Welcome to the World of Darkness...
Author's Note: This is part of a background written for my Vampire (role-playing game) character. I apologize for the refrences that seem to have no meaning - they are to the game that was being played at the time.
The cool California night embraced Isabel Marisol as she stepped out of her small apartment complex. Holding an unlit cigarette between her lips, she shrugged into her long, black trench coat. After a brief check to make sure all her knives were in place, she stepped down onto the pavement. The night had begun.
Walking briskly under the humming arc-sodiums, Isabel presented an imposing picture, the ends of her coat flowing around her long, shapely legs. Tall and slender, her lithe body moved with an animal-like grace. Her long, dark hair flowed down her back like a river of midnight, the soft breeze flirting with the trailing ends. A car passed - the headlights bright, blinding her…
The bright lights blacked out the rest of the theatre. She could’ve been the only one in the entire building, standing there on stage. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward - almost to the edge of the orchestra pit - and curtsied. It was time to start the show.
The light changed, shifting out of her eyes…
…pulling her back to the present. The car passed, splashing through a puddle left by a recent rain. Isabel deftly dodged the spray and continued on her way. It was Tuesday, her night to check in with her Sire.
The diner was bright, the fluorescents casting everything in their harsh light. Lady Beatrix Weston looked out of place, sitting in a booth and pretending to sip from a ceramic mug of tea. Isabel slid onto the vinyl seat across from her Sire and smiled. “Lady Weston,” she said, taking the cigarette out of her mouth and tucking it behind her ear.
“Isabel.” Beatrix took another “sip” of tea then set the heavy mug back into the chipped saucer. “You’re late,” she said, glancing at her jeweled wristwatch. Beatrix really was a throwback; a true lady from Regency-era Britain. She sat with her back straight - despite her lack of corset or stays - and her hands properly folded in her lap. Her long, chestnut curls were twisted up in a simple knot at the back of her head, and her dress looked a little more vintage than usual. Isabel shrugged out her coat and set it on the seat next to her. The daggers at her wrists went the way of her coat, tucked into its pockets.
“Got distracted.” A waitress in shoes that squeaked against the stained linoleum crossed to the table and Isabel looked up.
“Can I get you something?” The woman snapped her gum and pulled a pencil out of her messy, blonde hair. Her pad in hand, she looked at Isabel.
“A coffee, please. Black.” She waited until the waitress scribbled the order onto her pad and moved away from the table before turning back to Lady Weston. “Well. How has your week been?”
“Mediocre. Not too many parties, and modern plays make the theatre such a bore.” Isabel smiled.
“Well, what can I say? Our generation just doesn’t have the same respect for entertainment.” Beatrix laughed as the waitress returned with Isabel’s coffee.
“Anything else for you ladies?” Still snapping her gum, she waited, pad and pencil ready.
“No, I do believe we’re fine. But if we could have the check-?” Lady Weston spoke this time, turning the full force of her British distain on the harried looking woman. The waitress nodded and moved away, her shoes still squeaking on the grimy floor.
The two women sat in silence for a while, their hands wrapped around their mugs, absorbing the heat of the drinks. Isabel stared through the window next to the booth, contemplating the deep velvet of the evening outside. Finally, the waitress returned with the check and dropped it on the table.
“You ladies have a nice evening,” she muttered, snapping her gum. Beatrix caught Isabel’s eye and raised one finely arched brow; Isabel grinned back at her.
“Well, I guess that’s another Tuesday wrapped up,” she said. Sliding along the bright red vinyl of the seat, she stood and pulled her wallet out of her back pocket. She dropped enough bills on the table to cover the check and picked up her coat. Lady Weston stayed seated, extending her hand toward Isabel. Pulling on her coat, she bowed gracefully over her Sire’s ringed fingers. “As always, it was a pleasure, my lady.”
Stepping out into the into the cool, California dark once again, Isabel pulled her wrist daggers from her coat pocket and strapped them back into place. The night was still young, and she was hungry. A car drove by, bringing her head up. The bright, Xenon headlights caught her full in the face…
The spot was too bright - she was sweating, makeup dripping off her chin. But the show had to go on. She delivered the right lines and made the right movements…then it was over. The curtains closed and the…
…lights passed by. Isabel shook her head, mentally pushing aside the memory as she stepped onto the sidewalk. Making her way along the rain-slicked pavement, she kept her eyes straight ahead. There was a small café, hidden in an alley a couple blocks from the diner, that catered to a more…eccentric clientele. Keeping to the regular shadows thrown by the streetlamps, Isabel listened to the echo of her footsteps, bouncing off the surrounding buildings.
