Author's Note: Hello, this is just a little vignette that I'm putting out while I work on the bigger piece. It's going to be about The Original family and a young woman that has a history with them. In my main story, I will have her background (who she is, etc.) but for now, enjoy this little flashback scene. I'm just itching to publish more stories so this will have to do for now! ;)
New York City, 1922
Freja pulled her silver flask out of her small black clutch and took a quick sip as she walked down the street at dusk. She was on her way to the newest and hottest speakeasy in the city; The Refinery. She had heard many things about it and decided that she would make an appearance. Perhaps find someone to take home and feed on for the night. As a natural creature of the night, she always enjoyed the hunt.
She was dressed to the nines in a black flapper dress adorned with beads that fell just below the knee. By the standards of that era, her outfit could be considered quite scandalous. But that was the whole point of the flapper generation — to be positively scandalous. They would wear dresses that showed their knees, cut their hair short into a stylish bob, wear vampy makeup, and go out after dark unescorted. Freja, however, did not style her hair like the other girls. She left her dark chestnut hair long and had it curled in finger waves. Her makeup was heavily dark and smokey on the eyes and she wore dark rouge on her lips.
"Hey gorgeous, you comin' in?" shouted the tall and burly doorman as he cracked open the door to the establishment.
"I am," she said as she made her way closer. Just as she was about to enter, he blocked the doorway.
"What's the password?" he demanded, crossing his big arms, "No one gets in without a password, doll face."
Freja sighed before locking her golden gaze on his, making sure to have his full attention. She let her pupils dilate and then contract before speaking slowly and clearly, "I do not need a password. You are going to let me in. Now."
The doorman nodded slowly, succumbing to her compulsion before moving aside to let her pass. As she entered the dimly lit establishment, she was greeted with thick cigar smoke and loud and upbeat jazz music. Flappers danced around and gangsters sat at their corner tables smoking and drinking. She made a beeline to the bar, making her way through the lively crowd.
"Gin and tonic, please," she ordered from the bartender. She glanced over her shoulder at the crowd, silently scoping out what she really craved to drink. Alcohol was just something she indulged in here and there. Blood, on the other hand, is what she craved and needed to survive. She sat at the bar for awhile on a cushioned bar stool, slowly sipping her drink as she listened to the conversations and music that was flowing all around her.
"Would you look at her, sitting there at the bar all by herself! She must think she's the Queen of Sheba or something!"
"But isn't her dress just the cat's meow?! Those gams are just to die for!"
"I suppose you're right...nice dress, but she is probably just another gold digger."
Freja smirked as she listened in on a conversation between a small group of flappers that just arrived at the speakeasy. She was used to women talking about her. After all, she had been around for some 1,000 years. Some admired her, others spoke with pure envy. She did not have a care in the world what they thought about her, but perhaps she would feed on them later. She continued sipping her gin as her other thirst grew stronger. She could hear the blood pumping through the patron's veins as they danced and swayed to the music.
"Another gin and tonic, miss?" the young bartender asked as he removed her now empty glass.
"Yes, thank you," she replied eyeing his jugular, "But this time I'll have something a little stronger..."
"Ah, my kinda dame," he said with a charming smile, "We just got a new shipment of Canadian whisky—"
"Yes, sure, I'll try that," she cut him off, "Neat."
"Make that two, barkeep," said a velvety smooth British voice from behind her. She turned and watched as the man sat on the vacant stool next to her.
The young man, was handsome and dressed up in a suit. Not like that of a gangster or a banker...just like that of a simply wealthy gentleman. His eyes were as dark as coal and had a mischievious glint to them as he glanced over at her. She could tell that he wasn't just a man, but a vampire such as herself. When the bartender put the two short crystal cut glasses of whisky in front of them, the mysterious man held his up to her.
"Cheers, darling," he said with a devilish smirk before downing the amber liquid.