, she stuck to stalking the streets like the black cat she was, lurking behind her prey and catching them off guard. She wasn't really sure how she'd been able to swing this country getup but here she was in jeans, cowboy boots, and a plaid shirt complete with a cowboy hat. The only thing was she didn't...look like herself, not exactly. Over the years, she'd learned the art of deception and she'd taken the form not of a southern belle but instead, of a good ol' boy--you know, one that holds doors open for people and loves his mama and all the rest of that shit. She looked handsome and suave and once the show had gotten started and she'd sung through a couple of songs, she felt silly in her realization that she was actually sort of...having fun. But this ruse wasn't for nothing, of course. Per usual, she was hunting. And she'd found her prey.

She was gorgeous--dark curly hair and gorgeous eyes, she caught Dahlia's attention almost immediately. She didn't recognize her and honestly, she couldn't tell if she was actually interested in her or if she was just hungry, not that it really mattered either way. She had a plan and she was going to stick to it. The only issue is that someone was getting in the way. He was a pretty boy and he looked familiar to her, though she couldn't quite place him. As she continued to sing, still disguised as a handsome cowboy of course, she continued to eye the dark-haired girl but she kept catching the young man's eye instead. She felt a little frustrated but then again, food was food. She could tell she'd captured the stranger's attention because he kept moving closer and closer to the barricade. And as he moved closer to the barricade, little by little, with each verse and chorus, she simultaneously got closer to the front of the stage. She could feel her hunger grow. She supposed that at the very least, she'd get a good meal out of it--though as she kept moving closer, she could see the beautiful girl follow behind him. Maybe this would work out in her favor after all.

Now in retrospect, was performing in front of a large audience in order to hunt risky? Sure. But half these people were probably drunk anyways and most likely wouldn't be able to tell the difference from a stunt and a real-life murder--or at least, by the time they did, it'd be too late and she would already be long gone from the Doll House. Besides, she was in disguise after all.

He paused to puzzle over this for a moment before remembering -- "OH!" He spun quickly in his chair and started rifling through another cabinet. "We're doing this -- well, *I'm* doing this thing --- okay, fine. I'm *trying* to get this thing started where all the nonprofits in the area come to a tabling event." He came back to Dahlia, a huge smile on his face and a hand-made flyer in hand. He slid it across the desk to her. It was crude, hand-drawn, and rather sloppy, but the details generally read as "Nonprofit tabling event! Come learn more about the great things happening in our city!" "I just think there's a lot of cool organizations around Vegas, you know? And if we could get all of them into a room here at town hall, just might help get people to see them. I dunno. Maybe it's stupid. But uh, would you take it to the museum? See if anyone from there wants to attend and promote?"

His question seemed quite stupid to her, especially since she wasn't really interested in knowing anything about him. She just wanted to get in and get out--why did that seem to be so damn difficult in this city? "Uh, how should I know?" she retorted, not too concerned about whether his last name was a first name or whatever. Yes, she realized that she'd technically introduced that topic but it's not like she'd wanted to have a whole conversation about it. Really, she just thought it was a silly.

When excitedly handed over a seemingly poorly-made flyer, her dark eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. She was not the person to pitch this to--she wasn't in charge of the museum, she truly just worked there. And while she wanted to say something snarky, she realized she didn't even know what he was talking about and the last thing she wanted to do was look dumb. Besides, she couldn't properly criticize something she didn't understand. Letting her dumb curiosity get the better of her, she said "Can you tell me more about it?" After all, she didn't want to say something stupid like 'What does that even mean?'

Deep breath. One, two. In, out. The mantra was running through her mind on a loop when she had stepped off the stage, and a voice had wormed its way through her eardrums. At first, she had written it off. It sounded familiar. Like the siren's lure that used to drag sailors toward the rockies of the waters and crash their ships in the honor of maidens that didn't exist. Then, it clobbered her over the head — harsh and heavy, and damaged her lungs like the hull of those ships, until she was feeling up with the water and she couldn't breathe. The voice had to be five feet away from her, and yet, she could remember how the breaths tore goosebumps into the path of her forearms.

