5. Amber Hart, second reprise
Amber waits in the hospital cafeteria, cupping a steaming mug of late night coffee between her hands, letting it warm her otherwise chill flesh. It's a vaguely pleasant sensation, and the smell brings back memories, but it's more a showpiece than anything, an expected prop of someone waiting alone in the night and trying to stay awake.
She's not trying to stay awake - she's fully alert, fresh and ready to do her master's bidding. The thought keeps her focused, keeps her from glancing at her phone as frequently as she otherwise might. Keeps her from inviting the waitress over and flirting, since they both have nothing better to do at the moment. Luke Gray had better not stand her up. She hasn't been stood up since her death, and if he's the first, there'll be hell to pay, vampire or no.
A fashionably irritating 15 minutes late, the apparently much-adored Mr. Luke Gray walks through the doors to the cafeteria. He looks... he looks like a cliche, honestly. Black leather over dark clothes, wavy hair tossed back to reveal a toothy bad-boy grin that Amber has no doubt evaporates anything those sorority girls Carlos mentioned were wearing under their short dresses at thirty paces. But she's not so easily fooled by the lovely mask. The keen eyes of the vampire recognize another of their own almost immediately, her instincts processing the potential threat before her conscious mind can catch up on the multitude of little signals. She can see the way his eyes flick first to the neck before trailing up to the face, how his walk is just a hair too graceful to be produced by fallible living nerve and muscle, the way his eyes jump to her in mutual recognition before his evaluative sweep through the cafeteria would have reached her.
This is a fellow predator, and his hackles are, if not raised, held tensed to be raised. The attention of everyone in the room is fixed on Luke as he walks across the room casually, dodging between waiters, nurses and doctors with the ease of a dancer crossing an empty stage, always a little brush of contact to set the nerves afire, to sear a little memory of himself in someone, ripe for plucking when the time has come for a harvest. He's pretty good, Amber has to admit, as he sidles into a seat across from her.
Amber holds her instinctive desire to compete under layers of resolve not to make a scene, and adds another couple layers of I'm too good for him over the top when it threatens to break free anyway. He's good - yes, that's true. But she's here for a specific reason. "'Evening. Coffee?" she offers as he slides into the booth across from her. It'll be as much prop for him as the coffee is for her, but far be it from her to deny anyone else their little gestures while she's indulging.
"Blacker than the Dean's soul, yeah." He says with a wink, a little shared just-between-us-monsters joke. "Adore how you dispense with the cloak and the dagger so fast, love."
"You only need a dagger if you're going to stab someone, and why would I wear a cloak except to look good taking it off?" The waitress is ready to take his order, and Amber pauses to let her do so, but the mortal is dismissed from mind as quickly as she arrived.
Order taken, Luke leans back in the booth, giving Amber a once-over that would be blatantly, perhaps even insultingly, sexual in any other context, but entirely respectful in their particular arena. "Alright. I'll throw mine off too, since we're getting all comfy. I wasn't aware there was another club member on campus." Fingers drum on the table, an affectation for ones such as them, one of the little unconscious habits you have to relearn to pass as human. "Not sure I'm too jazzed about the idea."
"I'm only on campus to find you. Aventure's mine, and I'll be out of your hair as soon as we're done here," she promises that she's not here to compete with him for territory. "We've similar tastes, I think, which is why I wanted to warn you about a sickness I noticed starting to spread." Amber watches carefully for any sign of recognition - does he know and not care? Is he ignorant of the disease he carries? Those require very different approaches.
"Yeah, I heard Carlos and Marie got sick. Some nasty shit going around. Figured visiting 'em in the hospital would do more harm than good." He shrugs. "What of it?"
"It's spread by blood." She leans in closer, sharing an important secret. "Our blood. Can't hurt us, but we can carry it, pass it on."
A few silent seconds of calculation and Luke tilts his head at Amber, losing some of those little human mannerisms and going as still as the dead. "Ah. And sick people might draw some looks... yeah, I get you. I get you."
