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Name: Patricia Jane [pətrɪʃə dʒeɪn] | Gender: Lady | Age: 23 | Posts: 2,327 | Roses: 50
Old 03-14-2017 at 03:57 AM
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OOC: For Damon and Demi. To forming our characters and seeing who will lay down the law first ;) BIC:

Demetria Falcon

9:55pm. The floor was filled right now, but in a matter of moments once this song ended would tell what kind of life each person lead after 10pm. This time in the evening out always weeded out the men and the boys. Especially at the Note Bleue. Sitting at the top tier of the audience closest to the exits, she watched different couples at the end of each song either leave the floor together or part ways. The girls leave the guys stranded on the floor or the guys walk them back to their original gal pal groups...sometimes they just walk in two completely different directions without a word. You'd see couples leave together as the night slows down, but you quickly grab tabs on the guys that stick around a little longer. In the dark upper most corner of the club, Demi sipped her Boulevardier, fishing for the three cherries she requested at the bottom of the glass with the orange garnish. She was probably half way through her first drink. Her drink pace told a similar story of the nights she'd stop by the club. She wasn’t too sure about tonight’s crowd. Everyone looked pretty coupled off or grouped away in their boy and girl groups. Not many ladies or guys stood on their own tonight. That was about it tonight.

She looked around and noticed the same guy dancing with a new girl. He seemed to be the last guy wandering on his own tonight. Good for him. He was on to his sixth dance from this larger group of girls...probably too young to really know what they were doing out there, hence the large group. He seemed to have this group down to a science. His M.O.? A few moments into the song, he’d look for the girl of the circle that tilted her head around the floor a bit too much, as if she were looking for someone who was coming to ask them for a dance. He’d ask the neighboring friend for a dance, leaving the abandoned friend slightly jaded. Demi predicted that he'd eventually ask all the other friends to dance before finally getting to the last one; the real one he was after perhaps.

She'd seen that method before. Maybe not the most time effective, but probably the most cost effective if he picked the right circle of girls to prey off of. She predicted that he’d ask that girl to the back hall and they’d disappear off once they finally got in their much anticipated dance. Maybe 15 minutes later, she’d watch her friends get a text from the girl letting them know she’s occupied. Maybe an hour later, she’d watch the same pair, once awkward and irritated, now looser, more physical, and leaving together in the same taxi. But that was all a prediction and it was still pretty early. Anything could happen.

Demetria had been sitting at the club since 8:45 pm. The evening always started off with a band and beginner lessons at 8pm. On her Fridays she’d get past her bouncer friends, sneak in the back, order her drink, and sit either at the top of the audience banquettes or at the bar closest to the pianist. Sometimes she'd take the time to dance if she were asked, but most of the time she'd let them down easy. The staff knew her pretty well. She was just here for the music, but that didn't mean she couldn't pick up a few social dances here and there. Tonight, she was taking to her small, but introverted side watching the whole dance floor from the top banquette row. But that was only tonight. Other nights she’d sit in between the pianist and the barkeeps and they’d talk and place fake bets on the couples there on dates. Sometimes she was right on the money: they would come back next week, other times, they were never to be seen again. They all eventually disappeared for good. Maybe they were getting on with their lives, and she was at a stand still. Either way, this place of limbo seemed to be an interesting view for now.

That mental calculation of watching these social exchanges fascinated her. Maybe she wanted to appear more jaded than she actually was, but she kept her distance most of the time from the drama of the dance floor. In a way, the staff has accepted her in their own way. They'd sneak her a drink or two, they'd let her sneak into the bar from the service door, and sometimes she'd visit her friends playing for the night back stage in the dressing rooms. The bouncers just knew that she was fine to be where she was, so they rarely asked her for ID. In a way, it was almost embarrassing how well they knew her.

Extended her legs in the booth, Demi reached for her drink from the table beside her. She swung back the rest of the elixir in her rocks glass, finally able to reach the three cherries at the bottom of the glass. Grabbing them one at a time, she sat amused at the dwindling crowd. People didn't appreciate jazz anymore. Maybe that was an overstatement for the entire world, but right now, here in Note Bleue, things were slowing down at 10:15 pm and that kind of killed a small bit of Demetria. Maybe it was the musical rebel in her, but jazz couldn't be dying so soon in this lifetime. Granted her job as a classically trained musician didn't help that any, but she still knew there was a place for the forever changing world of improvisation. It reflected life and struggles; life was constantly rewritten to adjust for human error and it only seemed appropriate to have sounds that reflect that flow and ebb in life.

A waitress passed and asked if she wanted a fresh drink. Demi declined, it was too early to get drink number two in her three-drink rotation. The night was still young. She turned to the side and slipped off her heels. She had the whole banquette to herself. Curling her ankles to her side on the bench, she leaned an elbow against the backrest of the booth. Tonight was pretty slow. Typically one of her friends played in the band and she'd go down to chat with them in between sets, but they were away from town for business. Her social energy was bored and unmotivated. Typically extroverted, Demi sought out friends, but tonight she felt more aloof. Maybe it was the crowd and the quiet and mellow jazz in the background. She pulled her spaghetti straps up her shoulder as she adjusted her dress. She watched around for the same guy on the prowl, but she couldn't find him or his target girl. Maybe they already left together. Tonight was great for some people. Others just sat at jazz clubs, alone on a Friday night.

OOC: That guy on the prowl could be Damon if you so choose, but this is just a reflection of my experience and observations when I go out to social dance events. There's always that one guy! Haha! I don't know about you, but I'm totally feeling this muse right now! BIC:


We were angels once, don't you remember? Joys in life, inside our souls; and nobody knows, just you and me. It's our secret.
And your child-like eyes, and your distant smile; I'll never be this happy again! You and I. And no one else. || Maybe he'll come today. Maybe he came already...
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Name: Haley | Gender: mademoiselle | Age: 25 | Posts: 4,279 | Roses: 0
Old 03-14-2017 at 03:34 PM
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Damon Caffrey

Damon was in his element. He had come to the jazz club tonight after a long week of inconveniences both at work and in his personal life. While he was settling into life as the Opera House psychologist, very aware that he could be pinned with malpractice at any time given the sheer fact that he had never finished his college degree. Yet he was confident in his position and no one questioned his expertise, even the patients he met with. They gazed at his diplomas on the wall, forged by the finest in the world, and then proceeded to talk about themselves in intimate ways. Damon appreciated his job. It gave him the opportunity to know who was around him. Not that he was threatened by anyone at the Opera Populaire but a man could never be too careful. Damon had come to Paris to, first and foremost, find the woman that he loved and second, to not go back to prison. He had been caught five years ago and broken out after causing himself to seize. As soon as they got him under control in the ambulance, he rolled off the gurney they had placed him on (and for whatever reason, not strapped him to) and he had caught the paramedic by his bedside and as soon as the ambulance had slowed when the driver began to wonder what was going on. Damon made a break for it and he had escaped. Yet when he had realized that Kate was gone his will to fight for his freedom has almost broken. Mozy, his best friend in the art world had found him before the cops could, staring out the window and drinking a bottle of wine. Mozy had held him hide and then get to D.C., where he flew to Paris. He was now adjusting to life of the French. It was an extravagant and beautiful lifestyle and was right up his alley. He appreciated the festive atmosphere that seemed to surround him at every part of the day. The tourists kept things interesting but the natives peaked his interest and it was a hunt for pleasure that had brought him to club tonight.

