[sub][b][color=e1e0f7]P E T E R    L A P I N[/color][/b][/sub][hr][sup][b][color=e1e0f7]                       Z a i c h i k   &   S o l n i c h k o ;  T h e    S u n s e t    L o u n g e[/color][/b][/sup]


First looks of the Kindred and his Retainer might as well have been assumed to be some spoiled rich teenager, belonging to one of L.A.’s notoriously famous millionaires with an affinity for over-embellishing their children with things instead of time and attention, and an expensive escort with whom he was rather familiar.  Both sat next to each other in one of the plush, leather booths of The Lounge.   Peter’s right arm was lavishly draped around Melissa’s light frame, and his head was cradled shallowly on her shoulder. Melissa’s gentle, gold locks dipped against her Dominator’s lucid, ivory cheek as her own cheek blushed was softly rested on his head. A small smile tilted upwards, pushing the skin of Peter’s cheek upwards.  A blissful silence held his eyelids closed as the sweet scent of Chanel’s N°5 mercifully laced the skin of his Retainer.  

A waitress had already come to take their orders, and a single glass of chilled Valpolicella Classico for Melissa was in the making.  The moments between the orally spoken request and the time it took for the waitress to show her tan, bare legs, again, the two specious customers exchanged nothing but a silent truce of awareness for each other’s chimerical company dwelling amongst the buzzing murmurs who spread short voices cautiously around The Lounge’s wiring. It was only a certain amount of time after the waitress dismissed herself to attend another customer’s affairs did Melissa extend a slender wrist and trace her lacy, black fingers down the stem of the glass before wrapping them delicately around the long, clear neck.

Melissa slowly raised and tilted the glass to study the pale purple liquid.  She was not so keen on the formal etiquette of wine tasting, but the polite, outward appearance might as well have said otherwise. Her head lifted as the cool glass was brought to her lips.  The shift of her weight stirred Peter’s seeming trance of faux-slumber, and his dark, cloy eyes winced open — only to twist his smile wider and cause his left hand to curve and wander his fingers playfully over the satiny fabric, tightly veiling her inner thigh. The Kindred rubbed his cheek against the warm, milky skin of Melissa’s shoulder and turned his head to embrace her neck with his cold lips.  The slightest movement of her muscles trembled as the sip of her wine trickled down her throat, and Peter enjoyed the taut movement, as well as her stoic response to his teasing hand. Of course, her pulse was saying otherwise, and the heating of her skin against his lips was all so satisfying and lush.

He was tempted to nip through her flushed skin and breach their little immature charade under the dim light hanging above their table. There was only so much Peter could do to Melissa before Frank’s will began standing firmly against Peter’s own undead thoughts, and making Melissa’s heart thump like a timid rabbit’s without him barely touching her was one of them, [color=e1e0f7]”You’re being rather frisky today, [i]Scott[/i],”[/color] Melissa scoffed satirically. Her glass was placed gently on the white napkin resting lonely on the rich wood table.

Peter let out a docile, callow growl as his neck tilted forward and moved his cheeks lower on Melissa until he was now caressing the supple cups held jauntily underneath the black thin, clingy fabric adorning her chest. Before the command to move his hand inward on the Ghoul’s body shot from his thoughts to the muscles in his arm and hand, a thin, invisible string weaved effortlessly through the convoluted maze of his mind and pulled his head upwards in one sharp and sudden snap.  His attention immediately curved around the network of the room in a panic. Small shadows dripped loud echo laughs from the shadowy corners of the entangled cobweb roped delicately throughout the building.

His mortal servant’s heart beat had changed paces into a further selfish and worried drum of muscle work.  It was loud and obnoxious like some onset of misophonia.  She was talking lowly at him in question, but her words were drowning in the ghostly echoes as one-by-one, kindred-after-kindred trickled slowly through the front door of The Lounge. He could feel his muscles flex and stiffen as his fingers gripped painfully into Melissa and caused her to squirm slightly into her Regnant until she exasperatedly submitted into the growing burn when the late reaction to the hallucinations crawled violently into her senses.  Peter hesitantly closed the distance between his mouth and her ear, holding her motionlessly, [color=e1e0f7]“The night has come, and she has brought darkness with her — [i]shhh … shhh,[/i]”[/color] he lulled her in a voice hardly above a whisper.

Nervous, stiff movements proceeded to move Peter’s actions as black, horned translucent movements mirrored vibrations of the newly arrived guests making their way to the bar counter. The bass of the shadows quickly collapsed to the flooring and dispersed into nothing as reality flooded back into both Peter and Melissa’s visions. The pale, undead hand resting on Melissa’s thigh lifted and took hold of the wine glass, bringing it close to Melissa’s quivering lips, [color=e1e0f7]“Drink up, my little [i]Solnichko,[/i].  The thieving magpie is not going to be giving us any porridge tonight, hmm,”[/color] his chin shifted to press his lips against her fearfully moist forehead as his grip on her loosened, [color=e1e0f7]”Drink up,”[/color] he coaxed her, again, but in a more syrupy voice.  The clear glass tipped to her tainted lips, and the dry alcohol dribbled onto her tongue. 

Peter was unnecessarily hungry, now.  The morning bird got the worm, but what did this order of Strigiformes get for making it out of his usual prowling area?  Uncomfortable clawing from the loosely shackled Beast was oozing with a nauseating lust for release, but the Malkavian gave it no such true satisfaction except a small bone to chew emitted in a shy, boyish laugh that caused his body to sink into the cushioned seat.  So much was happening. So, so much.

And, if it were not for the ruckus outside spinning some new stimuli of distraction and sensory overload, the Kindred would have been able to more easily navigate through the pulling threads and weaves heavily veiling all the conversations with luscious amounts of comprehension, which upset Peter’s appetite — only because he could not fully grasp any of it but tiny straws that tickled his subconscious more than anything.  He felt like he was suffocating here, drowning in the ooze of late night drama, but his mania would not let him leave the scene.  The void was too empty, and he did not have anything to persuade it otherwise.  Suffering through this madness was all that was left of the night.  Such a monotonous repetition of the usual menu was driving him crazier.  He was starving for something more stable, and his faux-family was turning more and more demented after each sip of his Vitae.

The glass was placed back on the table, and Peter tucked his head over Melissa’s light curls.  He drew in a deep breath of perfume, differing in scent, now from the emotional shift.  The distant human memory lingered briefly and then transformed back into the present lunacy of the present:  cheshire smiles, dielectric coated glass, lokas, and the undying feeling of eternal torture.  The Kindred and his Retainer continued haunting The Sunset Lounge’s booth, embraced in the dimness of the vague refuge that the bar had to offer amidst the glittering lights and sharpened knives.