[Marc] The lobby of Trump Towers hotel is as luxurious as the name suggests. The wide open spaces and the comfortable leather recliners give a feeling of comfort away from home for those wealthy enough to afford staying here. Count Marc de Vogue is one of those people.
He is sitting in one of those comfortable chairs, feet propped up on a low glass table. A newspaper (french of course) in his lap and he is idle flipping through it.
The tall, handsome young kinsman is dressed im a pair of snug jeans (black) and wearing a simple white tunic style shirt. His blonde hair is perfectly arranged to appear dashingly chaotic. Clear blue-green eyes and a smile that ca sometime rival the sun itself makes almost everyone turn their heads to take an extra look at him.
He is waiting for someone, or something.
[Rory] She is nervous. Very much so, especially after the recent Moot, and what she’d been through in confessing to Lukas. And now she is to meet another kinsmen from another tribe, daring to dip her toes into forbidden water once again.
But it’s just lunch. Right?
She remembers the hotel, and how shocked and out of place she felt, so when she shows up, she’s dressed in the only dress she’s ever owned – purchased for her by the aforementioned forbidden Shadowlord. A shimmering green, the color sets off her eyes, her skintone, and the cut of the simple strapless dress shows off her freckles to perfection – as well as how easily she blushes. The outfit is completed with a pair of strappy sandals, delicate and pretty.
She’s stunning, though she’d never believe it if someone told her so.
She slips inside the lobby, clearly feeling out of place, her hands twisted nervously together as she chews on her lower lip and searches the lobby – feeling hopelessly out of place…
[Marc] The sensation of rage reaches him first. It draws those clear eyes up, looking around. He actually glances past rory once before his head near enough whips back, eyes widening slightly as he takes in the image the metis presents. His lips curve wide into a bright smile, and the newspaper is casually thrown tot eh table as the tall kinsman stands up.
“Mon dieu… Rory.”
His voice low, but strong enough to easily carry as he begins to move forward. He makes no secret of the way he looks her over as he approaches, makes no secret of the pleasure her visage gives him.
“You look..absolument magnifique…”
Her rage does not give him puase, even for a second, and there is no hesitation in him as he lays his hands against her arms, leaning forward to kiss both of her cheeks.
“Simply stunning. It is good to see you… No, it is fantastic to see you. Thank you for coming.”
[Rory] He looks past her, and she’s not surprised, but his reaction when he realizes its her. Then she’s absolutely blushing brighter by the second as he tells her she looks stunning, that he’s happy to see her. His kiss causes her to duck her head, slightly, a little smile curling about her lips. She’s at a loss for words, really, and reaches up to tuck her curls behind her ear. It doesn’t last – they spring free almost instantly.
“Hi.”
[Marc] He takes a step back, his hands still on her arms and he takes another long look, giving a small shake of his head.
“You are beautiful Rory. You steal my breath. Come, let’s go.”
He slides his hands down her arms, brushing strong fingers against pale skin until he catches both her hands into his own, then leads her right back out of the hotel. The valley looks up as they exit, and as Marc nods to him, he gives a wave of his hand. The sleek silver car is pulled up within moments, and Marc holds the door open for rory, letting her get in. It is warm outside, sun shining after the storms, as if summer has decided to take its revenge. It sparkles of the metallic finish of the car.
“Everything is ready for our lunch.”
Once she is in, he closes the door and moves around the car, getting into the drivers seat. He takes a moment to look over Rory, top to toe, then puts the car into drive and pulls away from the hotel.
The ride is surprisingly short, only a few blocks in fact. He pulls the car to a stop in front of Chicago’s tallest building, the Willis tower. There is a man dressed in a suit there waiting for them. He is holding a large woven basket with a red and white cloth covering the contents inside. He oppens the door for Rory as Marc gets out and moves around the car. A quick exchange, and the young noble has the basket in one hand, and offers the other to Rory as the man goes around to park the car, leaving the two alone.
“Ready?”