Damon was determined to forget the main thorn in his side was the meeting of a woman that he had saved once a long time ago. She had lived with him for a few months and in that time he had also met Katherine. Meeting the dark haired, exotic beauty had changed him in a way that Damon didn’t always understand. Suddenly he felt the need to show her that he could keep up with her. More than that, he could tame her wild spirit on some level. She had seemed indifferent to his advances until she had realized the money that he had which he had piled up and then hidden. The only people who believed they knew the whereabouts of his wealth, his forged bonds, and some of the finer pieces in his art collection were Kate and Mozy. Yet he had told them two different things unbeknownst to them. He had whispered to Kate that his “stash” as they called it, was in San Diego; but he had told Mozy that it was in Miami. He had never intended to tell either for them and he had told them to prove their loyalty to him. Mozy had been the only one to stick around after all this time, he seemed to have no inclination for finding it. Yet Katherine had disappeared and clues had led him here. Yet at Damon questioned his decision, wondering if he had read a hint incorrectly. Yet such self-doubt was quickly dispelled as he entered the jazz club.

He found a group of girls with only a few young women who indicated by their body language that they wanted to dance. He took one of the young women who clearly wasn’t too keen on the idea but he smiled at her and offered his hand to her. Damon was a good dancer, it was one of his many talents and as the rest of the girls watched him he could see their interest peak. Over the course of the night he worked through the group and by 10pm he was on the last girl. He walked over to her for the last song before the real party would begin. Damon took the girl in his arms and swayed to the smooth music, the soft ballad filling the club. Perhaps Damon would have gone home with one of them but none of them really caught his eyes. There were plenty of beautiful women in the club this evening, wearing nice dresses that showed off their curves but they were all coupled off and not even Damon would stoop so low as to steal someone else’s date. Not that he couldn’t feel many of them women glancing at him. His tailored blue suit coat was arguably far more eccentric than a lot of the dark suits that surrounded him. He winked at one woman and she quickly diverted her eyes. Damon smiled to himself, deciding that it was the concept of commitment that ruined all the fun.

When the last dance was over and the bands began to reorganize for their post 10pm entertainment Damon walked over to the bar for his first drink of the night. Damon preferred to keep himself sharp when he was on the prowl for a good time, but now that most of the patrons of the club were on their way out he decided it was time to relax. It was as he stood at the bar that he looked up and saw a woman sitting at the highest tier of the audience section. Damon felt a chill wash over them. Katherine. He turned his back to her and sipped his drink slowly, allowing the gears to turn in his head as he decided what to do. If it was Katherine she looked thinner, but her dark hair and eyes suggested, at least from this distance, that she was the woman that Damon loved. He gestured for the bartender to come over to him and asked if he knew the woman. He glanced in her direction and shrugged replying that her name was Demetria. Damon repeated the name to himself, liking the way it felt in his mouth. She no doubt exotic now that he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She looked almost Asian from this distance but her name suggested Italian or some other European country. He asked the bartender what she was drinking and when he informed Damon that it was a Boulevardier he smiled, cute and feminine. Damon’s curiosity was piqued. He requested a drink, with three cherries and when the bartender handed him the glass he grabbed a towel and tray from the bar. She seemed to involved in the band change to notice his approach.

He moved up behind her and gazed at her profile for a moment. She was exotic and mysterious and Damon smiled. She was exactly the distraction he needed. He was determined that she would be the woman he took home with him. He approached from behind her and said easily. “A very handsome gentleman ordered you another Boulevardier…” he said easily as he placed the drink on her table, folding the tray under his arm. “in exchange for your name and a dance…” he said with a smile. At that point the smoother, deeper, more soulful music filled the jazz club and Damon appreciated it as he looked down at this attractive, striking stranger that he was now determined to learn more about.


Like the sound of silence calling I hear your voice and suddenly I'm falling lost in a dream
Like the echoes of our souls are meeting you say those words my heart stops beating
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Name: Patricia Jane [pətrɪʃə dʒeɪn] | Gender: Lady | Age: 23 | Posts: 2,327 | Roses: 50
Old 03-15-2017 at 05:37 AM
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Demetria Falcon

Demetria felt some of her age showing. She definitely didn’t have the same outfits that these others girls sauntered around in. She was going for daring, yet sophisticated tonight, and despite the plunging neckline and open back, she felt some air of class with the floor length concept. When she first ordered her drink at the bar, the barkeeps had to look up her drink on their phones. She chuckled and mentioned a few similar drinks, and the poor guy admitted, that he was so used to hearing gin and tonic and old-fashioned that even a simple martini seemed like a stretch in his memory. She promised that she’d keep his memory sharp with her drink requests. He also teased that a Boulevardier was one of those girly drinks disguised to be a manly drink behind the whiskey. She easily argued that it just made her one of those ladies who wasn’t afraid to have a straight up drink. James was his name. Solid kid when he was here. This was a few years ago, and he had already filtered through the Bleue, but she’d always catch the nights they’d have the new guys or gals shadow through for a trial night. Maybe she did go out on her own too often.

Being the thrill seeker she is, she found herself in the occasional personal crisis with the demand that her friends went out with her on a Wednesday night. Sometimes that was harmless, and sometimes she’d run into some lesser goods. Like once, she ended up out until 4am before an interview; to be fair, she rocked that interview and looked good talking herself up. But she’d never do it again. A few weeks later, she hooked up with the same guy for a while. Blaine. While Blaine sounded plain, Blaine was anything but. He was aloof when she needed him to be detached and he was adorable when she needed the allusion of a boyfriend. When she overestimated his feelings towards her and she asked him out on a lunch date, he crumbled away the morning after. It was a slap to her ego, but she figured it was bound to happen with her habits of thinking of the best. She typically shook off these embarrassing moments off better than most, but Blaine started to cause a whole gamut of issues within their friend circles. It stated when some friends asked if she was feeling okay, and then his friends told her to back off and get away from Blaine, even though she hadn’t seen him in weeks. She later figured that he was spewing lies; to his friends and her own circle. She tried to forget about it, but she wasn’t so easy to let him off the hook.