It was safe to say that after more than a few months of laying low, Dahlia was once again feeling like her overly-confident self, full of gusto and audacity. She hadn't seen the young woman since their encounter in that motel during the storm where her fear had been so palpable, she vampire could've practically tasted it. And she'd wanted to taste her--and not in a romantic way but in a carnal, primal way, given that she full moon had been shining bright that night, sending her and all others like her into a frenzy. Yet, the night hadn't ended in blood and in a satisfying meal but instead, it'd left her feeling even more confused.

Because she looked just like Sabel. Exactly like her. Only Sabel hadn't been blind--but who's to say she couldn't have lost her eyesight over the last hundred years? Still, though, the woman certainly didn't act like Sabel--either that or that bitch was a damn good actress. But as time passed, as Dahlia followed in her pursuit, discovered where she worked even, she was more and more curious about her origins. Sure, they say 'everyone has a twin' and all that bullshit. But a woman who looked exactly like Sabel running around Las Vegas? It couldn't be a coincidence. And she was intrigued, not to mention motivated by her lust for revenge. If this girl wasn't Sabel, she had to have some sort of connection...right?

So the dark-haired woman had found herself at the girl's latest show--apparently, her name was Vyvyan. Right. And she'd been lying in wait, knowing she had the element of surprise on her hands. So when the performer came off the stage, she gave a wolfish grin and said "Beautiful set tonight. I didn't realize you were so talented." Her grin only grew wider as she saw the recognition on the woman's face and could practically feel the tingles that were most likely running down her spine. It was delicious.

“It was Elvis impersonation night at the Rivera.” Lacey tells the little old lady watching him after he placed his order for pizza. He gives her a gentle nod before grabbing his drink and heading towards an open table. He could feel the woman's eyes still on him as he takes a seat at table.

But he ignores it and forces himself to not stare at her back. Lacey didn't like being spotted with his hair still styled as Elvis. He wasn't sure if he was doing it right. He was having fun though pretending to be "human" for a second despite wanting to rip everyone's throats out. He controlled himself and was a good vampire who worked hard to be normal like the ones around him. He must have been doing it right since he got many compliments from other Elvis impersonators. Which was fine because as far as he knew, they weren't cats and his secret was safe with Lacey. It's kind of funny how a vampire is scared of getting caught performing as Elvis rather than drink blood from someone.

He sighs as he finally looks around the rest of the restaurant, taking a look at who's about. It's then that he finally sees that he sat at a table already occupied by another person. "Please ignore how I look. I can only take one person staring at me 'cause of how I'm dressed." He's pretty sure the person has more important things to worry about. But yet he still finds himself wanting to strike up a conversation. "Do you like pineapple on pizza?"

Dahlia should've known venturing outside of her proverbial cave was a god damn mistake. All she'd wanted was some pizza but apparently, that was too much to ask for. She'd been enjoying her dinner alone, trying to ignore how crowded Pizza Overlord was, when suddenly, a stranger sat in the booth across from her. Please ignore how I look. I can only take one person staring at me 'cause of how I'm dressed. Oh, he was in for it. Who knows? Perhaps he'd be her next meal. After all, pizza tasted good and all but it's not like she needed it. What she needed was blood and perhaps he could be her unwilling donor. Perhaps. "Oh, it's not your getup that I have an issue with," she said, straight to the point, her voice sharp with sarcasm.

“Museum, museum, museum…” he muttered as he searched. “Oh! Cooper, right? Something like that. Yeah, I remember that call.” He turned back towards where his phone was and scooped up a post it. “Permits for… ah yeah. Nonprofit renewal. Those are…” He paused. Then, with a deliberate slowness, reached into a file cabinet and scooped out a file folder. With one eye closed, he opened the file. “Nice!” He exclaimed, having picked the right one. Wolf slid the file over to the woman. “Looks like you were approved again. And since nonprofits get tax kickbacks…” His smile brightened again. “I guess your taxes pay your salary too! At least part of it.” He flipped open the folder to show the permit. “So if you can get Cooper to sign and return this one —“ His brow furrowed as he looked at it. “Or, I guess whoever Graham is. That would probably be better.”