[Rory] She blushes, brightly, as he compliments her, and is so flustered that she forgets to pull her hands away, to tell him that it’s not proper to touch her that way, for her to let him touch her at all, she forges anything but the slide of his fingers along her skin, and the way she holds her hands and leads her outside.
She slips into the car with an ease that speaks of the animal within her skin, the strength and grace she was born with, in a very real, monsterlike fashion. He looks at her – he looks at her like THAT – and she feels the heat of her blush creep all the way to her toes – so she watches the drive, instead. She looks at the basket, then up to Marc as she asks if she’s ready…
…and though she’s not sure she ever will be, she nods slightly, and slips her hand into his, to follow his lead.
[Marc] She is once more rewarded with that smile that rivals the sun as she takes his hand, and he elads her into the lobby of the building. He heads directly for the express elevator, and within moments they are moving up. He stands close enough that his bare arm is brushing against her’s in the elevator, his eyes locked on her face.
The elevator does not go to the top, instead slowing and stopping as they reach the 90th floor. The doors slide open and Marc is leading her outside, into a wide hallway, pleasantly decorated. A few turns and they reach a metal door. There are signs on it, stating that access is restricted and a lot of other things. Good thing the metis cant read. He pushes it open, and it is no surprise that the door is unlocked. This was well-planned after all.
He leads her out into the open air. A wide open space, the ground covered in green artificial grass. 4 tall white wind generators stand towards each corner of the square rooftop. In the center is a table with two chairs. Marc leads Rory out where soft winds can catch her hair and play with it. He leads her to the table and pulls the chair out for her after placing the basket on the table. The city spreads out around and below them, giving them a view that is unparalleled. Completely alone in the center of the great city, with nothing but the wind to keep them company.
“There… Alone at last. I hope you enjoy the view.”
He busies himself with the basket then, pulling aside the cloth to reveal an italian picnic with the works. Practiced hands as he sets it up without really looking away from Rory, and within moments, the anti-pasta is served. Slices of Italian cold cuts, with bread and green salad leaves.
He opens the bottle of sparkling water and fills two glasses before sitting down opposite of the woman, his back to the city, chosen to make sure she has the view of the city.
“Now… We can talk.”
[Rory] He leads her to the elevator, and she’s very aware, VERY aware of his presence, of the brush of his arm against hers, of the fact that he never really looks away from her, even while leading her down the hallway of dozens of signs she can’t read. Her hand tightens on his, briefly, as he opens the door outside, and then… then…
….she’s simply staring. The view is amazing, and while she had no real expectations, it’s safe to say she didn’t expect this, being 90 stories up, with the chicago wind playing about her slender form, catching her skirt and pulling it against her thighs, only to fwoosh it up to be caught absently by her hand. She has no real modesty about it, curiously detached from the thought of her legs – long and lean – as appealing in any sexual manner, let alone the rest of her.
She closes her eyes, and lifts her face to the wind, breathing deeply as it tugs at her curls, and plays about her form. Then, he’s tugging her to the table, and she peeks at him through dusty lashes before taking the seat he offers. She’s… speechless, but that’s hardly surprising.
Then she’s suddenly a little fearful as he says they can talk… barely managing a soft “…about?”
[Marc] He watches her, the way her shyness seems to be impenetrable, but alluring to him in a way he can hardly begin to describe. There is curiosity in him, appreciation and a hunger he does not bother to hide. (She has seen it, experienced it) He takes the glass of sparkling, cool water and sips it, lips curved up in a thoughtful smile.
“Us… You… Anything really. When I saw you at the bus-stop, you seemed… worried. It made me curious, so I wanted a chance to get you alone again, to talk. For starters.”
He gives a small shake of his head as the wind plays with his blonde hair.
“I had to think on my feet a little, but I do hope that I did not get you into trouble with the others? I thought discretion might be best in such a crowd, non?”
The glass placed back on the table as he takes some of the smoked ham, using his fingers as he wraps it around a slice of bread, then pours a little olive oil on it before topping it with one of the green leaves. And just as the last time they shared a meal, he offers it to her with a smile. Whatever she thinks of herself, he was not about to let her forget that he holds her above himself, at least in some ways.
