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Promises; Andrew & Leslie; Closed
Topic Started: Jan 22 2014, 11:50 PM (252 Views)
Cameron Comorraza
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Having been here for a couple of months, getting a very basic lay of the land, and sampling some of what Detroit had to offer, Leslie had quickly found this city was not her cup of tea. Or all this goddamn snow wasn't, but maybe that was just the cold-blooded lizard inside of her begging and pleading for just five minutes in direct sunlight. She was supposed to be laying out on the beach, working on her tan, or shopping on Rodeo Drive, wearing flip flops and and loose long sleeve shirts. Not freezing her fucking ass off in Detroit trying to sort the trials of her past, present, and future.

But alas, here she was, strutting down the street and subconsciously slipping into the pedestrian hive mind that'd been wired into her brain since a young child. Even though all the people around her walked at their own leisurely pace, Leslie's was brisk, thoughtless, yet precisely on point. Leave it to the Brooklyn native to make walking down a busy street look like an Olympic sport. There was a place she needed to go, a person she needed to see, and her sense of direction took her from there, dodging a food cart, sidestepping an elderly couple, and skipping over a dog's leash that could've easily tangled her ankle and brought her down to the cold, wet pavement. But that didn't happen, because all those years of stomping all over New York City actually paid off for something, it seemed. Besides broken dreams, but that was beside the point.

Rounding the corner, the Cutting Building and the Prince came into view, one two-way street separating her clusterfuck of a past from her tentative future. She was dressed rather simply, but given how stupid cold it'd been getting after the sun set, her urban Eskimo look was warmer then her sexy one was. Coming up to wide glass double doors, Leslie pushed her way into the main lobby of the Cutting building and sauntered up to the reception desk anchored in the middle of the common area. She was dressed in the usual dark wash skinny jeans, slouchy black, flat-soled boots leather boots, and a loose, creamy cable knit sweater that subdued her murderous curves beneath a charcoal colored pea coat. Her head and neck were swathed in a light grey cowl, a large black designer bag hanging from the crook of her elbow, and her black tresses framing her pale, frost bitten face demurely. She wore no make up, making her bright blue eyes the focal point of her muted features as she approached the head receptionist behind the desk.

Leslie began talking before the friendly face seated across from her could even greet her, "Um, I was wondering if Andrew, I mean, Sir Andrew, Cutting was available? If he's even here. If not, that's perfectly fine too, I'll just come back another time or something." It was evident in the rushed way she spoke and tight set of her shoulders that she was nervous, silently hoping she'd be told he was too busy to be seen or wasn't here at all.
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Andrew Cutting
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The building was as busy as ever it was; with fashionable restaurants, bars and clubs on the ground floor along with a few more exclusive shops and a bank business never stopped here, day or night. Comparatively few people entered through the lobby, but even so it remained busy 24 hours a day - the offices on the upper floors remained open almost all the time facilitating several of the city's newspapers, magazines and other media outlets as well as a number of other businesses. The Cutting Building was monumental and had been a part of the Detroit landscape for decades - it certainly predated Andrew's tenure in the city though it had not hosted a member of the family to which it owed its name until his arrival.

As Leslie entered the lobby through the main doors the hive-like nature of the place would become obvious; the lobby itself was three stories high from floor to ceiling with huge fashionable modern chandeliers hanging over them. The whole place was a monument to simple elegance and modern yet quite serious style; solid polished granite and marble, metal edging and lots of glass. At the back was a large cylindrical tower which climbed up into the ceiling; this tower housed the elevators and on the outside edge, the stairs which spiralled in a wider arc around the outer edge of the tower itself. The spaces on either side of the tower, between it and the edge walls, lead into the atrium, a vast internal space at the core of the building between which walkways ran and in which even trees, plants and waterways had been placed.

At the centre of the lobby, directly ahead of her was the reception desk; like a huge island this oval held perhaps twenty staff members, each with their own phone and computer; the centre of this oval was partitioned into cubicles for the head receptionist, lobby security and switchboard operators. Leslie’s approach did not go unnoticed by the staff behind the desk, or by the security guards who stood around the place; it wasn’t that she looked like trouble, but most of the people who entered through the lobby made a beeline for the elevators and the atrium – already knowing where it was they were headed and possessing the relevant security card to access the building.

Once at the desk Leslie was greeted by a youthful but professional looking receptionist, dressing in her fine office wear with her hair tied fashionably back like the other women working on this little island of activity. With a smile she nodded at Leslie’s words and pressed the call button for the Head Receptionist, who stepped out of her office and walked around. After the receptionist had explained why Leslie was here she stepped back to allow the Head Receptionist a seat by the phone.

"Sir Andrew is a very busy man. But I shall find out for you if he is available; who should I say is enquiring after him?" Her N'Orleans accent came through strong in her speech, it was warm and welcoming and she gave Leslie a polite smile as she spoke - clearly good customer service was something Andrew had insisted on for his staff.
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Cameron Comorraza
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"Leslie," she said, pulling back the cowl to billow in folds around her neck, "Leslie Moltisanti." She said a second time for clarification, returning the smile weakly before her eyes began flickering around the massive expanse of the building. She took a step back and waited as people were surely being called, calls being transferred, and the announcement of her arrival working it's way through the busy phone lines, all the way up to Andrew.

