Topic: Rendezvous with Destiny

Destiny Youngblood

Date: 2014-08-10 02:56 EST
She hadn't been in town all that long, taking a few odd jobs here and there, singing for her supper. The extra coins jingled a melody in her pocket in tune with the rattle of the Inn door as it opened, the bar calling an invitation.

A half a bottle of Riesling later, Destiny was feeling very comfortable, very relaxed, when a subtle movement in the mirror behind the bar caught her eye. There was a woman there, who was....sugaring her Merlot into a slush' The very idea was so alien to her, she was compelled to comment upon the odd occurrence, for who would ruin perfectly good wine like that?

Artsblood

Date: 2014-08-10 17:47 EST
"How can you prove whether at this moment we are sleeping, and all our thoughts are a dream; or whether we are awake, and talking to one another in the waking state?" -Plato

The girl's question did not surprise her, nor did the timid glances, there and away like frightened birds. It was not unusual for pretty things to dare her attention, there in the Inn where one is as safe as it is possible to be in Rhy'Din. She half wonders if there is some sort of merit badge for poking the monster in its cage. And this girl, lovely and apparently nothing more or less than mortal, fit the profile admirably. Surely the brunette beauty would dare as much as she could before fluttering away in panic.

So the pale woman entered into the dance, the exchange of glimpses, the sharp stabs of entendre. Oh, had she stooped to Enchantment those great brown mooneyes could have ensnared and captivated, could have demanded whatever seduction or subservience she desired, but she is too proud for that, only deigning to employ such trickery when hunger demands it.

And the lovely young woman does not flee, even eventually allows herself to join Arts and Gemethyst. Perhaps the presence of the little elf provides some feeling of security (though the pale woman knows that, despite her stature, Gem is as dangerous as many who haunt the Inn). This does not seem to be the case, however, for though Destiny (yes, she said her name was Destiny, and one must tread carefully in the face of such propinquity) was unfailingly polite to Gemethyst, it is the pale woman who has her attention, though at moments her courage seems locked in a struggle with her curiosity and ready to falter.

And so the evening progressed, with banter, with seemingly casual touching, and even with one kiss, although this is very chaste. 'She does not know what I am," Arts cautions herself. 'When she discovers that she will scurry off in panic, as so many have before.' But there is time enough for that, and a small ember of hope flaring up in Artsblood's dark little heart bids her to leave that revelation, and its repercussions, to find their own time.

So the singer (for such Destiny is, and her voice touches the love of art that is the pale woman's joy and vulnerability) eventually agreed to spend the night in Arts' spartan room at the deserted Outpost Motel in WestEnd, where a fortuitous loss of letters had left the neon sign blinking "O pos Motel" endlessly against the encroaching darkness.

There was no seduction that night, though the pale woman ached for it. Only long hours in conversation, only the slow exploration of kiss and touch. When the morning demanded that Arts sleep, exhaustion did the same for Destiny, and they shared the only mattress, still clothed, but with warm limbs and chill prettily twined.

When sunset bade the pale woman to rise, her companion was still asleep. She left a note, and some tea abandoned by a long forgotten visitor (there was of course sugar aplenty) and wandered off to the Inn, giddy with hope and doubt-ridden. Had Destiny simply won her merit badge through an unusual display of bravery, or would the singer join her at the bar again, and might that lead to another long night, one during which the brown-haired girl might earn her name, and her new companion might find new songs for her to sing?

Destiny Youngblood

Date: 2014-08-11 05:47 EST
Destiny awoke much later than she usually did, stretching like a contented cat in a sunbeam. At first, finding she was alone startled her, but the easily-found note did much to ease her fears, bringing a smile as she re-folded the paper and tucked it into her pocket for safekeeping.

After a large cup of well-sugared tea, Destiny headed back to the Inn. She felt a bit nervous, wondering if the pretty pale lady would be there again (as she had hinted in her note), those lovely brown eyes reflected in the bar's mirrors, almost seeming to be searching for something.

This night began almost the same as the night before, with warmth and familiarity taking the place of shyness and uncertainty. And in the midst of a rather large snack, the chaste kisses gave way to something else, promises sighed and sweetly caressed.