[Rory] She watches him as he talks, daring to peek up at his eyes, meeting his gaze briefly before dropping her own, flushing under the heat of the hunger he doesn’t bother to hide. He mentions the bus stop, and being careful and a flurry of emotions dance across her face, chasing one another until she can’t quite pick out one.
He thought discretion would be best. She nods, briefly, before she hesitantly takes the offered treat from his fingers. She takes a bite – partially to give her time to collect her thoughts, and because her belly rumbles in anticipation – and then smiles, softly. “S’good..” surprised, seemingly, that something sos imple is such an explosion of flavor.
She furrows her brow, slightly, and then, softly mangles…. “He wad a moot. And.. after… I tad ho confess to violating another’s territory…” a beat. “kis hin.”
Honesty. Shy, but honest.
[Marc] He makes another piece of bread, same as Rory’s and takes a bite of it as he lsitens and watches, thoughtful mixing into his expression. Those clear blue-green eyes locked on rory’s face, meeting her gaze whenever she looks up at the young kinsman.
“I see. You surprise me Rory… I had not thought you to be the kin to go after a mated kin… Very forward of you.”
He says it with a radiant smile, amused almost.
“I take it his tribe was not pleased by it, by your reaction?”
Another sip of water and he goes back for another bite of the sandwhich.
[Rory] Her eyes widen and she stammers “Oh NO… he masn’t wated! I’d never!”
He’s amused, but she’s mortified at the very thought of going after a kin that’s mated… she’s trespassed badly enough as it is…
Then, softly admitted… painfully so… “I’ve been forbidden to hee sim again.”
[Marc] “Merde… I am sorry Rory.”
And it might surprise her to that he actually seems sorry to hear it.
“I take it he did not have permission do be with who he wanted then.”
He gives a small shake of his head, then reaches out to brush his fingers across Rory’s hand, offering her that smile again.
“I do not understand all of it, when it comes to how they treat you, but Rory… To me, you are just as good as they are. You deserve the same respect and chance at happiness.”
[Rory] She furrows her brow, slightly. “I don’t know who we hants to be with… there are others, but since I can’t claim…”
A soft sigh, a roll of her shoulders into a shrug as she takes another bite, before she falls still as his fingers brush over hers, and swallows belatedly. “I don’t. And if Fate kinds out I was with you…”
It’ll happen all over again…
[Marc] That makes his eyebrows raise a little and he offers her a smile.
“No, it wont. I spoke with Lady Katherine a night passed. I asked if it was her intention to pair me with someone, or breed me.”
He makes it sound as if he was a stallion to be traded or sold without a will of his own. Perhaps not far from the truth.
“She had no such thoughts. We agreed that my personal life? It was my own, as long as I kept it discreet, I am free to see whoever I wish, at least for now.”
He rises suddenly, grabbing his chair and moving it to the side of the table to sit down next to rory, placing a hand on her arm, seeking her eyes with his own again.
“We both know that you are not allowed to offer claim to any kin, but… Do you not have feelings, or needs to be with someone? I enjoy your company, and I will seek it as long as you allow me to do so.”
[Rory] He moves closer, and touches her, and she trembles under his touch – her lower lip slides between her teeth as she tries to process what he is saying, when it flies against what she knows.
He asks if she has feelings, and she flushes, brightly – apparently she does. But she peeks up at him, and then back at her hands, and admits shyly. “He was fy mirst. Ever.”
She’s never thought she had the right to feelings, to being with someone – not until Ray. But she doesn’t pull from that touch of Marc’s either…
[Marc] “He sounds as if he treated you well. I can understand why you would be upset.”
He shakes his head a little.
“Listen… I have something of a reputation among my House for being a rebel. I went against their rules when I thought they made no sense. I made friends with the metis of the court, because like you, they deserve respect, and a right to live and experience life. Be it to take lovers, or learn the same as the others.”
His hand slides down her arm until strong fingers wrap around her wrist. She seems so delicate, despite the rage that flows around her, washing over his kin to set nerves on fire with its heat. Delicate, that could tear from his grip without effort. Tear him apart like a sheet of wet paper should she want to. But there is no fear in the kin. He lifts her hand, moving his own to hold against her palm as he lifts it to his lips, brushing them past the pale skin on the top of her hand before looking back at the metis.
