Blood on the dancefloor, heart in my hand.(Lars)

[Rose Decumbry]

Attire

[/url]

An outfit fit for..well her. She mused it over in her head. She knew that she’d be mobbed in this outfit. Ridiculed for it being to tight. That was London Media. Picking everything about a poor innocent girl as herself, and making her want to OD on some numbing pills. Yeah. She was defitinely that weak and scared of what they had to say about her. She had just got back from a horrible Las Vegas encounter. She needed some time to blow of steam. Reel herself back to a decent normality level. She steered her green Ferrari on a curb, pulling up to the destined club. Shifting into a different gear, she parallel parked it. Oh yes. She was such a good drive. Not minding all the mustangs, corvettes, SUVS, and pretty any other car she had in her possession in a life. Except a motorcycle. And a carriage. Now those, she would have to get around to later. But not tonight. Tonight. She just needed..a massage. Damn. Why hadn’t she thought of that earlier?

Probably would have been in a spa right now. Or maybe..she could get Tyson to rub her down…

Naughty thoughts raced through her mind as soon as she thought of Tyson. A yummy boy indeed. She bit back a giddy giggle. Pulling her sheer bone skirt along the top of her theighs, which caused her to readjust her silk top. Swallowing, she carefully and cautiously stepped out of the vehicle into a swarm of oncoming paparazzi. The newly given Marc Jacobs jacket was zipped up, concealing most of the shirt, hidden behind a paisley scarf. She loved wearing her designers, instead of wearing her designers. There was a dangerously thin line between them. Most models walked the carpet, occasionally wore a piece of the designer they liked most, got over with it. It was sickening to a high degree. Why bother? Why bother dedicating your life to your job, to wearing a designers article and not even commit to it? She slipped on the bug-eyed shades, and locked her car, strutting to the club entrance. She sighed, and walked, head held high. These low life scumbag paparazzi wouldn’t make her bow down. No one did. Well. A flush went up and down her body, unless they offered a delectable price.

Coming upon the bouncer she smiled, tilting her now blond hair to the side. She’d given up on the dark look. Not because it didn’t ‘suit her’ or ‘flatter her face’ she was trying to turn her life around. Meaning that the self pity she had felt for herself, still felt a little, was done. Her mother was the reason. The mother she never got to know. The mother who had died giving birth to her. Being able to see her, had made her realize it. Being able to grasp her mother. Being able to be..surronded by her essence. Something out of a childs book. Stupid too. She was over her self pity party.

Sure the hunger was still there. Yes. She felt like a bitch when she killed the innocents. But it was inivetable. She was over it. But..she couldn’t let go of one person. She pushed those thoughts deep down and hard to the back of her mind.

No self pity.

She eyed the bouncer. Sizing him up. He was of a darker skin tone, muscularly built, standing at about six even. He eyed her right back. He would have seen her narrow her eyes at him, forbid her glasses interfering with the view. He could feel the heat of it, which was why his arms probably fell at his sides. A victourious smirk danced on her lips for only a second as she came up upon him. “Rose Decumbrry.” Her surly accented sounded as if she hadn’t the care in the world.

He moved aside.

She walked past, acting as if she owned the world. The happiness in her stomach though, probably gave her the aura that she had. Did. She was happy as the clouds. High as the sky. Though as much as she would have enjoyed it, she couldn’t attain it. She never wanted too in her mortal life. To much risk to her humanity. But now that she was immortal she had fun leaving from one or the other with a little more knowledge or disgust with her. She wasn’t one for drugs and stuff. But she was big on alcholol. The taste had always enticed her, made her feel..well, high as the sky. She sighed, dancing around the gryating and moving bodies. They tried to keep the beat with them. But it was rather disappointing. They had no sense of rhythm at all. Put to shame all the dance classes those girls in knock-off heels had attended in their innocent years.

If some of them even had that. The looks of it none of them did, or had erased it from their system quite long ago. Leaving mommy dearest and daddy dearest crying on a doorstep, weeping for that little pet to come back home. They’d patch it up quiet nicely. She pet some hair down that had somehow been dishelved along the way. Very upsetting. She finally came to the end of the sweaty, sex-tensed, group of masses of people. She didn’t stumble, or even bat an eye. She glided.

Sitting herself on a countertop, she scanned. People watching. Something was odd about tonight. Not the people or anything. Just the feel. Eerie. She knew other vampires existed other than herself, but it was still odd. Being in the same room, same ‘bubble’ with them. Rose still stiffened a little bit from brushing contact with the few that she hadn’t seen or at least smelt. It..was awkward dare she saw. She smiled a slow smile, on the verge of being cruel. But..she couldn’t. It was just her nature. The essence of her way. She rolled her eyes in a sarcastic way. No one but herself was paying attention.

