| The One That Got Away; Leslie and Andrew - Closed | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 31 2013, 09:39 PM (364 Views) | |
| Cameron Comorraza | Dec 31 2013, 09:39 PM Post #1 |
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Long days normally equaled long nights in Leslie's world, and today had been a long ass day. She wasn't normally an early riser, but with photos to be shot, scenes to be scripted, fuck dolls to hire for said scenes, and interviewing more than a few competently voiced 'actors and actresses' for a prospective business venture, on top of the usual businessy bullshit she could barely stand, she felt entitled to a drink or five. It was days like these that she wondered why she ever got off the pole, or stopped fucking in front of a camera, or decided to actually put on her big girl panties and hang up her stage name so she could storm into the lude, lofty, competitive business world of the sex industry head on. Dressed in white snakeskin skinnies, a low-cut black sequined tank that showed off just enough cleavage to get cheaper drinks, and a light washed denim jacket, she looked like a stylishly washed up extra from a White Snake music video. Her black patent heels tapped out a melodious staccato as she sauntered through the entryway of the Prince hotel and passed the concierge desk towards the bar, taking off her aviators as the sun set behind her and the Detroit cityscape of tall buildings and and skyscrapers. She had her sights set on her usual seat that she frequented at the bar at least once a week, waving to the bartender with a sweet smile. She'd spent enough time here schmoozing and boozing for there to be a vodka and cran waiting for her without a word needing to be said. Sidling up to the barstool and taking a sip of her cocktail before gracefully settling into her perch, all that was left to do was unwind. "Long day, Hollywood?" The man behind the bar knew how much the name roused her, asking with a wolfish grin. "You wish your dick was as long as my day's been," She retorted with an equally devilish smirk. He laid a hand on his chest and winced as if in pain, "That hurt." Taking another sip of her drink, she patted his hand reassuringly before he left her to go tend to another patron. Recoiling as her eyes followed his fleeting figure in silence, she continued to watch him as he entertained a couple barely legal girls at the other end of the bar. She remembered being them once, dressed in barely-there sparkly clothing and hanging over the side of the bar flirting her ass off for more drinks. Then she remembered why she did all the things she did to be where she was now: Independence. It was a crazy thing to be in control of her own destiny for once in her life instead of being at the mercy of lusting men. Funny how things in her world worked these days. |
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| Andrew Cutting | Dec 31 2013, 11:05 PM Post #2 |
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Toreador Primogen
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Sir Andrew rarely visited the Prince, he had enough entertainments to keep himself amused with over in the Cutting Building, but every now and then it was nice to get a change of scene and the only respectable place to do that was at the hotel so fittingly called the Prince. This was the home of Detroit's Prince and in real terms his power only extended to within a few blocks of here and then sort of petered out into a mush of disputed boundaries and barely held territory; how Angelo maintained his sanity while managing such a mess was beyond him. Andrew's influence, like that of most kindred of his age and station within the city's Camarilla, extended well beyond the sect's territorial bounds but even he, one of the Camarilla's most fervent supporters had to admit that even that was not enough to hold the entire city. The recent ending of hostilities between the Sabbat and Anarchs had brought a measure of stability but not enough for Andrew to venture further than Downtown in search of his kicks. Tonight the bar would be his place of choice, it was only polite to grace the Prince's home with his presence now and again and who knew, maybe he would find an attractive young woman of sufficient breeding to meet his 'needs'. He had never been a particularly sexual man, even in life most of his passion was directed to more creative pursuits but it was always preferable to feed off of an attractive female from a wealthy family and he had little trouble luring them in. He'd go through the motions, drinks, some light conversation then somewhere private where he could feed and then he would discreetly leave; he was after all a man of restraint and class and he found the sexually charged behaviour of some of his kind quite distasteful given that they were ultimately just very well preserved animated corpses. He had not been so driven since LA and that experience had ended badly, for both himself and the mortal who had enticed him so; upon discovering his nature she had fled in horror and the rejection had stung deeply. He stepped out of his chauffeur driven car and walked into the bar, tonight he was dressed as ever in a finely tailored suit which was appropriate to the climate. An ensemble which was the epitome of subtle elegance and refinement with no gaudy additions, black suit with a crimson tie over a white shirt. He had his family ring as ever on the little finger of his left hand and a beautiful red flower in his lapel, but other than this he bore no remarkable or special affectations - with Andrew there was no need, he was possessed of handsome noble good looks and a well toned physique which spoke for itself. His entire manner was that of a refined but modest gentleman of means. Walking into the bar was like walking into a roaring storm, the sound of so many voices, so many conversations all running at once - it was music to his ears; a vibrant social scene full of people of means enjoying themselves with just a hint of excess around the edges. A saturation of tipsy amusement filled the air and he breathed it all in before making his way over to the bar where... What? Here? It had been years... years but still he recognised her, even from behind; her clothing and hair was different and she had aged only slightly but he could still tell that it was her, that woman who had infected his dreams ever since Los Angeles. But how? Why? They had parted long ago, shortly before his confrontation with the Prince of that city, yet she was here. Here! In his city, in a bar just across the street from his new home and she was just sitting there... He wondered if she still felt the same way she had when they had left, he wondered if she was still filled with loathing for what he was, for the lies he'd spun her? Why was she here? What was this? Now of all times, had it something to do with the Methuselah or was it just coincidence? No it couldn't be coincidence, he'd learned enough in his years to know that coincidence seldom if ever happened and rarely at such long odds. He came back to himself with a jolt, reattaching his mask he surveyed the rest of the place; no faces jumped out at him, could it be that she was here alone? That she had not brought any old enemies with her? That she was not bait in some trap? Only one way to find out and that was to walk right into the middle of it; striding over he stood at the bar beside her and signaled the barman before speaking to Leslie sidelong. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again, and certainly not here of all places." |
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| Cameron Comorraza | Jan 1 2014, 01:49 AM Post #3 |
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That thought was about as short-lived as her drink, which she choked on as soon as she'd heard his voice. Setting down the empty glass, ice clinking and swirling in it's shallow depth, she spared Andrew one incredulous look before slapping her hand down on the bar and grabbing the attention from the young man at the other end that'd been busying himself with wooing his new patrons. He shot a look down at her, then at Andrew, then at her again as she cleared her throat. What were the odds? She hadn't seen him in years, since... Looking at him again, the expression on her face was frothy mix of surprise (not the good kind) and doubt. He hadn't changed at all; from the hair on his head to the impeccable shine of his shoes, he was the same man that told her that everything they'd had thus far was a complete lie... That he was as dead as her last 'master'. And to think, that was when she was still soaking up the spotlight in every rubber dick store this side of the country. "Another?" "Yes. Make it a double." The bartender looked up at her with a quirked brow before turning his attention to Andrew, "And you, sir? What can I get for you?" Letting her shaky hand rest on the cold marble surface, she let out a long sigh, at a loss for what to do. 