Apparently that meant he was here. She looked up, admiring the chandeliers hanging overhead and taking it all in. The Beverly Hills Hotel was nice, but this place made it look shy and modest in comparison to the luxury and wealth that seeped off the walls. He always outdid himself, that much she knew to expect, but her memories of stumbling through here four nights before were hazy at best. She didn't even remember this giant command center being here... did she even walk through here? Fuck if she knew.

Part of her suddenly felt out of place here, like she didn't belong, and should walk away. Part of her wanted to, simply because she knew the conversation that needed to be had wouldn't be an easy one. The anxiety of facing him again, given her encounter with Angelo two nights ago, had her heart beating a mile a minute. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe nothing good would come of this, but for whatever reason, despite how badly she wanted to bolt, another teeny tiny piece of her overrode all of this confusion in her head and told her to stay. To try. So she would. Patience was never one of her strong suits though.
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Andrew Cutting
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Contrary to how busy the 'command centre' was the process of contacting Andrew was actually comparatively quick and efficient; the Head Reception had been given an exact procedure to follow should Leslie arrive in the building asking for him and it involved her use of the direct line to his office - something which required a security code and a thumb print ID. Andrew was a busy man and few things gave him cause to break away from his meticulously planned schedule but this? This was one of those things. The Head Receptionist didn't know why, she didn't need to - it wasn't her job to ask questions, or to know anything - it was her job to follow procedure and to dial straight through. 99% of the people who came asking for Andrew were turned away, she'd phone through to the switchboard, they would tell her that he was busy and that was that - the 1% of people who went through the direct line were rare. At the moment the only people in Detroit it applied to were Don Evangelos Giovanni, Prince Matachelli, the Baron and now Leslie.

There was a brief exchange over the phone, inaudible over the sound that filled the space, it took all of three sentences to complete and the phone was back in its cradle and the Head Receptionist was standing up again. With a warm smile on her face she pressed the service button on the little panel beside the phone and a well dressed man in a tailored but uniform suit stepped over to the desk. He had an ID badge on his chest and an earpiece, though he didn't look anything like the security guards which strolled about the place here and there; he had the build of a professional bodyguard, but his attire and his manner were wrong.

"Would you escort this lady up to see Sir Andrew please?" The question was redundant, it was more a polite way of passing an instruction than anything else. With a nod the suited man looked at Leslie and with a quick, but not quite so practiced smile spoke. "Please, follow me. I'll take you straight up." With that he lead her over to the express elevator at the far end of the lobby, unlocking it with his card and the thumb scanner he stood and motioned for Leslie to enter, though he did not follow her. Clearly even he did not have the clearance to step into that elevator - the whole scene would surely have reminded Leslie of Andrew's pervasive paranoia when it came to security and personal safety. Back in LA it had been a bunker dressed up as a penthouse apartment in the Beverley Hills Hotel - here it was tight security, beyond anything he'd previously had in place.

Once inside the elevator Leslie would see that it had two control panels, one activated by a code and hand print, the other a simple three button array; up, down and emergency call. Right now though the only button which was lit was the 'up' one. The whole space was a beautiful industrial rendering; the doors decorated with stylised industrial forms showing a scene like the inside of a steelworks molded and carved out of the metal and plated in bronze. The walls were reinforced glass and on all sides ran a ceaseless array of cogs and mechanical workings are slowly rotated in perfect time - great pendulums swung rhythmically - it must be ecstasy for a man so obsessed with precision and perfection as Andrew to witness and the whole array served no other purpose than that. It was a piece of art on a vast scale running up the entirety of the inside of the tower which housed the elevators - no such device could have existed for any practical purpose it was quite simply an incredible exaggeration of mechanical and engineering beauty. To be crass it was there to look pretty.

The express elevator was quick, but not uncomfortably so; it seemed to glide up the elevator shaft so smoothly that it must have been a masterwork in design no doubt paid for with money being no object. It was warmly lit and not polluted by any music, allowing the myriad sounds of the machinery around her to tick and rumble away and the air was comfortably cool. After mere minutes it arrived at its destination, the doors opening onto a reception room which followed a similar style to the elevator, heavy on the metal and bronze with solid polished stone pillars, shot with veins of varying metals clearly in the natural ore form but treated to a smooth mirror finish. The expense of it all must have staggered Leslie - in Beverley Hill Andrew had shown wealth that was vast but well within comprehension - here, in this building was wealth beyond comprehension. This building had been built by the Cutting Family - even Andrew could not have paid for it out of his own personal fortune - but it served as his domain none the less.

If there was security here to tell of Andrew's paranoia then it could not be seen; more likely it was cleverly hidden than absent. Directly ahead of the elevator was a large sweeping desk which usually would have housed a trio of administrators who served also as receptionists and secretaries. However no-one stood or sat behind it at present - instead there was a man, dressed almost identically to the one downstairs who, with a smile and a motion of his hand opened a door in the right hand corner of the room and beckoned her in.