When he mentioned that his taxes also paid his salary, she rolled her eyes and thought to herself That's besides the point. He wasn't really wrong but still, she hated when people just ignored her snarky quips. Instead, she just said "Right..." She stood and waited as he rifled through his papers. Cooper, right? Giving a small nod, she said "Uh, yeah, Graham Cooper." As she waited, she could feel her irritation simmering as the clerk closed his eyes and tried to pick out the correct file, as if it were a game or something. God, Alvaro must've fucking known that she'd have to deal with this shit, that's probably why he sent her out here. When he celebrated picking the right folder, she tried to bite her tongue. After all, she needed something from him so she probably shouldn't be a complete bitch--at least, not until the permit was in her hand. God, happy, enthusiastic people were fucking exhausting.

Just someone passing through. "Sure." The answer was noncommittal, but didn't convey whether or not she was unconvinced. Drawing the jacket tighter around her person, Kittiya cocked a brow, emboldened as she asked, "Seen any tourists getting flat tires around here lately?" The goosebumps on her arms led her to believe there was something that the other woman knew and didn't want to tell, and she could play the game as well as any ex-socialite entwined with the mob. Plus, she had a killer poker face. Dark eyes didn't trail away from the woman in front of them for long, scanning the treeline of the woods. "So, you probably saw a group of people drive by here around Halloween, right?"

She could tell by the stranger's 'Sure' that she didn't buy it but Dahlia wasn't really concerned whether she believed her or not. And when she inquired about 'tourists getting flat tires,' she was even more confused about why this woman was out here in the first place. Shaking her head and giving a polite smile, she said "Nope, I haven't heard anything about people getting flat tires. But I'll be sure to keep me eye out for that." When she questioned her about Halloween, she knew what this was about. After all, she'd been at the party herself, dressed up as a stupid shark. Playing along, she nodded and said "Oh, yeah, I remember that big party out here on Halloween night. It was awful loud and it went on a little too late for my liking." Since when did she start playing the role of a stuffy old lady? Right now, she supposed--but to be fair, technically, she was a stuffy old lady. She just didn't look it (at least, not the old part).

And look at that, direct working as always, Lux orders their damn coffee and lets her pay, because they're the farthest thing from a gentleman, too, and if she wanted more of their time than what's on the table, then it's the least she could do. Especially if they're going to be indulging in some small talk, as it seems. Lux leans against the wall, arms crossed, a deep sigh. "You could say that." They finally give her a glance, an obvious little once over. Lux's turn to be nosy. "You been avoiding me, Ramos? Been a minute since I've seen your face."

Perhaps deep down, Dahlia could appreciate the fact that Lux put up with a lot of her bullshit. Not many people did. Not that she really minded. Usually, she preferred to push others away. It was easier this way. But something about Lux just made her keep coming back, even if part of it was admittedly because she was interested in information. However, Lux didn't crack easy and honestly, she admired them for it. She was used to getting her way by either seducing and/or terrifying others and the fact that neither really worked on the fellow vampire impressed her, even if it also might frustrate her at times.

Dahlia was out hunting, yet again. She'd had to change up her venue, given that she was no longer welcome at the Mean-Eyed Cat Bar. Whatever. There were plenty of victims around here, it wasn't too difficult to find one. So as she sat at the bar, nursing her drink, her eyes lurking around the room, she looked upon a possible opportunity when the stranger spoke up. He had a think accent--Russian or Polish, maybe? Something Eastern European for sure. She couldn't help but chuckle at his words. The Night Stalker. People were so terrified of this one seemingly crazed serial killer--a man running around with a knife, terrorizing the city of Las Vegas. Little did these people know that technically, there were all sorts of serial killers running around Vegas, right under people's noses. One killer was bad enough. The town would lose its fucking mind if it knew just how many dangers lurked around every corner. Getting mugged was the least of your worries.

It was a simple game. A pencil holder sat on the far side of Wolfgang's desk. With one eye shut, he would simply fling a pen at it. If he got it in? Three points. If he hit it? One. If he missed? Minus one point, unless he forgot. Wolf was currently on fifteen points. Or, at least, he thought he was. It was hard to write down his score when his pen was regularly on the other side of the desk.