What a fool she was.
[/size]

[Ellie]

xoxo ,

Lars had a train pass, and time on his hands for the weekend. So where does one go when you live in the hopping Paris nightlife anyways? You go to London, that's where! Lars considered himself privileged, to have homes in New York, Paris, and London. New York would always be his favorite, it was his home, really, the place he grew up. But there was still a great satisfaction in being no the other side of the Atlantic, where his Italian American Yankee accent could be looked upon as odd or standing out. Not very well done when you're in the heart of Brooklyn. Not that his accent was some thick drawl anymore, just another thing about being dipped in different dialects. Granted, he guessed anytime he was back in the city it'd come around full force again. Thankfully he was a few generations down though, and in no way sounded like Rocky Balboa or something.

He'd set out of Paris around sunset, only planning to spend a day there, taking refuge in the small cottage on the far end of the city, then setting back home in the next morning.

But that left a whole night open to do.. what? He had plenty of friends in London he had yet to contact and get in tuoch with. He really had to do that eventually. But tonight? He didn't have the initiative. So what's the next best thing to do? Go club hopping. Duh. Giselle wasn't around to get him into a brawl every place they went, so maybe he'd spot a familiar face at his past regulars.

Getting past the bouncer was no hard feat. Lars just waved an ID and was in. He was only so old immortally... or mortally if he was still that. Twenty-four years in total, the ID was still as valid as before. He guessed he could get into any place if he wanted, via mind control. Screw bouncers! But he found a satisfaction in the fact that he could still get in as easily as before.

Inside, it was quite apparent the place had changed a bit. It was one of the more upscale clubs he went to, which wasn't often. You're more likely to find him in some basement place with a live band, it was just where he was more comfortable. But the mainstream scene was a breathe of fresh air sometimes.

He found his way to the bar top and ordered a drink for starters. Vampires couldn't get drunk... but the taste was still as good as ever. He pivoted around in the crowded club, only to stop himself abruptly as he ran into a figure... smaller than himself (which was saying something, considering Lars only reached a glorious five foot five).

"Whoa..."

[/color] he said, holding his drink in the air and inspecting the girls clothing noticing a rather large wet spot. He glanced up at her face, his eyes wide in surprise before looking up at his drink.. now nearly half empty, "Shit,"[/b] he breathed out, taking a sip of the drink, however inappropriate the time to do so, "Sorry about that."[/color] That was a bummer... for her. But... shit happens? He didn't know what to tell her other than suck it up, it was just clothes. Bu they did look rather expensive... and he knew firsthand about how Giselle felt about ruined clothing. His face was back to it's normal tone from behind the glass of his drink, eying the girl in front of him expectantly.

From touch, site, and smell, he could tell very well she wasn't human, or werewolf. So there was that. She must have been the small uproar of camera flashes. Or so he seemed, he having remembered faintly the outline of who they had been almost following in. So she was a celebrity... one he didn't know anything about, so therefore, no better than anyone else in this club. It wasn't that he was heartless. He just didn't care, it was nothing new.
[/blockquote]

[Rose Decumbry]

The bar’s mood changed suddenly. Rose’s eyes shifted a little bit, becoming more aware of her surroundings more. Hm. A vampire was coming towards her. With..a drink. Nothing really new there, now was there? Vampires drank for their only pleasure, so she decided to take pleasure in it. As much as she could. The mood now, was more up tight, a little wound, more leaning to a sexual, irraplacable tension. It made her purse her lips. Some people just never learned did they? She caught a view of the vampire, weaving in and out of people, looking just like she had. Though, more masculine, and..just more manly. Like he knew what he was doing. Not much more taller then Rose was herself. Around five something, was it not? She turned her head back to the bartender. Smiling a little bit not even pulling her lips up that much, she ordered a drink. Rolling her shoulders back, she awaited the arrival. Either of the vampire or the drink. Whichever came first didn’t make a difference much to her. The inspiration of the place, was the loss of everything she had bubbling in her.

Bored as fuck.

The drink arrived first, and she took a little sip out of it, savoring the bile taste that most people found hard to stomach and continue to drink. Grimacing at the drink itself, she swiveled around to go back to her people watching charade. The absurd outfits some people on London wore. The insane outfits people in London tried to replicate. Tights, and legwarmers. Ugh. She shuddered remembering the time phrase she went through, living that period. Bad memories went down then. The stages she lived to come to now. The fifties, sixties, seventies, eighties. All living in different countries or states. But she always wound back up at her original birthplace. She valued the house more than she did her life. Tuning in on the closest group of people she honed in on their conversation. About the precious money they dropped. Like they couldn’t give a care in the world. Rose narrowed her eyes at them.

