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Dangerous Company

Wed May 10 2006

Seventh House Cafe: Outdoor Patio - Grand Street: East

    Coming down the stairs one finds themselves stepping onto a broad bricked patio. A green and gold awning affixed to the far wall shelters tables from both fair and foul weather. A grill provides space to cook, the food served is all vegetarian fare.
    The real attraction of the Seventh House Cafe is its teas and juices, however. Hippies, pagans, witches and Earth children of all makes come together to brew up potions that tantalize the mouth while providing all the natural goodness the body might desire. Six small tables are draped with colorful cloths and candles, each of these bearing a small bowl of fresh flowers taken from the nearby flower market. The walls here have been painted to resemble the Major Arcana, the ornate images of the tarot sending the mind toward an expansion of consciousness. Rumor has it, if one has the proper words, other things can be gotten in this place. Whether that is a foolish rumor or not remains known to only Ivanya herself.
    The sky begins to brighten as the stars fade out. It's a chilly morning and the sky is clear blue and cloudless.


Eyes like candy. She has eyes like candy. Hard and blue, yet soft as kitten's feet. There's a distance in those eyes, a flickering of something held in deep thought. Hair is thick and silken, a deep red that cannot possibly come out of any bottle. Its undertones are both blonde and black, genetics combining oddly to create the radiant color. Her complexion is fair, paleness not from a lack of sun, but European descent. Lips are painted a dark red, purse slightly. A hint of a smile tugs at the corners, promise of full bloom almost constantly near. Her words are drenched in a thick, purred Russian accent, her English a bit rough, but easily understood. Her form is tall and thin, standing at only a few inches bellow six feet. She's not as curvy as most young women, her hips subtle swerves, her chest well-rounded. Not too small, yet not overly large. Her neck is gracefully long, smooth and creamy. Slender hands and small fingers, nails kept perfectly manicured. She seems the perfect portrait of a lady. But, as many know, appearances can be deceiving...
    This night, she is dressed in a black blouse, tailored to fit her form perfectly, the buttons down the front small, each silver with a tiny gem the color of her eyes in its center. A pencil skirt is equally black, reaching just above her knees. Calves are left bare to the night air, no nylons worn. Simple black heels round off the outfit, tiny kitten heel barely adding any height to the woman at all.


Coal black hair has been cropped short and functional, while holding to it some sense of style - it still reaches no lower than the base of his neck. Here and there a hint of gray, hard-worn testaments of life. His brows are thin, and just as dark, arching over eyes of chocolate color that have seen more life than the thirty-something appearance would otherwise suggest. The lines radiating out from his eyes speak of long hours squinting, being more pronounced than those faint touches at the corners of his mouth. His build is medium, and even his height not terribly impressive, being an average of 5'10". The only things remarkable about the man are the hawkish nose and the skin of a pale, almost polished, gold.
    Pale gold has been tailored to the man's body. The shirt shimmers softly in the light, the champagne coloring of soft suede adding definition to the man's form. Darker buttons run up his midline, each one buttoned and none left undone. The collar spills crisply from his neck, holding a wrap of his tie hidden. In the silk tie, a tiger's eye tie-tack holds the accessory to the shirt. His pants are a rich brown color, pleated and well made, with a wrap of brown leather at his waist, buckled in gold. His shoes are dark leather as well, polished and well cared for.

Having taken to her lessons well and finally shown a measure of Control, Ivanya is allowed a night of freedom to feed her bloodlust and do as she wishes. Save for those things that she craves most. Wanting company, Ivanya considers the options she has...and calls on Amun, one the Master of the City has very little like for. But, it is her night, and as usual, Ivanya will do as she pleases.

Night, and Ivanya has been freed from her prison, her lessons. Temporarily, at least. And who is better to call, when interesting company is wanted? Amun. It had been some time since she had seen the vampire that so sparked her interest, thought. And much has changed. The cafe is closed, this late at night, but the woman awaits her guest on the patio, beneath the portrait of the Fool. Around her neck, is something new. A collar of dark red velvet and shiny metal, the word 'Control' etched in Russian at the front, along with figures in sensual positions. Not something she would have picked out herself, surely.

No limo drops off the old vampire this time, no car at all. Instead he strolls up the street, the tune whistled from his lips one of his homeland, now forgotten by all but him no doubt. Amun spies Ivanya and turns towards her table.

Ivanya rises, as he moves towards her, lips quirking into a little smile. "Amun," she purrs the name, Russian thicker than before, voice a touch rough. "It is good to see you. Sit with me?" There is a glimmer of hope, as she says it, the chance of company that she has not seen.

Amun's head inclines. "Have you had a request refused by me, Ivanya?" He speaks in her native tongue, as accentless as his English. The man leans in, brushing warm lips, softened by earlier drinks, across Ivanya's forehead.

Ivanya smiles, to hear him speak in her tongue. Her eyes close at the kiss, and she presses one in turn to his right cheek. "Never. I was hoping that you would not break that run." Her own form holds little warmth, not having fed the blood hunger, yet. She pulls out a chair for him, offering.