The space beyond seemed smaller and more comfortable but at the same time gave off the feeling of being larger than it was. The walls were lined with shelves, meticulously laid out with neat alcoves and clever contours for maximum space efficiency. The books upon them though exquisitely bound and embossed bore no titles but rather serial numbers stamped neatly into the leather in gold. There were only two source of light in the room, a large fireplace which emitted a soft glow from the deep embers of a fire which had obviously been lit hours before and a reading lamp which rested on an end table beside the wing backed leather chair. The lamp had been turned down so that its glow matched that given off by the fire and one of this beautiful looking books rested beside it with its serial number on proud display.

Andrew looked up at Leslie as she entered and then stood, as was polite for a gentleman when a lady entered the room. A chair much like the one in which Andrew had been sat had been placed a comfortable distance across from his, in which Leslie could sit and though the surroundings could have been specifically chosen for the event they were in fact not. Andrew had been working, reading through his extensive records on a business matter when he had received word of Leslie's arrival - being unable to delay her without seeming rude he had had his staff prepare the space for receiving her directly.

"Good evening, Leslie. Please, have a seat - I wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon. Not that I'm not glad you decided to speak with me again, but you caught me a little off guard...ah its no matter. Do you want something to drink?"
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Cameron Comorraza
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Standing by herself in the elevator, watching those doors close, and feeling the mechanics begin to whir and purr all around her was sobering. What in the fuck was she thinking coming here? For whatever reason, she'd had it in her head that she'd be able to just mosey into the building, tell whoever needed to be told that she was here, but didn't want to stay, and they could take this talk somewhere on more neutral ground. But now that she was trapped in this beautifully overwhelming mechanical tower of sorts, she felt like slapping herself in the face for being so stupid in thinking this could ever be that simple.

She wasn't quite sure what to expect. It wasn't that she was expecting the worst, or still seriously thought there was a chance Andrew was going to kill her, but this was all so goddamn nerve wracking, and she couldn't figure out why beyond just being uncomfortable around him. Irrational fear or not, all she knew was that he was old and had more money than God. She remembered detailed security in her time with him, but they were never under this much lock and key then. What had changed? Why was he so hell-bent on literally making himself untouchable? Maybe it was something beyond her simple mind's comprehension, but she highly doubted he was so sought after and desired that he felt the need to hole up in the tallest tower in the entire fucking city. Did he get knowingly stalked on a regular basis by sleazeballs with hardons? She didn't think so. She also didn't underestimate the severe differences between her enemies, if you could even call them that, and his.

Her thoughts were brought to a halt with the elevator, watching the doors part and slide open, and finding an empty room save another black suit beckoning her to cross the threshold and go where he directed her to. The secret service man had no idea what he was asking of her, having been swallowed whole and being spit out into the heart of the Cutting building. Simply stepping out of the elevator suddenly became five billion times harder than it was supposed to be. She felt like her feet were glued to the fucking floor, and the fresh wave of anxiety had her palms sweating and her heartbeat pounding in her eardrums.

Andrew has never hurt me before... He won't hurt me now. He's never hurt me before. He won't hurt me now. He's never hurt me before. He won't hurt me now.

She had to keep saying this over and over in her head as she willed her feet to move, finally stepping out of the elevator and giving the man that'd been staring at her like she'd missed the biggest line of the show a small awkward smile as she approached before darting passed him and into the room. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the low lighting of the room, the rest of the lights in this building seemingly glaring in comparison. Her eyes took in the comfortable expanse of the room, landing on Andrew's now standing form with hesitation. She felt stuck just inside the doorway again, needing to move before she made a nervous spectacle of herself. She didn't feel this way often, never really had issues like this before in her short lifetime, but was finding how inwardly annoying it all was as she kept repeating her self-assuring mantra in her head, taking meek steps towards him and drowning out his words as she drew nearer.

It was almost painful how hard it was to just relax and let herself adjust with her surroundings. The tense set of her jaw and shoulders would have been more understandable if she were walking through a room lined floor to ceiling with priceless antiques, but the only one she saw was towering in front of her. She'd forgotten what it was like to be standing before him without four or five inch heels on her feet. Now, she felt incredibly small, having only heard half of what he said, her blue gaze hadn't dared to meet his yet, "Something hot, I'm not picky, thanks," She said quickly, try as she might to swallow her anxiety and pretend it wasn't there. She silently wondered for a moment if he still kept the peppermint tea he used to have at the hotel. There wasn't anything special about it that she knew of, but the only time she ever got to enjoy it was with him. Part of her wondered if she even wanted it despite how good it sounded for her frozen lizard insides.

Risking a glance up at him, she found as soon as her eyes found his, they were caught there, unable to look anywhere else, "I'm sorry if I interrupted something," the slightest, nervous gasp for breath, "I didn't know how else to find you. I can make this quick if you'd like." Yes, quick sounded good. The idea of speedily listing off the jumbled mess of things she needed to tell him and then running out the door sounded agreeable. She sat down in the seat he offered her slowly, shedding her coat letting her purse fall to the floor by her feet.

