Happy Hour // Open

[Dimitri Chevalier]

The smell of booze sickened him to no end, but he needed a little something before he lost what little control he had left. He could already feel twinges of insanity tugging and pulling at the jumbled mess that happened to be his mental stability. Ripping his fingers through his hair, he began to mumble under his breath. When the perky barista asked him if he wanted a drink, he simply shrugged and pointed to the bathroom with a lazy gesture and muttered, "I'm waiting for somebody." His gums ached and on occasion, he would lift the napkin to dab at his mouth. He couldn't stand simply lazing about in a tavern and watching others moisten their lips. With slow movements, he began to tap his nails against the table.

He reclined back in his seat and closed his eyes, chewing upon his lower lip in an attempt to provide himself with some form of a distraction. Limbs stretched, popping audibly while hazel eyes flitted about the small area. A hungry light was shining within their darkened depths as he breathed deeply, inhaling and exhaling slowly. His body shifted ever so slightly as he waited, simply waited, for somebody to spark that fire in his brain that told him the hunt was on. He appeared to be like a half-starved animal, occasionally choosing to fiddle with the paper napkins situated before him. "J'aime mon donateurs. Vous partagerez," he growled under his breath.

Translation ::

I love my donors. You will share.

[Laurel Wayland]

Laurel had run off ... again. Once more her mother had dragged her to the town square, to look at brooches and ribbons and other nonsense, and once more, Laurel had picked a fight with her mother and made a run for it out of sheer irritation. It was dark now, and Laurel had run so far that she had stumbled into a rather seedy area of Devil's Hollow. Desperate for water and directions home, Laurel tentatively entered Kieran's Tavern, which looked... well, open, at least.

The place stunk of smoke and liquor, but she was desperate for a drink of water, so she walked timidly up to the bar and waited for the barkeep to notice her. Men made lewd comments about what a pretty little things he was, and what was she doing in a place like this with a dress like that, and so on and so forth. She ignored the jeers best she could, but when a man pinched her behind as he passed, she whirled on him. "Don't touch me," she snapped, the anger in her voice not enough to disguise the fear there.

The man who had pinched her stopped and gave her a once over. "Yer a pretty little darlin', ain't you?" He said with a leer. "I think you should come an' keep me an' my boys company. What you say to that, little miss?" He grabbed for her wrist, catching it in a beefy hand, and began to drag her toward the table where his chums sat.

[Dimitri Chevalier]

Ah, a woman was about to be hurt in someway. Jerking up from his seat, causing it to skid partially across the floor, he walked towards the jolly group with a sneer on his face and bloodlust in his eyes. Not necessarily needing to think, he grabbed the closest one by the shoulder and allowed what little strength remained to take control of his next action. The action was rather simple and consisted of him, smashing the guy's face into the table. It could have been far worse, but he opted to make himself seem as normal as possible. "Release the girl, or it'll be your head," it was the only thing he spoke before shoving the table with his foot in an attempt to gain a bigger area in which he could manuever. He wouldn't justify his actions by any means, but he would help a damsel in distress if it helped to ease his conscious, if even just a tiny bit.

His hazel eyes were hidden behind the blonde hair that fell before them. He could have done many things, but he would deal with them after the girl was gone and the crowds had dispersed. Despite his usual, cruel personality, he did have a heart and at times, a hero complex. Rolling his shoulders slightly, he fixed his glare upon the man who held the girl by the arm. He wasn't in his mood and his sanity level was taking a sharp decline. For now, he would do his best to ignore it. "I'll give you to the count of three to let her go," he snarled like a savage beast, preparing itself for attack.

[Laurel Wayland]

Laurel struggled against the drunken man who was dragging her towards his table, putting up the best fight she could under the circumstances. When another man approached them, however, a thrill of fear shot through her. He plowed the man's head into a table as though it required no effort at all! Laurel emitted a little shriek at the newcomer's actions, frightened by his obvious strength and openness to violence.

"I'll give you to the count of three to let her go," said the savage man. While she appreciated the intervention, something about the man made her very nervous, and she almost would have preferred to stay in the company of the drunks. At least they were too sloshed to do too much damage. This man, however, seemed very much in control of his faculties.

When he snarled, the hair on Laurel's arms prickled and she got goosebumps all over. This man scared her very much, and she wanted him to go away. Hair falling down around her face, she struggled again against her captor, but to no avail.

"Whot are you gonna do if I don't let her go, eh?" Crowed the drunk man who still help onto Laurel's upper arm. "We're not gonna hurt her. We just wanna have a little fun, then we'll send her on her merry way."