'I didn't think I'd ever see you again, and certainly not here of all places,' What was she even supposed to say to that? Hello? I've missed you as much as I've been scared shitless of you? Why didn't you chase after me like I wish you would have? Leslie smiled weakly to the young man as he set their drinks before them and went back to his lovely ladies at the other end again. She wasted no time, slim fingers wrapping around the chilled glass and raising it to her lips with desperate need. She was at a loss for words. Why did this man always do this to her? It'd been how many years since she'd last seen him in LA, yet her still rendered her speechless. With awe, fear, curiosity.. What was he doing here? Could she trust him? Was this all some sick kind of joke for something bigger at play? Regardless of why their paths were crossing again, it wasn't like she could run now. Not without attracting more attention than necessary and crossing this bar off her list of Leslie-friendly places. She took another drink before setting it back down and lacing her fingers around it, staring into the burgundy depths as she spoke, "Neither did I...but here we are," She glanced at his profile, "Time's been treating you pretty decently, it looks like..." Goddamn, she had to have something better to say then that. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she finally turned her head and looked at him, lifting her hesitant blue gaze up to his. She couldn't be sure what she felt when she took in his handsome features fully for the first time in what felt like an eternity, but a smile slowly tugged at the corners of her mouth, "It's a good thing we don't buy into all that cosmic destiny bullshit..." She wasn't quite sure where she was going with this, but she had to pull herself together before he sunk his claws in again, "Isn't it?" Her voice was full of uncertainty, as if she didn't even buy her own excuses for this chance crossing of paths. It was unstable... as if she were on the verge of squealing with joy and bursting into tears all at once. It'd be a long night, indeed...that much she could promise herself now. |
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| Angelo | Jan 1 2014, 08:09 PM Post #4 |
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The Barkeep
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The hotel was... An awkward place for Angelo. Personally, he'd much rather be stood behind Ruined's bar, or any number of the smaller places tucked inside Detroit's twisted insect nest of streets, making sure that which he had created thrived. In that sense, he would have made a better sire than his own, though he had to figure there was a limited amount you could do about your past actions. Best he had was the ensure that they weren't for nothing. Silently billowing a soft application of presence around him, the Prince gently encouraged those around to look around or away from him as he moved, letting the scene unfold as if he were watching from the security room rather than here on the open floor itself. With a calm hand mussing his touselled raven-black hair and a self-assured, one-sided smirk, he fished his wallet from his leather jacket and looked to the bar. Keeper Cutting appeared to be in attendance, which intrigued him, but Angelo wasn't so socially unaware as to interrupt right off the bat - the man was busy. Besides, if he did end up interrupting, best to gain a little information on the subject first. He approached the bar, letting his use of presence fall away as he passed through a clump of patrons enjoying their drinks - carefully and with a warm-eyed nod, of course. As far as manners went, Angelo rarely bothered with them, but the Camarilla had taught him one thing - keep your habits to yourself when in the limelight. Lowering his leather-clad elbows to the bartop, he spoke, "Barkeep - Shots." Placing his back to the bar, he noted the odd lack of clamour by comparison to earlier. So his 'appearance' had been noted. Fair enough. Scooping up one of the two offered shots, Angelo spoke loud enough to pull the attention of those nearby, "Fifty bucks says I drink any one of you under the table. Any takers?" The inward grin grew larger than the outward one, though his expression remained the same with immaculate skill - Cutting was loyal, but he needed to loosen up. Angelo had no intention of turning coat and reverting to the usual template for a Camarilla leader just because he had praxis of the city - he was who he was, and the youngest kindred of the city were the real reason he'd got this far. That and the seven oily shaows lining his aura like twisted rigging ropes. Edited by Angelo, Jan 1 2014, 08:11 PM.
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| Andrew Cutting | Jan 2 2014, 11:39 PM Post #5 |
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Toreador Primogen
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"If destiny has a hand in this then perhaps its better if I walk away now; fate seldom has a good ending in store for the star crossed lovers, whatever might pass between them..." He would have continued, he would have made some effort to explain what this was, to make his apologies or at the least make his peace with the situation, but he wasn't given the chance. Just as things had taken a very personal turn he felt the arrival of the Prince and that meant that this situation suddenly became a lot more fluid; he would have to juggle his personal affairs with his responsibilities and the demands of tradition. This Prince might not be the most conservative or traditionalist but he was still the Prince and Andrew would be damned if he let protocol slide just because of.. of whatever this was that was happening to him; he was not a monster pulled this way and that by blind instinct, he was a magnificent beast, graceful and splendid in his intellect - he would have to rise above the situation. Somehow. "Ah Mr Matachelli, scotch please straight...make it a double the night's just taken an interesting turn for the unexpected. I see you are keeping yourself in good shape, perhaps I could introduce you to an old acquaintance of mine, Ms Moltisanti." Andrew turned back to Leslie giving her a meaningful look. |
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| Angelo | Jan 4 2014, 12:48 AM Post #6 |
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The Barkeep
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Angelo smirked and nodded to the bartender with Cutting's order, "You heard the man. As for your friend... " the Prince lifted the one hand that was not carrying a drink as he swapped an empty shot for a full one, giving a casual salute with a wink, "Whatever you're having, have it on me - take that as you will." It'd been a while since he'd seen Leslie Moltisanti's face - and it hadn't been in the flesh up until tonight. But Harriet's dealings in adult entertainment had not been modest - unknowingly, Hollywood had worked for kindred-owned business ventures more than once in her 'illustrious' career. What it was that brought together two people like her and Andrew Cutti- sorry, Sir Andrew Cutting - was anybody's guess. But then this was the land of opportunity - anythign could happen to anyone. The mystery remained, but somehow not knowing the full details of how they met added to the appeal of seeing them awkwardly interacting now that they were both aware that they were being observed. He was a little reluctant to truly get involved - this was his hotel, they stood in his bar and if he really wanted to know their secrets(and they definitely had some, it was in how they stood around one another), he could just call up one of the city's Nosferatu and get the info without revealing his own curiosity. The sad fact was that as far as the older, more powerful kindred of the city went, Angelo's reputation was... Less than stellar. He took great care to keep his Keeper of Elysium on-side - and not just for political reasons, though at this age that was a lot of the reasoning for doing anything. Andrew Cutting was a man who udnerstood the city better than his Prince when it came to the elders it was home to, but Angelo had the horde of support from every fledgling, neonate and at least a fair portion of the ancillae. Between the two of them, Detroit's resisting kindred would fall in line - maybe not immediately, but in due time. It was worth inspiring support in the weaker kindred, Angelo had discovered, when the realisation hit him - every single childe of every single kindred in this city was a bigger fan of his decisions than their own sires. That meant that every time an elder asked for permission to sire, what they were really asking was 'can I make you another supporter, milord?' - and that felt good to have working for him. "So Ms. Moltisanti - what led you and Andrew Cutting to cross paths? I've never seen a man so uninterested in the fairer sex... And fair would definintely be the word." He asked with a jovial tone, not so much insulting his main supporter as attempting to goad him into joining the social gathering that he was otherwise standing quite apart from. He considered himself to understand his Primogen enough to know where the line of acceptability was - admittedly, he often strayed near it, but then for all their efforts were working in creating a Camarilla-dominated city, they were very different people. If Cutting would just loosen up a little bit, he may even grow to like the back and forth of a healthy insult session. Edited by Angelo, Jan 4 2014, 12:54 AM.