One night, she had a bit too much liquid courage; apparently calling him up and yelling at her phone for half an hour wasn’t the smartest thing she’d done, but of course tequila will tell you otherwise. On the other side of the phone, the conversation closed with a simple, Sorry I wasted your time. An abrupt hand up shocked her. Eventually she receded from the argument and thought that what she said to him was valid…which was unusual for Blaine. He always had the last word in one of their arguments, which typically ended with sex or more arguments. This time, he was just quiet. It was quiet for a solid month. Towards the beginning of finals their junior, the next morning her friends came forward with true concerns of her behavior alcoholism and abrupt anger. She immediately figured that Blaine had been spreading trash talk on her ever since he went silent. No wonder her friends started to get more worried about her. She’d just brush off their concerns and say that everything was fine between her and Blaine. He got out of her way, and she’d stay away from him. When it boiled down to it all, Demi cut off her friendships and gave them the condition that they needed to get all of their facts straight before they try to fix her. Started her senior year back at square one. Certainly, there was a binging issue in her habits, but she could also recognize when her friends were only critical of her faults. Sure she went to therapy thinking that she’d find validation, and sure she didn’t want to really fix her binging issue, but hey; who actually did in the arts.

By now she mastered her routine of outing rituals. Sitting around, occasional going out to a dance club, but these days she spent her time at lounges and bars. Nights like this one could be iconic in how it went. This week was slow, so that meant for a slow weekend. The decision to get dressed up was not entirely her idea. Some friends from work suggested they go out. Eager to see civilization, Demetria got ready and headed over to the club to claim a table. To no avail, her friends didn’t show. Great. She claimed a table for no reason. When she got the text that she was flying solo, she picked up camp and settled herself up where she sat now. This spot was her go to when she decided to just stop by for some friends. Other times she just sat here trying to look aloof to maybe snag a dance as the other alone lady apart from the other girly groups. Now, she just sat down by herself and rested her head against the booth. She wondered how long she would last. She sat around for a solid hour and a half before grabbing her first drink.

The groups that used the lounge as a pregame venue started to stumble out and a more common aged group came She watched a few regulars stuck around for a more vibrant band set. Not too many groups of stranglers stuck around, they were probably off to the crowded pubs and hectic bars. That wasn’t Demi’s scene anymore. Granted, she paid her time with the extremely late nights, drunken nights, bar hopping with friends, and late morning brunches. She knew she’d exhausted most of that part of her life. Now she enjoyed sitting back and watching; building relationships with those who make a living off of that life style and seeing their perspective was the fun of it. They always had the stories when the night was dull. They’d also tell you straight up the dirt on people they see. Having that kind of in helped her keep her distance from those weary characters and helped her maintain the upper hand. That didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy a good time. It had been a while since her last escapade. And she never went looking for trouble; she just went with the flow. Maybe the sanguine in her got her in more trouble than she’d like to admit. Luckily, her ability to read people helped. Sometimes.

She felt someone hovering over her…she felt herself tense a bit, not out of nervous energy, but rather curious whim, “A very handsome gentleman ordered you another Boulevardier…” a voice behind her beckoned. A charming move, indeed. Her attention was undivided as she sat up and crossed her legs. She heard the glass being place down next to her. Cautiously, she reached for it and rested it on her lap. A small glance over, she saw her drink of choice, Boulevardier with three cherries: her signature quirk. Someone must have been chatting with the barkeep before they came in on this one. She wondered who stood behind her, “in exchange for your name and a dance…”

“Good catch.” She smirked at his ultimatum as she swirled a finger in the drink for a cherry. Still looking down at her drink, she chewed the cherry, thinking about how far she’d entertain this conversation. This could be fun. She shrugged and laughed a small throaty chuckle. As she turned she found her eyes staring too intensely into his. It was him…waltzing here and there guy. She thought he’d left, “Ah, you.” Amused to see him here, she gestured the rocks glass towards him, “You know, it’s always interesting to see guys like you make their rounds on the dance floor.” She mused to him, but mostly herself as she glanced toward a dance floor that had a few couples out on the floor. A moderately slow song played. She still wasn’t entirely sold on that dance just yet. She sipped her drink and looked back up at him, “You might have to convince me a bit though. I’m still nursing my drink. Sit with me?” She asked as she patted the space near her, her eyes never removed from the dance floor. She wondered what this guy was up to. First dancing with every girl and their dance card, and now here he was trying to impress her. Something was off.


We were angels once, don't you remember? Joys in life, inside our souls; and nobody knows, just you and me. It's our secret.
And your child-like eyes, and your distant smile; I'll never be this happy again! You and I. And no one else. || Maybe he'll come today. Maybe he came already...
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Name: Haley | Gender: mademoiselle | Age: 25 | Posts: 4,279 | Roses: 0
Old 03-15-2017 at 11:30 PM
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 Post [134] »


Damon Caffrey

Damon loved women. Obviously. He had lost count of the number he had danced with at the club. Only wanting to lose himself in each partner and contemplate taking each of them home. But none of them had that spark he was looking for. There was a certain liveliness in the women that Damon Caffrey chose to take home with a him, a certain spark that fueled that already existed in his soul. It was the spark that had drawn him to Katherine all those years ago, a vivaciousness that challenged and pushed in his game. That’s exactly what this was to him, as he grabbed one partner after another. A game. A game where he got to pick who he chose to learn about. The group had been an easy target, so young and unsuspecting; smitten by the mere thought that someone as handsome and sure of himself as Damon would want anything to do with them. They were young, far to young for the former con artist but he had his fun with them anyway. He would dip them low and spin them fast, leaving each of them breathless and winded when returned them to the group. He noted that every once in a while a couple would slip into the back, no doubt getting more than was appropriate on the dance floor or in sight of the other patrons of the club. Damon had more class than. He would occasionally kiss the hand of one of the girls he chose as he led her out to the dance floor but that was also for show. He could get used to the women around here and as he prowled around the club he spotted a woman that stopped him in his tracks and made him reconsider his game for the evening all together.

At first he thought it was Katherine and he was momentarily frozen. Had the moment he’d been waiting six years for finally come. He had broken out of jail for her; would she even expect to see him here? He doubted it. He had thought, in one of the surveillance videos he had seen of her that she had been asking for his help but if that woman on the balcony was his beloved Katherine than perhaps Damon had been seeing things. He took a sip of his own drink, a simple scotch that his mouth and throat burning slightly. He had only taken a few sips though, not wanting to dull his senses as he continued to play the later crowd. More couples moved out onto the dance floor as the music changed its pace some. Many of the younger couples headed home, or elsewhere, to work out the sexual tension that had been worked up here but Damon walked against the crowd, carrying a tray and looking one of the many servers that walked around the establishment this evening. It was all to get close to the woman that seemed to be watching the dance floor like it was the latest Hollywood hit that had taken the box office by storm. If she had been watching the floor when he was working it than she would have seen it. That might make securing her attentions for the evening a little difficult but Damon enjoyed difficult, in fact he welcomed it and he felt sheer excitement course through his veins, a smile coming to his face as he approached the woman.

