London by Night 4: The Follower of Set
Blake couldn't help but stare at those perfectly shaped lips; his mind immediately drifting away to rampant desires of kissing them, and being kissed by them. Tachete was simply...he cursed inwardly. There were no words that could describe the level of her beauty.
He barely paid attention as her long mocha fingers with their perfectly sculpted nails turned over one of the Tarot cards. Blake just continued to stair at that cute as a button nose, those fine brows, and those oh so kissable lips. The smoke from the brassier partially shrouded her, and he loved the way the very soft candle light gave her eyes a singular, almost golden glow. The kind of eyes a snake might have, his brain whispered.
It also didn't help that she was dollied up like a honest to goodness Egyptian Princess, complete with bare breasts. Blake wanted to just reach across the table and cup those heavy D's , and feel the heat of her wide round aureoles in his mouth.
"But you didn't just come here to stare at my breasts, did you?" She asked, her husky voice coated with the rich Haitian accent that sent a thrill up his spine. She still hadn't looked up from her tarot spread.
"N-no," he stammered. "I...I need another one. Tonight. One that looks like you."
Now her eyes lifted to his. he could see that of course her eyes were brown, and not the shimmering reptilian orbs he had imagined earlier.
"How old?"
Blake glanced around nervously as if afraid someone would overhear.
"Thirteen," he said. "Maybe fourteen."
Tachete leaned back in her chair, head slightly askew as she regarded him with a face devoid of expression. Then she smiled.
"That can be arranged well enough. But now I need something in return."
Blake looked startled.
"What? What do you need? I've already given you everything I have."
"Just information, Mr. Blake."
She rose from the chair and moved on silent feet to the nearby counter top, her goal the small pot of tea brewing there. Blake was dazzled by the sight of her: the way she moved, the way the light danced off the heavy gold and obsidian pectoral strung across her chest; the swish of the tiny cotton skirt she wore; the absolute marvelous perfection of her bare legs. He sat rooted to his chair, awed by her sheer magnificence.
She poured a cup of tea and paced evenly back to him. She bent over him..loomed might be a better word..and cupped his hands around the hot tea cup.
"The girl will be delivered to your doorstep in three hours time, Mr. Blake," she said, "but I will not anymore offer such services without price. I want my information."
Blake nodded slowly.
"What information?"
Her lips turned upward into a smile.
"There are two new Kindred among the Toreador. I want to know everything you can find out about them. And let them know, subtly, that my services are available."
***
Later, when Blake had gone, Tachete stood at the window staring out at the London street below. Gone was the elaborate make-up and costume; she didn't need it now that she was alone. She had her hair pulled back into a loose pony tail, and wore only an over-sized sweater and jeans. And really, had anyone seen her now there was nothing left of the breathtaking magnificence that had sent Blake into spasms of desire. In truth, she looked rather...plain.
Her lips pursed as she considered her course of action. Blake's usefulness will have ended once her provided the information about the two newcomers. As she already knew the location of the Ventrue Primogen's haven, his associates, and his enemies Blake would be able to provide nothing more useful. She nodded to herself, as if having a conversation. The plan was simple. An anonymous phone call to the police to alert them to Blake's...predelictions...and the Masquerade gets blown wide open. The Ventrue scramble to cover everything up, and Blake is executed for his lack of judgment. Clean, neat, and easy.
And then time to move on to new targets.
He barely paid attention as her long mocha fingers with their perfectly sculpted nails turned over one of the Tarot cards. Blake just continued to stair at that cute as a button nose, those fine brows, and those oh so kissable lips. The smoke from the brassier partially shrouded her, and he loved the way the very soft candle light gave her eyes a singular, almost golden glow. The kind of eyes a snake might have, his brain whispered.
It also didn't help that she was dollied up like a honest to goodness Egyptian Princess, complete with bare breasts. Blake wanted to just reach across the table and cup those heavy D's , and feel the heat of her wide round aureoles in his mouth.
"But you didn't just come here to stare at my breasts, did you?" She asked, her husky voice coated with the rich Haitian accent that sent a thrill up his spine. She still hadn't looked up from her tarot spread.
"N-no," he stammered. "I...I need another one. Tonight. One that looks like you."
Now her eyes lifted to his. he could see that of course her eyes were brown, and not the shimmering reptilian orbs he had imagined earlier.
"How old?"
Blake glanced around nervously as if afraid someone would overhear.
"Thirteen," he said. "Maybe fourteen."
Tachete leaned back in her chair, head slightly askew as she regarded him with a face devoid of expression. Then she smiled.
"That can be arranged well enough. But now I need something in return."
Blake looked startled.
"What? What do you need? I've already given you everything I have."
"Just information, Mr. Blake."
She rose from the chair and moved on silent feet to the nearby counter top, her goal the small pot of tea brewing there. Blake was dazzled by the sight of her: the way she moved, the way the light danced off the heavy gold and obsidian pectoral strung across her chest; the swish of the tiny cotton skirt she wore; the absolute marvelous perfection of her bare legs. He sat rooted to his chair, awed by her sheer magnificence.
She poured a cup of tea and paced evenly back to him. She bent over him..loomed might be a better word..and cupped his hands around the hot tea cup.
"The girl will be delivered to your doorstep in three hours time, Mr. Blake," she said, "but I will not anymore offer such services without price. I want my information."
Blake nodded slowly.
"What information?"
Her lips turned upward into a smile.
"There are two new Kindred among the Toreador. I want to know everything you can find out about them. And let them know, subtly, that my services are available."
***
Later, when Blake had gone, Tachete stood at the window staring out at the London street below. Gone was the elaborate make-up and costume; she didn't need it now that she was alone. She had her hair pulled back into a loose pony tail, and wore only an over-sized sweater and jeans. And really, had anyone seen her now there was nothing left of the breathtaking magnificence that had sent Blake into spasms of desire. In truth, she looked rather...plain.
Her lips pursed as she considered her course of action. Blake's usefulness will have ended once her provided the information about the two newcomers. As she already knew the location of the Ventrue Primogen's haven, his associates, and his enemies Blake would be able to provide nothing more useful. She nodded to herself, as if having a conversation. The plan was simple. An anonymous phone call to the police to alert them to Blake's...predelictions...and the Masquerade gets blown wide open. The Ventrue scramble to cover everything up, and Blake is executed for his lack of judgment. Clean, neat, and easy.
And then time to move on to new targets.