MonoPrompt #2: in which Weiss Schnee has an encounter with a seductive creature of the night.
(Suggested by insomniackid7)
It was a shift in the air that made her shiver.
Not that Weiss Schnee had ever believed in anything to do with aura or spiritual energies – she derided such people as being so hopelessly deluded and weak-willed – but she could actually feel a physical shift in the atmosphere of the bar.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the sauntering steps of black boots on the hardwood floor, all the way up to the bar, to fill the empty space next to her.
Weiss chose to break her surreptitiousness and looked straight at the disruption: she saw a woman that radiated a dark allure. Someone that radiated a confidence which was quiet and unspoken, but no less obvious. She had dark hair that fell down over her shoulders and back, a build and frame with curves Weiss that could more than appreciate. She was wearing a leather jacket and dark leggings; she removed the jacket to reveal a dark blouse that simply fitted and clung.
The woman's gaze flicked her way, her eyes narrowing, but Weiss did not want to look away. The woman received her drink from the bartender.
"Can I help you with something?" she said. There was a slight tone of amusement in her voice.
"Huh? What?" Weiss said, bristling immediately. She sat a little straighter on the bar stool.
The woman looked at her, and chuckled. Weiss suddenly felt very self-conscious.
"Get you a drink, princess?"
Weiss opened her mouth, but no words came out, other than a sound that didn't sound like any word ever.
The woman's expression was warm, but neutral at the same time; it betrayed nothing of her true intentions. Weiss started feel an intense heat in her cheeks.
"Uh …" she said. "Um, excuse me." She hastily stood and turned away from the bar. As she walked hurriedly away and ultimately out the door, she could feel the gaze of the woman lingering on her. It was not until the door swung shut behind her that the feeling disappeared, and she shivered again.
It was not until she reached the her apartment that she realized how much lighter her purse felt. She bit her lip, and hurried to the door.
Her fears were confirmed when she easily was able to extricate her keys.
"Shit … shit, fuck, shit," she muttered angrily. She flung open the door and took the purse to the kitchen counter. It did not take a lot of rummaging to confirm her fears. She swore again.
She would have to call the bar and ask if anyone had seen her wallet laying abandoned. She did not want to think about what it would mean if they had not seen it, or if they couldn't find it.
Weiss wanted to blame the airheaded forgetfulness on that disruption, on that woman. She would not have forgotten her wallet if it had not been for those distracting ways.
There was something different about that woman – as compared to the average woman that Weiss encountered or stared too long at. There was something that drew her attention, something that she had felt transfixed by. Did the woman see it all the time? Had she been aware that Weiss had not wanted to look elsewhere – had not been able, even?
It would help to explain how she had forgotten her wallet in her flight from the bar.
Weiss sat up, a thought having struck her suddenly.
Was she a criminal? Was it thievery?
Perhaps the woman had known what effect she would have on Weiss. Perhaps it had all been part of a ploy: stun the unsuspecting mark with a strange and beguiling form of distraction, and then steal the forgotten item of value when the mark inevitably excuses themselves to go and cool off elsewhere. At initial glance, it seemed foolproof to Weiss, but she then realized that there were too many variables and circumstantial factors in play to be certain that it was anything more than chance and coincidence.
She dialed the number for the bar, not needing any further convincing. She asked the answering bartender if he or anyone else had seen her wallet. She described it, but he denied having seen it. She hung up and groaned in despair. She would have to get all of the cards cancelled and replaced – not something that was necessarily hard, but a hassle regardless.
Just as she was contemplating buzzing away her anxiety with more liquor, the intercom interrupted her with a buzzing of its own. It was short, the visitor's finger pressed down no longer than two seconds on the button in the entryway.
She walked over to the speaker by her door.
"Yes?" she said.
"Weiss Schnee?"
Weiss froze. The voice was familiar, as was her reaction. Even through a speaker, and several doors down, the woman was still fighting for her attention – and winning convincingly. She cleared her throat.
"Uh … yes?" She cleared her throat. "That is … I." There was a low chuckle through the speaker, but Weiss went on: "Can I help you with something?"
"I have something that belongs to you."
Weiss shut her eyes and swore again under her breath. My wallet. She's returning it.
"I'll buzz you up," she said, and, before her better judgment could compel her otherwise, pressed another button to let the woman in the building. She left the door unlocked.
There was a knock three minutes later.