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| Cameron Comorraza | Jan 4 2014, 07:01 PM Post #7 |
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She wasn't quite sure what to make of this chance encounter with Andrew. It was overwhelming to say the least; she'd downed two drinks in a span of ten minutes due to his unexpected approach. Starcrossed lovers? Is that what they used to be? How sweet. But to leave? Was that really what she wanted him to do? Or what he wanted to do? She couldn't wrap her mind around this at all, sucking on a ice cube, when a rather commanding voice boomed to her right, on the other side of her undead ex-boyfriend-whateverthefuckhewas. Shots? She already liked him. Listening to their exchange of words back and forth, it was quite apparent they knew each other. Was Mr. Matachelli... God, why did that name sound so familiar? She could've sworn she'd heard it before somewhere... But was he dead like Andrew? Did he know of Andrew's true nature? Or was he as blissfully unaware as she'd once been? She hadn't even laid eyes on the newly arrived companion of his yet, but as Andrew began to introduce him to her, his handsome features reflected a look of caution and care. Who the fuck was this guy? Shaking all this from the fore of her mind, Leslie leaned back in her seat, her inquisitive blue gaze shifting from Andrew to Mr. Matachelli... and what a pleasant shift in scenery that was. His salute was met with a warm smile, but given the first sentence he'd spoken to her was already riddled and openly suggestive, his devil may care attitude was as attractive as it was challenging, "I may have to take you up on that," She said with careful confidence, looking to the young man on the other side of the bar working with diligence to keep their glasses filled. She paid Andrew no mind as her slim hand plunged into her purse and resurfaced with her wallet. Zipping it open and taking out a crisp fifty dollar bill, President Grant stared up at the bartender stoically from the marble bar she'd set him down on and slid him across. She paid Andrew no mind as she smiled to the young man sweetly, as he was surely having an internal conniption at what she was venturing to do, "If I end up under a table, please make sure this find's it's way to Mr. Matachelli," The bartender grinned as she finally afforded the two men beside her a coy glance and then looked back to him, "As for me, I need to catch up. Three shots of Grey Goose, please and thank you." Turning her attention back to the interloper that had curbed her and Andrew's awkward conversation and made it doubly uncomfortable for at least one of them, she chose to take a higher road then her blast from the past. She'd been around plenty of men like Mr. Matachelli, who was not only disruptively attractive, but bold, cocky in a way that made you like him even more, and apparently much more observant than he let on. He knew what he was doing, pushing buttons, asking presumptuous questions, and having way more fun with it then either of them were. She could see the silent glee dancing in his dark eyes as she shrugged out of her denim jacket, as if the delicate curve of her exposed shoulders would add some kind of edge to the situation. A renowned pornstar staying relatively clothed was edgy enough. "Please, call me Leslie," She started sweetly, her eyes finding Andrew's with a soft, innocent gaze, "We met four years ago, in LA. Andrew was there indefinitely on business, and had successfully put the Beverly Hills Hotel back on the map. For whatever reason, I was invited to the grand re-opening, and we hit it off almost immediately..." Her words trailed off as she sucked in a slow breath and finally broke their gaze to look at Angelo, "To be fair, it was a fling. We parted ways not long after that due to personal differences. His family couldn't stand the thought of their golden child having a...harlot? Wasn't that what your mother called me all evening?" She looked to Andrew sharply, hoping he'd play along with it, before looking back at Mr. Matachelli, "There were more eligible women fit to be on his arm... And I refused to be treated as less than worthy... So, we ended it." At that moment, she'd realized she had three untouched shots waiting for her. She wasted no time downing them, three in a row. Edited by Cameron Comorraza, Jan 4 2014, 08:02 PM.
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| Andrew Cutting | Jan 4 2014, 07:33 PM Post #8 |
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Toreador Primogen
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Andrew was quick off the mark, he knew what Leslie was going for and he knew how she intended to play this, how could he not - during their 'fling' he had come to know her intimately and not just in a physical way but he knew her personality. Perhaps his knowledge wasn't perfect but he knew well enough how to play along when she started the game of deception; besides he played it well enough himself to be able to work without issue. He grabbed his scotch and drained it in one before placing his glass on the table to be refilled. "And I refused to treat her as less than she was, so better that we parted before my family decided to try and force my hand; I wanted better for Leslie than I could give, but I won't deny that I regret our parting nonetheless, it might have been a fling but it could easily have been more." |
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| Angelo | Jan 4 2014, 08:23 PM Post #9 |
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The Barkeep
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Oh-hoh... This was juicy. She was all for transferring her attention, and she spoke so naturally that he almost didn't notice the tell-tale inflections of deception - Angelo had no idea what about the account of past events was false, but something was, and it'd bitten Cutting deep to have past association be made to sound so trivial. Downing the shot in his hand, Angelo effortlessly pushed the empty glass towards the barkeep and swiped up the full one that returned. Well, well, well... Sir Andrew Cutting, traditional and proper, enjoying himself a little fling with Hollywood. Now there was a story for sundown. "Ah, don't feel so down, Andrew - a woman's perogative injures any man it chooses." He said with a distinct increase in the curvature of his smirk. Tipping back the contents of his drink, he gestured towards the three shots Leslie had slaughtered on arrival with the now emptied glass, "Impressive, bella donna - just don't drop the hammer too fast, eh? Nobody wants to flirt with a paralytic on first meeting. Oh - and the name's Angelo. Mr. Matachelli is my father." He left his flirtatious comments at a respectful level for now - these games were about pacing and correctly timing the steps, not unlike a dance. Move in time with the music and the beat, the ebb and flow of conversation and fluttered feelings dancing on the skin. He tried to imagine in his mind's eye exactly how close to the edge his current actiosn were taking him with regards to his primogen, but ultimately if Cutting was truly unhappy he was more than capable of letting him know. Shrugging his leather jacket from his shoulders, Angelo folded it over one arm and reached for another shot, holding it level while the score was either evened or given up by his two companions, the Prince adjusted his shirt - something that an anarch drinking buddy from west side had given him for winning a very similar competition, a black flaming truck with 'alcohol fuelled' written beneath it adorning his chest - before gesturing towards a booth in the corner, "Shall we take this to somewhere with comfier seats? Drinking any of us under the table is made a lot more difficult witht he absence of a table to begin with." He glanced first at Leslie and then at Cutting, to whom his smile finally broadened - though still not enough to call it broad by anybody's standards. It was a playful challenge, but a challenge nonetheless. Tonight, the streets were quiet - and Detroit would not always enjoy such a silent evening. best to have what little fun he was permitted while it was an option. Edited by Angelo, Jan 4 2014, 09:45 PM.