Upon returning to the mis-lighted motel, once the various foodstuffs were stowed and the percolator readied for later, the unspoken promises that had begun in the Inn were slowly drawn to their consummation, warm fingers drawn shyly over cool flesh, finding heights Destiny didn't know existed, until both were asleep, sleeping in the way only one who is well and truly satisfied can.

It was late afternoon when Destiny awoke with a gasp. So entranced had she been with Arts that she nearly forgot about a series of performances she was to make, ones she did not dare miss. Reluctantly, she left a long note of her own, writing as she drank steaming coffee and ate a bowlful of sliced peaches. Once the meal was finished, Destiny impulsively pressed a kiss to the note before leaving it where Arts would be sure to find it, and was then off to fulfill her obligations to the music, looking ever forward to the weekend when her songs would be her own again.

Artsblood

Date: 2014-08-11 23:45 EST
"Friendship is the shadow of the evening, which increases with the setting sun of life."

-Jean de La Fontaine

When the sun sets Arts comes awake. Not for her any longer the waking dalliance, the turning of pillow to its cool side to chase another serving of dream, wakefulness is upon her like a thrown switch.

She is immediately aware as well that Destiny is gone, and like the girl before her indulges in the sick pleasure of doubt. But the note is found, and her exaggerated senses (how ironic that the same change that robbed her of her own human fragrances makes her so sensitive to those of others) drink the girl's flavor from the paper, plant a kiss to match that left for her there.

So her lover has obligations. She can live with that. Indeed, time will be a blessing at this juncture. For now that she and Destiny have made the leap from play to lovemaking, now that they have shared the intimacies of tongue and lip, finger and hand, she has no excuse for holding back the final revelation.

'Surely," she wheedles at herself, 'surely she noticed that my skin is all over chill, even within the wet places where a mortal girl is warmest. Certainly she harbors suspicions, and my feared disclosure will be nothing more than affirmation.'

However she attempts to rationalize, however, the memories assault her, of other women, mortal or no, whose eyes have gone from adoration to fear, or worse yet disgust, upon seeing her revealed.

'It matters not, Shusberg,' she chastises herself. 'If you are fond of her you must let her know, and then abide by her reaction, no matter how deeply it may pierce you.'

And she found, as she faced up to herself, as she drew the string of her courage taut, that she was fond of Destiny. Very fond indeed.

Destiny Youngblood

Date: 2014-08-14 07:18 EST
D'Agostino's was, by all accounts, a seedy little club on the outskirts of RhyDin, a place a person only knew if he or she was in the "know". This was a place where time stopped around 1945, a place where the men still wore suits and hats when out, where smoke hung thick and cloying, refracting the dim light into twisted shapes and shadows. And it was here that Destiny worked. The owner hired her on the spot after hearing just one song, swearing she was "perfect" for the job.

The night's attire was a simple, yet elegant form-fitting strapless black satin gown which flared outward at her knees, hair smoothed back into a twist, the better to emphasis the dangling jeweled earrings and heavy cameo pendant, both liberally embellished with marcasite and crystal. Long black gloves completed the look, as did the jet-accented pumps which occasionally peeked out from beneath her skirt.

When she was announced, the applause began almost immediately, for she had gained a bit of a following in the short time she'd worked at the club. The band, which consisted of a pianist, a drummer, the usual horn players, and a odd duck with an electric guitar, was definitely on this night, and the crowd danced and cheered after every number.

About mid-set, Destiny caught a glimpse of....something....through the haze, a hint of an impossibly thin figure, a flicker of dandelion hair. She smiled inwardly, silently dedicating her favorite song to her lover, as the pianist started, weaving a hypnotizing spell of arpeggios, to which the drummer added the steadying beat, and the horn players' mournful calls signaled the crowd to be still, every eye on Destiny as she sang:

"Come and share...this painting with me. Unveiling of me, the magician that never fails..."

Satin-clad fingers trailed over the skin of her cheek, her shoulder, across her collarbone as her voice intertwined with the piano:

"This deep sigh, coiled around my chest, intoxicated by a major chord.."

A breath, her voice husky, the words felt by everyone, but meant for only one:

"I wonder...do I love you, or the thought of you? Slow....love.....slow....Only the weak, are not lonely.."