"As I said, we have similar tastes, and I don't want my herd to catch it. I like some of them. There's some overlap, like Marie." She hurries to explain her own interest - why she'd bother to seek him out, what's in it for her, and that her benefit is not in conflict to his. Her words don't match her thoughts, but she doesn't want to deviate too far from his wavelength. "I'm not much of an expert, but I've done a bit of research."
Another few moments of long thought, a drumming of fingers on the table again. Luke's coffee arrives and he pretends to drink it. "I'm going to need a favor, then." He finally says, expression a bit sour.
Amber's eyes narrow slightly at that. She's already doing him a favor here, and she's not prepared, quite yet, to admit exactly how important this is to her. "What do you need?"
"I'm going to be a bit parched after I fix the problem. You know how hard it can be to keep a cool head when you're real thirsty. Y'feel?" He raises his eyebrows, trying to recapture some of that playful just-between-us feeling, a bit unsuccessfully now that they've stopped skirting around their mutual heritage like nervous teenagers. "Since we've got some overlap in tastes, I figured you'd probably be invested in keeping that no one's problem."
"If you have an idea I'm all ears," she relaxes back into her seat. It's definitely a problem she's considered herself - her show of concern over shared tastes isn't just for show. Purging the sickness from herself would be doable, but might leave her thirsty enough to fly into a frenzy afterwards. That could leave someone dead. She doesn't want to kill anyone. "I'm not much for kegs, but I'm sure I have friends who could manage," she offers a contribution towards lightening the tone a touch.
"I'm thinking we pick a night for it, and you stick around, make sure nothing goes awry. We'll go by one of my places, and you're welcome to get a full meal, of course." He's trying to retain a bit of pride by making a little show of being magnanimous, but Amber can tell Luke really does need her help. His kind of scene wouldn't be especially conducive to corpses popping up without any blood. Not that hers would be much more forgiving of such a lapse.
"I'm not really sure I could stop something from going awry," she admits after a moment's hesitation over showing the weakness, but his admission deserves a bit of trust from her as well. When it comes down to it, she'd be of barely more use than a mortal at restraining a frenzied vampire, save that she heals rather more readily from having her guts ripped open. "The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak."
"Well damn. No little tricks?"
"You'd have to trust me," she quirks a challenging eyebrow, daring him to accept her offer, daring him to let her take power over his actions. Trust is in short supply. At least the flirting tone is back now.
Luke shifts in his seat and leans forward just a little. Amber is suddenly aware that a waitress has been watching them for the past three minutes without doing anything else. Not close enough to listen in, but the effect of their combined allures is definitely being felt. "I'm thinking I'll roll those dice. Because you seem like a smart woman, and a smart woman knows that someone who owes you a solid favor is so much more useful than someone who hates your guts for dicking him over." The flirtatious mood almost snaps like a thread pulled too tight- and then he winks at her again, breaking into the same cocky grin. "Normally I'd say a beautiful lady like you is far too pretty to trust, but I have a good feeling about you. And I'm never wrong."
"Oh, I'm practically made of good things coming to those who trust me," Amber offers. The words don't make that much sense, but making sense isn't the point - the point is the flickering glance at the waitress and sly smile accompanying it, indicating that yes, she too is potentially included in that. "Tonight, or do you have another time in mind?" Her attention turns back to Luke.
"Well hell, I think they're doing some big rager tonight. It's a day ending in -y, after all. Unless you're busy...?"
"Give me half an hour to get into something nicer and I'll meet you there?" She cradles her coffee, wondering exactly who she should go as tonight. Not her usual haunt, maybe she ought to try something different.
"It's a date." He throws a 10 on the table - if nothing else, Luke Gray is a generous tipper - and stalks out of the room. The invisible tension that had been brewing in the cafeteria eases with his departure, people spellbound by the two of them suddenly remembering that they were eating or working and getting back to it.
Phi Omega Rho
Fraternities always love classical Ionian (or is it Dorian?) columns out front. They must think it lends an air of class and respectability to the dens of debauched young adults. Well, at least the ancients would probably approve of people getting drunk and making out pressed against their favorite architectural accent, so who's to judge?
A McMansion on Fraternity Row, Phi Omega Rho is three stories of trust funds, drugs, drink, sex, and a tragic lack of academic endeavor if the rumors are anything to go by. The frat house is a site of near-nightly revels for one reason or another, and is rumored to be a fine place to get recreational substances of all sorts at very reasonable prices.