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| Cameron Comorraza | Jan 5 2014, 07:32 PM Post #10 |
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Leslie's eyes cut to Andrew's face with a measured amount of irritation, "It could have easily been a train wreck," She snapped, correcting him before looking away and sighing with defeat. This was the last topic of conversation she wanted to go over this evening, the last person she wanted to have a skip down memory lane with, and by far the last fucking place she wanted to be now. The booming baritone of Andrew's...colleague? Who was he? He hardly looked like a friend Andrew would keep; he was fucking hot though. Anyways, his voice distracted her, gave her something to focus on as he tried to poke some reassurance into the Toreador's tender psyche. Did she really hurt him that badly? Did she even hurt him at all? Or was this just some kind of guilt trip he was trying to lay on as thick as fucking possible? Whatever he was doing, she refused to let him have the satisfaction of thinking she felt sorry for him, his dishonesty, and all the other things she second guessed for months after she'd left him. It was hard to look back on it all in retrospect and not feel like she was made to be a puppet to his whims; fuck knew he could probably do just that quite literally. She did her best to bring herself back to the present, turning her head back to look at them both with a rather unconvincing smile when Angelo addressed her, "I can guarantee you flirting with one isn't nearly as bad as dancing on one is." Two more shots were sat in front of her, as well as a short glass of tonic water. If she was going to taken precautionary measures, now would probably be the best time. She turned away, ignoring the two again as she rummaged through her purse and found the bottle of extra strength Tylenol, shaking out four into her palm and immediately popping them into her mouth, chasing the sweet tasting pills with a swig of her nonalcoholic beverage. Angelo had just suggested moving to a booth as she set the empty glass on the bar and began gathering her things, "Yes, I think that's a lovely idea, don't you, Andrew?" Even though she really didn't give two shits what Andrew thought, as she was already off her perch, purse over her shoulder and jacket folded over her arm. She took two seconds to find her balance in these goddamn shoes, why did she even wear these stupid things anyways? Force of habit, maybe? The sad truth was, she felt more comfortable in just a pair of ridiculous ass six inch heels then she did in what she was wearing now. Standing up, it felt like all the booze she'd ingested without a second thought rushed from her head to her toes, washing through her bloodstream and leaving behind a residual warmth that radiated from the money maker between her legs. A delighted shiver ran down her spine, grabbing the two full shots and sashaying behind Angelo with the gait of a runway model. She slid gracefully across the plush leather bench of the booth to be sat across from Angelo, leaving her purse between her and Andrew if he chose to sit beside her. Busying herself with her phone for a few moments, once they were seated, she looked up to the two men, "So," She started with the beginnings of an inquiry, "How do you two know each other?" She asked before downing another shot of vodka, her throat burning in protest but her senses falling a little more at ease with each one. Her stiletto clad foot grazed Angelo's as she settled in and looked between the two with an expectant expression. |
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| Angelo | Jan 5 2014, 09:27 PM Post #11 |
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The Barkeep
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Angelo cocked an eyebrow, his reluctant smile finally occupying both sides of his face, if only briefly - beyond those minor movements he kept his response to the gentle stroke of her heel across his booted foot as silent and barely tracable as he could. With his many years of practice, that was as good a disguise as any other in the city. There was more to this story between Leslie and Cutting than was being let on - much more, it seemed. She had absolutely no desire to go over the past with Cutting - something he was sore with, but all Leslie seemed to want was to silence anything they'd shared. Something in that made him wonder what about them had gone so right for one but so wrong for the other. Before he had much time to think on it, a questionw as poised - how he and Cutting had met. Angelo knew full well this was goign to be a lie, but he resolved to make it more distorted truth than outright falshood. "Work. I'm in the business of entertainment - clubs, bars, that sort of thing. Andy - I'm good to call you Andy, right? Well, he had a proposition or two that appealed, and a few that didn't. The ones that appealed led me back out of New York and home to Detroit." Angelo flashed teeth briefly and let his arms spread wide, "So here I am - making money and friends as best I know how and enjoying myself while I can - I suspect you're a better judge of how well I'm doing than I am." With a careful, playful push back against the flex of Leslie's heel - though given the vast difference in their footwear he was careful not to respond too aggressively. Steel-toed boots against strappy heels was not something that needed to be experienced by anybody. Calmly he downed a shot, clicking his fingers in the air as a waitress passed them by and swiftly ordering several more of the same - he got the impression he'd be here a while. With a ruffle of his unruly short hair feigning self-consciousness, Angelo let his smirk falter in order to speak. "So," he began, gesturing towards Leslie with a fluid waving of his hand towards her, the limb dropping lightly atop the table, "What brings you to the Motor City? Despite the size of the place, ain't often we get a visitor that catches my attention." The Prince held his tongue as he waited for Leslie's response, not flicking his eyes even slightly in Cutting's direction. Of course he'd listen to whatever hsi primogen had to say, but as it stood, there was only one of his current compatriots he didn't know a great deal about - besides a filmography - and he was curious to see what Leslie would answer with. Being as everybody at the table was lyign to some degree or another, would she add to that, r would she try and add a little truth to the mixture? If there was one thign to be said for Hollywood, she held a man - or several men - on the edge of their seats just to see what she'd do. |
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| Andrew Cutting | Jan 6 2014, 09:50 PM Post #12 |
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Toreador Primogen
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Andrew took his seat and immediately threw himself into a well practiced pose seemingly completely at ease and untroubled by anything which might have irked him. There was real charisma in his movements, not the cheap, sexual charisma of some bar stud angling for easy poon but rather the self assured and consummate charisma of a man to whom the world was just one big passing amusement tailored to his every whim. It was a Cutting family trait, seeming to be in control of everything even when events tumbled well beyond their ability to do anything more than hold on for the ride; call it a survival mechanism, or call it arrogance, whatever it was it had worked pretty damn well for all the centuries of their existence. "I think you know precisely how I feel about what you call me Mr Matachelli and please remember that we are in business out of, ah, mutual interest. After all in our line of work everyone needs some support from time to time." Andrew evened out a crease in his trousers before taking his glass and draining it in one elegant motion. For someone else it might seem extreme, to be draining scotch from a glass that size like shooting vodka; but all of Andrew's motions seemed like quicksilver, fluid and natural. It was clear that he had yet to be caught entirely off balance. As his glass was refilled he raised it to the Prince with a powerful look of warning and continued. "Though not all of the business prospects I showed him were of interest they were to me and I have become excessively wealthy, well wealthier, based on the fact that I'm making a profit out of everyone's enterprises." Edited by Andrew Cutting, Jan 6 2014, 11:12 PM.
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| Angelo | Jan 6 2014, 10:23 PM Post #13 |
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The Barkeep
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Angelo matched Cutting's gaze with his slow-burning eyes, meeting the steel in Andrew Cutting's warning glance without so much as a waver. He met glasses with the other man, the atmosphere a little frosty but the clinking of glasses resembling the striking of a match. "Not all of them - I don't surrender my establishments for the fun of company in the manager's office." He said, his tone neutral and perhaps slightly warning, if not as much as Cutting's look had been. For all his playful temperament, Angelo hadn't gotten this far without the ability to back himself up when needed. No, he'd gotten this far based on muscle, a ruthless mind and a willingness to outright break the rules if they didn't suit him. In his heart of hearts(as cold and wasted as it was) Angelo had to admit he might well be worse than Andrew Cutting that regard. Maybe he did still remember how to hold a party and charm any he chose for company - but it was a valued skill, to keep your own failures or flaws in-mind and in check. "Besides, as much as I need you skills with the books to keep some of my businesses doing their best, without my winning smile you'd never get this many people through the door. Ain't just the one of us who needed the support, Sir Cutting." To his credit, Angelo meant the last part genuinely rather than as a snide remark, and he was fairly certain he'd come of the right way too - but only Keeper Cutting could decide that. With his silent wrestling of foot versus foot under the table remaining unknown - a fact that returned his trademark smirk to his features - Angelo shrugged and knocked another shot back, placing the empty glass on the table and awaiting Leslie's answer to his previous question - for all his prim poise and proper, square-shouldered posture, Cutting was the one issuing the warning eyes. The Prince, on the other hand, had many focuses - the bar looked a little udnerstocked tonight, so he'd have to check in with them before they left to see what they needed and set up an order if they hadn't done so already. The music was moving to be slightly softer - as this was the hotel, not Ruined or Blackbirds, two of his smaller incomes, that music did not contain anything rowdy, floor-filling or in the current charts, but it worked as ambience well enough. The saxophone melting into the background like musical chocolate could be seen as helpful to easing the tension, or unhelpful for encouraging a further connection between the two at the table who'd never met before. There was no denying, Ms. Moltisanti was fun to be around. She had a wicked sense of humour and that was becoming an increasingly rare experience in his board meetings and Kindred business and multiple establishments' worth fo managerial paperwork. It wasn't where Angelo really belonged - but then, he didn't suppose it was really about where he belonged. Where he belonged was six feet under in some cemetary - hell, maybe even down in Miller's, if he'd managed to make a name for himself before he snuffed it. There was no 'where he belonged' now. There was just where he wanted to be - and right now, sat here with two different kidns of challenger challenging him over two very different things was right where he wanted to be. Let the real games begin, eh? |