And the song continued, Destiny moving to lean just so against the piano, delicate fingers caressing the fine ebony of the grand, every sway and step holding her audience spellbound, so much so that when the piano roared to life in the song's climax, many patrons jumped in their seats, only to be recaptured by Destiny's plaintive wail, holding the final note until the horns faded away, and the standing ovation began. She took her bows, blowing a kiss to one of the darkened corners, where she swore she saw a glass of dark thickened wine raised to her.

(The song is "Slow Love Slow", by Nightwish, off their 2011 album Imaginaerum)

Artsblood

Date: 2014-08-14 17:48 EST
She prefers the corners. Darkness coagulates there, and the stale smoke hovers in eddies where walls meet. Though she has gone to the extreme of slipping a little black dress over her spare form, and exchanging her usual hitops for a pair of dramatically wedged sandals, it would not do to be to much out in the open. People might talk, and when that happened someone often died.

So she stood silent during the set, taking in her lover's talent, and appraising the responses she drew from the crowd. Fortunately, at least on this night, no inebriated fan felt it necessary to pursue his congratulations too far. There is a lesson for us all in that, perhaps: You never know what is watching, and how its agenda might intersect your own.

As the last set faded to applause and the manager dimmed the lights once to signal last call, the pale woman slipped out into the night. Her parting gift, a single red rose, was delivered to the chanteuse after the giver was gone. It was a lovely thing, between bud and bloom and of a bruise-dark red. One would have to look very close to see the stain on the end of one thorn where pale skin had been pierced, perhaps intentionally?

Destiny Youngblood

Date: 2014-08-16 15:30 EST
A knock on her dressing room door shook Destiny from her thoughts, dreamily gazing into her mirror as she ran a brush through her brown waves, letting them tumble free from her earlier twist. Her voice still held hints of melody as she called out.

"Yes" Who is it?" A rumbling baritone answered immediately.

"It is Gerard, Miss Destiny. One of the patrons left a gift for you." Destiny rolled her eyes, for she could only guess what sort of gift was left, and by what sort of patron. After making sure her black satin robe was tied tightly, she opened her door, and her smile lit up the almost-empty backstage when she saw the rose the burly bouncer held gingerly between two fingers.

"Be careful, Miss Destiny. There's still thorns-" Destiny gave a little yelp as one of said thorns caught her thumb, but her eyes shone as she carefully took the rose from Gerard.

"The thorns make the flower even more beautiful, don't you think?

And with that, Destiny stepped back into her dressing room, leaving a confused Gerard shaking his head as he lumbered back to his duties.

"If you say so, Miss Destiny, if you say so."

Artsblood

Date: 2014-08-16 20:02 EST
"You are responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose."

Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Hints and clues; allusions and illusions.

Arts examines her finger where she had forced the thorn through pale skin. There is no mark now, of course, the unnatural healing of her kind having done its work. The brown stain she had left on the stem would, to one who knew such things, announced her; the scent of cinnamon beneath the iron and copper, the dampness that would remain long after mortal blood had dried.

Of course the rose itself was meant as an implication, the totem of her clan and a slang term that stood for them, both compliment and insult depending upon who wielded it.

In truth, though, and she admitted so to herself in the quiet of the motel room, such games were for her own pleasure alone, and not likely to dull the point of the revelation she had vowed to make. For if Destiny is what she seems, such scenting would be beyond her, such slang unknown.

Perhaps there can be another dalliance of sorts before she reveals herself, some shared memory made that would make flight more difficult, would slow the instinctive reaction long enough for perspective to step in?

She drags her forked fingers through her thatch of white hair in futile grooming, brushes a hand over the ubiquitous black shorts and tee to remove imagined dust, and waits for the opening of the door with a schoolgirl's agonized patience.

Artsblood

Date: 2014-08-17 16:47 EST
You wouldn't say she'd cleaned, not exactly, but the mattress was made up with clean sheets (for the first time in clearly forever) and a wet rag had been used to wipe down the counter where wine stains and spilled sugar had created their own geology. And against that background the pale woman sat on the lone chair with her hands in her lap, facing the door like a puppy left at home, pale skin strobing against the black cotton of her shorts and tee in the dim evening light.

