"It's gonna be great!" Louise exclaimed as the pair crossed the street — her leading the way with a quickened stiletto step. Louise was a pretty woman, with dark hair and darker eyes, but that was the norm. Leclair didn't concern himself with the unattractive. The woman had a natural confidence and charisma which made her fun company. Like everyone around him, Louise had been caught up in the prestige of the royal's attention, but she struck just the right balance of unintimidated and sycophant for her to keep his interest longer than most. And even among his gaggle of attractive companions, she was particularly hot. But Leclair had kept her around too long. He felt the prickle on his neck that came with the familiarity of her voice. She didn't know it, but that night was going to be their last outing. Hopefully one which ended together in bed.
Leclair paused outside the door to finish his whiskey. He had moved quickly to stand under the eave, because as much as he liked the rain, he didn't want to be soaked. Rain was generally better when you weren't standing in it. The vampir downed the remainder of his whiskey in a singular swig, frowning as the last of the burn cleared his throat. He tossed aside the bottle to the sound of breaking glass before his eyes shifted back to his companion.
"You're just interested in half-naked dancers," he jabbed, as if he wasn't. It looked like a fancy establishment, at least at a glance. Not that Leclair had any qualms against attending the trashier areas of the city. He'd never heard of this place before, and he certainly hadn't been there before. At least not while sober enough to remember it — the royal visited lots of places in an altered state, which left him barely remembering them.
"It's an art," she returned. Louise didn't wait to swing the door outward, stumbling slightly under the heavy weight.
Leclair wasn't going to linger, and he took the lead into the building without another word. The rest of their companions waited inside, and he much preferred to be surrounded by groupies than to engage one to one. Louise had set up the company for that night, because Leclair didn't much care who he was with as long as they fit his criteria. And his guidelines were lax. The interior of the club was not bad, with a lush décor of red and black. Patrons of a wide variety filled the chairs, and servers clad in skimpy outfits flitted between tables — more than one of them catching his eye. Louise overtook him as his eyes lingered on a particularly appealing character. She called out to the group, drawing his attention over to them. Faces of people he either didn't know or didn't recognize. It didn't matter either way. He followed in strides behind her, dropping himself into a cushioned seat as soon as he reached the table. A table perfectly placed for optimal viewing of the stage. Leclair spared a moment to glance over his other companions. Nice faces. Decent bodies. Luxury clothes. Shining, hungry eyes. They looked like everyone he'd ever met.
They'd do.
The royal spent the next half hour downing three shots and a mojito. He talked about nothing and whatever he wanted, the unknowns hanging on every word. They took turns trying to impress him with any anecdote or fact about themselves they had, eagerly jumping over each other's speech. Everyone always tried that. It never worked. But at least they were noise until the performance started after Leclair grew bored of talking himself.
The announcer called out the next routine, and after a chatty intermission, Leclair was ready to see what this little club had in store. The young royal was lost in a delight haze of inebriation by that point, and his mind was clouded by explicit thoughts about every enticing form he saw. He wanted something to latch onto, someone to focus a fantasy upon. He didn't have to end the night with Louise, if someone new caught his fancy. He didn't have to end it with just one person, either. The crowd hushed as the lighting focused the stage. Everyone there, patrons aside, was various degrees of hot, but that dancer, dressed in tight dark leather, had a particularly appealing frame. He was the perfect balance of muscle and curve, and Leclair knew he was going to enjoy watching him. It was easy for the vampir to imagine himself tearing away parts of the already revealing clothing to reveal more. And there was a familiarity about the soft blond that stirred something deeper within the darker haired man. Had he slept with him before? That didn't stop him from wanting him again. He wanted a taste of that perfect frame. Maybe Leclair would get to make the performer's night.
But then their eyes met. And every muscle Leclair had tensed. No amount of intoxication could blind him to the resemblance — Sal.
He swallowed. His mouth felt dry. It couldn't be him. What would he be doing there? Performing there? It was just a look alike. Wasn't it? Even as the man obviously fumbled his dance, Leclair doubted his authenticity. Sal was in Neu Kingdom. Far, far away. It had been almost ten years, would Leclair really even recognize him?
He would.
And he did.