[Dimitri Chevalier]

"That's not good enough," he stated simply and as per old habit, his French accent dripped into the words. Snaking a slender arm out, he gripped the man's and applied minimal pressure. "Now let her go, or you shall lose the use of your arm very slowly," he spoke calmly with an expression that dared him to defy the orders. Hazel eyes seemed shadowed by the spanse of blonde hair. If he had truly wanted to, he could have had them all down on the floor quite quickly but that would simply attract attention to himself. Of course, him not being drunk was odd enough. His current actions were creating enough of a scene.

He wasn't the type to be scared by humans. Other vampires? Probably. There were far worse out there besides him. Having stuck fairly close to his upbringing, he wouldn't sit idly by while a woman was in trouble. One could call it a hero complex, but he preferred to call it the heart of a gentleman. Either way, not bashing in their brains was taking an extreme amount of self-control, although he wouldn't admit it.

//Sorry, muse is dead. Just woke up. >.<\\

[Laurel Wayland]

As the blond man applied pressure to the drunk thug's arm, the thug snarled at the hero and thrust Laurel, hard, from his grip toward the other man. Surprised, Laurel stumbled and fell against her rescuer, scraping her arm against a table as she fell. A long gash opened on her wrist where it made contact with the hard wood of the table and blood rose quickly to the surface of the skin.

Laurel cried out in surprise and pain as she fell forward. "Just leave me alone!" She shrieked to the room at large. She was scared and she was surrounded, and those two feelings were not good ones. She wished she'd never left the town centre, never been dragged there in the first place by her horrible mother. A whole new wave of anger washed over her at the thought of her mother, for keeping her separate from Eric for the past few weeks. If Eric was here now, she'd not be in this horrible situation.

[Dimitri Chevalier]

Eyes rolled momentarily as he shoved the man away from him, using both arms to support the girl. "Now, darling sister, you shouldn't have followed me in here. I told mother I'd be home in time for supper, did I not," his eyes flashed briefly as he glowered at the man who had previously been holding her. As the scent of blood finally reached him, he grumbled and grasped her wrist in an attempt to mask the tangy scent. The way he held her wrist was rather gentle, despite the fact he had seemingly lost his temper only moments ago. Some could call him a monster and some could call him a hero.

Either way, he knew the truth. He was living a life of eternal damnation, forced to watched those he cared about wither away and die. In the end, he was the one who suffered. They always got off the easy way where as he had virtually no social life, couldn't go outside during the day unless he wanted to be dust in the wind, had to sit back and watch his loved ones die while he outlived them by over a century, watch lovers frolick, and hold back his urges everytime something like this happened. He wouldn't admit it, but he did care about the life of another. Being the way he was, he didn't wish the death of his mother, despite the fact she had been the one to put him in this position. In any case, he was certainly a basket case in more ways than one.

[Laurel Wayland]

Laurel was utterly confused at this man who called her 'darling sister,' but she realized just in time that it was a ploy to keep her safe. At least for the moment. "I- I'm sorry, brother, I was only curious," she said, playing along and steadying herself. The way he caught her wrist was gentle, but the feel of flesh on the open scrape stung like fire and she winced.

The first drunkard, the one who had originally grabbed at Laurel, fell to the floor unconscious, whether from the stranger's shove or too much alcohol, it was unknown. Either way, his followers didn't seem too keen on putting up much of a fight just for Laurel, so they beat feet out of the tavern and disappeared into the night.

Laurel was panting with fear. "Thank you," she said breathily to the man who had possibly saved her live, and at the very least, saved her good name. "My father will be willing to pay you handsomely if you'll return me home safely," she added.

[Dimitri Chevalier]

Hesitation flashed briefly in his hazel eyes. "Darlin', people like me don't need money. We have no use for it," he murmured faintly. "Now where do you live? I'll escort you on my way home," he cursed himself mentally for lying to her but deep down, he knew it was for the best. Realizing he still held her wrist within his hand, he reached into the breast pocket of his dress shirt and pulled out his handkerchief, offering it to her.

"Press this against the wound and don't worry about returning it," he chuckled quietly, dropping his other hand from her wrist. One could certainly say he looked out of place in the small tavern, wearing a white dress shirt, black suit, and black dress shoes. In a way, he could have been like any stuck-up and taken more account in his appearance, but he had dressed this way for a reason. Today marked the death of his father, and he had been dressing this way each year. The mental battle raged in his mind, debating on what he should do. He hated what he was, how he lived his life, his limitations, but he refused to take advantage of her. There were so many decisions to make, so many things to do, so much to think about, and so many factors of his life that he should both love and curse with every fiber of his unnatural being.

[Laurel Wayland]

Laurel accepted the handkerchief gratefully. "Thank you," she murmured, tending to the wound on her wrist. It had bled quite a lot, but the bleeding seemed to have slowed with the pressure of the man's hand on her wrist. She dabbed at the scrape with the handkerchief and got it cleaned up somewhat before looking up at her savior.