The nightlife of San Diego rushed around her - people going to plays, to nightclubs, to entertainments unknown. They swarmed like ants, over the sidewalks and crossing streets. Normally, Isabel kept to back streets, avoiding the mass of humanity. The diner was in a more secluded part of town, but to get to the café she had to cross 4th Avenue - and the river of San Diego’s night owls. Making sure all of her knives were well hidden, she merged with the steady stream of people and managed to cross the street.
Separating from the crowd, Isabel ducked into an alley. There was a small, old-fashioned signboard hanging from creaky chains just before the bricked-up dead end. She strode silently along the pavement and up to the door. A small window slides open, revealing a set of eyes so dark they’re almost black.
“Who do you work for?” His voice is low, ominous; he wasn’t here to let people in - but more to keep the unwanted people out.
“Carmen, the Prince of San Diego,” she replied, very matter of fact. “As do we all.” The little window clicked shut and the heavy door swung open. Isabel nodded her thanks and stepped into the dark, smoky club. Weaving her way between other patrons, she made her way to the bar. She smiled at the bartender and settled herself on a stool. “Hey, Louise.”
Louise looked up from wiping the bar and returned the smile. She was short - no more than 5’5” - and had a curly mop of bright blonde hair that was constantly falling into her baby-blue eyes. “Hey, Izzy. How goes it?”
“It goes. You got one of those specials for me tonight?”
Louise grinned. “Of course.” She pulled a glass from under the counter and set it under a tap. She filled it with a warm, thick liquid. After she’d topped it off, Louise set the glass on the worn wooden surface of the bar. “Here, Iz.”
“Thanks, Lou.” Taking the warm glass in her strong hands, she lifted it to her lips and took a sip. “Delicious, as always.” With another smile at Louise, Isabel turned on her stool and looked out over the room. There are a lot of…bodies…here tonight, she thought with a little smile. She gave a slight laugh at the idea as her eyes settled on a man leaning against a post across the room. He was tall, his dark hair slightly mussed as if he’d run his fingers through it after work. Suddenly, he looked up and caught her eye; he grinned and lifted his glass in her direction.
Isabel raised an eyebrow and took a sip of her drink. The blood felt good going down her throat and her eyes slipped closed in pleasure. When she opened them again, the stranger was next to her, leaning back against the bar on her right. Raising and eyebrow, she looked him over, taking in his loosened tie and open collar. She paused, gazing at the triangle of tanned skin revealed by his shirt - and the absence of a pulse point at the base of his throat. Smiling, she ran her tongue lightly over her top row of teeth and glanced away.
“I saw you looking.” His voice was strong and rich - like good brandy, flowing over Isabel’s over-tuned senses. Turning slightly to face her, he grinned. “You should know you can’t hide that type of thing.”
Isabel shrugged. “You caught me,” she said, her voice soft and seductive. She leaned closer to him. “Now what do you intend to do about it?”
“How about introduce myself?” Isabel pulled away slightly and the stranger’s smile widened. He leaned back against the bar again, extending his hand. “I’m Dane.”
“Isabel.” They shook, and Dane reached up and pulled the cigarette from behind her ear.
“Smoker?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Used to be.” She gently tugged the slender paper cylinder from between his fingers and tucked it back behind her ear, letting her long hair fall forward to cover it. Dane put his hands up, palm out.
“Hey. I didn’t mean anything by it.” He went back to leaning against the bar, idly scanning the room. Isabel turned away from him, draining her glass and setting it back on the well-polished countertop. Sticking a bill under the heavy glass, she slipped down off her stool. She nodded to Louise and was halfway to the door when she felt someone behind her. With a flick of her wrist, a dagger slid into her hand.
“Yes?” she asked, turning slowly and balancing on her toes. Dane was standing behind her, his hands tucked into the front pockets of his black slacks. Sighing and rolling her eyes, Isabel sheathed the knife. “You almost got yourself stabbed, you know that?” she muttered. Dane shot her a cocky grin and she growled. Whirling around, Isabel stalked out the door and into the alley. She heard Dane laughing softly behind her.
Dane watched the intriguing woman storm away from him and chuckled. Bet she would be good in the sack, he thought idly. Turning back to the bar, he grinned at Louise. “She’s a card, ain’t she?” Lou smiled back, collecting Isabel’s empty glass and tucking the bill under it into her apron pocket.
“She’s Lasombra,” she replied, as if that explained everything. Wiping away the wet ring left by the drink glass, Louise disappeared into the back. Dane shook his head and settled himself on the stool Isabel had recently occupied. Turning, he idly scanned the café and sipped his drink.