Amber can see flashing lights and wildly moving bodies through the windows as she approaches the broad stone steps leading up to the fraternity. The front doors are wide open, and pounding music blares out into the night through them. Her approach immediately gathers stares. She's average height, yes, but that's about the only thing average about her. A vinyl skirt hugs her hips, shiny black interrupted by triangular sections of mesh. It's not the shortest skirt at the party, but short enough to leave little to the imagination, especially combined with the bare waist and black tube top pulled tight across her chest. Matching black bands on each arm and a black band choker, all of the same shiny vinyl, complete the look. No purse. Heels, nothing too daring there, give her an extra inch and a half of height. Heads turn.
Many of the bolder fraternity brothers and sisters are openly checking Amber out, and one notable couple even stops in the middle of kissing to give her envious and hungry looks. She smirks at them, ignoring the envy radiating off some of the sisters she's showing up . She feels good, she feels powerful. She knows anyone here would kill just to run a hand down her calf and thank her for the privilege, and that knowledge nestles in her chest next to a still heart like a warm little viper, comfortable and smug in its own victory. The dancers on the floor feel her presence as she walks past, even if they can't see her through the press of bodies. And - well imagine that. There's Marie, the bitch from Aventure and Luke's playmate. The doctors must have given her a clean bill of health after all.
It's a wonderful feeling. She doesn't want to share. She doesn't want Luke to show up, to ruin her spotlight. Of course he must feel the same way - the comment about not wanting to share the campus is entirely understandable, and his immanent arrival niggles in the back of her mind. There's only one vampire she ought to be sharing a room with, and it's not this too-suave bastard. As much as she's promised Marie a proper reception, it's not tonight, she sternly reminds herself. Marie agreed to two weeks away from playing blood doll, and Amber's not going to break her promise for her, tempting as it is. She settles herself on the wall, leaving her drink sitting on a window still to one side, seeming to not keep a close eye on it. Anyone wants to try something shitty, she makes a tempting target - and one not even vaguely vulnerable, as the other girls here might be.
In a crowd like this, it doesn't take an especially long time for someone to approach her. Amber can smell the money on the guy as he approaches. If the polo shirt and the rolex didn't do it, his aftershave is a complex enough aroma that it had to cost more than a pretty penny. The kind of person who might go to Vortex for a little taste of the edge of society he'll likely never have to experience. He leans on one arm against the wall next to Amber. "Y'know, you don't look like a sorority sister." He has to shout a little to be heard over the music, but so does everyone.
"Graduated," she offers at her own half-shout, pitched just low enough that he has to lean in closer to hear what she's saying. "Manage a company, but I need to unwind like anyone else." She does a bit more work than the owner, but not enough to actually be actually true. Close enough for shouting at a party to a trust-fund baby, and more impressive sounding than 'personal assistant.' Also she didn't actually graduate, but whatever.
"I was going to say you didn't look like you had as much of a stick up your ass as most of them!" He replies, grinning with the ease of someone telling a joke that's clearly expected to resonate with someone from experience. "I'm Thomas, what's your name?"
"Amber." She looks up at him - she has to look up at most men, really - and laughs easily at his joke. He's in her personal space, where she drew him with her low voice. "It's true, I don't usually take... sticks... up my ass."
"That so? Glad to hear someone knows how to have fun around here." And speaking of her ass, the predictable slide of fingertips across her hip, clearly intending to at the very least examine it a bit more closely, perhaps even test her assertion.
Amber enjoys the sensation a moment, pushing her hips into it slightly and letting him get a good feel before standing up to her full height and moving a bit to the side, leaving the fingers to touch only air. "Afraid I'm already meeting someone tonight, Thomas. Will you be at Vortex on Friday? I hear they've got a special something planned," she returns to a proper volume, no longer needing to be quite so close to hear each other. Keep the hope alive. Maybe on Friday she won't be meeting someone.