In his opinion she was the most beautiful woman he had seen all night and not just because he was partial to brunettes. She wore a revealing yet tasteful dress. Different from so many of the other, short strapless dresses he had entertained that evening. She was elegant, like a nicely aged wine but he could tell that she had a fire about her that would give him a run for his money. She was here alone which told him she was confident and comfortable in her own skin and the bartender had told him she was on her first drink so clearly she wasn’t looking to get herself into trouble. While drunk women were far more easier to woo, sober ones held a certain charm to them that Damon appreciated. He brought the drink to her not to get her drunk but merely hoping to open the conversation and it seemed to have worked though she showed no inclination to look up at him. Her loss. He informed her that his gesture came with a price and the cost was her name and a name. “Good catch.” she mused with a smile, and Damon was amused by the way she plucked the cherry out of her glass. She was a woman that knew what she liked, the three cherries communicated that as clearly as if she’d had a sign around her neck saying she was particular. Damon often appraised women the same way he appreciated a piece of art and he considered the woman in front of him to be an absolute masterpiece, the likes of which you didn’t run into very often. Damon needed to play this right. Always two steps ahead.

She seemed to shrug and laugh softly at his price and finally looked up at him. Her dark eyes met his piercing blue ones and he smiled. She was certainly beautfiul and her eyes was playful, A priceless acquisition. “Ah, you.” She remarked and Damon knew then that she had seen him. The game just got harder but it didn't deter him. If anything, it just made things that much more interesting. “You know, it’s always interesting to see guys like you make their rounds on the dance floor.” Damon let out a laugh at that. People like him? He had now been sorted into some kind of designated group in her mind Damon found that particularly delightful in that moment. People like him. He suppose there were plenty of men who stalked the dance floor to prey on the desperate and the innocent. He wasn’t about to defend his actions because really he didn’t feel accountable for them in any form. Those girls had come here looking for a good time and Damon had showed it to them. A harmless but memorable good time was Damon’s specialty. Her attention had turned to the dance floor as Damon waited to see if she would tell him to leave or invite him to sit. If she invited him to sit he knew he could win her over. “You might have to convince me a bit though. I’m still nursing my drink. Sit with me?” She asked and Damon smiled ruefully at her open invitation. She had just made it easy for him.

“With pleasure…” he said, as he sat next to her taking a sip of the drink a waitress suddenly came and put in front of him. Clearly, she had seen him drinking his scotch and had brought him another. Damon was not interested in getting drunk tonight and the scotch made him drink slow and yet gave him the released that he craved from the alcohol. They watched the music for a moment in silence before he rested an elbow on the table and his chin in his hand before he gazed at her, rotating the liquid in his glass mindlessly as he returned his attention to the woman next to him. “Do you always drink alone at jazz clubs on a Wednesday night… or is this a special occasion?” he asked, she had not disclosed her name to him which meant she likely wasn’t ready to give it to him. That was fine, Damon had all the time in the world. “Or do you just come here and try to avoid guys like me…” he said, placing particular emphasis on her own words. He was very curious to know that this exotic woman thought of him, even if she didn’t even know his name.


Like the sound of silence calling I hear your voice and suddenly I'm falling lost in a dream
Like the echoes of our souls are meeting you say those words my heart stops beating
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Name: Patricia Jane [pətrɪʃə dʒeɪn] | Gender: Lady | Age: 23 | Posts: 2,327 | Roses: 50
Old 03-16-2017 at 09:18 PM
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 Post [135] »


Demetria Falcon

Maybe it was shallow to think so little of people at clubs. She had indulged in that lifestyle herself…of course, but maybe she saw the other side of the coin and pitied them premature of the consequences. Maybe she built a tolerance against the charade of going out, but nevertheless it was a game through and through. And she was bored with them. She’d entertain a few men, but no more than she could count on both hands, but certainly never allowed things to get out of hand. She was better than that. Sure, she’d go home with a couple of guy, but nothing out of the ordinary would happen beyond that. Sometimes they slept together, sometimes not, and there was nothing more to it; she’d rarely hear from them again. It was their company and time that meant more to her. She’d never searched for the thrill of meeting someone for sex. People fascinated her and sometimes they frightened her, but she’d never go as far to say she’d use them just for a simple pleasure of being with them. She definitely wasn’t that shallow.

Typically she knew what to expect when someone approached her especially in such a social setting. She had two choices: to entertain their advances to see what would come of it or to be honest and settle the score, nothing was there between them. Oftentimes her friends would call her harsh and repellant, other times she’d just say she was being honest for her own good. No one has ever seemed to keep her tied to one place and she has yet to meet someone who could do just that. No powerful player or shy, sensitive character found that balance she craved in a man. It was the walls she put up and she knew it, but she also knew someone who was able to break down those walls actually could entertain her longer than any one night, or “not-one” nightstand could. She was careful when selecting people she’d be intimate with. There was some calculation that went into the thought, but beyond that keeping someone around wasn’t part of that equation. Luckily she never felt obligated to keep those feelings into close consideration. If they stuck, they stuck and if not, they didn’t. She never felt motivated to keep someone who didn’t want her the same way. She could also just tell if she meant anything to them, and frankly the answer was no.
She had yet to find someone who made her want to stick around them for anyways.

Demetria wasn’t afraid to stereotype people in her mind. As long as she kept it to herself, there was no harm. If the person were worthy of a remodel in her mind, then she’d take that into consideration, but only if they didn’t fit the mold she already put them in. Typically she wasn’t completely wrong about people. People were pretty good at acting out within her expectations. Either way, not a lot surprised her or she kept people in neat boxes and that was just fine with her. As for the man approaching her with such confidence, she figured she could assume some things right off the bat, and maybe he’d prove her wrong. He seemed to be someone who wanted to do just that. “With pleasure…” He took the invitation to heart. Macy, one of the waitresses she knew decently, walked by. She caught Demi’s attention with a slight nod in the guy’s direction with flattened lips. A huge sign of disapproval coming from her, leaving with the impression that Demi was in for a trip tonight. Great. They’re watching.

