.
Ch. 1 – The Night Before The Morning AfterThe man reached for the ceiling momentarily in a languid stretch, and glanced out the gap between the blinds covering the great glass panes with a smile at the sun, before reaching for his dressing gown inside the bathroom door on his right as he turned the corner toward the kitchen, last night clamouring afresh in his mind...
He'd seen her from the plush seating behind the table in his booth, leaning bored but patient against the edge of the bar, waiting as the ignorant twenty-something slurred meaningless niceties at her shoulder, several liquors ahead of the one she nursed, and starting to flag. He knew a succubus when he laid eyes on one, but the subtle aura of ingrained pride, power and confidence about her was an identity in itself - she was an Aensland, and not the one he recognised...all things considered, that was all he really needed to know. Her lanky, well-soaked prize would be ripe for the taking-home soon, oblivious to the grim intent of the lithe young predator he drunkenly flirted with, and attempted, poorly, to paw at.
By sunrise, the poor fool would be a dessicated corpse, a sad addition to a grim statistic and another meagre addition to a macabre catalogue of nutrimental conquests...unless someone deigned to intervene.
He'd dutifully risen to the task, and strode smoothly toward the bar amid the lights and music of the nightclub, if the racket of a remixed late-90s pop beat could be even distantly graced with the title of 'music', and insinuated himself at a place next to them, signalling to the bartender for a refill as he assured the glint in his eye caught her attention, before he turned bodily to address her ailing prey stiffly; "Don't you think you might be punching a bit above your weight, boy?" he queried dryly in a voice whose accent was a queer mix of New York grit and an English toff's stiff-lipped lexicon.
The slurring ground to a halt at the question, and the perception of an insult; the highbrow tone of his voice, and his intent, suddenly had her full attention, too.
"Whuh'ju'say?" The slurred words sloshed together hideously in the young man's mouth, extracting a grimace of disgust from the huntress at his hip, shrugging off the arm that had slopped across her shoulders in a poorly-coordinated display of possession; he barely noticed the limb slip from its tenuous perch, with what little focus he had left now trained squarely on the interloper, along with his growing indignity.
"Look at yourself," he gestured idly with a hand to the lad's appearance; "Barely any meat worth a damn, greased to the nines, dolled up in trashy packaging. You're not exactly a first-rate catch, are you? You're fast food, boy, at best," he paused for effect with a snide grin, as the lad struggled with the words, his limited processing power being steadily eaten up by anger; "Hardly a fitting dish for such a delicate pallet. I think perhaps the young lady might prefer something a little more refined, served by a more-experienced hand..." His gaze drifted away from the drunken fury burning in the fool's features to address the dangerous young animavore at his elbow, barely a head shorter than himself; "Penny for your thoughts, my dear?"
The young fool lunged past her haphazardly, spilling drinks and sending glasses tumbling to either side of the bar, hers caught deftly without losing a drop as his broke hopelessly over the foot of the returning bartender – but the fool's grasping hands never met their mark, as her elbow angled his momentum away, sending him sprawling to the floor on his back. Scrambling unsteadily to his feet, he was halted deftly by the hammer-blow of her foot smashing into his jewellery, staggering him firmly and snatching the wind out of his sails as well as his lungs, leaving every man watching the commotion to wince sympathetically as he crumpled like a dropped sheet.
"Get. Lost...!" she'd hissed contemptuously through clenched teeth, and he crawled away pitifully, eyes brimming with agonized tears and bitter hate.
He'd watched with pity, concealed carefully behind a mask of indifference, as the poor lad made it to the exit, where he was dutifully scraped up by a doorman and escorted out; it wasn't usually his way to be so callously cruel, and it discomforted him deeply, but alas, the years had taught him that sometimes, one had to be cruel to be kind. For the steep price of the lad's dignity, he had spared that snared rabbit the jaws of a hungry young demon, and graced him the chance of another dawn - not that he would appreciate the significance of the gift come morning, of course, but that could easily be lived-with, in the face of the alternative.
A tender touch at his elbow had shaken him from his musing and reminded him of his evening's cause, and he duly escorted the delightful demoness back to his booth, where she snuggled close to him for a pair of hours in the dark, conversation drowned by the thump of the baseline, before eventually succumbing to her hunger and leading him to the door, and home, where she could safely revel in the pleasures of his flesh, milk his molten seed deep in her belly and feast enthusiastically upon his soul – a soul whose nectar she would find to be endless, a honeyed vintage she'd never yet tasted, though in her euphoria it would not yet occur to her that his soul was as undying as her own, and the satisfaction of fullness and the rare sleep of exhaustion would claim her before the realisation could spark in her mind that he, like herself, was immortal, albeit very differently.
