Happy Hour // Open

[Laurel Wayland]

Laurel apologized for offending the man but did not move closer. There was just something about Dmitri Chevalier that made her uneasy, and she would not ignore that. She tended to be an excellent judge of character. Well, except for the thing with Henry, but that was a long time ago.

"Mr. Chevalier," she began, unsure of what to say next, but feeling the need to make polite conversation. "Thank you for what you did back there. That was very kind of you." She sat in silence for several moments after speaking before continuing on to inquire, "What do you do, Mr. Chevalier?"

[Dimitri Chevalier]

He hesitated once more. Mister Chevalier? Job? Thanks? Who was she trying to fool? Him or herself? He blew out a heavy breath and gave her a once over, trying to figure out whether or not she had a loose screw or two in that pretty, little head of hers.

"Veteran of war with a license to kill," he stated honestly. It wasn't a lie by any means, but he had been a veteran of war since he was a young man so one could say it didn't count. His jaw continued to ache as the urge to feed increased. It became unbearable. To prevent what would probably be the inevitable, he bit down on the edge of his hand and seemed to at least pretend to be thoughtful. It was one battle that he would probably end up losing fairly quickly. Lowering his free hand, he dug his nails into the kneecap so that the sharp talons tore through the skin.

By this point, he was simply desperate for a distraction so he didn't end up going all psychotic, French vampire on her. Granted, most of the women he had bedded had hardly complained, but they also had the intelligence of a bug. Why did things always have to be so complicated? His mind drifted toward the one girl he had feelings for. Of course, she was dead because he had refused to change her, despite the pleas that arose. At one point, she had even gone so far as to try to attempt to kill him to convince him. After that, he left her like dust in the wind.

That had to have been over a century ago. Of course, merely thinking of Luisella, who had been a fling at the time, or at least he pretended as such, only caused his hunger to grow. His stomach rolled, waved, and did the jig while hazel eyes rolled slightly within their respective sockets. He needed two things before he went insane. Blood and sex. He might be able to get the former from the girl who sat before him, but he would have to wait on the latter. His anxiety only grew as every fiber of his being screamed for him to find a place where the light wouldn't hit and fairly soon.

With a groan, he huddled within his suit. He as officially about to lose it. This poor girl would be a victim of insanity if somebody didn't show up soon. Then it happened. Before he could resist any further, he leaned forward to peer at her throat with a foreign look in his eye. Fingers flexed, and he jerked back toward the interior that was his seat. God damn, he was like a possessed demon.

"Let me see the handkerchief for a moment," he mumbled. Extending his slender arm, he turned his hand over so that the flat of his palm was visible. "..Please," he added as an after thought. Just a taste might help, although if he didn't get his fill soon, the girl would see fangs. Sweat collected along his brow from the exertion that came with holding back his natural urges. He was soon going to veer from hero to villain. All because he refused to feed when he should.

[Laurel Wayland]

Laurel watched Dmitri with concern in her eyes. He was behaving very strangely indeed, and her feelings of uneasiness were increasing with every passing moment. "Are you alright, Mr. Chevalier?" She leaned her head to the side, trying to see his face, but he was looking toward his lap, hand at his mouth as though biting it. When he moved his hand down to his knee, she saw a bloody bite mark there on his hand, and she watched in horror as he dug his nails into his knee, tearing fabric and flesh.

Her eyes went wide and she pressed herself against the wall of the carriage, trying to stay as far away from this beast as humanly possible, but he leaned forward, his nose damn near buried in the hollow of her throat. She fought back the scream that was rising in her throat, too frightened of what he might do if she made any kind of noise that might alert the driver to any kind of danger or trouble. "What are you doing?" She whispered, terrified. "I want to get out. I'll walk home."

"Let me see that handkerchief for a moment," Dmitri requested very politely, though with an uncomfortable edge to his voice. "Please."

Laurel wasn't listening. She was contemplating her chances of survival if she pushed open the cab door and made a leap form the moving carriage. She hesitated for a moment, then flung out her injured arm, across Dmitri's chest, toward the door to throw it open and launched herself from the carriage.

She hit the cobblestone street hard, busting a gash open on her hairline and slamming her knees into the pavement. Blood dripped down the side of her face and soaked the knees of her stockings. She did not care, as long as she was away from that horrible man.