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| Cameron Comorraza | Jan 7 2014, 12:40 AM Post #14 |
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Leslie's eyes flickered between Andrew and Angelo with a bemused expression. The tension between the two was thick in that moment, as their glasses clinked together. That same warm, charming smirk slipped back onto the stud's face sat across from her, winning himself a smile she didn't even realize she was wearing as she afforded a final glance between the two and looking down to the lone shot that was in front of her, ripe for the taking. Instinct took over, as she found that familiar burn sliding down her throat without so much as a thought to how it got there. Sucking in a deep breath and letting her head fall back, she exhaled slowly, savoring the intoxication that slowly began to inebriate her senses and seep through her limbs. "Oh god," She moaned, laughing as she threw her hand up to get the bartender's attention. She leaned forward, hoping like hell he could read lips as she mouthed and held up her index finger for one vodka and cran, her middle finger joining it for two more shots. Settling back in her seat, she looked between the two and grinned, "Well, I guess we can all stop dancing around the fact that I fuck for a living, now." The nonchalant tone she took while saying this rather loudly and fearlessly in the middle of a swanky bar on the ground floor of an upscale hotel was a telltale sign that she was falling under the booze's influence, "Well, fucked. I mean, I still fuck occasionally? Whatever." She snickered as a waitress came and set her cocktail and shots on the table. She paid no mind to invading Andrew's space as she reached over him and moved the glasses across the table as if they were stacks of chips on a poker table. Idly stirring her drink with the black little straw stirrers, she lifted her eyes up to Angelo's demurely, "Just because nobody can pay their bills doesn't mean they can't buy my porn or my toys, call my adult chat hotline, or eat at my topless bar and grill with one of my beautiful escorts, while watching my best dancers shake their shit in their faces." She took a sip, the glass still lingering close to her mouth as she smiles delightfully, "Sex sells, sweetheart, and you best believe even when the economy's going down, down, down," Her thumb went down as she said this, "Dicks are getting up, up, up watching me fuck." Her thumb followed her words back up as she took another sip, breaking their gaze, and looking over to Andrew with a hint of sadness, "At least I make enough money to be my own Prince Charming now, hm?" She nudged him playfully. This had to be hard for him, and part of her really felt for the proper streak within him that was probably screaming in agony with every word that fell from her mouth, but unlike him, she preferred to be honest. She hated lying for him, but she didn't hate it enough to risk him and his secrets. |
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| Andrew Cutting | Jan 7 2014, 08:14 PM Post #15 |
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Toreador Primogen
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"Yes, thank you for reminding me about that aspect of your life; I'm sure its something you're quite proud of after a fashion but its hardly the sort of thing one talks about in polite conversation which, in spite of everything else, is what this is supposed to be." The tone of voice he used was level, deadpan even, as though the topic bored him. He gazed idly over his shoulder toward the bar as if he'd caught sight of something that interested him; then he turned back to the pair, a great amount of weight within his gaze as he eyed them both up. What was Matachelli playing at here, apparently intent on seeing him squirm, well he would be damned if he gave the lowlife two bit huckster the satisfaction; the Brujah was getting dangerously close to crossing a line which should not be crossed - particularly where a Cutting was concerned. It wasn't just a pretty name that his family bore, it spoke a great deal of their nature and Matachelli knew better than most of just what they were capable he was after all the Prince. "Your abilities to make money are quite admirable in both of your cases, but money isn't everything and nor is power; when you're raised into such a position as I was fortunate enough to have been born to you get a very real sense of what is important. At the risk of sounding cliche there are much more valuable things than gold - there is artistry and culture which goes beyond the realms of a bottle of whiskey or the prettily dressed up removal of one's clothes." "But come you always knew that I preferred not to talk about such things in public; we've all done things in life we're not proud of, didn't want to do or shouldn't have done. Some of us more than others. I've found it better not to dwell on such things." |
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| Angelo | Jan 7 2014, 09:48 PM Post #16 |
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The Barkeep
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Angelo chuckled, his eyes moving briefly from Leslie to Cutting with a look that spoke of many things and didn't seem sure which of them should be dominant - was it patronizing to think Cutting's assessment of what was important was wrong, or merely a different point of view? One had to wonder when Kindred politics - or even just the interplay of personalities - was a factor in the mix. "Not to dwell on them, or to try and forget you did them, compagno? I find it's easier to keep myself honest about my own actions." He reached forward for another shot, raised it from the table and studied the translucent liquid a while, "Me, I like Leslie's honesty - if not quite in the same way as a few others may've, hmm?" He chuckled again, the quiet roll of laughter silenced only by his throwing the burning alcohol down his neck. Cutting didn't look riled, but he was actually telling his Prince what type of conversation they were supposed to be having. If nothing else, he was ballsy, and that Angelo could respect. He didn't force the issue further - resolving this situation prematurely didn't serve his interests and he was having too much fun as things were to change the balance too much. His foot trailled further, to Leslie's calf, but held its' position there, careful control over how overt the movement was with a dangerously curved smirk and a 'don't give the game away' glance sent in Leslie's direction. "Maybe we are over-doing it," he said, not entirely feigning his concern for Cutting's feelings but not exactly meaning every word either, "There is such a thing as a joke growing old fast, after all. Still you mentioned something just now - not to worry Andrew, I've sated my teasing factor for now - a bar and grill? Now that sounds like my kind of business. Maybe even my kind of place if the menu ain't too shabby. When did you put that operation together? Catering ain't cheap to just break into." His above the table actions had switched topic entirely - business always was Cutting's preferred topic whenever they spoke, so best to keep on that footing. Much as Angelo thought the Toreador oughta loosen up more - especially being a Rose an' all - it was worth keeping him at least on the right side. Though worth even more was the information being granted to him with every word and every minute motion Cutting made. He didn't want a brutish thug like Angelo to know of his uncomfortable position, but in trying to hide it he wrote it all over himself. No doubt the attempt to hide his annoyance would work better on a younger Brujah - but this one had gone the distance for three hundred years. As much a slave to his temper as ever, certainly - but by no means a slouch to the game of deceit. That said - a Cutting was a Cutting. Angelo was happy to poke a little fun, a jab here and there, but he knew he'd just come closer than usual - if perhaps not as close as he'd come in previous nights - to crossing the line. When he got close enough, he often could swear he almost felt it rather than saw it. Andrew Cutting was an odd one - he warned early on, not close to the edge. It was smart - never let somebody know when they've turned from a friend into an enemy. It wasn't exactly the polite way to play the game, but then the Cutting family, by and large, didn't consider many things to be a game at all - and that, to the Prince, was a great shame. His foot conveyed a great deal of difference between his intentions and his behaviour - talking Andrew's talk on the one hand while his foot said a whole different message. I'm not overly scared of his threats. Are you? - it wasn't a common message to convey with your foot, but Angelo Matachelli was managing it tonight - and the game, quite literally, was on. Edited by Angelo, Jan 7 2014, 11:38 PM.
