Disclaimer: White Wolf owns the settings and ideas, I merely supply the characters
Dajar looked down at the dance floor from the balcony of the club. Of course the handsome swarthy skinned young man didn't necessarily belong in the VIP section, but he looked like he did. He was tall and lean with deeply tanned skin, black hair and brown eyes. Black leather pants, a tanktop and an unbuttoned, untucked short sleeve dress shirt covered his athletic frame.
Dajar Stalks-the-Shadows was looking for one person in particular, one who was an hour and a half late. Just as the shadow-cat was ready to leave, she sashayed into the club. It was almost as if all activity stopped and focused on her when she walked. Samantha Parker was gorgeous in a way that made most men's brains shut down as the flow of blood in their bodies was diverted somewhere else. Her skin was white and delicate as porcelain. Blue eyes set amidst angelic features that were framed by curled blond tresses that fell to her bare shoulders. An off the shoulder red dress molded to her curves. Dajar felt himself swallow hard. But he resisted the pull, he knew it had supernatural power behind it. She was a Toreador neonate, and odd in that she still had normal sexual function-something she'd been more than happy to show Dajar on occasion.
Tonight was business...Dajar reminded himself. He watched as Samantha walked right past the bouncer guarding the stairs to the VIP section as if he didn't even exist. And to her, he didn't. Leering stares followed her all the way to where she stopped at Dajar's side. That very fact in itself getting Stalks-the-Shadows some rather evil glares. He just stared out at the dance floor, not bothering to look her way.
"You're late." He said by way of introduction. She grinned. He knew it without looking.
"And yet you're still here, my kitten." Samantha teased in a low seductive voice, trailing one of her crimson painted fingernails along his bicep.
"You know most Bastet would kill you for the very merit of your existence, let alone being taunted, my lovely." Dajar shot back.
"Oooh." She said her tone changed to pouty. "Kitten's got claws."
Dajar was beginning to grow impatient. "Why did you call me here Sam? I know it wasn't to play games." He snapped.
"Alright fine." Suddenly she was all business. "There's a new Brujah in town that's been trying to get in good with Prince Oliver. And he's doing it by roughing up some of the Prince's rivals, which just happen to be my clanmates. One in particular was my sire's first childe. She was found staked and chained to a skylight just before dawn and was brought in just in time to avoid being roasted. My sire wants revenge, but to just attack the Brujah outright would be to incur the Prince's wrath. So she sent me to you, hoping that our, um, working relationship could convince you to be so kind as to perform a job for us."
"I don't get involved in politics, especially not politicks." He said, emphasizing the rather unsavory sobriquet that most skinchangers had for the undead. Samantha rubbed the full length of her body up against him and he could feel an unnatural pull at his mind.
"I could throw in a little bonus..." She said, the weight of her words having the impact of a sledgehammer on Dajar's mind and even though he knew it was a vampiric discipline, he found himself nodding his ascent.
"Alright..but if, and only if you two give me some supplies. We'll talk about..." He let his eyes roam over her quickly. "Payment, later."
Samantha clapped and giggled like a schoolgirl. "I just knew you would see things my way. Now follow me!" Samantha grabbed Dajar by the arm and led him through the crowd, people more than happily making way for the sultry young woman. When they exited the club, a red vested valet handed Samantha her car keys and she walked to her car that was already waiting for her at the curb. It was a new shiny Diablo SE, blood red. One of the valets opened the passenger side door for Dajar. It opened up instead of out to reveal a pitch black interior. He got in, nearly sinking into the leather seat and sighing with comfort. Even his own corvette wasn't as nice as this. The valet shut the door after him and Samantha got in the driver side and slammed the door. Upon inserting the key into the ignition, heavy metal music assaulted Dajar's senses from every direction, further disorientation came when suddenly Samantha floored it. The horses under the hood did their job, tires blowing smoke
and screeching as they tore away from the curb doing zero to sixty in three seconds and nearly running down an old woman just stepping off the curb. Dajar felt himself pressed back in the seat by the sudden acceleration and he made haste to fasten his seatbelt. Samantha drove like a maniac, but with the precision of a city driver, cutting in front of people who showed the slightest hesitation to close a gap, tearing around corners at breakneck speed. Screeching to a stop at traffic lights only to tear off again at hair raising speeds as soon as red dropped to green. When Dajar finally stopped her car outside a tall brownstone and allowed to him to exit the vehicle, he stood on shaky legs for a moment before regaining his cool.
"Come on hot stuff, this is one of my havens. We have any supplies you need right here." Samantha said, striding into the building. Dajar followed close behind. Getting mistaken for a stalker by a Toreador's ghouled bodyguards was not a fun way to die. She led the way to the elevator and then to her tenth story apartment. The inside was as noveau as one would expect from the Clan of the Rose with black leather furniture in a snow white room with impressionist paintings on the wall. She led him past the living room and into the bedroom to stop in front of a closet. Samantha slid the door open to reveal dozens of slinky dresses and even more sheer lingerie, all of which she promptly slid aside to reveal a startling surprise, a wall full of guns and firearm accessories.
"Take your pick." She said. Always one to travel light, he took a PK7 and a silencer/flash suppressor with two clips of 7 rounds each plus one in the pistol itself. More for the ghouls sure to be guarding the schmoe than the schmoe himself.
Samantha went to a desk and scrawled something on a piece of paper, which she then handed to him. It was a name and an address. Dajar had all he needed, now for the hunt itself.
