Sounds like a ball. The people, anyway. The other thing... well, needs must. [ Moderation is not her friend, but she's a survivor.
He heads to the bar and she guides herself to a seat, barely in time to save herself from swooning right to the floor as the scent of vetiver floods the room. No, not pure vetiver -- there's something foul on the tail end, terrible but alluring all the same, like gasoline or insect poison. The scent seems to whirl around her head and she is stricken with the realization that she has not fed in several weeks.
When he turns back around, she has the veneer of someone composed, but the details quickly give her away; her knuckles are white around the edge of her seat, she's bit her lip, and her pupils are blown out almost enough to eclipse her irises. Is this how Rudy and Natacha had felt? She can't imagine three months of this pain, let alone eighty years. The Countess is no longer even looking at Flagg's face, not while he holds that glass. ]
You've already done your part by coming here. Let me look after you.
[ That's not the same as wanting nothing in exchange; every extra person in Vegas is something he has to his name. Something he won't let go of.
He puts the glass on the counter and slides it over. ]
But I could use some good company, I have to admit. Most of the people here are...young. [ Even the older ones are young compared to him. The Countess is young in comparison, too, but immortals tended to look at time with a different mindset anyway. ]
[ The Countess has been the proverbial devil in enough deals to read the meaning. She too demands loyalty when she decides to share her particular gifts, and she understands the risk.
But she also understands that he's the one with all the cards. Unless she wants to go back home and doom herself to a truly eternal existence, complete with all the people who've given her the most grief in life.
This would have been easier, she thinks as she takes hold of the glass, that this would have been easier if he had taken up residence in LA. Fucking neon wasteland, Vegas.
The drink she takes is long and slow, and as much as she wants to literally bathe in this blood, she refuses to drop her aplomb. The most reaction she gives is her eyes closing while she takes a deep breath through her nose.
It's like drinking the most delicious acid she can think of. Something that she knows is deadly, can sense it in a base human way, but it's so sweet and she always does what she shouldn't. So she smiles when she lowers the glass again. ]
I suppose there's a reason they always list the elderly as most susceptible to the flu. You should know that I always stay in the penthouse when I travel, Randall.
Most of the elderly are young by my standards. You understand, don't you?
[ God, he'd like to zip off to Boulder with The Countess for a while just to inform Mother Abagail that she is not, in fact, the oldest woman in the world, so suck it. Old mortal humans aren't that impressive. ]
I'm not giving up the Penthouse, I'm afraid, but if you're a fan of my company you're welcome to stick around.
[ She is both surprised and very much unsurprised. It stands to reason that there was an equal chance that he really was magical in some way, and that someone so magical might be able to foresee her or read her mind or something. She doesn't like it, but it has made this whole transaction easier. ]
[ Which isn’t entirely true, but it’s true enough. If he cared to prod, he could find out mostly anything he wanted to know. Emphasis on mostly. ]
Good. It’s awful lonely here, with just little old me in this nice big penthouse. Will you tell me about your hotel? I promise not to peek at the ending. [ At the end of the day, hearing stories told by the people who’ve experienced them is more satisfying than just ripping information out of minds. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He heads to the bar and she guides herself to a seat, barely in time to save herself from swooning right to the floor as the scent of vetiver floods the room. No, not pure vetiver -- there's something foul on the tail end, terrible but alluring all the same, like gasoline or insect poison. The scent seems to whirl around her head and she is stricken with the realization that she has not fed in several weeks.
When he turns back around, she has the veneer of someone composed, but the details quickly give her away; her knuckles are white around the edge of her seat, she's bit her lip, and her pupils are blown out almost enough to eclipse her irises. Is this how Rudy and Natacha had felt? She can't imagine three months of this pain, let alone eighty years. The Countess is no longer even looking at Flagg's face, not while he holds that glass. ]
What do you want in exchange?
no subject
[ That's not the same as wanting nothing in exchange; every extra person in Vegas is something he has to his name. Something he won't let go of.
He puts the glass on the counter and slides it over. ]
But I could use some good company, I have to admit. Most of the people here are...young. [ Even the older ones are young compared to him. The Countess is young in comparison, too, but immortals tended to look at time with a different mindset anyway. ]
no subject
But she also understands that he's the one with all the cards. Unless she wants to go back home and doom herself to a truly eternal existence, complete with all the people who've given her the most grief in life.
This would have been easier, she thinks as she takes hold of the glass, that this would have been easier if he had taken up residence in LA. Fucking neon wasteland, Vegas.
The drink she takes is long and slow, and as much as she wants to literally bathe in this blood, she refuses to drop her aplomb. The most reaction she gives is her eyes closing while she takes a deep breath through her nose.
It's like drinking the most delicious acid she can think of. Something that she knows is deadly, can sense it in a base human way, but it's so sweet and she always does what she shouldn't. So she smiles when she lowers the glass again. ]
I suppose there's a reason they always list the elderly as most susceptible to the flu. You should know that I always stay in the penthouse when I travel, Randall.
no subject
[ God, he'd like to zip off to Boulder with The Countess for a while just to inform Mother Abagail that she is not, in fact, the oldest woman in the world, so suck it. Old mortal humans aren't that impressive. ]
I'm not giving up the Penthouse, I'm afraid, but if you're a fan of my company you're welcome to stick around.
no subject
[ She is both surprised and very much unsurprised. It stands to reason that there was an equal chance that he really was magical in some way, and that someone so magical might be able to foresee her or read her mind or something. She doesn't like it, but it has made this whole transaction easier. ]
Yes, I think I will. It's a lovely view.
no subject
[ Which isn’t entirely true, but it’s true enough. If he cared to prod, he could find out mostly anything he wanted to know. Emphasis on mostly. ]
Good. It’s awful lonely here, with just little old me in this nice big penthouse. Will you tell me about your hotel? I promise not to peek at the ending. [ At the end of the day, hearing stories told by the people who’ve experienced them is more satisfying than just ripping information out of minds. ]