Destiny had gone out for a bit, to replenish the small stash of food she kept at the motel. Armed with packages and parcels of fruit, and bread for toast, and more coffee, and more cheeses and summer sausage, she looked all flushed and excited from her wild time at the local market, which to her surprise remained open even at this hour. "I'm back! The Market was more crowded than I thought it would be this late, but I think I got everything." She looked around as she unloaded the bags.

Arts unwound herself from the chair, like a flower blooming in a fast-forward film, and helped (clumsily it must be admitted, for she had no recent history of such housekeeping) until the bags were unpacked and most everything had a place. Then suddenly she clutched Destiny's shoulders and pulled her into a kiss, which ended with their bodies tight together, and the blonde's chill lips painting the brunette's face and head, cheeks and neck and nose and eyebrows, in an almost desperate flurry of affection.

Destiny giggled, a sweet, husky sound in the otherwise quiet room, her dainty fingers playing through Arts' hair as she tried (almost successfully) to keep up with that sudden onslaught of kisses, keeping her lover as close as possible, her warm breath caressing cool lips, foreheads barely touching. "Mmmm...was I gone that long?" There was that catlike grin.

Arts rocked her head against Destiny's. "It's not how long you were gone, missy dear, but how long you might be..." Stepping back, she captured the woman's hands in hers, took a step toward the center of the room where the poor light was best. "I have a confession of sorts. I don't want to make it, I'm afraid to make it, but we cannot really be a "we" until I do. Tell me, ladylove, do you find me in any way strange?"

Destiny followed where she was led. The question caught her a bit off-guard, and it showed in her eyes, while she sought to entwine warm fingers with cool ones. "Not really, though I'd love your secret for staying cool in all this hot weather." She was quiet again for a moment, brow furrowed in thought. "Other than that, no"you don't seem particularly strange to me. But then, I sing for a club that has a duck for a guitarist, so that's my bar for strangeness here."

"There are many strange things in Rhy'Din, Destiny my dear," the pale woman replied, "but only I share your bed." She closed her eyes , bowed her head, as if bravery were something to be ambushed and held against its will. When she lifted her face again, she let her lips part, like a fashion model feigning ecstasy, and slowly, gracefully, the elegant little blue-white gems of her feeding teeth slid free of their sheathes of gum, and, loosening her chill fingers so Destiny could pull away if she must, Arts stood exposed.

Destiny allowed the woman to loosen her grip, but'she did not move, except to tilt her head from side to side, the furrow in her brow returning as she processed what she was seeing. The silence in the room was deafening, but after a long, long pause, the breath Destiny didn't know she was holding was released, and she sought to re-tighten the grip of fingers. "I had no idea...but it doesn't change what I feel, or how I feel."

Arts allowed that grip allowed to tighten, oh if she were not careful it could break knuckles. The blonde swallowed hard, it might have been a sob choked back, and the teeth returned to their hiding places. At first she did nothing but draw Destiny to her again, as if reassuring herself that the girl would not flinch away, and when that was allowed another wordless waterfall of kissed followed. Only after that did she draw back just enough to speak, her great brown eyes on Destiny's dusty blues. "I was so afraid darling. I would not have blamed you if you feared me or worse, but I couldn't keep it from you longer."

Those kisses were caught, and returned, long lashes feathering cool cheeks, nuzzling forehead to forehead before smiling up at Arts, dusty blue eyes shining. "I could never be afraid of you, Arts - never. If you had wanted to hurt me, or worse?" Her breath hitched a bit before continuing. "you'd have done it already. So knowing doesn't change a thing." She leaned up to steal a kiss. "In fact, it makes things even better, for there's nothing to hide now."

Arts nodded, the release of a tension she'd been loath to admit still showing itself in the smoothing of her pale features. "Of course you must have questions. I know I would were I you! And of course I'll answer them one and all...."

Destiny caught her lip between her teeth as she thought. "Well, the obvious first question is how old are you? But then a lady doesn't have to reveal her age." She grinned her cat-like grin. "So...I'll start with the wine" that's why you don't drink it really?"