Dajar looked down at the dance floor from the balcony of the club. Of course the handsome swarthy skinned young man didn't necessarily belong in the VIP section, but he looked like he did. He was tall and lean with deeply tanned skin, black hair and brown eyes. Black leather pants, a tanktop and an unbuttoned, untucked short sleeve dress shirt covered his athletic frame.
Dajar Stalks-the-Shadows was looking for one person in particular, one who was an hour and a half late. Just as the shadow-cat was ready to leave, she sashayed into the club. It was almost as if all activity stopped and focused on her when she walked. Samantha Parker was gorgeous in a way that made most men's brains shut down as the flow of blood in their bodies was diverted somewhere else. Her skin was white and delicate as porcelain. Blue eyes set amidst angelic features that were framed by curled blond tresses that fell to her bare shoulders. An off the shoulder red dress molded to her curves. Dajar felt himself swallow hard. But he resisted the pull, he knew it had supernatural power behind it. She was a Toreador neonate, and odd in that she still had normal sexual function-something she'd been more than happy to show Dajar on occasion.
Tonight was business...Dajar reminded himself. He watched as Samantha walked right past the bouncer guarding the stairs to the VIP section as if he didn't even exist. And to her, he didn't. Leering stares followed her all the way to where she stopped at Dajar's side. That very fact in itself getting Stalks-the-Shadows some rather evil glares. He just stared out at the dance floor, not bothering to look her way.
"You're late." He said by way of introduction. She grinned. He knew it without looking.
"And yet you're still here, my kitten." Samantha teased in a low seductive voice, trailing one of her crimson painted fingernails along his bicep.
"You know most Bastet would kill you for the very merit of your existence, let alone being taunted, my lovely." Dajar shot back.
"Oooh." She said her tone changed to pouty. "Kitten's got claws."
Dajar was beginning to grow impatient. "Why did you call me here Sam? I know it wasn't to play games." He snapped.
"Alright fine." Suddenly she was all business. "There's a new Brujah in town that's been trying to get in good with Prince Oliver. And he's doing it by roughing up some of the Prince's rivals, which just happen to be my clanmates. One in particular was my sire's first childe. She was found staked and chained to a skylight just before dawn and was brought in just in time to avoid being roasted. My sire wants revenge, but to just attack the Brujah outright would be to incur the Prince's wrath. So she sent me to you, hoping that our, um, working relationship could convince you to be so kind as to perform a job for us."
"I don't get involved in politics, especially not politicks." He said, emphasizing the rather unsavory sobriquet that most skinchangers had for the undead. Samantha rubbed the full length of her body up against him and he could feel an unnatural pull at his mind.
"I could throw in a little bonus..." She said, the weight of her words having the impact of a sledgehammer on Dajar's mind and even though he knew it was a vampiric discipline, he found himself nodding his ascent.
"Alright..but if, and only if you two give me some supplies. We'll talk about..." He let his eyes roam over her quickly. "Payment, later."
Samantha clapped and giggled like a schoolgirl. "I just knew you would see things my way. Now follow me!" Samantha grabbed Dajar by the arm and led him through the crowd, people more than happily making way for the sultry young woman. When they exited the club, a red vested valet handed Samantha her car keys and she walked to her car that was already waiting for her at the curb. It was a new shiny Diablo SE, blood red. One of the valets opened the passenger side door for Dajar. It opened up instead of out to reveal a pitch black interior. He got in, nearly sinking into the leather seat and sighing with comfort. Even his own corvette wasn't as nice as this. The valet shut the door after him and Samantha got in the driver side and slammed the door. Upon inserting the key into the ignition, heavy metal music assaulted Dajar's senses from every direction, further disorientation came when suddenly Samantha floored it. The horses under the hood did their job, tires blowing smoke
and screeching as they tore away from the curb doing zero to sixty in three seconds and nearly running down an old woman just stepping off the curb. Dajar felt himself pressed back in the seat by the sudden acceleration and he made haste to fasten his seatbelt. Samantha drove like a maniac, but with the precision of a city driver, cutting in front of people who showed the slightest hesitation to close a gap, tearing around corners at breakneck speed. Screeching to a stop at traffic lights only to tear off again at hair raising speeds as soon as red dropped to green. When Dajar finally stopped her car outside a tall brownstone and allowed to him to exit the vehicle, he stood on shaky legs for a moment before regaining his cool.
"Come on hot stuff, this is one of my havens. We have any supplies you need right here." Samantha said, striding into the building. Dajar followed close behind. Getting mistaken for a stalker by a Toreador's ghouled bodyguards was not a fun way to die. She led the way to the elevator and then to her tenth story apartment. The inside was as noveau as one would expect from the Clan of the Rose with black leather furniture in a snow white room with impressionist paintings on the wall. She led him past the living room and into the bedroom to stop in front of a closet. Samantha slid the door open to reveal dozens of slinky dresses and even more sheer lingerie, all of which she promptly slid aside to reveal a startling surprise, a wall full of guns and firearm accessories.
"Take your pick." She said. Always one to travel light, he took a PK7 and a silencer/flash suppressor with two clips of 7 rounds each plus one in the pistol itself. More for the ghouls sure to be guarding the schmoe than the schmoe himself.
Samantha went to a desk and scrawled something on a piece of paper, which she then handed to him. It was a name and an address. Dajar had all he needed, now for the hunt itself.