The staff around here always gave their honest impression of anyone that she’d meet around here, and sometimes they like to place bets that she’d only hear about a few nights later. Often she disappointed their adventurous and outrageous ideas, but sometimes they could read her. Macy promptly dropped off a drink on the table next to the man: scotch neat. He proceeded to pick up the glass for a quick, but reserved sip. He fiddled with the glass in his hands for a moment. For someone who walked boldly, he certainly didn’t need the liquid courage to do so. Demetria glanced over to see if his gaze faltered from the dance floor. It did not. She sighed heavily as they silently sat watching the moving figures on the floor. She sipped thoughtfully, feeling the warmth of her second drink begin to infuse her soul; she typically would stop at her second, but this could easily become a long night, so who knows what would happen. She relished in the release as she craned her neck and brushed her hair to one side, leave her neck slightly exposed to his eyes. Maybe he saw it as a flirtatious move, but it was just out of habit. It felt rude to but her hair as a barrier between them. A part of her wondered how much longer the silence between them would linger. She felt a smile and scoff rise in her as she simply bit her lip to repress the reflex.

He turned toward her, prompting her to turn her head with a slightly raised chin, “Do you always drink alone at jazz clubs on a Wednesday night… or is this a special occasion?” she chuckled to herself. Did he really think today was Wednesday. Unless her memory failed her, she was almost certain that today was Friday. She really had to work hard to not laugh directly at him, but she let him continue, “Or do you just come here and try to avoid guys like me…” he teased. Or at least she thought. Maybe he was catching onto her box personality mentality.

She took a good small swing of her drink and placed it on the table in front of them rather gracefully. Leaning back on the booth, she rested an elbow against the top, leaning her head against her wrist. She turned her body toward him, almost lounging on her side, “Well, let me ask you something.” She posed with a smirk, “Do you normally forget what day of the week it is?” she asked passively as she played with a strand of her hair glancing back at the dance floor in a passé manner, “It’s Friday.” There was a certain glisten in her, more so because the last day of the workweek rather than the simple joy of correcting him. “I’m a big girl. I can do whatever I’d like on Friday.” she paused and turned back towards the dance floor, leaning over to reach her glass again in one smooth motion, “As for guys like you…let’s just say, I’ve had my fair share, so I would never say I avoid anyone.” She mentioned as she rested back against the banquette. There was a touch of heaviness that either gave him a bone in the conversation or pushed him away, “I’m just honest, is all.” Either way it was true. She had served her time. Now she felt like the watchman of some lounges when people would play these games to see where the other person stood.


We were angels once, don't you remember? Joys in life, inside our souls; and nobody knows, just you and me. It's our secret.
And your child-like eyes, and your distant smile; I'll never be this happy again! You and I. And no one else. || Maybe he'll come today. Maybe he came already...
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Old 03-17-2017 at 12:08 AM
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Damon Caffrey

Damon prided himself in his ability to pick up practically any woman he wanted. It had been a skill, like any thing else; honed over time and based very much on trial and error. Sure he’d always had his dashing good looks and an endearing charm about him that had made learning such a trade that much easier but having been a con artist he had developed numerous skills through the choice of profession. First was a sense of self confidence even when you had no idea what you were going to do next. If you acted like it, no one questioned you. It had come in hand as Damon had impersonated important people in different professions across the career spectrum. Yet his favorite would always be an art dealer and collector. Damon had been artistic since he was a child; painting and drawing for as long as he could remember. It hadn’t been the popular things to do in his high school days but he had spent many evenings, standing at the bay window in his parent’s home, painting a sunset or sculpting the bird that made regular visits there. Perhaps if his life had gone differently he would have made a respectable living as an artist, well as respectable of a living as an artist could make. But when his twin sister had been institutionalized and then shot herself in front of him it had motivated him to go into psychology in college. Yet the starving college student life had not been fitting for the luxury seeking Damon. His first semester he had started looking for ways to make extra money and that’s when he realized people would pay a lot of money for art, especially if they thought it had come from a professional. So Damon had started forging paintings, sculptures and sketches and attending his classes less and less. After a summer of successful forgeries and sales Damon lost all desire to return to school.

That fall he got in a little deeper and made connections with people. His name began to get around as someone who was very good at what he did. People came to him for IDs, documents, and all forms of art. A year later he moved to government bonds which he sold for a high price and reaped the benefits. During this time he paraded as an art dealer which was easy enough to fake. It was in that time that he had reconnected with an old flame, Katherine, who had always loved music. He lavished her with concerts at the finest concert halls and they attended numerous outdoor symphonies together. Though Damon couldn’t shake the feeling that she only wanted him for what he could give to her he feel deeply and completely in love with her. Yet she seemed only mildly interested and it was this snubbing that had broken something in Damon caused him to resort to ruining the life of young Russian girl who had saved from being murdered. When Damon had made his escape from LA to New York, where he reestablished himself and reconnected with Katherine once again, he was finally able to break through that wall after proving that he would do any thing for her, even steal some of the most valuable jewels in the world and then pawn their forgeries, so perfect that even the jewelers who inspected them as real. It was then that Katherine had move in with him and Damon had calmed down some. While he still enjoyed the lavish lifestyle he wasn’t conning and doing jobs as frequently as he had been before.

One day an anonymous tip was given to the FBI and they stormed in on Damon eating breakfast alone in his and Kate’s apartment. He went without struggle, already thinking of how he would get away. When Katherine came to visit him and she asked him where his stash of bonds, money, and finer pieces was he lied; telling her that it was in San Diego. While he loved her he didn’t really trust her and had a feeling she might be looking for it. After Damon got out the first time he was found in her apartment, staring out the window and drinking from a wine bottle. It didn’t take him long to get out a second time though, this time dressed as a police officer; and he had gone to his best friend who had been in it with him from the beginning. Mozzy. Out of curiousity the young man had asked Damon about his stash as well; after finding out that Kate had likely gone looking for it. He told his best friend that it was in Miami, near Damon’s vacation home. But unlike Kate, Mozy didn’t leave and the police didn’t come looking for him. Yet Damon was certain that Kate was in trouble and so when he watched the surveillance videos of her visiting him in jail he thought he saw her tap on her leg in morse code the word of Paris; which was what had ultimately brought him here. Yet after being here for almost two weeks there was no sign of his beloved and that bothered him profoundly.

It bothered him so much that he was off his game a little bit. Normally he wouldn’t be the prowler on the dance floor but another thing had thrown a wrench in his week in the form of Evea, as she called herself now. God damn that woman was going to be the death of him. She seemed to have gotten it into her head that he had loved her. Perhaps once he had, for a short while; when he had thought that maybe he would no longer be in the game of conning; but then he had met Kate and she had sparked that familiar fire in his soul, that need for the adrenaline rush and excitement that he only got from a well though out and executed job. He had taken out his frustration at Kate’s indifference on the Russian girl and he wasn’t exactly proud of his actions but he wasn’t about to grovel at the girl’s feet either. She’d told him days before that she wanted him in that way and Damon was happy to oblige, just not on her time table. Having Evea around meant that in some ways his past was catching up with him. The only person he stayed in touch with back in the states was Mozzy, who sent him updates on the FBI investigation was going on him. Damon was thankful for a friend like him. If it hadn’t been for him the former conman would be in jail and Damon hated the color of the orange jumpsuit, it just wasn’t his style. To top it off, he had missed his fedora which he wasn’t wearing this evening but was a regular accessory.