She didn’t have that much room to talk though, did she?

She turned an got faced head on with a drink on the front of her outfit. At first she didn’t realize it, the thought hadn’t hit her. But when she felt the cold beverage seeping through to her skin, her eyes widened. Emotions flashed across her face, ranging from disappointment, to rage. But she surpressed it, and took in a small breath through her nose. She dragged her eyes up from the drenched spot, and thought over what she could do with the ruined articles. Give them to charity, like she always had? Yes. She’d try and fix it up, or get someone else too, and then ship it off. Nothing new there. She blinked, as the guy took a sip of his drink.

Smartass, she thought to herself. He knew how to piss someone off more than likely. Probably got into little quibbles all the time. Rose waved it off, and took a sip of her drink to at least try and blow off smoke. “Don’t worry about it. Happens all the time.” Not. She swiveled back and forth, wanting so badly to dab at the splotch on her, but knew it would only make it worse. She moved all the hair she had to the left side of her hair. “I’m Rose.” She kind of knew who he was. A vampire of course, and that was about it.

[Ellie]

His hazel eyes glanced down at her through the short glass. He was almost surprised that she didn't throw a total fit like most other vampire women. He still had a lot to see it seemed. Giselle was... loud, and freaked out over the little things, and he'd generally grown immune to it, even when it was directed to him. It was almost a breathe of fresh air to be amidst such calm and collected people for once. Not that Giselle rubbed him the wrong way, no, he loved her for her faults too, but it was just nice to have something.... normal? once in a while. To keep him sane.

Not that spilling a drink was a huge thing anyway, but he figured for what the garment was it could be. Luckily, it didn't escalate to such. And he took another sip of his drink as she told him not to worry about it. A tingle of guilt then flooded with the fact she had waved it off. So maybe he was being a little too cold lately, oh well, his mind was open again.

She didn't say it like it happened all the time, and by the looks of her it probably didn't. She was small and delicate looking, but Lars didn't doubt her strength, knowing full well Giselle could pull off the same look when she saw it fit. Of course, Giselle was larger in build to this Rose. The vampire in front of him was nearly mousy, so cute, like a doll. Her face though, was chiseled with catty features, it seemed to suit her well.

"Lars," he finally spoke out, giving his name above the music, the obvious difference in dialects. He could tell she was from England, more so the London area. Gods, he'd spent too long in Europe. It was about fucking time he began whining for a trip back to New York. He was homesick.

His eyes glanced around the club once more, his pupils dilating and adjusting to the dark atmosphere before they went back to the stain on her chest. A corner of his lips tugged up before he drew his eyes back up to hers, "Tell you what," he said, pausing to finish off the last sip of his drink, "I'll buy you a drink to make up for that."

It was the least he could do, really. He wasn't trying to be a flirt, he was just trying to be courteous. And their wasn't much else he could really give or do for her besides just that, buy her another drink. Maybe it was cliche, but he only had eyes for one. He had to get himself another (to spill on her) anyways. It wasn't any trouble.

[Rose Decumbry]

She was just staring at him. Waiting for his next move. Loosing clothes was like loosing skin to Rose. They were a necessity but you always had more once you lose them. Rose wasn’t one to just throw clothes away, she gave them to charity. Always had been. Ever since she inherited her money, and got everything under control. She just didn’t like the thought of wearing things twice, made her feel dirty, unclean, outdated. And for herself, it was the worst thing closest to death. Not being vile. She looked away from him for a few moments looking around, possibly looking for a new meal. She chewed the inside of her lip. More like meals, though, she’d been kept away from social eye for a couple of days now. Hunger stroked her like a pet.

His name was Lars. An odd name in itself, but it seemed to fit him nicely. Lars.

“It’s nice to meet you Lars.” Said with a cautious voice. She didn’t know if it was nice meeting him yet if they got off on the right foot, then yes. If they got off on the left foot, then no. Setting her little glass on the bar counter, she turned back to him. Offering to buy her a drink, that wasn’t needed. Her lips twitched slightly. Rarely had any guy offered to pay for anything for her. Usually they assumed she carried money, mainly because she had it. Tyson changed that though, she smiled, turning her head upwards a little bit. “You don’t have to do that. No hard feelings right?” She added a little laugh on the end, hopefully showing some light-hearted humor.

Lars was small. Only a little bit taller then herself. Poor thing. Not as..’ripped’ as the man she was dating now was. Tyson was about 5’9. Scary, eh? More dark, grungy around the corners, and the bad boy type. Something she used to be into. Not anymore though. All about the clean shaven, scholar type. And it only took one boy to change it too. She looked back at Lars, smiling once again. “Really, you don’t have too. It’s just fabric.”