She lacked the liquid courage she had earlier in the week, as well as the flashy clothing, confidence, and her face. She couldn't remember if she'd ever let him see her not done up, and now here she was, with no make-up, push-up bra, or stilettos to aid her outward appearance. She wasn't nearly as unkempt as she felt, but that could've also been the nasty head cold she was nursing making her feel like absolute shit inside and out. In all reality, coming to see him now probably wasn't the smartest move on her part, but she didn't want him to think she was blowing him off, never to be seen again. She looked down to her hands she spoke, her fingers knotting together restlessly, "I think before we can be companions or whatever, we need to sort all the bullshit behind us," She said quietly, "And I didn't want you to think I didn't appreciate what you did for me the other night."
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Andrew Cutting
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Andrew gave a curt nod of his head to the attendant who had held the door for Leslie, in response the man bowed and left the room, closing the door behind him. Then Andrew took his seat and turned his frosty gaze over to Leslie; she had shed her usual outer skin of cleverly and skillfully applied makeup and particular items of apparel in favour of a plainer look, he wondered for a moment why she had made this decision, if it was a conscious one or just something she had done as mortals so often did, on little more than a whim. He couldn't get an answer just be looking at her though, not without some form of communication but he'd promised long ago not to use his ability to alter the minds of those around him against her - as limited as his supernatural ability was in that field he wasn't about to admit that to Leslie; he had always relied upon his natural skill at manipulation and only filtered in his low level Presence when absolutely necessary.

As she sat he noticed a change in her aura, a hardly tangible twinge which showed more brightly and deeply the more he looked at her. With the swift and meticulous efficiency of a machine the logic engine that was his mind flicked through endless reams of data which had been stored within his compartmentalised mind. Ruthlessly sifting through memories, lessons and experience he pulled out a particular folder and flicked it open; what he saw neither pleased nor comforted him, quite the contrary it enraged him. She was a ghoul, someone else's ghoul. How could she do this to him, she had fled him, spurned him for the exact reason that he was a kindred and now she had gone and consumed the blood of another. The sense of rejection and the massive hypocrisy of it struck him like a physical force; he gripped the arms of his chair tightly as he tried to suppress the rage that built within him.

He could not give into anger now, he lived by a code of honour, a system of promises and oaths exchanged which held deeper meaning that could only be broken by blood. Leslie had come dangerously close to shattering the protection the had from Andrew as a result of this code. He had promised never to harm her, the only thing which could break that was blood - by accepting the blood of another she had come so close, but as he read her aura he saw that she had accepted the blood just once and the bond had not yet been fully formed. That did not stop his rage, but it did help; if the bond had been made then there would be nothing stopping him from leaping at her and ending her ridiculous mortal life. He consoled himself with her fragility, knowing that he could destroy her...

No, he would not indulge such thoughts - it brought him too close to the monster inside and if he succumbed to that then he was little better than the mewling chattel that made up the common rabble among his kind. He was a Cutting! He would rise above his Beast as he had done for decades, and as his forebears had for centuries before him, and would continue to do so long after he was dust. It was a paradox, the easiest way to suppress the rage he felt, the waking Beast, would be to kill her and be done with it - yet in killing her now he would be succumbing to the very thing he was trying to suppress. Catch 22 all over again, the whole situation would have been delicious if it hadn't been so painful.

So he sat there facing her like the damned fool he was, slowly releasing his death grasp on the arms of his chair. He almost felt like a god damn cuckold - if they'd been in a relationship then he almost certainly would have ended her with his bare hands; but they weren't and as he struggled inside himself this was the one thing which gave his rational mind strength. She had wounded him, but fortunately to a degree which could not overrule his rational self altogether; he would use this to temper his emotions, he would use this to complete the transformation which he now realised had been going on from the moment he'd been embraced. No longer would he allow emotions to be a factor in his existence - this woman, the only woman he'd felt anything for since his embrace, indeed the only person to have given him any emotion other than a sense of duty and loyalty, had betrayed him. Emotions could only bring him danger.

He exhaled, long and deep, unnecessary biologically speaking but completely necessary in maintain his self control. "You have been... unbelievably brave in coming her after what you've done. Or perhaps its stupidity - or maybe you just wanted to throw it in my face... I don't care. I have been a fool to let you play so dangerous a game with me; I should have killed you the night you walked into my hotel in Beverley Hills. I should have killed you the night I saw you again in that bar across the street. I should kill you now after everything you have done."