All these thoughts swirled in his head as he gazed out at the dance floor and sat in silence next to a woman that reminded him eerily of Kate. He could feel her shift beside him and he wondered if the silence made her uncomfortable. He had done the work to get her attention and now he was just letting his presence be, allowing to get used to the fact that he was there. It was part of the game, Damon had a strategy, especially with a woman like her who clearly wasn’t too struck by his good looks or charming smile. On a break between songs he turned to the woman that still hadn’t given him her name and asked her if she always drank alone on weeknights. She took a drink before placing the glass on the table in front of him, he silently observed that her movements seemed more relaxed and noted that she had finished her first drink and started on the second. She draped one arm along the back of the booth that they sat in, leaning comfortably and allowing her body face him. Clearly some barriers were coming down, or maybe that was alcohol talking. “Well, let me ask you something. Do you normally forget what day of the week it is?” she asked with a smirk as if she had caught him with his hand halfway in a cookie jar. Damon smiled to himself, He would blame this on Evea as well. Damn girl had shocked him so intensely that he had taken most of the week off from work; trying to memorize the city, just in case she chose to turn him in, he wanted to have the option of a quick getaway should the need arise.

“It’s Friday.” she said with a glisten in her eye but he doubted it was his expense. Most people were happy to embrace the end of the week. Damon included. He took a slow sip of his drink. Brushing off the teasing with a smile of his own “I’m a big girl. I can do whatever I’d like on Friday.” she informed him and it was Damon’s turn to laugh softly. She was indeed a grown woman, that was not news to him and he admired her curves as she leaned forward to get her drink off the table. She would be fairly inebriated by the end of this set if she wasn’t careful. “As for guys like you…let’s just say, I’ve had my fair share, so I would never say I avoid anyone.” she told him, becoming a little more serious and Damon tucked that away in the back of his mind. Clearly, she’d had previous troubles with men like him that still haunted her. Most women had, its what set him apart from those men; but this girl wouldn’t know that yet which was just fine. “I’m just honest, is all.” she said and Damon wondered if she was telling him or herself but he let her have a moment of silence before he set his own glass down, slightly in front of her; encroaching on her space just a touch, breaking another barrier between them.

Damon allowed his arm to sidle up the back of the booth and rest there, hand falling close her arm that was still draped over the back. He in turned leaned forward slightly as if he was about to tell her a secret; yet the combination of the music that wafted up to them from the dance floor combined with the low hum of conversation going on around them meant that he had to keep his voice up so she could him. He smiled easily at her as their eyes, blue on brown; the confidence on her face matching how he felt. She fascinated him. “You of all people should be forgiving of flaws…’ he said, who was boxing someone in now? “Let’s just say occasionally I meet a beautiful woman and I am so… distracted… that I forget things…” he said, reaching passed her for his drink, the movement putting his face inches from hers. “Surely you have your share of flaws…” he teased more softly, the scent of her was intoxicating and he took a sip from his drink that didn’t even made the effort of reaching for it worth it; but it was all part of the game. “Like not telling someone who bought you a drink your name?” he suggested, raising an eyebrow and smiling; it seemed to be a battle of wits and Damon was more than ready to play.


Like the sound of silence calling I hear your voice and suddenly I'm falling lost in a dream
Like the echoes of our souls are meeting you say those words my heart stops beating
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Old 03-18-2017 at 04:20 PM
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Demetria Falcon

Demetria took pride in her ability to keep up a decent social life. People warned her: things change; your body, your tolerance, your mind…some for the better, some for the worse. However everything can be modified. Her mind probably grew the best of those mentioned, but she did feel the transition of her metabolism and her overall habits, but that didn’t stop her. Maybe she took a backseat most of the time, but there was something about sitting in a crowd, sipping a drink, and no one really bothering you while the occasional light conversation would keep her brain (and liver) sharp. Some would call it networking, she just boiled it down to socializing. There was no progressing her career until she was up with her contract or the orchestra would stop inviting her back in a few seasons. She always had her “network” back home in the city and classmates from Julliard were typically floating in between lined up jobs and she was sure she’d be able to catch some break.

Granted, Demi always devoted her energy to the task at hand. She was never really a people-oriented person when it came to her priorities. But give her a task and a goal, and she’d make it happen. Her social life perhaps filled that void of close friends and lasting relationships. Call her repellant or stubborn, but not many people stuck around in her life. And she was accustomed to it. She had moved so frequently that she really only kept in touch with her siblings. They seemed to be the baseline to her relationships. While at a distance, they keep silent, but she’d visit once a year; just the four of them, and they’d get along as old times. Demetria was in the middle of her step-twin brothers and her half-sister. The two boys, Jason and Evan, grew up and moved to the southern-most ends of the States, eastern and western respectively. Her sister, Jacqueline or Jakie, stayed put in the city as a lawyer. Maybe Demetria didn’t live up to her greatest potential of “academic success”, but she excelled in what she wanted out of life. That piece of contentment rarely haunted her when she’d be compared to her CEO brother Evan and her architect brother Jason, more or less Jakie the lawyer; but it definitely motivated her to lay low, but to go far.

That mentality remained with her. Most of her life was spent trying to just break the mold, but the rush of discipline kept her in line until she felt empty of that motivation. Aiming high was never her goal. Typically that got her too anxious and frustrated with others. Sure she was short with herself and others, but that’s someone that has yet to change in her life. She wanted to stand out, but there was no substance to her voice; music was sometimes that voice. She excelled, but never admitted the call she felt burning inside. She’d bury those ashes with education. High school demanded Demetria to her head down and developed a toxic version of her Type A personality that truly drove her mad without that creative outlet. Eventually that mold cracked just a little. She abruptly dropped her acceptance to Dartmouth two weeks before graduation and decided to do nothing for a year. Some called her midlife crisis 30 years too early. She just called it her break; and it was one she took seriously. This was the first of her many risk taking streaks. That year she worked in the city handing out theater bills and deals, playing in subway stations, and freelancing some performances. She really took the time to find her voice as a musician. There was the control she was craving. Finally she settled for music school to get some sort of education. Aiming high she ended up at Julliard. The rest kept her guessing. From Broadway pits, to working with bands, to traveling with orchestras. She settled for Paris for the last five years.