Amun's smile is a small one as he takes the chair she offers. "You have long hid yourself away, it seems to me," he continues on. "Has the Prince of the City of Wind decided I am too evil a man to consort with his pledglings?"

"It is not that," she says with a little chuckle, eyes flashing. "Though Koray never did approve of my consorting with you. I have been a bad little vamp as of late, apparently. Belles starting orgies is a bad thing, here. In public, at least. So now, I am to spend my nights studying, and learning," a gesture is made to the collar, "Control."

The smirk that shows on Amun's lips is clear enough to show his thoughts on the issue of Vampiric powers in public. "They offer us the freedom to walk in public, but take away that which is ours by blood and rebirth."

Ivanya's own smirk comes, and she shakes her head. "At least Koray did not pick too great of a prude to be my teacher. Apparently, Belle's gift, curse, whatever you would call it, was strong enough to overpower a vampire of over a few centuries. Whoops." She shrugs her shoulders slightly , crosses her legs. "It's not like I let it loose at a park, but at the Wicked, where the lust was already running high."

Amun grins - apparently having been working on his own control. He does not laugh, and risk stirring up emotions at the moment. "How is your training, my friend?" he asks. "Do you feel it worth it?"

"I miss being able to go as I please," Ivanya admits softly, "And I am to avoid any non-Master Belles that may hold the Arduer. But control is a lesson I had to learn, have to learn, I guess." She sighs, looking up at him with another faint smile. "So in the end, I suppose so."

Amun lays his hand across her own. "Lessons in our lives are often harshly learned, Ivanya. It was worse, long ago, when such an accident could have caused a coven of us to be hunted."

Ivanya's hand turns beneath his, so that fingertips can stroke over his wrist. "Yes, so I have heard. I am just stubborn, and do not like being caged, kept away from my home," she says with a little gesture to the cafe.

Amun moves his hand until his fingers can curl with her own. "Do they have women from the Motherland that are not stubborn?" he asks. His tone holds no teasing, but there's something in his eyes that makes up for it.

Ivanya laughs, something warm and genuine. "No, I do not believe that we breed such creatures back in Russia," she replies. His hand is given a little squeeze, and she looks over him slowly. "You are a good sight to see, my friend."

Amun mms. "The quiet life suits me, no matter what some might think." He returns the squeeze in kind. "Though I do not see you as one suited well for such a life."

Ivanya grins smally. "Ah, but you are fun when not so quiet," she purrs with a little wink. "I would be glad of your company more often, my dear, when I am not so...caged. If I recall correctly, I was to learn your native tongue, so I could speak with you in it."

Amun chuckles. "You speak the most primal of tongues already, Ivanya. Need you learn anything else?" He leans back in his chair a bit, relaxing in the night air.

Ivanya's lips quirk, and another laugh escapes them, softer this time. "Perhaps I do, but that does not take away the desire to learn others. I enjoy whispering threats and promises into the ear of a lover in their own tongue. However, I wish to learn yours so that you may hear someone else speak it."

Amun leans over, kissing her lips - soft and involving only lips. "Thank you for that, Ivanya. I can taste sincerity in your words." He leans back after that is left said. "You will tell no one?"

Ivanya returns that soft kiss, and a spark of her power, that lust she holds, can be felt before it is pulled back. Small, but there nonetheless. "I will tell no one," she answers softly, looking to his eyes. "You have my word."

Amun nods. "Let us go inside, then. Some secrets I will not have whispered on the night air." He rises, clearly expecting she'll just agree. There is no small amount of arrogance in the elder vampires.

Ivanya has been spending much time with some elders. She's gotten accustomed to the arrogance. Rising to her feet, she follows, moves to the front when the door is opened. "Come into my home," she offers, unsure if he still had a standing invitation, playing it safe.
Seventh House Cafe: Basement - Grand Street: East
    The stairs lead down into an area designed to be the foyer for the underground suite. Slender white columns rise upward to the left and right of the doors, ending in a curved arch that gives the stairs the feel of mirrored french doors. Flanking the columns, twin Strelitzia Nicolai (White Bird of Paradise) plants spread their graceful leaves in a fountainesque arch that reaches nearly to the ceiling. To the far left one can make out a pair of french double doors that lead to a cozy alcove, the design meant to balance the effect created by the stairs.
    Closed doors stand flank the siting area, leading deeper into the suite. A dining table holds sway over the rightmost section of the room, the deep mahogany tones matched in the eight high-backed chairs arranged in precise lines around it. A lush fern holds court in the center of the table. Overhead, a brass and glass chandelier casts a mellow light upon the dinners. Hunt scenes matted in muted shades of red and green adorn the walls in this section of the room, a swinging wooden door providing entrance to what one presumes to be the kitchen.
Amun follows Ivanya in and downstairs, keeping quiet as they go. Once downstairs, though, and locked in, he speaks. "What would you know to say first? Start simple, yes?"

Ivanya motions to the set of chairs by the empty fireplace, sitting down herself. "The basics are always good to start with. Greetings, and the like. It is where I have always started before."