"Despite what you are I had nothing but love for you. I showed you nothing but generosity and care and my sense of honour held me back from making you mine - and despite all that you do this. Tell me why I shouldn't just break every promise I ever made to you right now - tell me why I shouldn't just cross the space between us and break you in two?"
His nostrils flared and all of a sudden a look of terrible malice overtook his face - he no longer looked human - he looked like a monster wearing human skin, gazing at her through ice blue eyes. There was a long of unbelievable predatory majesty to him then that filled the entire room with his dark presence.
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Cameron Comorraza
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The carefully measured amount of animosity in Andrew's words made her shrink into her chair. With every syllable, it was if he was smacking her across the face. She'd come here to find a middle ground, to work out what happened four years before, and even apologize. She just wanted to be at peace with their relationship, whatever it was. Looking at him blankly, she could feel herself shaking like a leaf under his hard gaze. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, couldn't think. She felt frozen by his cold stare, and all she could do was take it. She deserved it anyways. This much she'd already admitted to herself two nights before, "You should have." She managed quietly, agreeing with him, and taking every ounce of willpower she had to look away from him. She'd told him this four nights ago. That much she remembered. He must not have taken her that seriously, wishing he'd told her about his way of life, or death, earlier on so she could've ran before he had feelings for her. So he could've just killed her then and saved them both the fucking trouble. Then, he was more optimistic, now though... not so much.

Why shouldn't he just kill her now? Cross the space between them and just end her? She couldn't come up with an answer. All she could do was lace her trembling fingers together and suck in nervous breaths as she tried to rationalize what she'd just walked into. How he even knew that she'd drank from Angelo was beyond her. Did he even know it was Angelo, though? So, Andrew was either watching her like a hawk or he was probing her mind or something. She couldn't begin to comprehend it all. It just made the tremors that were rattling her body that much harder to keep under control. She'd never seen him look like this before, let alone at her. His fury was palpable, just as was her anxiety that was quickly shooting through the roof and nearing panic.

Not here, not now. Not here, not now. Not fucking here, not fucking now.

She closed her eyes, sucking in a breath and sounding as if she was in pain as she exhaled, trying to keep that piece of her that was unbelievably frightened and on the ledge from falling and shattering into a hundred pieces. She couldn't have a panic attack here. Not here. Not now. There was a time and place for that. This was not it.

She refused to cry. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing that much weakness. He was seeing enough as it was, she had to pull herself together. She crossed her arms across her waist, hugging herself and still looking down at her feet. "I can't," She said honestly. Because in all reality, she really couldn't give him one good reason as to why he shouldn't just end her. But yet... this? What was this that he was referring to? Did he see this as betrayal? Was that why he was so angry? What promises did she ever make to him that she'd broken to deserve being berated like this? Did he even fucking understand why she did what she did? Or why she was here in the first place? If he was poking around in her head, he'd know that she did it because she didn't feel like leaving this world two nights ago. He'd know that she did it because she was under the impression that eventually, she'd have to die one way or another, and this was the only way to buy herself time. He'd know that she was still scared shitless of what it meant to have Angelo's blood in her. He'd know that she came here because she never understood why he did what he did until now. Until her own death was imminent.

So if he wasn't in her head, where was he getting this from? A fresh drop of confusion and paranoia rippled through her. Leslie finally looked up to Andrew, her resolve weak, but at least it was there, "I can't tell you why you shouldn't do it. All I know is you should have done it a long time ago, but you didn't. If you really want to get technical, I shouldn't have even been your problem. I should've been taken care of seven years ago." Apparently the Camarilla had more humanity then they cared to let on. It was one of the Prince's scouts in Paris that had found her stuck to a sidewalk; all he did was help her up and escorted her back to her hotel. Maybe he had no idea what happened to her, or maybe he just felt like being kind to her. She'd never know, but if dying then would've prevented having to feel the way she did now... She would've rather just met her maker then.

"You know, it took me three hours this afternoon to convince myself to come here. Because all anyone wants to talk about is me dying one way or another, and how I can't trust one goddamn person in this city, and no matter what I do, I will never be able to outrun this." She sighed. It was evident that such topics of conversation were taking a toll on her, "I didn't come here to be a bitch to you, Andrew. I came here because I haven't been able to sleep. I haven't been able to eat. I haven't been able to think about anything but you and all of this. I came here because until two nights ago, I didn't understand why you let this go on as long as you did. Maybe I still don't, but please don't tell me what I think or what I feel. If I never loved you, I wouldn't be here now."

She didn't know what else to say. Judging by how quickly all of this was unravelling, all she could really think about now, beyond the whirlpool of emotions she was feeling, was if she'd be walking out of here tonight. Should she start praying? Maybe now would be a good time to text her mother and let her know she was about to be filthy rich. Andrew would probably come unglued though if she pulled out her phone and attempted to tune him out while texting her goodbyes. At this point though...what did it matter? "You're talking like I've deceived you when I haven't seen you in almost five years. I ran from you the first time because of what you just did. Turning on me, threatening me, and talking to me like I'm the dirt beneath your feet. You don't know why I did this. You didn't even bother to ask or try to understand, when that's all I have been trying to do since it happened. You think I like this? I mean, I really didn't want to have to die, but if all this 'ghouling' or whatever is going to get me is more death threats, please, just do it. Forget the fact that I came here because I have no reason to avoid you now, or run from you, and just kill me. Please. I'm sick of constantly living in fear. This isn't worth it anymore."