In that time, friends and acquaintances have filed in and out of her life. Short lived relationships and other complicated interactions, but she certainly hadn’t seen it all. These last five years keep her entertained as she’d develop her nightlife friend circles. She’s show up sporadically, sometimes early after dinner to late pop ups just after midnight. Eventually she narrowed down her visits to the weekend with the occasional drop by when her friends in the orchestra would perform in small cabaret or they’d show up on the set list later that week. Most of those performances landed on the weekday. Yes, she eventually got pegged as a regular and that seemed like something she could typically coin herself as. It was kind of nice having those connections. The occasional free drink, bar gossip, and getting into the bet wars the staff would put down on people and their silly behavior. However, tonight she found herself on the other end of that equation. She saw Adam, the main guy at the bar, walk around the floor from waitress to even the bouncers at the back door. The same actions: a small gesture her way, a solid moment of laughter, and they’d chat a bit and he’d leave, off to the next person. Yeah, she was the target bet tonight. Awesome. If they were going bet, she was going to give them something to talk about then. And this guy seemed harmless as of now, so there’s nothing to really worry about losing bets. If anything they probably bet that she would eventually go god knows where this guy stayed. She thought not…but this was still fun.

She turned back to the man who seemed to have his own choice words to share, “You of all people should be forgiving of flaws…” It was such a light statement, yet the accusatory sentiment behind his words amused her, “Let’s just say occasionally I meet a beautiful woman and I am so… distracted… that I forget things…” And I’m at fault…I see…she smiled at the idea that she could distract someone, but she figured his words were just there to affect her in some calculated way. Maybe she was overthinking this, “Surely you have your share of flaws…”

Pondering her own flaws, she laughed that he would bring that up. Surely he could pick up on her repellant attitude and her playful, yet aloof conversation. She would keep it up until he cut the BS, “Like not telling someone who bought you a drink your name?” Ohh, well now that’s just petty. She hated when guys gave drinks expecting something out of it. It was just the shallow version of dinner and sex. Of course, that probably wasn’t his full intention, he was just trying ot be witty, but if that was his entire MO then she’s let him know now, she didn’t roll that way.

She lounged back in the banquette, crossing her legs with a sigh, “Typically, when one gets a gift…” she contemplated as she fished her second cherry, “like a drink from a complete stranger,” she emphasized plainly and sarcastically mused the example she provided, “She is free to do what she wants with said gift.” Teasing the glass toward him before taking a reserved sip, “You probably assumed I’d just say yes to your dance offer…or you’re purposefully trailing along this false path of questions just to spit us back right where we started in this conversation….all of which still gets my attention because perhaps I’m too kind to deny friendly, yet circular conversation…but that’s just how I am. One of my flaws, I take it.” She brazenly threw back to one of his previous comments.

“Dare I say, you probably assume two drinks is my cap and that I’m close to wasted.” She mentioned in an passive, yet offended manner. If there was anything her European grandmother taught her, it was to hold her liquor. Some people would say her normal demeanor is that of a free-spirited which was easily mistaken as sloshed. If he even entertained that assumption, the thought tickled her. She was just getting started. She returned to a poised, graceful posture. “Gifts should be given freely, and I thank you for this one. However, your conditions ruin that freedom.”

A moment of silence passed. She wondered what new comeback he was concocting. She decided to break the ice again, might as well tread ice water, “Now if you actually want to have a conversation with me, riddle me this…you act like you own the damn place, but none of my friends say they’ve seen you around?” she inquired freely as she gestured to her friends behind the bar, “I haven’t seen you around here and that’s saying something considering that, to you, I sit around here on Wednesday nights.” She playfully added, “It’s only sometimes true.” She admitted, “And now my friends are giving you the stink eye back there.” She mentioned as an aside as she chuckled at their taunts, “What’s your case, my friend?”


We were angels once, don't you remember? Joys in life, inside our souls; and nobody knows, just you and me. It's our secret.
And your child-like eyes, and your distant smile; I'll never be this happy again! You and I. And no one else. || Maybe he'll come today. Maybe he came already...
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Name: Haley | Gender: mademoiselle | Age: 25 | Posts: 4,279 | Roses: 0
Old 03-26-2017 at 10:15 PM
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 Post [138] »


Damon Caffrey

Damon loved a good game of chess. From a very young age he had found the battle of wits invigorating and thrilling. At the age of nine he would challenge anyone that was willing to potentially crush the enthusiasm of a young, innocent boy. Yet Damon had always been intelligent and could hold his own against the most experienced of players. One of the biggest tricks of the game was predicting what your opponent would do next and what you would do if such a move was made. You always had to be a couple moves ahead, that is if you wanted to take the king and claim victory. Sometimes a really good player would simply want to toy with his opponent, taking each piece one at a time until a loss was inevitable. That had been Damon’s favorite thing to do. Slowly but surely his opponent’s ranks would dwindle into the king was cornered and there was no way for him to get out. He supposed this style of play fed Damon’s need for dominance and to show that he could exercise power over the person he was up against. Unsurprisingly this tendency and translated itself into Damon’s adult life in a unique way. Often he sized up the woman he chose to invest himself in as an opponent in chess. He only settled on players that he knew could hold their own. Some times that meant taking them out for a drink, or dinner; which was slightly more of a commitment but easily explained away of Damon decided his time was too valuable to waste on the date he had selected for the evening. There had only ever been one person that he had felt had been a truly worthy opponent:

Kate.

And n ow this woman, who seemed untouched by his efforts to show her that he wasn’t just the prowling type. Damon appreciated a beautiful body, like every guy that dance their way through the club that evening; but what Damon appreciated more was the inner beauty. It sounded almost poetic and Damon prided himself in being a romantic. After all, he had broken out of prison for the only woman he had ever truly loved. He liked knowing that the women he paid his attentions too were intelligent and witty, that they; though unknowingly; could engage in Damon’s game and not simply crumple under the pressure of his intense gaze or easy smile that caused far too many women to swoon into a puddle at his feet, reminding him that he could have his way with most women. But Kate had not been most women and neither was this ravishing creature in front of him. He was determined to walk away with at least a date to have drinks a setting that was more his style. She had caught him on a night that he had been trying to blow off some steam. Since he was new to the city it wasn’t like he had some women picked out that he could go see in order to drown his thoughts in the forgetful web of lust and pleasure. Yes, sex was one of the ways that Damon cleared his head. Some people took brisk walks in the cool night air; others screamed into pillow and used the poor unsuspecting fabric of a couch as a punching. Damon slept with women, or forged a piece of art or a nice bond that would fetch him far too much money. Damon was unconventional and that was arguably what made him both interesting; and untouchable.

Yet the woman, who a bartender had informed him was a regular named Demetria, was doing her best to figure him out. That much he could see in the way she danced around his question about her name. She clearly didn’t want to give it to him and while Damon liked to know the names by which to call the women he was interested in. Yet she clearly didn’t want him to have that upper hand on him since she didn’t know his name either. They got into a conversation, the sexual tensions was palpable as they learned in closer to each other for the briefest of moments for the short exchange. Yet Demetria still seemed unimpressed, almost annoyed at his words. At least what he was saying was having any effect on her at all. She lounged back away from him and the sexual tension dissipated a little as the noise of the crowd seemed to penetrate their intimate conversation. Damon would have to do better than just wits to get this woman’s attention and he was up for the challenge, it wasn’t the typical way he approached things but he could change gears. Damon had spent his life changing who he was for the hell of it, and he was ready for this thrilling new adventure.