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| Cameron Comorraza | Jan 9 2014, 01:15 AM Post #17 |
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Laugh. That was all she could do, with a very lackadaisical air to it. She brushed it off his shoulder as Angelo's booted toe skimmed up her calf, holding it there, teasing her with his smirk. She afforded him a short, knowing smile before letting it drop as she took another sip from the black stirry straws she liked to play with, giggling as she flicked it up and down between her teeth. Her eyes found the hunk of man across the table once more, "Oh God, forgive us for we have sinned," She crooned, taking another drink and sucking on the ice cube. It'd been a long ass time since she'd said that man's name. Angelo's semi-serious change of subject was enough to tickle her pink, the vodka sinking into her muscle and bones, making everything feel a little more airy. And wobbly. She needed to slow down. She needed a glass of water. And food. His talk about menus and bars and grills worth visiting made her mouth water at the picture of a juicy steak that was being advertised at every table of her establishments right now. Served on a platter with fork and knife jutting out of the slab of meat just so to cover the model in the picture's nipples. Yes. Food needed to be in the equation. That was clearly a fact. "Honestly? The guy I teamed up with catered one of the set's I filmed at in Vegas three years back," She set the glass down and sat forward, looking directly into the warm amber irises that stared back at her, "I knew how to bring guys in, he knew how to feed them. We made this beautiful brainchild, I stacked cash for a couple months, and we had an old venue probably five minutes off the strip, up in the hills." She cut the story short there as a waitress passed by and she stopped them to ask for a glass of water. Turning back to Angelo, she picked up right where she left off, "I don't know how we did it, or how it worked out as perfectly as it did, but we hit the ground running and have been going strong for a couple years." She plucked her wallet out of her purse, unzipping it and pulling out a business card with the restaurant's name and logo emblazoned on the front. Sliding it across the table as if she were revealing her final bid, she spoke carefully, "If you ever find yourself in Vegas, give me a call. I'll set something scrumptious up for you." Just then her water had arrived. She sipped on it idly and eyed Andrew with no shame, her eyes sweeping up and down his profile. He seemed so much more statuesque since she'd last seen him... Every move he made was practiced and planned. Executed with ease. He wasn't the same man anymore. Prying her gaze off him, she sat back in her seat once more, looking no where in particular and letting the short moment of silence suffocate them before she couldn't stand it anymore, "Enough about me, though..." |
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| Angelo | Jan 9 2014, 01:58 AM Post #18 |
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The Barkeep
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Angelo watched Leslie's switch to water and reached into his pocket, taking up the plastic card and entering the phone number he found on it, his lop-sided smile seeming just a little less full of itself for a moment. After the brief tap-tap of his thumbs wrestling awkwardly with the tiny buttons on his phone, he pocketed the card and looked at the remaining shot, thinking hard on whetehr to push the competition any further. No - Leslie moving to water was smart, and in all likelihood were he still mortal he'd be wasted. Best to call it here to avoid suspicion. "Well, looks like I'm actually beaten for once - rarely happens these days, but then the little time I spent in college taught me something, if not quite what I was majoring in." He wondered - only briefly, mind you - if he was pushing too far too quickly. Cutting would obviously have thought so, but then the Prince held little understanding for his particular reasoning. So a fling happened and then stopped - why would that make a, frankly, stunning woman unavailable? Just because he was sexually vegan didn't mean she had to be off of Angelo's menu. But it had less to do with Cuttign and more to do with Leslie herself - Detroit had only very ocassionally had genuinely interesting people drop into his lap, especially since taking praxis. For all his flirtatious talk and carefree attitude, Angelo wasn't certain he really wanted to just drop the subject - he wanted to see where this went, if it was to go anywhere. Curiosity might've killed the cat, but could it best a Prince? Beyond that, there was obviously Cutting's irritation, and maybe his willingness to attempt to give Angelo orders - but then, from Cutting's perspective, he was a Rose looking at a thug. Knowledge and power being the same thing was a lie, which Cutting at least claimed to udnerstand, but power didn't lie in gossiping like a couple of old fish-wives either. power was power - having command of superior force. End of discussion. Angelo had reminded - for the last time - several of his former peers of exactly that, and he'd thought that rampant tirade through the upper echelons of Kindred society had been enough for Cutting to realize that he wasn't looking at a simpleton - apparently not. Time would tell where that particular division of interests would take them. Where did this scene go - now that was a real question. Angelo sat, silently caressing Leslie's calf and leaning forward to place his elbow on the table and his chin in his upturned palm, the expression on his face that of a thinking man. He imagined it wasn't one many were used to seeing on the face of a Brujah, but he didn't really care what anyone else thought right now. "Y'know, after a shameful beating like that... I'm thinking a well-cooked burger an' fries is what I need. Provided I can get that far without swaying all over the sidewalk, heh." In truth, he did feel hungry. Obviously, there wasn't a burger on the planet that would deal with that, but they at least still tasted nice, and that was something. "Blackbirds do a decent menu - probably doesn't quite hold up to your own place, but then Blackbirds is still new. Maybe the boss turning up without warning'll get 'em working." He chuckled at the thought and the lighting from the ceiling danced in his dark eyes. This evening had certainly been eye-opening - Andrew Cutting, man of honour in a city of sin had once not been such an ideal of proper behaviour - and despite their differences, Angelo could see why. For now, though, he had other concerns - Leslie didn't seem quite that pale when they began, and it wouldn't look good for the hotel if she were to go overboard here. Fortunately, it would look just great if they were seen on the way to an eatery - the boss himself ensuring the health and safety of his clients, so much does he care. The headlines would boost the rep of the hotel, Cutting would be happy - well, not annoyed - and the Prince could talk to a beautiful woman. There wasn't a single flaw in that plan. ... Or he was completely hammered. Edited by Angelo, Jan 11 2014, 12:45 AM.