"I live at 14 Benedict Lane," she said. "And I insist that my father compensate you for your troubles." She busied herself straightening her skirts, which were, once again, torn. Her mother was going to murder her, assuming she made it home alive in the first place, which was looking less and less likely.

[Dimitri Chevalier]

"Eh..my mother told me not to take money from strangers," he joked quietly. His hands moved along his suit, brushing off the dust that had collected on the black fabric. Looking upwards, he lifted his hand as an apologetic smile graced the taut features of his pallid face. "Sorry for the trouble, and the next round will be on me once I return. First, I must escort my sister home before she attracts further trouble. Kids these days! Let's go," he tacked on hastily at the end, his voice having lowered so only she could hear.

The first step he took was agonizing. He pushed on, unwilling to let anybody around him know that he was weaker than his initial appearance let on. To be more specific, he refused to let on that he had been neglecting himself. Oh, the joys of being a human leech. The longer you went without blood, the harder it was for you to actually function. "..On second thought, you lead the way," he muttered. It might also help to ease the tension radiating from her.

[Laurel Wayland]

This man was certainly acting strangely, thought Laurel. He suddenly seemed ill, or like he didn't feel quite steady on his feet. She stepped in front of him, leading the way through the Tavern and toward the door that led into the night. Once they were outside, she looked to the left and right, having no idea where she should go to head towards home.

It was impossibly dark outside, with clouds covering the moon and stars so that the only light in the dark was the guttering gas lamps hanging from the various and sundry buildings that lined the street. "Sir, I'm afraid I don't know which direction to turn," she confessed, a little nervous now that she was out in the dark alone with this stranger, who was evidently capable of holding his own in a fight against drunken sailors. She hoped he was a gentleman.

[Dimitri Chevalier]

Sucking in a breath, he closed his eyes for a moment. "..Right, I believe," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he tried to focus on the girl's scent from her earlier trip into the bar. With others having mingled with it, it was fairly hard. Hazel eyes opened to glance around for a mode of transportation that didn't involve walking. Eyes came to rest on something that a horse-drawn buggy. "Wait here," he mumbled, jogging towards the buggy. Motioning towards the girl and mumbling the address, he nodded briefly before speaking again.

With a shrug of his shoulders and a wry grin, he murmured, "I owe you, man.." Jogging back towards her after a few moments, he paused. "The guy with the buggy says he'll give us a ride to your place then he'll take me back to the tavern. That way we don't have to walk." He shrugged his shoulders and ran his fingers through his hair. With any luck, he might be able to catch a donor on the way back. With his luck, he'd probably end up feeding from the girl that stood before him, unable to take it any longer.

[Laurel Wayland]

Laurel was extraordinarily grateful that they would not have to walk the long trek back to her home. It would have taken them all night to get there, and she would not want to explain to her family why she was showing up at dawn with this stranger in tow. She walked with him to the buggy and stepped up into it, pulling her skirts in after her.

"I did not catch your name, sir," she said politely, though with a hint of fear in her voice. She still did not trust this man entirely. Something about him gave her an uneasy feeling. She waited for him to come into the cab with her, and she sat as close to the far wall of the buggy as she could, in order to keep her distance.

Oh, how she wished Eric was here to take her home. She felt so safe around him, because she knew he would never harm her. She could not be so sure with this stranger. There was something in his face, his eyes, that displayed a certain cruelty that she had never seen in any other face before.

[Dimitri Chevalier]

He hesitated for a moment. What harm could telling her his name do? Besides destroy him. "Dimitri Achille Chevalier," he stated softly as he swung into the buggy with a grace that was undeniable. Just as he swang into his seat, he winced as the whip sang in the air. Hazel eyes glanced toward the sky with a worried expression as his features tensed rather visibly. Another pause.

"You don't have to worry about me hurting you. Why would I waste my time, saving you from drunkards who could have done it for me? Damned sure didn't see anybody else jumping from their seats to save you. If you don't trust me, ask the driver where we're going, princess," he growled defensively under his breath. Sure, he looked cruel, but he hated when people simply assumed he was dangerous. At least women in France, back when he was normal, didn't act in such a foolish manner.

"Besides, I don't play with taken girls. And for future reference, don't go into the tavern because I can guaruntee you that I won't be able to save you from a group of rowdy drunkards who want to get their freak on," his words, although angered, had a hint of hurt interlaced within the grumbled, broken phrases. Another day without feeding would do his mental status wonders. Not. To make matters worse, day would be breaking in a matter of hours. Ten to one, she would forget about the guy who had saved her and to be honest, he preferred it that way. It wouldn't cause as many problems, and nobody would try looking for him when he stopped frequenting the tavern for an easy feed.