She sat back in her seat and watched him warily, chewing on her bottom lip, and staving off the tears that wanted to fall. She didn't know what to feel about dying but the more time that passed, the more sure she was that she was getting closer to experiencing it. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he'd make it quick and painless. Surely being snapped in two would be pretty instantaneous, wouldn't it? She cycled through these emotions, wanting to weep, to scream, to beat her fists against his chest and make him see that this wasn't all about him. But she was too tired to mourn her own death. It seemed like everyone was.
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Andrew Cutting
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Here she was, acting like she was the victim, like it was all his fault. How dare she, how could she have the audacity to think it, much less voice it aloud? So she'd had trouble sleeping, had she, good that was the least of what she deserved - be he realised that simple death was too good for her. To kill her would just bring an end to her suffering and though he might have doubted her emotions his sight told him that they were real, that she was not lying about how she felt. She claimed that she didn't understand and maybe she didn't but that made her no less guilty - she should have been his, and would have been if not for her hypocrisy and her rejection of everything he had offered her. He saw it now, how one sided this relationship had been; she might have felt something for him once, but it hardly equated to what he had felt for her. She had used his feelings and exposed a dangerous chink in his armour and for that he had no forgiveness in him.

Andrew's anger had not abated, it was simply being channeled now by his rational self; it was fueling his mind, focusing it and bringing a sense of clarity that he'd lost. His mind set to work now on how to proceed, the political angles, the technicalities and the specifics - this was the birth of a new path for Andrew and he was not going to waste this strength he had gained from this experience. He was going to use it, cast it into the forge and draw it out anew. Leslie had played him for a fool, even if she hadn't intended to, he didn't care about what her intention had been, only what the affect was.

"Enough. You... you were mine. I had staked a claim - you were my property; I was just too clouded by pitiable mortal considerations, notions of love, to treat you like it. Now? Now you have emancipated yourself and I have no respect for that. You are nothing but a whore; a damned harlot who would have me bow and scrape and give you everything that I have and you almost succeeded. It is fortunate that you are also an imbecile or you would have gotten away with it." His gaze burned with a cold, unnatural fire which seemed to have a presence of its own - looking into his eyes one could see the monster that hid within his well kept and gentlemanly facade. He did not seem even remotely human any more and he did not feel like the Andrew that Leslie had met all those years ago, nor even the one she had met just days before. Gone was any pretense of gentlemanly conduct or good manners, gone was his controlled exterior; in its place a terrifying avatar of pure hatred sat, slaying Leslie's soul with every second that he gazed at her.

"Your death would serve no purpose now, besides I would rather see you suffer - face that final indignity of what you are before the whole world - then simply give you an easy way out. Who knows, perhaps this latest pimp that you have given your body to will grant you an eternity to look at what you are and to know that disgrace. There is nothing worse in this world than a willing whore; you could have left that behind you a long time ago - but you chose this instead. You fuck anyone who can pay and you do it for the perverted pleasure of others. I think an eternity stuck in that cycle of spiritual poverty and moral degradation is a much more fitting end than a bullet through the chest or a blade through your heart."

The Toreador leaned back in his seat, propping his chin up on his arm which was braced against the arm of his chair. The visible anger seemed to have left him, though the tangible presence of it did not dissipate - it remained like a thick fog pouring from his skin, seeping from every pore. Now he looked once again like that handsome man in his late thirties, maybe early forties, the man he always had looked like - but for his eyes, though no physical transformation had taken place there was a change in them. Rather than seeming human they looked like the eyes of a man who had forsaken his own soul - the Beast was there now, working in harmony with the Andrew that was.

In the silence that followed the attendant returned, somewhat nervously, with a tray which held a singular cup, with that peppermint tea which had meant so much to Leslie so long ago; now no doubt the taste would seem bitter after all that was happening. The house of cards that was their relationship was finally starting to fall.
Edited by Andrew Cutting, Jan 27 2014, 04:40 PM.
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Cameron Comorraza
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Staked a claim? Property? Notions of love? What the fuck?

Leslie stared at Andrew incredulously, hardly believing all the arrogant bullshit falling out of his mouth, and there it was; Whore. Harlot. Imbecile. It's amazing what one word, or one string of words, can do to a person's psyche in times of personal hell and havoc, as every single one of his went in one ear and out the other as she scoffed and let a smirk quirk her pretty features. The tears that threatened to spill had dried, the fear and anxiety that had her heart wanting to rip itself out of her chest had subsided, and all she could do was laugh at him, "You make absolutely no fucking sense, Andrew Cutting. None at all."

She hadn't realized that there was another presence in the room until what appeared to be a rather awkward attendant moved into her line of sight and set a singular tray before her with one cup of tea, steam radiating from the piping hot cup. She paid no mind to him, helping herself as she leaned forward and took the dainty cup in her hands, the heat that seeped into the palms setting her whole body at ease. The smell of peppermint overwhelmed her senses as she lifted it to her lips and took a careful sip, delightfully burning her tongue as all different kinds of thoughts swirled around in her mind. Some would debate if she'd found an anchor in his insults or if she was coming unhinged as she sat back, still wearing that same sweet, sardonic smile, "You have to tell me where you get this tea, though. I'll have to have my pimp order it in bulk. I could drink it everyday for the rest of my life and die a happy woman. Thank you for being so gracious to me, though. Even whores need good tea from time to time, soothes the aches and pains of all the profitable fucking we do." Her words were dripping with sarcasm and bitterness. He'd lit a fire inside of her that would be wildly strong and short lived. It always was. But it'd be enough for now, as she refused to let him think he'd have the last word without making himself sound like an incorrigible fucking ass. How was the for fucking fancy speak?!