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| Cameron Comorraza | Jan 11 2014, 12:30 AM Post #19 |
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"Looks like you get to pay up," she said coyly with a grin in response to his defeat. Given the way the room was beginning to spin, the cold sensation of the water she was sipping on was the icing, his loss the cherry on top. Of course, she never accepted his challenge to prove a point. Well, not the point he was trying to make. The point was, despite still feeling her heart stop when Andrew's eyes bore into hers, she'd moved on? She was an independent woman! If he liked it then he should've not died and put a ring on it! With that thought, she watched Angelo with the glint of a dare sparkling in her eye, carefully slipping her foot out of her shoe, the tip of her toes brushed his ankle, trailing up the side of his denim clad calf, past the knee, and along the inside of his leg, stopping mid thigh and biting her lip as she slowly withdrew her foot and slid it back into her heel. She looked to the bar, watching the young man who'd been taking care of her until their eyes met and she motioned for him to come to her with a bewitching smile, her gaze following him as he actually stopped what he was doing to come around the bar to their booth. He slid across the bench of the booth behind them, "You're not under the table!" "I won!" The excitement in her voice was comparable to that of a child, being so proud of her sexy little self outdrinking a big, bad mafia man. Well, he looked like one anyways. A biker by day, mobster by night? She couldn't quite figure out what the fuck he was, nor did it really matter to her at the moment. The bartender grinned and dug into his pockets, pulling the fifty dollar bill she'd given him earlier for safe keeping and handing it back to her, giving her a pat on the shoulder, "You did good girl." He eyed the two men that sat with her carefully, knowing both of their faces all too well. His concern for her was an understatement. Andrew was stoic and silent, still apparently embarrassed by their atrocious indecency and company or something, and Angelo was rambling about drunkenly stumbling down the street and eating. Food. Goddamn him and his obsession with mentioning food. Or was he reading her mind? Because a burger and fries sounded fucking amazing. Were they really about to do this? Just ditch Andrew and find something better to do besides drink themselves to death? Fine by her. She didn't give a fuck. "If you don't want to give me your man card, you could always take me out instead," She mentioned it with a nonchalant tone, as if it were a harmless suggestion and giggled, "I'm not picky. I am really fucking hungry, though." She smiled rather brightly at the prospects of this. Wandering around the city, shithammered, and eating sounded ten times better than any of the other plans she had for this evening. |
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| Andrew Cutting | Jan 11 2014, 03:30 PM Post #20 |
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Toreador Primogen
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There was a flash of warning to Angelo in Andrew's eyes then, he was well aware of the Prince's little game under the table, he had chosen to ignore it for the time being but now his patience was wearing thin - extremely thin. He had come here looking for a change of scenery and he had run into an old acquaintance of some personal importance to him and now Matachelli was intruding; Leslie may not mind, but he certainly did - he had only a small degree of patience for such intrusions into his personal affairs and Matachelli knew it, so why was he purposefully playing this childish little game trying to play on the Primogen's nerves? Was it to assert the fact that he was Prince, or maybe he just got some sort of sick thrill from bothering other people? Whatever the case Andrew was no longer prepared to play along - Andrew knew Matachelli was no fool but he also knew that the Prince realised that Andrew was not just another stuff shirted elder that he could outwit as he had done all those others over the years. This petty joke of his had gone on quite long enough, it was time to end it, quickly, cleanly and without remorse. "Leslie, Mr Matachelli is an associate of mine, I think you know the sort of associate to which I am referring - inebriate as you are. Matachelli is no more capable of losing this little drinking game than I am and yet he insists on playing anyway and spinning his insalubrious stories as a means to try and draw you in." Andrew looked closely at Leslie and then back at the Prince - he knew all about Matachelli and his past but he also knew all about how Leslie felt about his kind. "Now Angelo you have quite outstayed your welcome whatever Leslie might say on the matter and if you do not wish to create a scene, or trouble for yourself, I suggest you politely leave now and allow me to have a word with an old acquaintance in peace. Do this and I shall think no more about this matter - which I believe is better for all concerned, hm?" |
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| Angelo | Jan 11 2014, 04:04 PM Post #21 |
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The Barkeep
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Angelo's eyes glided coolly from gazing at Leslie and settled on Andrew's, the hot embers behind his autumnal irises stirring into life again like a wild stallion suddenly tied by reigns. "Outstaying my welcome is an awkward thing to achieve when we're sat in the bar of my hotel Andrew - you know, one of the ones I haven't handed over to you. Still, if I've managed it, I imagined that means I've earned my food." His tone was a strange, neutral tone. There was anger in it, but he was quelling his emotional content if only to restrain the Beast. But his eyes still said something. They said 'how dare you'. They said it loudly. They said it louder than any of the music in the room, any of the other conversations, louder than any silence that anybody at the table had ever sat through in their life. "But, as I said - I'm hungry, and I'm gonna get something to eat. If you'd been paying more attention to what was being said, and spent less time squeezing the fun out of everything you touch, perhaps you'd have noticed Ms. Moltisanti offered to come with - a hint to your ability to entertain, old friend." The fact that Angelo would've accepted had nothing to do with it. Andrew had tried to rumble him - that was an attempted breach of the masquerade, but perhaps even juicier was the fact that apparently Leslie already knew about that sort of thing - not that she seemed like she much cared at this point, which was just as well for the entire bar. He stood, and fetched his jacket with a smooth arc of his arm, sweeping it around his shoulders with ease. Beyond a retort to the uppity Primogen's attempt at threatening him, Angelo was content to let this one go. Leslie was still more interested in anything but Andrew Cutting, and that was all the Prince needed - proof that the name Cutting couldn't buy you everything. "But," he said, continuing as if giving up on the argument, "I do have a few more errands to run tonight. Try not to break all the rules, hmm Cutting? Way I hear it, the repercussions for that sort of thing can be... Severe." He detached his hot-coal eyes from Andrew Cutting and returned briefly to Leslie, his smile genuine and full-faced, "Was a pleasure. Maybe next time we can avoid drinking quite so much so fast, eh?" With a wink he strode away, balling and un-balling his fists with every step. The Brujah temper was not one to be controlled with only one method. Angelo had researched every stress-containment method there was over the years, and had found that under the right circumstances he technically practised them all. For now, going to over-see a business a great deal less prestigious and Cutting-friendly was his go-to method. Maybe he'd tend bar for a few hours. Breathing the cool night breeze as he stepped outside, Angelo cursed quietly and kicked against the sidewalk before striding off towards the smaller, grungier bar - he'd forgotten to ask if they needed a restock order. |
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| Andrew Cutting | Jan 11 2014, 04:51 PM Post #22 |
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"You may run this hotel, but you're not the majority shareholder in the holding company. As for the rules, I'm quite sure that I don't know what you're talking about." He kept his eyes locked on Angelo as he left; the Prince had backed down and whatever the Brujah might think, it wasn't a case of win or lose, this wasn't a game it was life, Andrew's to be exact - Leslie was his, not in the sense of property but rather in the sense that he had no business interfering."Do enjoy your errands." Andrew turned back to Leslie, "For all his slumdog charms he does have a head on his shoulders and unlike me he has no code of ethics nor honour code to abide by. For now though he is right we do need to get some food into, but something wholesome and somewhere public not is some shady grill bar. Will you come with me?" |
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| Cameron Comorraza | Jan 11 2014, 06:03 PM Post #23 |
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Leslie watched the conversation self-destruct with all the grace and discretion of Dumbledore's Phoenix, bursting into flames and quickly crumbling to ash as she listened to the back and forth of words with confused ears. What in the fuck was going on? What did Andrew mean by one of his associates? Inebriate? Insalubrious? What in the fuck did that even mean? Fucking alcohol, fucking everything up, as always. What was supposed to just be a self-medicated wind-down to her evening turning into drama, drama, drama. The two bitingly debated the credibility to the others words, barely paying any attention to her drunken puzzlement. Angelo rose to his feet, putting on his jacket and saying something she didn't quite understand before affording her a wink and leaving. She watched his hulking frame stalk out with sad eyes, still not sure of what exactly just happened, just that those two were apparently not fans of each other outside of work. The vodka made it impossible for her to make any sense of what she'd just witnessed, only that her only possibility of actual fun had just walked out the door. She lifted a too-late hand to wave at his fleeting figure as it disappeared outside. Her eyes found Andrew again, looking to him with pursed lips as he started to speak again. Something about still having a head on his shoulders and no codes of... fuck his fancy speak for manners. She remembered this feeling, trying to translate his well-to-do vocabulary in her intoxicated state was no easy feat. Not that she was stupid, on the contrary, she was actually quite intelligent, but that didn't help her fluently speak Cutting when she was seven down and in the hole. Wholesome? What did that even mean? She nowhere near wholesome, this much he should know. "...Will you come with me?" Leslie groaned as she laid her head on the table. This man was impossible! Just swooping in out of nowhere wanting to be her knight in shining armour all over again. Her drunk mind warred with her sober heart, not wanting to be a complete and total bitch to him, but not particularly wanting to deal with the one-sided awkwardness of being watched while she ate and he didn't. That was another thing she hated; the annoying differences in their habits and routines that interfered with them ever having a normal relationship... If you could even call what they had a real relationship. She fell for his money first, back then... Then him, soon after she realized he was ready and willing to lay the world at her feet. That wasn't something she wanted to throw in his face either... "I just wanted a fucking burger and fries," She didn't look up at him, sounding like a whining child and feeling like she had no choice in the matter. Even if she said no, he could make her say yes. He claimed he'd never used his abilities against her before, but that could've easily been just another lie in and of itself. |