“Typically, when one gets a gift…” She mused and he watched her fish the last cherry of her drink with a slender finger, he wondered if she was a musician of sorts; a pianist or a string instrument perhaps. Many women with fingers like hers persued such careers; but he wasn’t about to box her in the way she had done with him. The made things boring. He was amused that she would call the drink a gift. What a strange gift… perhaps he would have to correct that point. “like a drink from a complete stranger,” he could tell she didn’t like the idea of his efforts to get her name. So he would back off on that front. If she wanted to play hard to get Damon could play, it almost as good as chess. Almost. “She is free to do what she wants with said gift.” he watched her tease him with the glance, she was clearly more relaxed from the alcohol then she had been when he’d first sat down with her. Perhaps she didn’t realize it just yet, but she seemed to be letting her guard down just a little; a chink in the armor of her distant and aloof exterior. “You probably assumed I’d just say yes to your dance offer…or you’re purposefully trailing along this false path of questions just to spit us back right where we started in this conversation….all of which still gets my attention because perhaps I’m too kind to deny friendly, yet circular conversation…but that’s just how I am. One of my flaws, I take it.” she mused, alluding to his previous comment and Damon smiled. She was rambling a bit. He wondered how long it had been such a man had tried to make such advances on her. She seemed comfortable but unwilling to let him in. She had likely had been hurt before… what woman hadn’t? Damon probably wasn’t the best to show her that men don’t hurt the women they care about because he wasn’t exactly the knight in shining armor. He was more like the wandering rogue, the one that all the women with fantasies of dark and mysteries love affairs fell for. Katherine hadn’t been that type, and neither was this girl. He preferred it that way.

“Dare I say, you probably assume two drinks is my cap and that I’m close to wasted.” she said and he could see that her guard went down a little further as she mulled over the thought. He would never do her the disservice of believing she couldn’t hold her alcohol. While he noted her slightly relaxed position against her seat he would be the first to defend her coherency and composure to anyone who dared question it. Clearly, she he had thought he had doubted her lucidity or her presence of mind. He smiled, she wasn’t reading him as well as she thought. “Gifts should be given freely, and I thank you for this one. However, your conditions ruin that freedom.” she said and Damon smiled to himself, taking a sip of his own drink. Either her comment was for the sake of making conversation or she really believed that gifts came with no strings attached. Even a bauble of sorts from one lover to another came with the expectation that joy and increased passion would follow. Even the giving of love came at a price, with the hope of being loved in return. There was no freedom in giving of one’s self or one’s positions. The life of a criminal had taught Damon that as he cut ties with anyone he’d ever cared about and looked out only for himself. He wondered if the woman in front of him understood that and then decided he didn’t care that much. Her worldview was as attractive as the finger that continued to play with the cherry stem she now fiddled with. Damon was smitten in a way that he hadn’t been smitten in a while. It seemed that a week that had started with an unexpected run in with a blast from the past was turning into a fine week for sure. Yes Damon was adjusting to French life beautifully, and the woman in front of him was a nice touch.

“Now if you actually want to have a conversation with me, riddle me this…you act like you own the damn place, but none of my friends say they’ve seen you around?” she asked and Damon wasn’t surprised that she knew the people who worked her. They had been throwing glances their way since Damon had sat down next to her. Some of them were disapproving, others were just curious. It was the curious ones that amused Damon most. They had all seen him on the dance floor, making his way from woman to woman; preying on their needed to feel included in the festivities of the evening. Yet the Damon that had been working his way across the floor did not have the same intentions with the woman that sat next to him. The woman that sat next to him deserved to know the finer things in life. She deserved passion that made her heart melt and excitement that made that aloof demeanor crumple into sweet and thrilling desire that Damon was certain he could help her experience. It would take a lot of work. But just like a good game of chess he was making each move with clarity and precision. “I haven’t seen you around here and that’s saying something considering that, to you, I sit around here on Wednesday nights.” she said, a flirtatious flair in her voice that made him feel like he was getting somewhere after all, “It’s only sometimes true.” She admitted, the serious note in her voice returning as she seemed to ponder how often she drank alone on the weekends. Frequently enough for the staff to know her intimately; intimately enough that they cared that trouble like Damon had come knocking at Demtria’s door. “And now my friends are giving you the stink eye back there. What’s your case, my friend?” she asked, and Damon wondered momentarily if she had sought to shut down his advances by the use of the word friend; a way of keeping him at arms length until she figured out what it was that he was up to. She had to know, surely a woman of her looks and maturity had to know that a man like him just wanted to show her a good time.

More for her benefit then his need to survey his surroundings he took a moment to survey some of the people who had decided that he and Demetria where their evening entertainment, a nice show to accompany the sultry jazz piece that wafting through the club as couples danced closer and more intimately. It was clear that a few of them would be going home shortly and not alone. The woman had been offering bits of herself unknowingly to Damon all night, her concern that she spent too much time alone and drove people off was clear. It was time for Damon to allow her in. Just enough to make her feel like this conversation was exactly that a conversation. “I’m new to the scene… in Paris…” he told her, unceremoniously finishing the rest of his drink as he returned his gaze to her after skimming the club briefly. It was good to maintain an awareness of his surroundings anyway, one could never be too careful. “Just looking for a good time…” he said with a knowing smile in her direction. “Someone to show me the… finer things… of the city…” he said and then added in his own flirtatious tone. “I’m hoping to find someone who would do it… freely…” he emphasized the word, recalling her point about gifts and freedom… she didn’t want any strings attached and he was willing to play that game… he wanted to play that game. Damon Caffrey was not the serious type. He didn’t sit around fantasizing about a suburban home with kids playing in the backyard and a dog named Sam laying right in the walkway. No. Damon fantasized about beautiful women, breathtaking views, whirlwind evenings on the town and in bed that one was sure to not soon forget. “If that is some thing that interests you…” he lowered his voice as he leaned, allowing his hand to cover hers for a moment as he hovered close to her ear taking in the scent of her; as intoxicating as the rest of her. “I would check your clutch…” he said, and leaning back he picked up his drink and rose; smiling he winked and headed for the door. If she looked she would find in her purse a note which read simply.

6:00pm. Tomorrow. L'Arpège. No strings attached.

OOC: End Scene. Now let's see if Demi will actually show. BIC:


Like the sound of silence calling I hear your voice and suddenly I'm falling lost in a dream
Like the echoes of our souls are meeting you say those words my heart stops beating
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