Amun removes his shoes by the stairs and slips out of his coat. He follows Ivanya again, this time to the seats. "Very well. Good evening," he says in Russian, followed by the same phrase in his own tongue.

Ivanya sits so that she's turnt towards him, listening to the way he rolls the word off of his tongue. She replies in turn, getting the feel of the language slowly. In life, she had a knack for picking up languages. It has not changed with unlife.

Amun shakes his head. "No no. Stress teh second syllable more." He says the words again, three more times, slowly. "Now try it again," he encourages her.

Ivanya nods, listening to him again, more closely. "Good evening," she tries again, putting more on the second syllable as she's told.

Amun smiles. "There. You are making a start. Now...Good night," he says before stating the words in the language of his home - of legends in sand and Egyptian mystery.

Ivanya smiles back at him, letting it fade as she listens to the new words. A pause, letting it echo in her head, before she replies, "Good night," in that ancient tongue, or at least tries very hard to.

And again, Amun spends some more time getting her to say it just right. "Good, good," he says when she's finally gotten that down as well. "You do learn fast."

"Thank you," she answers softly, Ivanya's eyes looking into his. "I had to learn languages quickly, back when I was in Russia, to make things easier for those that came to see me," is explained briefly. "And you are a good teacher. It is a beautiful language, my friend, already."

Amun dips his head. He says something else in that language - it must be a sentence or two, given the length of it all. His lips quirk in a little grin, after the words.

Ivanya's brow raises as the words spill out, and another pause is taken. She tries to repeat it, stumbling slightly over a few words. "Now tell me, what did I just try to say?," she asks with a chuckle.

Amun mms. "I think I should make you wait until you can figure it out for yourself," he begins. "You might not be ready for it yet...." Oh, cetainly he is teasing.

Ivanya cannot stop her lips before they move into a little pout. "Oh, that is not fair," she protests softly, a smile quickly coming in the wake of the pout.

Amun chuckles. " Maybe I just have some desire to see you beg." He leans back, watching Ivanya for a moment. "I wish to see you naked in the moonlight, your body glistening in the blood of a meal."

Ivanya would blush, if she could, though the heat in her does rise. "I would gladly beg for you, a night where I can properly do so," she whispers, eyes flashing. The last words make her eyes close, and she licks her lips as the bright eyes open again. "Ah, but would you lick me clean, my dear?"

Amun's head inclines. "Until your throat was ragged from begging me to stop, your thighs flooded from your desire, and your breath stolen." Not that she'd need to breathe.

That doesn't stop Ivanya from shivering, tugging on her lip with a fang. Desire rises, though she holds down the flare of power. Control. "We. We may have to find a way to do that, some night..."

Amun looks into Ivanya's eyes. "Are you willing to kill, Ivanya?" There's some intensity in his question, echoed in his tone. He leans towards Ivanya a bit more.

Ivanya's lips move into a tiny little smirk. "It is not something that I have not done before," she admits softly. "Though I trust that you will not let anyone else know that."

Amun nods. "Did you enjoy it?" He has no problem invading personal space it seems, be it mental or physical. "Did it make yoru heart beat faster, your body feel lighter?"

Ivanya swallows, and her eyes become more blue as she speaks. "It was my husband. My first meal. And yes, I enjoyed it. Perhaps only because of who he was, but yes. I felt the last beat of his heart and rejoiced in it."

Amun asks, "Did you rend his flesh? Deface his manhood? Speak to me in the poetry of violence of that memory, Ivanya." He takes her hand in his again, holding it tightly but not painfully.

Ivanya wriggles in her seat, before her hand is taken. "No, I was not so lucky as to have torn into his flesh, save for his neck. I made him beg for his life, and made sure it was a drawn out thing, his death. If I could have, I would have torn the bastard to shreds," she purrs, anger in her voice at the memory.

Amun pulls her hand, drawing Ivanya towards him - swiftly. "Why only his throat?" he demands of her. "Why did you hold back your anger, your hatred of the man?"

Ivanya makes a small, surprised sound as she's pulled to him. "Because I was told to. To only kill, not to destroy." Always held back, this one. Anger. Desire. Her two strongest emotions, constantly put under heel.

Amun presses a palm to her stomach. With a firm pressure he pushes his hand up, over her breasts, until his fingers wrap around her throat and hold tightly there. He stands, lifting her from the gruond. "What do you desire this instant. This instant?"

Ivanya's eyes flash with panic as she's held like that, and then harden into something else. Others look frightening when they are angry. Ivanya? She is like some celestial creature, pale skin and fiery hair, wild blue eyes. "Two things," she answers lowly. "To fuck you, and tear you apart."

Amun lets her back down to the ground now. A lesser mortal would be gasping for breath, bruised... "Find a meal, Ivanya. Come back to me with blood on your lips..."

Ivanya for a moment, considers telling him no, and it shows in her eyes. A moment later, she moves towards the door, taking no coat with her. "I will be back shortly," she announces, before moving up the steps, heels managing to not make a sound.


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