“You might not believe it, but I do. So I will continue letting you know that. You deserve what happiness you can find. Gaia knows your existence is a brutal one at the best of times. So for now, take what you can, what you will.”
[Rory] She is a contradiction on the best of days – unbearably shy, fragile looking, yet with a rage that suggests just how strong she really is. Anyone who picks up her backpack is shocked to find how heavy it is, for she carries it as if it were filled with feathers, rather than varying amounts of heavy metal (and not in CD form…). Her hands especially, her fingers, are so delicate and fragile looking. Her nails are barely there to speak of, and she looks as if the slightest pressure would break her into a million pieces, shatter her completely…
The Wyrm knows better.
Her sept mates and pack mates know better.
He knows better.
He kisses her hand, and she blushes brightly, biting her lip against the softly delighted sigh that wants to escape. “I dever nid anything before here.” And somehow, that admission encompasses everything, telling him a bit of her past without telling him any of it at all…
[Marc] He reaches for his glass, tipping it to Rory before taking a sip. His other hand still holding hers in that firm grip.
“Then it is a good thing that you did come here, isn’t it?
Glass placed down, and he reaches up to brush her wild hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear (only to have it bounce back and tossed around by the wind) and then brushes his fingers past her cheek as he pulls his hand back.
“I am sorry about your friend. I cannot do anything for him, but I would like to be yours, if you let me.”
[Rory] It’s a good thing she came here, isn’t it? She blushes and a little smile, shy but most certainly there, tugs at the corner of her lips. things have been so different than she expected it to be – so different than anything she’s known before.
But he’d like to be her friend, and his touch sends electric jolts under her skin, and she bites her lower lip before admitting softly. “I’d thike lat…”
[Marc] “Good. Now… Lets see if the chef got the chicken as perfect as he did when I tasted it. I keep talking your ear off when you are starving.”
And he stands again, his hand still holding on to hers. He leans forward to brush his lips past hers in a fleeting kiss before he stands up, once more going for the basket, this time serving up the chicken Alfredo with fettuccine for her and himself. He moves his own plate to sit closer to her, instead of opposite now.
“So tell me about your pack Rory… I would love to know more about you.”
And the young noble knows enough to realize that a pack can be as big a part of a garou as anything in their life. Sometimes more.
[Rory] his lips brush hers and she catches her breath, before exhaling into a soft sigh, and she ducks her head to hide away from him, even as she watches the way he moves and serves up dinner. He sits closer to her, and she reaches to take a bite of her fettuccine, a little sound of appreciation falling from her lips as she does so, using her fingers to catch a bit of sauce from her lower lip, then sucks it off as she considers how to answer the question.
“We’re the Bogeymen. Follow Fox. Edwin is…” in a word… “amazing. He cousn’t dare that am not so sneaky sometimes. Delmar is sean mometimes, but always has by mack anyway. I kicked his ass once when he malled ce weak – we’ve been ok ever since. Annie is quiet, but strong, and tunny foo.” She speaks of her pack with fondness – of Edwin, her alpha, with something akin to adoration. Many wonder why she joined them – she’s simply never felt more at home.
[Marc] “They sound like a good crowd. I can only imagine. You… Brighten up when you speak of them. It brings out your beauty.”
He tastes the food, and finding it to his approval, he busies himself with it, asking rory small qquestions, nothing that would step into her past further then she was willing to go, asking about the city, about her battles and her life with her pack.
He is good at it, putting people at ease, and even as he feesl out her boundaries for those things, once the meal is done, a blanket is produced from the large basket, and laid out on the soft artifical grass. The sweet pastries are only tasted on however, before the kin feels out other things about the fiery, pale metis. There are sure to be some freckles he has not yet discovered or tasted, and what better time then right here and now, uner a blue sky, 90 floors above the city that harbors so much evil.
You really must take what good you can after all.
[Rory] [le fade!]