The Feral North

Supposedly this was an upscale place. Motou couldn't really tell having never really spent any time in such locations. He preferred things simpler settings to this modern atmosphere. The music especially was obnoxious, though some fledgling had assured him it was the “in thing”. It begged the question 'what made something an out thing then?'

Out was certainly a word he could use to describe himself. He didn't belong here, he'd find some other way to slake his thirsts than with these mortals who came here to dance, mingle and get drunk. And of course meet vampires. He'd thus far found 'Freaks' to be remarkably annoying and hadn't the slightest inclination to feed from any of them, though a few had offered. Not as many offers perhaps as some of the 'sexier' vampires, another modern term, another category in which he was most definitely Out.

Leaving the bar area he began to make his way to the exit, wondering why he'd bothered to come at all.

Emma was livid. One, because Ricky had once again used her, and two, because she’d almost let him. Ricky was an interesting sort of man. More a businessman than a lawyer, he was more likely to employ tricks when it came to winning a case, or in the current situation, gaining a client, than anyone she had ever met. Tonight was a wonderful example. He’d told her he needed a show of force at a dinner meeting and to be ready later that evening. Imagine her surprise when the company car pulled up to the Delta of Venus. She’d almost refused to get out of the car, but she wasn’t completely naïve. She knew that Ricky’s cunning was spot on in getting what the firm, or the client, wanted. She knew that a certain level of cunning, even sleazier cunning, wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

She knew that Ricky occasionally went a bit too far.

Still, Emma had gritted her teeth, shot him a look (which he responded to with a slimy, arrogant smile) and slid out of the car and into the bar. She didn’t know who they were meeting, and quite frankly, she was beginning to get nervous. What sort of a potential client would be more easily schmoozed here? Still, they checked their coats and were shown to a private, but mercifully empty, back booth.

As soon as the hostess had disappeared, Ricky turned his full attention on Emma. His cool, pragmatic, gaze moving down the lightweight coral blouse with a wide scooped neck and fitted black pencil skirt. It was a tad bit dressier than business wear, but for a dinner it was certainly appropriate. Without a word, Ricky tugged the blouse so that the neck slid down her arms, fully exposing her shoulders and neck. It wasn’t exactly and inappropriate way to wear the shirt, indeed Emma rather liked wearing shirts off the shoulder, but in the current context it was a tad bit unnerving. Ricky wasn’t helping things when he handed her a black clip and curtly told her to pile her hair, which currently fell down her back in lazy gold curls, on top of her neck.

“Am I here as a commiserating soul or an appetizer?” Emma snapped sarcastically, but when Ricky just shrugged…Emma snarled at him, (“Be your own bait Ricky!”) and promptly slid herself out of the booth and into the mill of people. She was so angry that she didn’t even stop to grab her jacket; she just propelled herself through the crowd until she was forced to alter her course to avoid a tray of martinis. Unfortunately, quick movements in heals aren’t always advisable, and she ended up tripping backwards and into a rather solid person.

He was halfway to the exit when a woman stumbled into him. He could have simply moved aside, deftly avoided her, but he'd chosen to remain still lest she hurt herself falling over. She seemed flustered and upset. Making to help her regain her balance, he appraised her appearance behind a visage of more or less genuine concern.

Dressed nicely, her shirt hanging off the shoulder virtually an open invitation. Given the haste with which she had moved, he had to wonder if she'd been aware of its implications. She wasn't a tall woman per say, rather, like most men of his heritage, Motou was smaller in stature than the majority of men in the West.

“Are you all right miss?” he asked without a hint of fang, he was no fledgling after all, but his voice was traced through with a light British accent. He made sure to back up just enough to make sure he wasn't crowding her, though considering how densely populated the club was it was not without some difficulty.

If Emma’s blood hadn’t already been boiling, falling against someone like a drunken floozy probably would have done it well enough on its own. Of course, now she was both angry and embarrassed, and she felt a sudden desire to snap out at someone, though she bit her tongue and regained her footing as quickly as possible. She wobbled a bit, but eventually got her footing all straight.

“Are you all right miss?”

Emma’s eyes, which hadn’t really been focusing on anyone around her, followed the voice to the solid man she’d bumped into. Unlike her, he seemed rather calm. In fact, considering the constant energy of the people around them, the laughter and free flowing fluids, he seemed largely out of place. Considering her own heated emotions, she almost felt like she’d been hit in the face with a cool wind. It was always difficult to remain upset when faced with someone who was the complete opposite. Indeed, it was slightly disorienting.