There was a sigh of relief. This was the easy part. "Yes, I like the texture, and I can take just a bit of the sweetness, but for the most part the things you might eat or drink don't sit well with what has become of my metabolism. I'm like on the most restrictive diet ever." Humor was always a good incense to drive the demons away, after all.

That made Destiny grin, but then her expression grew more serious, as a question suddenly loomed before her. "How" how do you eat' And do you have to every day?"

"I live on blood" there was no point in being coy now, "and feed about once a week. I seldom kill. There is enough Entrancement in my eyes to make that unnecessary, And as for the other, I'm no ancient. I was 24 when this..." Here she ran her hands over her slight body..."happened to me. That was 40 years ago, but somewhere along the line I was briefly involved with a woman of similar nature and much older blood, and she 'improved' me if you will. Those that I feed on typically awake feeling vaguely guilty as if as some dalliance unremembered. They recover soon enough. There can be great pleasure in the feeding if it is given voluntarily. We can explore that some day if you wish, but it is not necessary to my loving you." She winced a little as the word broke free, the first time it has been clearly said by her in this relationship.

The word did not go unnoticed. In fact, it brought a mist to Destiny's eyes, one hand again moving to play with dandelion hair, a soft smile on her face, and soft words on her lips. "I was afraid you'd think it too soon to say the word love, but that's how I feel." Another warm breath tickled cool lips. "I love you Arts, and I trust you, and when the time is right"I'd - I'd like to know how it feels, when you feed."

There were tears streaking the pale white planes of her cheeks, real tears for all the fact that they were tinged pink against the ivory flesh. She clutched Destiny against her, again not trusting herself to speak. Only after holding her so for long moments did she manage to murmur. "My love, my love, my love. We have time for any questions that might arise, and for any explorations we might want to undertake. We have time to become "we,? every day more deeply, every day more sweetly."

The pink tears soon mixed with Destiny's, mingling on their cheeks as she answered not with words, but with soft kisses and gentle touches, that inevitably would turn more heated and aggressive as they entwined in the middle of the room.

Destiny Youngblood

Date: 2014-08-25 03:18 EST
Time passed, as it is wont to do, and Destiny settled into a cozy routine of sorts. On the many nights she sang (and it seemed those nights were increasing), her audiences were held spellbound as her voice wove over and around each patron. And when her eyes lingered on a specific dark corner, the depth of affection and caring she projected brought tears to many eyes. Mr. D'Agostino would've loved for her to sing every night, but she politely declined his offer. All work and no play made Destiny a dull girl, indeed.

Her free nights were invariably spent with Arts, whether in the Inn, or lingering in her motel, or gallivanting on some grand adventure, usually one cooked up by Destiny. The most memorable such adventures to date was the promised shopping trip, where they raided every boutique within a half mile radius of the club. In one such boutique, Destiny fell in love with a black corseted dress, all ruffles and shirring over crinoline, displayed with a striking pair of knee-high lace-up black boots, with cute little fobs of black ribbons and feathers worn high on the head. It took a fair amount of coaxing, pleading, and whispered promises of carnal delights afterwards, but in the end the outfit was tried on, altered to fit on the spot by the attendant (who seemed most entranced by Arts's pale, cool, skin), and declared perfect by Destiny, who had found herself a similar outfit, with accents of white in the ruffles, ribbons, and fobs.

While the shopping adventure had been truly lovely, the time spent in the motel room afterwards fulfilling all those whispers was far lovelier. And as the sun dawned, both were sprawled on their mattress, cozily and contentedly entwined. Drifting off into dreams, Destiny couldn't imagine her life being any better.

(Author's note: The events in this post take place before "Dead Girls Don't Cry")

Artsblood

Date: 2014-08-26 02:47 EST
They went to bed that night in their new finery, and it became a game to see which intimacies could be achieved with the shedding of the least amount of clothing.

These were, it seemed, many and varied, and Destiny, still unaccustomed to her lover's hours and ferocious attentions, faded into sleep after so many of them had been explored. Artsblood, who would turn off like a thrown switch at full morning, lay sated and in dishabille beside her lover. The world, it seemed, had turned in her favor. Pale face pressed into brunette hair, she smiled for the rare fruit of happiness found, allowed herself the foolishness of believing that it might just persist.

(This thread now moves to "Dead Girls Don't Cry."