"Do you seriously think you're the first person to call me a stupid slut? I mean, really, Andrew? I thought you were more creative than that." She took another sip of her tea and settled back once more, crossing her legs at the knee and lifting her chin defiantly to him, deflecting every ill-spoken word and returning them with nothing but a shit-eating grin. "Four nights ago, you couldn't let all my smarts and beauty go to waste, and now I was nothing more then your property? Five minutes ago, you wanted a reason why you shouldn't kill me, but now I'm becoming your personal entertainment? I can't aim to please when I don't know what pleases you anymore, sweetheart." She sighed dramatically, "You really are one to talk though, considering how many times I fucked you and never asked for a dime." Goddamn he looked like Satan in a fucking Sunday suit, but she wouldn't let his dirty looks tear her down. It was true though! He wanted to hate on the way she chose to live her life just because she wasn't riding his dick anymore? That was fine. She'd just continue pointing out how ridiculously bi-polar, condescending, and childish he was being for a man of his supposed age and stature. He was acting like she'd left him at the fucking alter or something, and was riding off into the moonlight with his best man or some shit. Seriously? He needed to get over himself, but he probably never would. He'd never take the time to understand the bullshit she was now dealing with because he never did what he was supposed to do, because he was so 'blinded by love' or whatever. The look she was giving him screamed 'cry me a fuckin' river and drown in it, asshole.'

"Go ahead, Andrew. Do what you do best. Ruin me. Take every fucking penny I have to my name. Because unlike you, I know what it's like to have nothing. I've done it before, and I'll do it again. It's nothing but a thing, baby." She set the cup down on the end table beside her chair and shrugged back into her coat, gathering her things, "You though? I hope someone bests you. I hope someone robs you for everything your worth, and leaves you with nothing but your name. I hope you realize how much time you've wasted making this world an uglier place to live in. I hope you learn, really fucking learn, what it's like to have nothing, and I hope you are humbled by it, you pretentious piece of shit." She spat those words at him with venom all her own, rising to her feet and swiftly storming to the elevator, the hard sashay of her hips making her anger all the more evident. If he wanted to make this some sick game for his own amusement, two could fucking play it.

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Andrew Cutting
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The sudden change in her attitude did not surprise Andrew; sitting in that chair across from him she must have felt like a cornered animal and cornered animals always fought the hardest. Her incredulity wasn't lost on Andrew either – how could she understand how he had felt and what he had done, how could she understand what all of this meant, she was nothing but a mortal who sold herself for a living. His expression cooled to a kind of cold hatred as she retorted mockingly – sarcasm was the lowest form of wit and the last defence of the truly defeated, as strong a front as she was putting on he knew full well how much she feared him. But she was brave, that was certain and courage was growing within her the more she continued to lash out; her insults and her sarcasm did not affect him as she might have hoped.

Her words were weak, hollow. No-one could bring Andrew low in the way she described; real wealth and real power, the sort that Andrew wielded like a sword, did not flee from those born into it. Destroying Andrew would mean destroying the Cutting family – something which many had tried and none had achieved in all the thousands of years of their existence; he worked for the family, he was part of it and he had served them faithfully for all these years, they were his safety net. Leslie was simply shouting out dreams and nothing more.

In Leslie’s entire tirade the only thing which really hurt him was being called pretentious – though his own powerful self-confidence and ego assured him that he wasn’t it had still hit a nerve. He had known that calling her a slut, a harlot and a whore wasn’t the most imaginative insult, he wasn’t going for imaginative he was going for descriptive insults with that kernel of truth to hit home all the harder. Who needed imaginative words to strike an opponent with when the plain simple facts could cut just as hard as cold steel? Striking back at him with his own words in this case was like flinging drops of water at a wall; pointless and ineffectual.

As she stood and started to walk away Andrew just continued to lean back, head propped up on his arm; that thin, dangerous smile of his came to his face and deepened to one of deep amusement. She could get to the elevator for all he cared, it would do her no good because she couldn’t operate it; it required a handprint ID and a security code for the buttons to work and she had neither. His attendants wouldn’t let her through because they were now out of sight, the other doors were locked and the only way for her to go was back.