The cool California night embraced Isabel Marisol as she stepped out of her small apartment complex. Holding an unlit cigarette between her lips, she shrugged into her long, black trench coat. After a brief check to make sure all her knives were in place, she stepped down onto the pavement. The night had begun.
Walking briskly under the humming arc-sodiums, Isabel presented an imposing picture, the ends of her coat flowing around her long, shapely legs. Tall and slender, her lithe body moved with an animal-like grace. Her long, dark hair flowed down her back like a river of midnight, the soft breeze flirting with the trailing ends. A car passed - the headlights bright, blinding her…
The bright lights blacked out the rest of the theatre. She could’ve been the only one in the entire building, standing there on stage. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward - almost to the edge of the orchestra pit - and curtsied. It was time to start the show.
The light changed, shifting out of her eyes…
…pulling her back to the present. The car passed, splashing through a puddle left by a recent rain. Isabel deftly dodged the spray and continued on her way. It was Tuesday, her night to check in with her Sire.
The diner was bright, the fluorescents casting everything in their harsh light. Lady Beatrix Weston looked out of place, sitting in a booth and pretending to sip from a ceramic mug of tea. Isabel slid onto the vinyl seat across from her Sire and smiled. “Lady Weston,” she said, taking the cigarette out of her mouth and tucking it behind her ear.
“Isabel.” Beatrix took another “sip” of tea then set the heavy mug back into the chipped saucer. “You’re late,” she said, glancing at her jeweled wristwatch. Beatrix really was a throwback; a true lady from Regency-era Britain. She sat with her back straight - despite her lack of corset or stays - and her hands properly folded in her lap. Her long, chestnut curls were twisted up in a simple knot at the back of her head, and her dress looked a little more vintage than usual. Isabel shrugged out her coat and set it on the seat next to her. The daggers at her wrists went the way of her coat, tucked into its pockets.
“Got distracted.” A waitress in shoes that squeaked against the stained linoleum crossed to the table and Isabel looked up.
“Can I get you something?” The woman snapped her gum and pulled a pencil out of her messy, blonde hair. Her pad in hand, she looked at Isabel.
“A coffee, please. Black.” She waited until the waitress scribbled the order onto her pad and moved away from the table before turning back to Lady Weston. “Well. How has your week been?”
“Mediocre. Not too many parties, and modern plays make the theatre such a bore.” Isabel smiled.
“Well, what can I say? Our generation just doesn’t have the same respect for entertainment.” Beatrix laughed as the waitress returned with Isabel’s coffee.
“Anything else for you ladies?” Still snapping her gum, she waited, pad and pencil ready.
“No, I do believe we’re fine. But if we could have the check-?” Lady Weston spoke this time, turning the full force of her British distain on the harried looking woman. The waitress nodded and moved away, her shoes still squeaking on the grimy floor.
The two women sat in silence for a while, their hands wrapped around their mugs, absorbing the heat of the drinks. Isabel stared through the window next to the booth, contemplating the deep velvet of the evening outside. Finally, the waitress returned with the check and dropped it on the table.
“You ladies have a nice evening,” she muttered, snapping her gum. Beatrix caught Isabel’s eye and raised one finely arched brow; Isabel grinned back at her.
“Well, I guess that’s another Tuesday wrapped up,” she said. Sliding along the bright red vinyl of the seat, she stood and pulled her wallet out of her back pocket. She dropped enough bills on the table to cover the check and picked up her coat. Lady Weston stayed seated, extending her hand toward Isabel. Pulling on her coat, she bowed gracefully over her Sire’s ringed fingers. “As always, it was a pleasure, my lady.”
Stepping out into the into the cool, California dark once again, Isabel pulled her wrist daggers from her coat pocket and strapped them back into place. The night was still young, and she was hungry. A car drove by, bringing her head up. The bright, Xenon headlights caught her full in the face…
The spot was too bright - she was sweating, makeup dripping off her chin. But the show had to go on. She delivered the right lines and made the right movements…then it was over. The curtains closed and the…
…lights passed by. Isabel shook her head, mentally pushing aside the memory as she stepped onto the sidewalk. Making her way along the rain-slicked pavement, she kept her eyes straight ahead. There was a small café, hidden in an alley a couple blocks from the diner, that catered to a more…eccentric clientele. Keeping to the regular shadows thrown by the streetlamps, Isabel listened to the echo of her footsteps, bouncing off the surrounding buildings.
