07-14-2013, 07:42 PM
It's a little after three AM on Sunday morning. The Emergency Room is still shutting down, the bartenders and wait staff and bussers are cleaning up bottles and glasses, the bouncers are doing sweeps to kick out anyone lingering in the bathrooms or trying to disappear into the darker corners. The black lights are off and the dim lights have been lifted a little. Someone will sweep soon, someone will mop. Chairs will be put up, et cetera et cetera.
Hawthorne, tall and broad and (some would say) decently looking, bounds down the stairs from the upper level. He bypasses the last three in a quick hop and, straightening, slaps his hands together. The motion, the sound, it draws everyone's attention to the owner of the club, standing at the bottom of the steps and beaming at them all.
"Well well," he says brightly, tucking his hands into his pockets and moving toward the bar with a slow but energized swagger. "I think tonight went exceptionally well." Two people behind the counter exchange wary glances, but then, they're still rather new. "Sara, once you've divvied up the tips, everyone can go. Oh and Dana," this last to the tall, amazon of a bouncer, dressed in a tight white shirt and and tight white pants, all of which only emphasize her incredibly well muscled physique, "I'd like to see you downstairs."
Stepping back, beaming, he pivots and heads for the stairs that lead down to the lower level. That floor's set up and décor are determined by the parties that rent it out. Tonight, a bachelor party. There are chairs arranged in a circle around one. There were dancers, beautiful women the revelers were not allowed to touch. The Emergency Room is not that type of establishment (unless the party is willing to pay a much higher fee). It's empty of people now, though, except for Hawthorne and, soon, one of his favorite bouncers.
He considers again, as she hurries down the steps, face alight with hope and adoration, making her a ghoul and letting her stay with him for years and years. He could do so much for her. But it's only been a week since he had to let go Dmitrii, he's not searching the market just yet. There are other reasons, too, but he's not thinking of them as he slides one hand to the small of Dana's muscular back and yanks her close. And he doesn't think of them when he sinks his fangs into her throat, or when he licks the wounds closed and sends her on her way with one last, lingering look that fades as soon as her back is turned.
No, as he heads down the last set of stairs, down into the deepest darkness that has been his home since before this latest war and will hopefully continue to be his home until long after the conflict has ended, he thinks about how lucky he is that everything he needs is contained within these walls. Entertainment, income, and the food always comes to him of its own volition.
It's a good unlife.
Hawthorne, tall and broad and (some would say) decently looking, bounds down the stairs from the upper level. He bypasses the last three in a quick hop and, straightening, slaps his hands together. The motion, the sound, it draws everyone's attention to the owner of the club, standing at the bottom of the steps and beaming at them all.
"Well well," he says brightly, tucking his hands into his pockets and moving toward the bar with a slow but energized swagger. "I think tonight went exceptionally well." Two people behind the counter exchange wary glances, but then, they're still rather new. "Sara, once you've divvied up the tips, everyone can go. Oh and Dana," this last to the tall, amazon of a bouncer, dressed in a tight white shirt and and tight white pants, all of which only emphasize her incredibly well muscled physique, "I'd like to see you downstairs."
Stepping back, beaming, he pivots and heads for the stairs that lead down to the lower level. That floor's set up and décor are determined by the parties that rent it out. Tonight, a bachelor party. There are chairs arranged in a circle around one. There were dancers, beautiful women the revelers were not allowed to touch. The Emergency Room is not that type of establishment (unless the party is willing to pay a much higher fee). It's empty of people now, though, except for Hawthorne and, soon, one of his favorite bouncers.
He considers again, as she hurries down the steps, face alight with hope and adoration, making her a ghoul and letting her stay with him for years and years. He could do so much for her. But it's only been a week since he had to let go Dmitrii, he's not searching the market just yet. There are other reasons, too, but he's not thinking of them as he slides one hand to the small of Dana's muscular back and yanks her close. And he doesn't think of them when he sinks his fangs into her throat, or when he licks the wounds closed and sends her on her way with one last, lingering look that fades as soon as her back is turned.
No, as he heads down the last set of stairs, down into the deepest darkness that has been his home since before this latest war and will hopefully continue to be his home until long after the conflict has ended, he thinks about how lucky he is that everything he needs is contained within these walls. Entertainment, income, and the food always comes to him of its own volition.
It's a good unlife.