”Are you finished?” Andrew called after her from the room; it seemed she had forgotten the true depth of his paranoia. The locks on the elevator hadn’t been intended to keep people in of course, and he’d not planned this situation; in fact his own plans had been quite different until he had seen that change in her aura. ”Why don’t you come back and finish your tea. There is still a great deal that needs to be said – now that the emotional reunion is out of the way.” His voice was cold, almost bored and heavy with contempt. He remained seated, watching her through the open door.
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Cameron Comorraza
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There was no one to be found as she stomped out into the hallway, the elevator doors gleaming with the promise of a speedy escape out of this nicely decorated fucking cesspit for drama bullshit. She pressed the call button, her mind spinning with all the different clusterfucks that would come to be if Andrew did exactly as he suggested, but the elevator never came. She pressed it again, feeling the blood in her veins begin to boil as she kept pushing it and nothing came. The sound of his voice made her newly seeded rage boil over.

That motherfucker had her locked in.

"No!" She screamed, her fist winding itself back and slamming into the metal doors before with a strength and speed she'd never possessed before. She paid no mind to the right hook that connected like a goddamn bowling ball crashing into the wall, or the fact that it barely made a dent, as she whipped around and stalked back to the open doorway, seeing red and glaring with the hatred of a thousand suns when his smiling face came into view, "What the fuck else needs to be said, Andrew? I fucking hate you, you fucking hate me, and we'd both now love nothing more than to watch the other suffer because we HATE eachother so fucking much we've forgotten we're even human beings. So what? Did you change your mind again and decide you'd rather watch me gag on your dick for the rest of eternity? Do you want to snap me in two again?" Her anger was quickly blazing beyond her own control as she shrieked furiously and paced back to the elevator, as if maybe, just maybe, if she got mad enough, it'd start working again.

"Fuck your fucking tea, you sick sonofabitch! What are you gonna fucking do? Date rape me?" She crossed back into the room, picking up the pretty little teacup and hurling it in his general direction, smashing against the wall behind him and raining down sweet peppermint tea and tiny porcelain pieces, "Just fucking do it then! Go right ahead! Being a dumb whore didn't stop you before, so why would you let it stop you now? You wanna hate my pussy too? Be my fucking guest!" The enraged whirlwind that was Leslie stormed out a third time, ripping down the corridor and finding every fucking door but the one that lead to Andrew was locked. She was cornered. She had nowhere to go. Her chest was heaving, her heart was thundering, and her head was pounding, the anger thick and searingly hot in her veins. She was nothing but a pawn in his games now. A toy to be played with at his twisted leisure and tossed away like a ragdoll when he was finished.

"Let me fucking go! I have nothing else to say to you!" If he didn't let her walk out of here in one piece, she'd probably leave it in several pieces. Angelo knew where she was, and was biding his time with more 'Princely' shit just across the street. Surely if she didn't turn up, he'd come looking for her, but would he come soon enough? If Andrew didn't let her go, she'd find her own way out. There was always a fucking way out.
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"Well aren't we feeling brave; having the blood of an immortal flowing through your veins doesn't make you indestructible you know." There was a blur of colour from the direction of the door and a sudden gust of warm air from the direction of the receiving room. If she wanted out so badly then he saw no reason to keep her any longer - except perhaps for his own cathartic amusement - but no, his mind was already forming plans with regards to Leslie. He already suspected that he knew who her benefactor was and if he was correct then soon he would get what was coming to him; there was nothing more that could be said even if he wanted to say it. Andrew stood now behind Leslie, the lift already on its way. "Go then, just remember - you could have had it all and you threw it away with your infidelity."
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Looking over her shoulder to investigate the sudden breeze that licked the back of her form only to find Andrew towering over her gave her a start, flinching and taking a step away from him as if being anywhere near him repulsed her. 'Mood swing from hell' was an understatement in comparison to what she'd just witnessed, being invited in only to be thrown into the pit of snakes that was Andrew's wrath. She'd never seen this side of him, nor had she ever wanted to, but the anger she felt towards him right now far outweighed the sadness that'd slowly consume her. She'd already been through this once with him, but a second time? A second failure? She never wanted it all. She never needed it. She just wanted him, on some strange level. At least that's what she thought she wanted when she first walked through these metal doors that ceremoniously slid open. Now, she wanted nothing more than to get the fuck away from him.

All or nothing. Those words never made so much sense to her as they did now, looking up to Andrew with a stone cold glare, "Be seeing you," She said with cold promise, matching the dangerous tone he'd decided to take very early in their conversation. He'd basically just pulled the pin out of a grenade and tossed it out onto the street, and she knew this just as much as he did. He wouldn't have been such an asshole if he weren't concerned at least in the slightest of what she could do to him if he let her fall into the wrong hands. Of course, this was all just smoke and mirrors, and he surely thought there was no chance as he was probably already tearing down everything she'd worked for brick by fucking brick... But what if there was? It'd be her suicide... But just to give him a taste of what it's like to really fucking suffer like he never had before... It'd be worth it. As smoky and reflective as that all was in her own mind, she watched the door slide shut with a distant look in her eyes and a bitter smirk.

The only thing she could be sure of when she walked out of that building was that she now had nothing. What the fuck was the point of anything when you had nothing in the end, and no promise of ever making it something again? This would stick with her as she was met with the debilitating cool breeze that struck her as she stared at the Prince and thought about going straight back to Angelo...

...No. She'd deal with this herself. It wasn't his problem... yet.
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