He wasn’t particularly striking, or even handsome, really. He was the sort of person whose face had, as her mother would say in her thick British accent, character. There was history in that face, and with the both familiar and yet foreign accent, a slight quizzical expression crossed over her face before she realized that he was still waiting for a response.

Her own voice, London accent much stronger, finally emerged. The normally soft and husky pitch was somewhat more forceful with the dregs of her heated emotions. “I might have just quit, or been fired from, my job but…” Emma couldn’t believe she’d just said that, and a small laugh escaped her. “Pardon, that’s not what you were going for, was it? I’m fine, really.” She smiled, her eyes moving towards the door.

“But I really must get out of here.” Emma wasn’t particularly bothered with where she was, just about the last ten minutes of her visit. Those were what she was referring to. “Thank you…for being a solid presence on my way out.” Still smiling kindly, she made to etch her way towards the exit, keeping an eye out for any more martinis.

She seemed almost shocked, though that would be to strong a term if he was remembering his English correctly. It was as though she'd been wound and held tight like a cord, and then suddenly released of all tautness and left hanging slack. She was recovering quickly, so she wasn't intoxicated, which spoke well for her at least. He'd never cared for poisoning oneself for recreational purposes.

Her own voice much thicker accent which coated each of her words was welcome, he'd always found proper English much easier to understand than that which was spoken here across the ocean and so far from any of his old homes. It took him a moment though to realize that she wasn't talking about her physical well being but had begun confessing to him the source of her distress. Her eyes darted to the door as she realized that hadn't been what he'd been asking about.

He smiled as she began making her way towards the exit and moved to join her, reaching out ever so slightly with tendrils of power to gently influence or nudge passersby out of their way. Humans who entered a place like this surrendered the protection the law provided them against such things, or at least that was his understanding of how such a place like this worked, and no fledgling was going to stand in his way or try and resist when all he clearly wanted was to leave.

“There is no need for pardon,” he said, offering a reassuring smile “I am finding myself most out of place here as well,” he gestured around to the all but palpable loudness that was in more than just the music, but in every action of the clubs occupants. As they reached the door he held it open for her, allowing her to pass through before exiting himself. “Will you be alright miss? You have a...” he seemed to struggle a moment to find the word, “a car...to take you home.” it still hadn't sunk into him yet that almost everybody on this continent who was old enough often could and did drive themselves wherever they wished to go. Given he earlier distress and mentioning of possibly losing her job, the possibility that she did not seemed very real to him.

“There is no need for pardon,” he said, offering a reassuring smile “I am finding myself most out of place here as well,”

Emma was much relieved when no other mishaps kept her from the door, but she was a bit surprised to see the solid man following her out, even holding the door for her. She returned his smile with a friendly, though polite, one of her own. In situations like this, she always felt slightly wary. She was a rather friendly person, but when it came to meeting people in bars or clubs, a girl had to be careful she didn’t meet a complete creep. He’d been kind so far, and to be fair she wouldn’t jump to conclusions, but the tingle of anxiety was starting to creep along her skin.

“Delta isn’t your scene then?” She smiled curiously. “I’ve only been here once before, though to be honest the location wasn’t my choice.” Emma remembered that night out with the office women…while she’d met someone, that someone hadn’t been a vampire. The thought made her frown. She was supposed to be an attorney with supernatural clients. She should be more open to understanding different supernatural cultures, but it seemed her experiences, and consequential comfort level, were heavily one sided towards those with warmer blood. “What’s more your preference?” she asked, keeping the conversation polite as they emerged into the pleasantly cool evening.

“Will you be alright miss? You have a...” he seemed to struggle a moment to find the word, “a car...to take you home.”

Emma, her attention brought back to her calm companion, was about to say that she had her own car and would be alright. Then she remembered that Ricky had had them driven in a company car, and her heart dropped. Apparently Ricky had wanted to make it as inconvenient as possible for her to leave early. “Damn,” she mumbled, before turning in a light circle to catch her bearing. The exit of the club was on the other side of the building than the entrance, but she could still hear the rumble of conversation and occasional peal of laughter from the queue.

“Well, I should be alright…but I’m going to have to find the taxi stand. I imagine it cannot be too far from here…” Emma felt her brow furrow. She knew it wasn’t right out front, but she assumed it would have to be somewhere relatively close to the exit. “Otherwise the buses should run near here too.”