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| Andrew Cutting | Jan 11 2014, 06:32 PM Post #24 |
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He kept his gaze on Leslie, for her it was the heady mix of alcohol and dozen a dime stud that was intoxicating; for him it was being around her again and he found it quite agreeable, even if it made him bristle defensively at people he had little time for otherwise. The Prince was worthy of a measure of respect and obedience, but not that much - besides holding Praxis was a fragmentary and incorporeal thin in Detroit - the real power in this city lay in who you had under your thumb. Let the Prince think himself the top dog, let him do all the hard work trying to assert Camarilla authority and values; he'd never succeed and through it all the constancy of Andrew's presence only made him look better. His time here predated that of the Prince and he would be here long after he was gone, there was a cold certainty to that. Cuttings didn't cut and run and they certainly didn't die as easily as Brujah did - even a smart Brujah was no match for a Cutting in terms of ambition or the scope of their activities and Matachelli had confined himself more than he admitted to. Andrew was well aware that under normal circumstances Leslie would have quite happily gotten up and gone off with Matachelli, leaving him in the lurch. She would walk into that little honey trap hook line and sinker and end up cheapened and sullied by it. She wasn't exactly the 'cleanest' of people as it was but she deserved better than that - better than a string of half kept promises and empty charm, better than a man with no loyalty to anything or anyone but himself. No she didn't need a knight in armour and she probably didn't need Andrew either but in this case it was one knight or another and neither were precisely shining so better to go for the one with actual standards and a sense of decency than the thug in a pretty outfit. Otherwise she'd be dragged around a series of seedy bars of less than stellar repute, fed substandard food which was more likely horse than cow only to gain the ultimate reward of being fed on by Matachelli and left in some hotel room with a nasty headache and bad memories. "Then a burger and fries is what you shall have; I know precisely the place and at least there you will have the guarantee of safety, a good meal and no unfortunate incidents of food poisoning. So my question stands, will you come with me?" |
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| Cameron Comorraza | Jan 11 2014, 06:49 PM Post #25 |
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Turning her head, Leslie looked up to him from her where head lay on the table, "Why are you doing this?" She asked, sounding confused again. Why did he care so much? Why was he so concerned with her being around his other 'associates'...whatever that meant? The last time she saw him, he finally shed some light on why their relationship was less than normal and she told him she couldn't love him in return. This evening really only refreshed that one fucking memory in her mind, and it served as a reminder of why they were so incomparably mismatched for each other. She refused to let him take care of her, make her life easier, more respectable. She didn't want easy or respectable. She'd never had it growing up and she didn't need it now. |
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| Andrew Cutting | Jan 11 2014, 07:11 PM Post #26 |
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Toreador Primogen
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That was the question wasn't it, why was he doing this, all of this. Before meeting her the question had been a simple one to answer, even on a philosophical or psychological level, he did what he did for the Family and in return the Family made him extremely comfortable and powerful; they had Princes and Primogen everywhere, fuck they'd have ruled over London if they'd wanted to - but given recent events he was damned glad that they didn't it would have been a huge sinkhole for resources. Now though the answer wasn't so easy - oh he still ran his business interests on the Family's behalf and did everything he could to promote their cause and increase their reach but since meeting Leslie he'd started to question the bigger picture of his existence. If everything was for the Family at what point did love, art and beauty come in? That was what Leslie had meant to him, he'd forgiven her her past and her work because at the end of the day she was beautiful. That wasn't something he considered purely physical, she was beautiful as a person too, maybe he was succumbing to her more lurid charms but he found that hard to believe given how he had done so well to resist it in the past and since. But of course Leslie wasn't asking so deep a question, she was simply asking in a short term way why he was doing what he was doing right now; it was something of a mortal prerogative, to exist in the now rather than constantly considering matters on the weight of eternity. Andrew had to constantly remind himself that mortals seldom considered or referred to anything more than a few years into the future at most and in everyday conversation they seldom ventured outside the confines of the now. So why was he doing this? Well he couldn't answer even the shallow question she posed without considering the long term factors but for her benefit it was perhaps better to give an answer which was easier to understand with Leslie being in her present state. "Because I care for you, because I want the best for you and because I can. The answer to that question hasn't changed since the day we met and the years apart have changed it not at all; I worry for you in a manner I haven't experienced in decades. I don't want to see you stagger out of here drunk and end up goodness knows where." Andrew realised he was rambling and caught himself before he went any further, grabbing his scotch he downed it in one, with a vulgar disregard for the expense and quality of what he was throwing back like fruit juice. "You are right, you always were. You don't need a knight in shining armour - but everyone needs someone from time to time along the way and right now I'm offering nothing more than a burger and fries in some more comfortable surroundings." |
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| Cameron Comorraza | Jan 11 2014, 08:32 PM Post #27 |
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Neonate
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Leslie listened to him talk with a pout on her face before closing her eyes and sighing, "Fine." Why did he have to be so kind? She wanted to be angry at him. She wanted to walk away from this and never think about him again, but they both knew that'd never happen. Where he got off being kind and considerate, she was being stubborn and selfish. She didn't want to eat in a safe, comfortable place. She wanted to eat wherever Angelo was, because he was nice to look it in every way Andrew was not. Not that she didn't still find him and his filthy richness attractive, because she did, but they were polar opposites of each other. This much she knew now. Sitting up too quickly was a bad idea, feeling as if the alcohol in her body was literally spilling and washing from the upper half to the lower half. She felt dizzy, fighting to see straight and failing miserably. She rubbed her eyes and found Andrew again, smiling lazily, "So where are we going?" She scooted closer to him, ready to get out of the booth, "Are you going to take me there on your noble steed?" |
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| Andrew Cutting | Jan 11 2014, 08:50 PM Post #28 |
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Toreador Primogen
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"Its waiting outside." Andrew stood as she did, keeping a close eye on her; she had after all unknowingly tried to out drink the Prince of Detroit, something which for most mortals would be a fatal challenge. He watched her sway somewhat from the drink and moved quickly to intercept, preventing her from falling with a firm but polite and gentle hand placed a suitable distance up her back so as to support her properly without hinting at anything more. Then he half lead, half supported her, on the way outside and into the back of his black chauffeur driven car. He wanted to speak with her, like they used to - to explain to her why he was here and why he was doing what he was doing. He wanted to ask for her forgiveness if nothing else. But now wasn't the time, she was drunk and to do anything like that now would be like taking advantage of her - bad etiquette in such a situation as this. Though in business he was unscrupulous - a dangerous manipulator and opportunist - in this matter he was determined to do everything by the book. He was certain it was the only reason she'd been interested in him anyway - his manners, his kindness to her and his generosity which had extended beyond the simple desire for sex - his apparent altruism which had left many who knew him stunned. The Andrew Cutting they knew and would always know was the honourable but ruthless man of business - Leslie's Andrew Cutting was a kind, generous man with no ulterior motive. Having carefully helped her into the car, her dignity intact, he climbed smoothly in after her; the chauffeur knew where to go it was only across the street really but Andrew was determined not to have Leslie rolling out drunk onto the busy downtown street. |
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