The angel you are not -- Mireille & Drunken Saint

[mireille]

It was an evening like any other for Artemis when she woke up, aside from the fact that her head was pounding headache that was only worsened when she soured her stomach downing some aspirins with a glass of grapefruit juice. While she strongly believed in home remedies when it came to these types of things, she was in a hurry and didn’t have the patience to throw together an herbal tea to sooth the throbbing ache behind her clear grey eyes. She had a mission to do, and she had only just fallen asleep after the sun had arced high over her house, so she assumed that she had managed to gather at least four hours of sleep before her nightly rendezvous with the undead.

She armed herself to the teeth with a gun specially loaded with bullets filled with her own blood drawn the day before and a knife that could be discreetly tucked into various places along her form, which tonight was within one of her tall black boots that laced up to her knee, and a few other essentials for the task she had in mind tonight. She was petite, with skin lily white and an angelic face that didn’t look the type to have a deadly agenda such as her own. She was dressed simply in dark jeans crammed into her boots and a tank top with a jacket zipped over it to conceal the gun in its holster and to hold the spare cartridges that looked bulky tucked in the pockets.

She checked the protective wards before leaving, making sure to give an extra prayer or two as she reached the bottom of the stairs and another when she was just outside the apartment building for good measure. Her hair was long and pale blond and stick straight but she had dyed it several years ago an inky black and kept it that way, thinking it lent her a more serious look and banished some of that little girl innocence she seemed to radiate when she was younger. She had picked up a few tips last night on a suspected vampire who frequented the bar across town. He was known for being a heavy drinker and had been diminished down into a pathetic state she thought she could handle on her own, because killing a bloodsucker was a lot easier than trying to catch one.

With one last anxious glance over her shoulder, Artemis hiked out into the city to catch herself a fanged fiend.

 

[Drunken Saint]

It was an evening like any other for Artemis when she woke up, aside from the fact that her head was pounding headache that was only worsened when she soured her stomach downing some aspirins with a glass of grapefruit juice. While she strongly believed in home remedies when it came to these types of things, she was in a hurry and didn’t have the patience to throw together an herbal tea to sooth the throbbing ache behind her clear grey eyes. She had a mission to do, and she had only just fallen asleep after the sun had arced high over her house, so she assumed that she had managed to gather at least four hours of sleep before her nightly rendezvous with the undead.

She armed herself to the teeth with a gun specially loaded with bullets filled with her own blood drawn the day before and a knife that could be discreetly tucked into various places along her form, which tonight was within one of her tall black boots that laced up to her knee, and a few other essentials for the task she had in mind tonight. She was petite, with skin lily white and an angelic face that didn’t look the type to have a deadly agenda such as her own. She was dressed simply in dark jeans crammed into her boots and a tank top with a jacket zipped over it to conceal the gun in its holster and to hold the spare cartridges that looked bulky tucked in the pockets.

She checked the protective wards before leaving, making sure to give an extra prayer or two as she reached the bottom of the stairs and another when she was just outside the apartment building for good measure. Her hair was long and pale blond and stick straight but she had dyed it several years ago an inky black and kept it that way, thinking it lende her a more serious look. She had picked up a few tips last night on a suspected vampire who frequented the bar across town. He was known for being a heavy drinker and had been diminished down into a pathetic state she thought she could handle on her own, because killing a bloodsucker was a lot easier than trying to catch one.

With one last anxious glance over her shoulder, Artemis hiked out into the city to catch herself a fanged fiend.

Alexander smiled as his eyes snapped open, his body sensing the setting of the sun and the beginning of the night. He rose out of his coffin, his bare porcelain-like skin shining softly in the semi-dark room. He felt the thirst begin to stir in his mind as he pulled on a dark green t-shirt and a pair of black jeans. He ran a hand through his hair that hung down to cover his ears, the blond locks falling into place. He looked at himself in the single mirror in his room, the dark violet eyes of his mixed ancestry becoming more vibrant paired with his shirt. He pulled on a black canvas trench coat and walked out the door of his little apartment, his thirst pounding with all 17 heartbeats of his human neighbors. He wanted a snack, but he had a meeting to go to at a bar.