Wolf closed one eye, lined up his shot and -- damn. Fourteen points. He went to mark down the loss only to realize his pen was on the floor on the far side of his desk. With an annoyed tsk, he stood up from his chair and circled around to retrieve it. He scooped down, picked up the projectile, and paused, trying to remember what his score was now. It didn't come to him - and no bother. It was written down on a sticky note on his desk.

He stood back up and, as he turned, caught sight of someone just entering the office door. He popped up with a bright smile. "Oh, heya. Is there something I can help you with?" Wolf moved back to behind his desk, taking a quick glance at his notes. Fifteen points. Nice. "Or - wait. I was supposed to have something ready for you, I think. It's probably almost done. Just, uh... what was it?"

Now Dahlia usually tried to stay as far away from City Hall as possible but today, she had been sent on an errand by her boss to pick up some permits for the museum. Normally, she'd be annoyed by this but she was shocking growing a little bored with her tours so it was nice to get out for a bit. Besides, she was intent on stretching it out. Perhaps after this, she'd go buy herself some lunch with the company card. What were they going to do? Fire her?

When she walked into the office, she saw the young man at the desk, amusing himself by tossing pens at a cup. God, humans are so fucking stupid, she thought to herself. They really had to make it harder for the monsters that walked upon them. At this rate, you could distract most humans with something shiny on a piece of string. It was child's play, really. She wanted until he was done with his little game to approach the desk and make herself known. He clearly didn't remember what she was here for--but how could he? It's not like they'd met before.

"I don't know, the whole thing was... surreal."

How else did someone describe a severed head smacking right into the glass of the radio station, like someone had dropped it out of the sky or flung it up there? He had a million questions. Like, firstly, if it was coming from below, it would take formidable strength to pull back someone's arm and launch something that weighed about as much as a decent bowling ball. They would have had to have been a sports player, at one point in their lives, or at least touted a talent of strength. It was something one would find in the beefy guys working at the carnivals he had traveled around with.

When Dusty had called her up and said he had something to tell her, that is not what she'd been expecting. To be fair, it's not like she was bothered by gore--but even she did her best to not decapitate her victims, which really wasn't that difficult. Sure, perhaps she appreciate the drama of it all but it was so damn messy, it was hardly worth it. Though of course, it's not like Dusty knew that. He was her best friend but even so, some things were better left unsaid and unknown. It was for his own good.

"Holy shit..." she said, once his story was over. He was clearly shaken and she wished there was something she could do about that, though she knew there wasn't. However, when he mentioned the part about the Vitellis, that's where she really got concerned. Once they got their claws in someone, they never really seemed to let go. "Shit... I wish I could give you some...words of comfort but once they scratch your back, they never really ask you to stop scratching theirs... I mean, are you close with anyone in that family? Maybe they could do you a solid?..." It's not like she had those sorts of connections. After all, she tried her best not to fraternize with her enemies except Lux, of course.

Kittiya didn't like loose ends. The kind of sabotaging prankster that had gone around prior to Goob Lagoon — and after, if it was the same one who had warped the performance piece — wasn't one that the former socialite was looking to leave hanging. For all they knew, it could be a straggling soul from their past. A living, breathing one who was pissed at a transgression of Kittiya's, or another. Perhaps, an enemy of someone else in the car with Annaki. Nonetheless, their loyalty was neither bought nor sold. It was earned bit by bit, accrued in the currency of a feline that did what it so pleased. "Who are you?" When the figure emerged and showed herself, she wasn't the faceless silhouette of a man that daunted about every slasher movie on the shelves. Couldn't the killer ever be a woman, like that brilliant piece, Happy Birthday to Me? "So far off the grid. Do you live up here?"

Who are you? Dahlia silently debated how honest to be. Why give up valuable information to a total stranger? Then again, if she were to kill them, it wouldn't really matter either way, right? But just because she'd been stalking her prey didn't necessarily mean she was planning on feeding right now. Truthfully, she'd been intrigued by them and had wanted to know more. They were clearly poking around, looking for something. She chuckled when they implored her to answer their questions. As if she owed them any answers. She almost made a joke that they could be lovers but she figured that wouldn't bode well. They were spunky, though--she'd give them that.