Leclair remembered some inklings of attraction to his former companion in their boyhood days, and after they'd parted, sometimes the royal found the blond in his fantasies, even as he filled his bed with hundreds of others. But seeing Sal then was entirely different. The boyish youth dispelled in favour of an alluring man. Despite stumbling over several of his steps, the dancer finished his routine. He departed abruptly from the stage afterward, and Leclair rose the minute he vanished, no longer interested in any of the other performers. His mind was set. Nobody else would do. He had to have him, Even if he was wrong, even if it wasn't Sal, Leclair still wanted him. Maybe he wanted a stranger more.
Louise looked up at him, and Leclair spared her only a glance, eyes focused on the door to the employee area. "Don't wait around for me," he said, voice light and suggestive. And the Blacke left her no time to respond before he departed. But each step toward the dressing rooms, he felt something heavier. Something unpleasant that he kept attempting to swallow down. He was met with mixed success. It had been almost a decade since they'd parted ways. His childhood companion had surely changed a lot since then. Obviously. He was dancing at a burlesque club. That seemed a lot more interesting than the Sal Leclair remembered.
The one you derided for his boring demeanour, said a tiny voice in his head. Leclair pushed it aside. It didn't belong there. Sal had never seemed impressed with Leclair's escapades when they had been teens, and whereas Leclair's trajectory was predictable, it appeared Sal's was not. Leclair had always suspected Sal once held at least something of an attraction toward him, if not more, and that bolstered his actions as he crossed the room. A bodyguard, clearly unfamiliar with him, stepped into his path, only momentarily.
"No guests beyond this point."
"I'm Leclair. Blacke," the vampir stated. He wasn't going to waste any time. His reputation followed him wherever he went, and it wasn't as if it was unusual for him to haunt even a lower establishment. He made a habit of doing just that, and he'd made no secret he was going to be there that night through his social medias. But this man didn't seem to get the memo. There was doubt in his dark eyes.
"Want to test me?" Leclair challenged. Despite his inebriation, his voice was clear and authoritative.
"… Go ahead," the man returned cautiously after a moment.
"And that performer — who was he?"
"That's Flo — Florian."
Florian.
Sal.
It was him. Leclair had no doubt. He strolled past the guard without another word, eyeing the doors down the hall until he found the one with the proper name upon it. Without a thought, he moved for the handle, his fingers around it before his brain had a moment to catch up. But then the Blacke froze, unable to turn it as he stared at the name on the door. He doesn't want to see you. Leclair heard the little voice in his head again. And why should he? The royal swallowed. It had been Leclair who'd terminated their tenuous connection. And even though it had been years ago, even though they had been teens, Leclair had not been kind in that final exchange. Leclair's grip loosened, his fingers slipped away, and he stepped back. This was a mistake. If it really was Sal, and he was sure it was, he didn't need Leclair dredging up old memories.
But you want to see him. And he did. He wanted to fuck him. That was all. Nothing more. Sal didn't need to like him for that. Leclair stepped forward, and opened the door.
"Sal?" He said. He had meant to sound confident, certain. But there was a hint of hesitation there that he hated. However, Leclair was nothing if not prepared to recover himself, and the next line he spoke with only the intended swagger. "I'd never expect to see you in a place like this."
LOCATION |
INTERACTIONS |
MENTIONS 
: Hey, I'm on my way now! Can't wait to see you 
: "Hey! What time are you coming to my house? So we can get this night going. I really think this will be good for me. Thx for basically dragging me outside. xoxo ~" Smiling at the contact photo of Scout and her hugging, before putting her phone down on the vanity in her room. Looking back down at her ring. With much hesitation, Aphrodite took the ring off. For the first time in forever, she had placed the beautiful pink diamond in its rose gold case.
They were all busy with something. Hilda was not sure what, but they were sitting quietly around the dinner table, with notebooks, pencils, pens, tape, stickers, all sorts of stationary, doing something. It could have been homework, it could have been journaling, it could have been a gossip table, and no matter what it was it gave her peace to prepare for dinner. She could hear the knife slice through the fibers of the celery, onion, and carrot, and edge gliding through each piece as she diced them all into her mise en place.
This was easily the best afternoon in weeks. Her earphones filled her mind with music, the soft piano gently washing away all thoughts and worries. The sizzle of meat in the pan was dull, the kitchen hood a muted woosh, and everything came together as if she was deaf, which pleased more than anything in the world.
