[H3]Michelle Darrens & Rachel Rothkopf[/h3]
[b]Sunset Lounge
Collaboration with [@Ruby][/b]
[hr]

Vampires always had a dozen and a half things going on at any given time. There were always schemes on schemes, layers on layers, and they all required precise and silent communication. They lived by spinning secrets and lies, weaving intricate little social webs of power and control, and when someone else even began to threaten that web they squirmed. The look on the little Jew's face was priceless, every bit as uncomfortable as one might expect, but after a significant glance over the shoulder she was left with a pretty little smile and nothing to do with her hands.

Which had actually been the extent of Michelle's plan from the beginning.

The benefit of living in the dog-eat-dog world of a burgeoning apocalypse is that one no longer has to care about little things like power games and struggles. Or at least one shouldn't have to, and Michelle absolutely didn't. Was it irresponsible? Probably. Stupid? Likely. Dangerous? Intentionally. But there were benefits to not giving a fuck, and one of them was being able to watch the probably-centuries-old creature at her side shift like an awkward teenager in her seat.

It was the little things.

"Yup. You're cute when you're off balance." Slipping the phone into the padded compartment at the front of her dress that would probably have looked killer on someone else. Her muscles were too defined, the thick scarring to prevalent for her to really be pretty--the art on her body was a different story, an eclectic hodgepodge of surprisingly beautiful work, but beneath it she was all wasted potential. 

"How old are you, Rachel?"

There was a long moment of silent staring. Where the doe-eyed, straight laced, overly proper appearance of Rachel Rothkopf almost appeared to take on an edge. Irritation? Curiosity? Something between the two? For a woman who had long ago learned to control her emotions, but not quite her impulsive reactions to the emotions of others, the current situation bordered on dangerous. And that had nothing to do with the 'grr, rawr' nature of the woman next to her. 

"You should NEVER ask a lady..." Then Rachel grinned, looking more drunk than amused, even if she wasn't. Drunk, that is. Then she sighed the grin away, leaving only the casually distant expression of her default, cutting Michelle's response off at the knees. "Yeahyeah, 'dowhatIwantI'mthebigbadwolf'--I get it. I'm one hundred and fifty two years old, combining my living days and not-quite-so-living days."

Her initial instinct was to ask whether Michelle meant how old was she in total, or how long until she'd been turned? In the end, she did the very unlawyer like, and very unRachel like thing, of giving more information than was exactly asked for. Maybe because she wanted her phone back. Maybe because she liked the way it felt when the woman called her cute. 

It was hard to say. 

Rachel wasn't the only one looking like she was feeling it. The benefit to swallowing down a frenzy was the warm-endorphin aftermath that always came with kicking your body into overdrive. Human...hell, Garou psyches aren't meant to sustain that kind of emotion, that kind of fury, and without the knowledge that something terrible had happened the aftermath was actually almost relaxing. Like treading water after drowning. Michelle whistled at the figure, a wry smile on her lips.

"You don't exactly look happy about it."

Rothkopf went blank, for a beat of the creature's heart, before her head tilted just-so, and something curiously close to confusion approached her delicate features. "It is a state of being that I have very little control over given the base instinct of survival. I am neither happy, nor sad, about it--it simply is. I am indifferent on the issue of my age."

It was a bizarre observation, but was it a loaded observation? She wondered.

"Thanks for the party line, Spock."

Michelle couldn't help but laugh. Between the lawyer and the leech it was an open question if there was anything actually human left about the little creature sitting next to her. She sure didn't seem to want to show it. Maybe that's what Michelle liked about this place--most people went to clubs to feel alive, if only because they thought that 'alive' meant 'drunk and horny'. Walk into the Sunset and you get that, sure, but you also get to watch the nightmare creatures of the world try to pretend at it, with predictably hilarious results.

"You get how fucked up that is, right?"

"Vulcans don't use contractions in their speech. I just did. Therefore, I am not Vulcan, clearly. I like Spock, he's very cute, and quite enjoyed Mr. Nimoys work with the character; more so his introspective and reflective books on the subject later in life. And infinitely more than his work on the Mission Impossible series. The show from the 60's, not the walking little man syndrome actor focused movie franchise of modern day."

Her eyes drifted skyward for a beat, as reflection overtook her. "I miss the '60s, especially the television, although that HBO does some good work." When her gaze returned, a cold index finger "booped" the nose of the wolf, the downright silly smile seemingly coming to her at random--but it wasn't random. 

"Just because I don't wear my emotions where everyone can see them, doesn't mean I don't have them. The Coterie I'm apart of is the most human group of vampires I've ever encountered, to the point where they might as well be walking heresy to many of the values spouted by other governing groups of undead. It has a lot to do with their connection to art, and the human experience, and the massive tragedy that defines our fearless leader. I have plenty of joy and humor and, some would call it, "life" under my surface--but I'm a soul that doesn't trust easily, and likes to keep that stuff to myself, and the precious few I trust enough to show it to. Last night I giggled so much I was thankful I haven't the need for constant breath. Why? My "sisters" are silly, and my "brothers" are dopes. You're a stranger who's trying to make me uncomfortable WHILE, I think, anyway, trying to flirt with me. I can't understand the logic, but I'm still here, right?"

Her face lit up, even if her lips remained silly, the humor was there.

The fact that there was such an identifiable verb for someone touching someone else on the nose was bizarre. That the little vampire next to her had just "booped" her was more bizarre, and honestly Michelle was trying to figure out quite how to respond to it for a good portion of her schpiel. By the end of it she was just feeling lonely. Of course the little thing had a happy and cheerful undead life and family. Why wouldn't she? That was the point of the Wyrm, after all, the problem with it these days. Why wouldn't you be able to have your cake and eat it too? Hell, contribute a bit to spiritual entropy and you can have all the cake you want! She smiled back, wry and defeated, and flicked the fingers beneath her chin up in amused surrender. 

"This is why everyone hates vampires, you know. Too many years of accumulated comebacks." Wrapping one mottled arm around the other, she pulled her arms above her head and stretched until her shoulders popped. What was she even doing here, trying to kill the party? Actually flirt with the creature next to her? Because if she was really trying she would...

...yeah. You know. That.

"There's no logic to it." Fuck it, why not be real for a change. If the vamp could do it, so could she. She laughed again. "I got zero game. You are still here, though, and you shouldn't be. If your family makes you smile like that then you should be hanging out with them, not some bitch trying to poke holes in you and see what makes you tick."

The smile relaxed into the memory of a silly, happy, smile. The very hand used to "boop" now held out to Michelle, palm out and up. "Sure thing, just release my phone back to me, and I'll be on my way."

Michelle snorted at that, waving the hand off and tapping the top of the exposed phone to tuck it more firmly into her non-existent cleavage. "I said family time, not phone time. Go play, I'll leave it with the bartender when I'm done or something." 

"Okie-dokie, have fun."

Well that went well. The irony that a random dead girl was better adjusted than Michelle was not wasted on the werewolf. Waving off the vampire, she turned back to order a drink and blinked to find one already in front of her. A look at the bar tender directed her towards the stunning woman (human, if Michelle's admittedly intoxicated nose was on point) settled nonchalantly on the other side of her.

Damn. Maybe her game was better than she thought.

"Man, I know I struck out but I didn't realize it was pity-drink worthy." She snorted by way of introduction. "Fair warning, if you turn out to be some vampire starlet living the dream I may laugh in your face."