The nightlife of San Diego rushed around her - people going to plays, to nightclubs, to entertainments unknown. They swarmed like ants, over the sidewalks and crossing streets. Normally, Isabel kept to back streets, avoiding the mass of humanity. The diner was in a more secluded part of town, but to get to the café she had to cross 4th Avenue - and the river of San Diego’s night owls. Making sure all of her knives were well hidden, she merged with the steady stream of people and managed to cross the street.
Separating from the crowd, Isabel ducked into an alley. There was a small, old-fashioned signboard hanging from creaky chains just before the bricked-up dead end. She strode silently along the pavement and up to the door. A small window slides open, revealing a set of eyes so dark they’re almost black.
“Who do you work for?” His voice is low, ominous; he wasn’t here to let people in - but more to keep the unwanted people out.
“Carmen, the Prince of San Diego,” she replied, very matter of fact. “As do we all.” The little window clicked shut and the heavy door swung open. Isabel nodded her thanks and stepped into the dark, smoky club. Weaving her way between other patrons, she made her way to the bar. She smiled at the bartender and settled herself on a stool. “Hey, Louise.”
Louise looked up from wiping the bar and returned the smile. She was short - no more than 5’5” - and had a curly mop of bright blonde hair that was constantly falling into her baby-blue eyes. “Hey, Izzy. How goes it?”
“It goes. You got one of those specials for me tonight?”
Louise grinned. “Of course.” She pulled a glass from under the counter and set it under a tap. She filled it with a warm, thick liquid. After she’d topped it off, Louise set the glass on the worn wooden surface of the bar. “Here, Iz.”
“Thanks, Lou.” Taking the warm glass in her strong hands, she lifted it to her lips and took a sip. “Delicious, as always.” With another smile at Louise, Isabel turned on her stool and looked out over the room. There are a lot of…bodies…here tonight, she thought with a little smile. She gave a slight laugh at the idea as her eyes settled on a man leaning against a post across the room. He was tall, his dark hair slightly mussed as if he’d run his fingers through it after work. Suddenly, he looked up and caught her eye; he grinned and lifted his glass in her direction.
Isabel raised an eyebrow and took a sip of her drink. The blood felt good going down her throat and her eyes slipped closed in pleasure. When she opened them again, the stranger was next to her, leaning back against the bar on her right. Raising and eyebrow, she looked him over, taking in his loosened tie and open collar. She paused, gazing at the triangle of tanned skin revealed by his shirt - and the absence of a pulse point at the base of his throat. Smiling, she ran her tongue lightly over her top row of teeth and glanced away.
“I saw you looking.” His voice was strong and rich - like good brandy, flowing over Isabel’s over-tuned senses. Turning slightly to face her, he grinned. “You should know you can’t hide that type of thing.”
Isabel shrugged. “You caught me,” she said, her voice soft and seductive. She leaned closer to him. “Now what do you intend to do about it?”
“How about introduce myself?” Isabel pulled away slightly and the stranger’s smile widened. He leaned back against the bar again, extending his hand. “I’m Dane.”
“Isabel.” They shook, and Dane reached up and pulled the cigarette from behind her ear.
“Smoker?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Used to be.” She gently tugged the slender paper cylinder from between his fingers and tucked it back behind her ear, letting her long hair fall forward to cover it. Dane put his hands up, palm out.
“Hey. I didn’t mean anything by it.” He went back to leaning against the bar, idly scanning the room. Isabel turned away from him, draining her glass and setting it back on the well-polished countertop. Sticking a bill under the heavy glass, she slipped down off her stool. She nodded to Louise and was halfway to the door when she felt someone behind her. With a flick of her wrist, a dagger slid into her hand.
“Yes?” she asked, turning slowly and balancing on her toes. Dane was standing behind her, his hands tucked into the front pockets of his black slacks. Sighing and rolling her eyes, Isabel sheathed the knife. “You almost got yourself stabbed, you know that?” she muttered. Dane shot her a cocky grin and she growled. Whirling around, Isabel stalked out the door and into the alley. She heard Dane laughing softly behind her.
Dane watched the intriguing woman storm away from him and chuckled. Bet she would be good in the sack, he thought idly. Turning back to the bar, he grinned at Louise. “She’s a card, ain’t she?” Lou smiled back, collecting Isabel’s empty glass and tucking the bill under it into her apron pocket.
“She’s Lasombra,” she replied, as if that explained everything. Wiping away the wet ring left by the drink glass, Louise disappeared into the back. Dane shook his head and settled himself on the stool Isabel had recently occupied. Turning, he idly scanned the café and sipped his drink.