The vampire council had asked Xander to serve as an envoy of peace to The Witch, a yonug witch that had been hunting down vampires without a care for the humans that she mistook for one of their kind. He had been told to broker any deal he could with her, to get her to stop hunting down their kin so violently. So he had let circulate a rumor that a notorious drunk at a local bar was a vampire, and that he go so plastered that he would be a pushover in a fight. As he settled down in a darkened corner of the bar, he waited for The Witch to show up.

 

[mireille]

Artemis’s aura would normally be a beacon of sorts to her natural born nemesis, but she had cloaked herself as carefully as she could before she had gone to bed the night before. She had also done a few other things she normally wouldn’t have bothered with, such as scenting herself with perfume and dabbing a bit of make-up on her face to appear more attractive. She was going to have to play a mysterious, seductive woman and wanted to look the part in hopes that it would make-up for her real lack of charm. Her jeans clung to her curves as deliciously as possible, but the jacket really took away from the whole affect.

She moved with confidence through the throngs of men clustered around the bar, flirting her eyes up at them as she went, weaving between them almost brusquely in her determination. Her eyes had fallen on him the moment she came in and swept her gaze about the room, but she had to be sure. But surely she couldn’t be mistaken, because there was only one groveling pathetic drunk in the whole place who even looked remotely like he could have at one point been immortal, and was so shit-faced he was impossibly hard not to notice.

She skirted a few tables, directly moving across the actual vampire’s line of sight, as she circled the individual who she assumed to be her target. Artemis was watching him with eyes that were more deadly than they were bedroom eyes, her lithe form tense with uncertainty. Dammit! she thought to herself, cursing her inability to be sure of his identity. She desired the Sight now more than ever and the guarantee that it promised, because she was helpless to spare her soul the sin of killing the innocent until it was hers. What if this really was just some drunken young man?

As if to answer her question, the drunk individual let out a great belch and passed out on the floor, only to be retrieved by a nearby band of regulars who seemed to know him intimately. When they babbled about his family, Artemis’s features fell visibly.

“If it wasn’t him, then who . . . ?”

 

[Drunken Saint]

Artemis’s aura would normally be a beacon of sorts to her natural born nemesis, but she had cloaked herself as carefully as she could before she had gone to bed the night before. She had also done a few other things she normally wouldn’t have bothered with, such as scenting herself with perfume and dabbing a bit of make-up on her face to appear more attractive. She was going to have to play a mysterious, seductive woman and wanted to look the part in hopes that it would make-up for her real lack of charm. Her jeans clung to her curves as deliciously as possible, but the jacket really took away from the whole affect.

She moved with confidence through the throngs of men clustered around the bar, flirting her eyes up at them as she went, weaving between them almost brusquely in her determination. Her eyes had fallen on him the moment she came in and swept her gaze about the room, but she had to be sure. But surely she couldn’t be mistaken, because there was only one groveling pathetic drunk in the whole place who even looked remotely like he could have at one point been immortal, and was so shit-faced he was impossibly hard not to notice.

She skirted a few tables, directly moving across the actual vampire’s line of sight, as she circled the individual who she assumed to be her target. Artemis was watching him with eyes that were more deadly than they were bedroom eyes, her lithe form tense with uncertainty. Dammit! she thought to herself, cursing her inability to be sure of his identity. She desired the Sight now more than ever and the guarantee that it promised, because she was helpless to spare her soul the sin of killing the innocent until it was hers. What if this really was just some drunken young man?

As if to answer her question, the drunk individual let out a great belch and passed out on the floor, only to be retrieved by a nearby band of regulars who seemed to know him intimately. When they babbled about his family, Artemis’s features fell visibly.

“If it wasn’t him, then who . . . ?”

Xander chuckled softly to his self as he watched the woman walk in. He had instantly pegged her as out of place, and they way she carried her self across the bar screamed hatred, not lust. He watched as her righteous anger fall to doubt and despair as she quickly found out he was not the man she was looking for. He spoke softly but used on of the powers of the night that was at his disposal to make his words reach her ears as if he was standing beside her.

"I am sorry for the bait. I wished to size you up before presenting myself to you. I am here on behalf of the Council, to barter a peace between you and my kin.... Would you be willing to meet face to face with me under oath of your powers not to try to kill me until after we are done talking?"
His voice was a smooth as fresh silk on skin as it hit high and low notes that would stir something within her, if she had not completely walled of her human needs.