"There's no need to meet anyone tonight, Amber." He says, trying to keep a flirtatious atmosphere while sensing his chance slipping away. "You've already landed the best catch here." While he doesn't grab or touch her - perhaps he has some manners - his hand doesn't quite move from the elevation needed to go right back to fondling her.
"We might in the mood for a third, if you swing that way?" Amber continues the flirt with a chuckle. If something does go wrong and someone needs to get hurt, might as well be Thomas. She'll do her best to protect him from a starving Luke, but better him than anyone she actually likes, or one of the girls.
"Damn. Worth a shot. I might be interested, if I'm not taken by then."
Amber can feel the shiver in the air when Luke arrives, the presence of another predator. She's gotten so used to Siveri's dominant presence, the way he rips the attention away to himself effortlessly, that feeling a competition is... strange. She can feel the ebb and flow of the room's invisible social currents twisting around them both, some of the gazes that were riveted on her face or chest or her ass in lust or envy or admiration sliding to Luke.
She gives Thomas a parting wink and disengages, making her way around the perimeter of the room - not towards the door, because she's not some love-sick peasant girl, but moving slowly in a direction that might cause them to meet up anyway.
"Evening, Luke," she licks her lips as they come close enough to speak. The room suddenly clicks back into rightness in her perception, as the torn social patterns unable to settle between two opposite forces, her and him, instead settle on the far more stable single-pole arrangement of them.
Luke throws an arm around Amber, and there's a sort of frantic energy to him that wasn't present before in calm and confident Luke, here to meet another predator on home turf. She can feel muscles tense under clothes and skin, but what really shows the hunger is his eyes. There's a light there that causes the vestigial human instincts in her to send a shiver down her spine, while the Beast wants to snarl in challenge or... or... something. The idea of hunting together that sparked with friction at the bare thought earlier that night, while fed and rational, suddenly seems so much more appealing. There was plenty of prey for two predators here. They weren't going to starve any time soon.
"Amber, it is a delight." He says, and while the tone of his voice isn't any different, the Beast is living in the rough texture of it all the same, a certain taught feeling in his words that she almost feels herself in sympathetic reaction. The hunger is infectious - she feels it pulsing off Luke and an echoed heat from beneath her own skin as she slides in easily next to him.
"The pleasure is mine," she purrs, facing the dancing crowd. She wonders with a surge of self-satisfaction if Thomas has 'found someone else' (he hasn't) or if he's already resisting the urge to come chasing after her and make one more try, since she left the door open.
"Baby!" A familiar voice cries out and Amber sees a little blur of blonde next to her and then Luke is being embraced by Marie, and she can see the struggle in his eyes to not make all of this completely irrelevant and just drink and drink and drink.
"Two weeks," Amber inserts herself verbally, reminding Marie of her potentially immanent death. Not a threat - Amber didn't threaten to kill her over it, merely pointed out that she'd be killing herself. And Luke as well, reminding him by her mere presence of what she represents, how his own actions carry the threat of exposure if he can't control himself.
Amber's words pierce the veil of heated hunger pulsing inside Luke's skull and he gives her a nod over Marie's head, while she turns to probably say something very, very foolish with Luke's presumed protection to save her. "Sorry, M, but my new friend is right. You're going to have to sit this one out."
"But-"
"Don't." He says with a hint of warning, and Marie's teeth click a little as her mouth shuts. She nods meekly and Luke gives her hair a little stroke. "Don't argue with me right now. Just go on and have a fun time. Get absolutely railed for me." He gives her a charming wink and just like that the memory of any strife is gone and Marie regretfully exits his embrace.
"Oh, I guess you're right..." She says, pouting performatively. "I'll see you soon." She turns and walks away with a flick of golden hair over one shoulder and much more sway to her hips than is necessary.
Amber snorts as Marie leaves, completely ignored. "I'd be a bit offended my earlier visit didn't leave more of an impression, but I suppose I'd be equally bothered if you could sway one of mine, so I'll call us even on that score." The matter-of-fact examination of the matter helps Amber make her words into reality. She's not bothered by it, not really, when Marie is obviously already so deeply in Luke's thrall.
"How do you think I knew to take you seriously?" He grins at Amber, and she can see his fangs. "Come on, I'm starving." He growls, one cold hand gripping Amber's hip.