That realisation was most-certainly dawning on her now, as the morning sun kissed her tender features, which at least appeared to be those of a late-blooming late teenager; her soul, however, had a good few centuries under its proverbial belt, though her body was not equally-aged; her form and flesh had been a devious gift to her, after all, from scheming Jedah Dohma... Carefully he shunted that train of thought aside for later; he had no wish to upset his charming young guest before he could have a chance to properly introduce himself, at least. Considering what he had stocked as he meandered into the kitchen, he reminisced idly over days long since past, in hopes of advising his way forward in the present moment; Morrigan was fond of savoury meats in her youth, if memory serves, he mused, and considered the stature of his guest; She could certainly do with some protein. Hmm...bacon, spiced sausage, scrambled eggs and toasted bread, I think. That ought to break the ice quite nicely...
Behind him, a lavender-haired head half-peered carefully around the corner of the L-shaped apartment space, watching as he opened cupboards and draws, producing an array of ingredients and utensils. With his back to her, Lilith glanced about briefly to gain a better idea of her surroundings: to her rear, the bed, and a fitted wardrobe against the back wall; before her, facing the windows, a large mat took up the whole corner of the apartment, with a soft cushion in the center – a meditation spot, perhaps.
Next to it and slightly to her right, a leather couch long enough to seat three in the center, with two single seats on either side, forming a stretched 'U' shape; in-front of the couch, a coffee table with a small charcoal firepit set in the centre, a screen over top to catch sparks and a vent set into the ceiling above it to extract smoke; behind that, some sort of electronic screen hung from cables in-front of the window. At the far end of the space, the back wall housed the kitchen, a raised table with tall stools for seating, positioned between her and her diligent host.
To her right, along the wall she half-hid behind and closest to her, stood a door that led into the bathroom; a quick, quiet glance inside showed a toilet on the left wall, and a radiator towel rack, sink and medicine cabinet against the right, then a curtained shower against the back wall – left of which stood another door, leading to the cloakroom; she remembered the other side of that door from their entry last night...she could slip out to the front door, then, and be away without his notice, if she was careful. Leaving the bathroom door slightly ajar, a floor-to-ceiling oak bookcase stood mighty against the wall behind the couch, the side of which obscured her view of the door they'd come in through from the cloakroom a few hours ago.
All told, a fine space for any gentleman bachelor to occupy, if gentleman indeed he proved, as he seemed to be. The scent of sizzling meat rising from the kitchen caught in her nose, stirring her belly...perhaps the pang of hunger that woke her earlier was a call for sustenance other than morning sex, after all; he'd promised breakfast, and had set himself dutifully about delivering. The scent set her salivating, which in-turn set her mind rewinding to the last few hours, and elicited a shiver of ecstasy for the memory of everything he'd shown her-
No. He knows too much.
She chastised herself sharply for letting her guard down. He'd known perfectly-well at the bar that she was a succubus; it was the reason he'd approached her at all, intending to see off her admittedly-pathetic catch, who this fellow had described as 'fast food, at best' – an accurate description, to her chagrin, but hungry as she'd been, she'd resorted to taking what prey her limited charms could attract; stray piece of Morrigan's soul she may be, but her elder sister'sdecidedly generous physique was a far cry from her own, more-petit form. Still, despite not having much to show for herself, she'd found ways to make the best of what she could offer, to keep herself fed. Certain prey had certain fascinations, and those with peculiar tastes or more-predatory inclinations tended to gravitate to her; her youthful stature, coupled with an air of seeming innocence, was often enough let them think in their conceit that they could dominate her and have their wicked way, only for them to realise much too late who the real sexual predator was.
And if all else failed, there was always easier prey to be found among the barflies, which led her neatly back around to last night, and this particular morsel who'd so-conveniently happened upon her, and had the temerity, as he'd risen fine and dandy from her feast of ecstasy – a feast that should have consumed his mortal soul, no less – to call her 'a lady of Aensland'. He really was far, far too well-informed for her comfort. He clearly wasn't mortal; no mere man could satisfy her appetite so thoroughly, runt of the family or not - so what was he, then? What did he want? Why? There was only one way to find out, and if he wasn't feeling too cooperative...well, perhaps she should demonstrate what else 'Little Lady Lilith' Aensland was capable of...