"Come in," said Weiss. The woman opened the door and whistled.
"Nice place," she said.
"It's home." Weiss watched as the woman came into the kitchen, walked up to her. Her eyes lingered inexplicably for a second on the woman's legs. "Anyway," she hastily said, "I understand you have something of mine."
"I do." The woman smiled. This time, her eyes were the ones to linger for the extra second. Weiss shifted on her feet; she was feeling exposed, despite the fact that she had not even taken off her jacket since coming home.
The woman opened her own purse, and from it produced the wallet that Weiss knew to be undoubtedly hers. The sight of it relieved her, though the feeling was diminished somewhat by the presence of the woman, and how aware she was of her. As she went through the wallet – making sure everything was as it should be – she continued to feel the woman watching her. Exposed, she thought again.
She partly regarded it as a disconcerting feeling, one that she had little experience dealing with so immediately; she knew how to expect the quiet evaluation of others, of those she did business with, but she always knew how to ignore that awareness. This woman represented a different kind of the beast, a kind that ripped through her mental defenses and left her merely apprehensive.
"Thank you," she finally said, "for bringing this back to me. That was a good thing to do for a stranger."
The woman smiled again, and something seemed to glitter in her eyes.
"It was no trouble," she said. Weiss noticed something different about her smile. Something about her teeth. She dismissed it as a holdover from her earlier buzz, a trick of the light.
She glanced away. "I, uh, would offer you a drink as a proper thank you, but I don't suppose that would be what you want, considering we've both come from a bar … how about coffee instead?"
"That would be lovely, thank you."
The woman waited over on the couch as Weiss prepared the gesture. She tried to dismiss the remarkable feeling, one she recognized as excitement, borne out of mere anticipation. She did not know what to expect from this point. Perhaps they would have their coffee and part ways. It would be the logical course, were it anyone else.
But perhaps it would not end with the gesture of coffee.
Stop, she thought. Stop before you make a fool out of yourself. Then she remembered exactly how she had acted in the bar, and realized that maybe it was too late for such a correction.
"Blake, by the way," said the woman.
"Pardon?" Weiss said.
"My name – Blake. I don't believe I've introduced myself yet."
"Oh … I'm Weiss."
Blake smirked.
"Of course, you already knew that …" Weiss added, realizing that it was indeed too late after all. She watched and bit her lip as Blake slowly uncrossed and crossed her legs. She had never been more aware of the flattering qualities of dark leggings.
"Something on your mind, Weiss?" Blake's tone was lower, more of a purr.
"Something …" Weiss muttered. "No."
"Are you sure about that?"
"No." Weiss smiled despite her better judgment. She walked over, a mug of coffee in each hand. She handed one to Blake and sat next to her; she made sure to keep a "friendly" distance between them. She started sipping, but it seemed that Blake was choosing to nurse the coffee.
"So, what do you do, Weiss?"
"Oh, it's … something boring," Weiss said, a little too dismissively.
"I can't imagine that. Someone as fascinating as you, with an apartment as lofty as this?" Blake waved a hand at the living room. "I'm sure that it must be exciting."
"It's corporate-suit stuff," Weiss said after a moment. "I work for a Prestige 400 company in the city, overseeing a number of key operations."
"See – what did I tell you?"
"You think that's exciting?"
"It's not not exciting."
Weiss smiled at the wit. "What about you?" she said. "What do you do for work?"
Blake seemingly decided to start on her coffee before answering. Again, Weiss wondered what was flashing through her mind, in those extra seconds of a pause.
"I used to work in the family business," she said, coolly.
Weiss raised her eyebrows. "What was that?"
Again, Blake paused before giving an answer: "Recruitment. For … modeling," she added.
"Okay," Weiss said, though she didn't quite understand. "Why do you say 'used to'?"
"It was a lifetime ago – I left home when I was a teenager, and I haven't gone back since."
"Wow."
Blake shrugged. "I get around a lot. Traveling."
Weiss found herself impressed and equally captivated. And she finds me fascinating? As compared to what?
She smiled into her coffee. When she looked up again, Blake had moved closer – or had at least seemed to.
"But what do you like, Weiss Schnee?" she murmured. "What do you do when you aren't … working?"
Weiss lowered her eyes again. To Blake's lips. They curled into a grin that showed off her teeth.
And her fangs.
Truly Yours, Kalico.