 

[mireille]

The raven haired woman froze when the icy whisper broke into her confused thoughts, causing her to immediately steel herself against the warm tide of lusty desire the voice caused to wash over her. Despite how repulsed she was by the mere notion of being intimately involved with a vampire, she was still human. It was as though a sleeping animal inside her was being gently awakened, and she immediately attempted to put it from her mind by centering herself with a brief mental prayer.

It was like she was being influenced in some way and she was aware that vampires were programmed to be predatory, and were equipped in a multitude of ways to properly lure and capture unsuspecting humans. She was immediately indignant because of this; she was not some unsuspecting teenage girl who was going to fall head over heels for his sneaky vampire tricks.

She wildly sought with her eyes churning stormily with different dark shades of purple and gray to seek out the perpetrator and her opponent. She had been duped, allowed herself to be tricked by this vampire, following up on a rumor he had obviously planted. And who was to say that this wasn’t another scheme to lure her into a situation where she could be more easily killed? She knew she had managed to attract some attention in the underworld with her wild hunting antics, but she had managed this long because she was careful.

Then again, she could be just as easily dealt with right now, while she was clueless as to whom her enemy was. The bar was crowded and dark, and it honestly would probably be a lot easier to deal with her now. So despite her better judgment, the witch gritted her teeth and frowned. “I give my word,” she said quietly, sure that he would hear it, her face lowered slightly so that her mouth was concealed by the collar of the jacket she had pulled tightly around herself. She was taking a gamble, but she could better defend herself if she knew who her enemy was. And she had to admit, she was curious about the council and what sort of proposition he had for her.

If only she had the Sight she could pick the bastard out right now and off him, she thought, heaving a tremulous sigh.

 

[Drunken Saint]

The raven haired woman froze when the icy whisper broke into her confused thoughts, causing her to immediately steel herself against the warm tide of lusty desire the voice caused to wash over her. Despite how repulsed she was by the mere notion of being intimately involved with a vampire, she was still human. It was as though a sleeping animal inside her was being gently awakened, and she immediately attempted to put it from her mind by centering herself with a brief mental prayer.

It was like she was being influenced in some way and she was aware that vampires were programmed to be predatory, and were equipped in a multitude of ways to properly lure and capture unsuspecting humans. She was immediately indignant because of this; she was not some unsuspecting teenage girl who was going to fall head over heels for his sneaky vampire tricks.

She wildly sought with her eyes churning stormily with different dark shades of purple and gray to seek out the perpetrator and her opponent. She had been duped, allowed herself to be tricked by this vampire, following up on a rumor he had obviously planted. And who was to say that this wasn’t another scheme to lure her into a situation where she could be more easily killed? She knew she had managed to attract some attention in the underworld with her wild hunting antics, but she had managed this long because she was careful.

Then again, she could be just as easily dealt with right now, while she was clueless as to whom her enemy was. The bar was crowded and dark, and it honestly would probably be a lot easier to deal with her now. So despite her better judgment, the witch gritted her teeth and frowned. “I give my word,” she said quietly, sure that he would hear it, her face lowered slightly so that her mouth was concealed by the collar of the jacket she had pulled tightly around herself. She was taking a gamble, but she could better defend herself if she knew who her enemy was. And she had to admit, she was curious about the council and what sort of proposition he had for her.

If only she had the Sight she could pick the bastard out right now and off him, she thought, heaving a tremulous sigh.

Xander smiled to his self as he watched her thoughts and emotions play across her face. He hadn't even begun to try to seduce her and she was already fighting against her body. It was an amusingly simple idea that he was amazed none of the others on the council had thought to just simply treat her like food.

As she gave her word, Xander showed off yet again. He was suddenly right behind her, not that he walked over, or that he had magically appeared, just that he had always been there, and her brain had just forgotten to register that he was there. "Thank you, Witch. I must say you a much more different in person than what the rumors tell. Much more beautiful than I was led to believe as well." His voice was low and in her ear with each word slowly enunciated as he let his voice and her mind and her body carefully caress all her barriers, gently suggesting to her that she need not to fight against him.

He gestured with his hand over to the booth he had been sitting in, and invitation for them to take a seat before they would start to bring unwanted attention to themselves standing in a bar.